My OCD

OCD. I used to have it. I was a little kid and I washed my hands obsessively. I blame it on my parents: they moved us to a farm in the country where I’d get my hands dirty all the time. If they’d moved us to the city like I was meant for, I never would have been so obsessed with washing my hands.

My OCD became a problem. My friend in sixth grade told me that he’d been afraid to sit with me when we were younger because my hands had been cracked and gross. They’d had so many cuts and cracks that sometimes, blood would show up. Gross, right? You wouldn’t have wanted to sit by me either.

But then a girl at church saved me. She introduced me to Corn Huskers Lotion and voila, I was cured… at least somewhat. My hands were better. And I always carried a bottle of Corn Huskers Lotion in my backpack.

These days, I’m basically cured of my OCD, but I still hate messiness, sloppiness, and you know, general poor hygiene. And I still wash my hands a lot, but at least now, I just wash them once rather than thrice.

Tata for now.

Rece

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