Six- An OCD Piece

April 4, 2017
By Sophia16 GOLD, Pasadena, California
Sophia16 GOLD, Pasadena, California
17 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones. Steven King

I closed the door, tightly.
“One, two, three, four, five, six.”
I sighed as I clicked the lock closed before heading in. Six is a good number. My house has nine rooms and three bathrooms, actually two-and-a-half but I rounded up. 12 is divisible by six.
I lost count as my foot hit something, it was the basement door. One was bad, but not the worst.
“One, two, three, four.”
I stuttered as I realized that I was counting out loud. I didn't like counting out loud.
As I walked towards the furthest room today it was 15 steps.
I reassured myself, “One plus five equals six.”
Some days it was 24 or 13. Two plus four equals six, one plus three equals four.
I methodically counted items and footsteps, sometimes talking to myself but when I caught myself I worried that someone could hear me. I knew the items would be good numbers. I walked into the tiny kitchen; dust lined the floors and cabinets and appliances lay in disarray across the dingy countertops. It bothered me. I always checked the fridge. I rested my hand on the worn handle, scanning my eyes down until I had managed to find six condiment bottles. Ketchup, mustard, relish, ranch, mayonnaise, and hot sauce. I sighed as I closed the door and paced over to the kitchen table, being sure to follow the footprints I had carved into the dirty floor. I had six pepper grinders. Pepper is my favorite word. P-E-P-P-E-R, a beautiful six letter word. Beyond the kitchen there was the bedroom. 66 steps, six plus six equals twelve, not the best number but better than thirteen. The bedroom was the nicest room in my house, everything was lined up and in order.
“One, two, three, four.” I counted to 12.
I pointed at each object in my room that I counted. I didn't like twelve but it wasn't so bad, it equals three but is divisible by two. My closet had six of everything. Everything but my socks, they didn't come in packs of two or six. They came in packs of five. I didn't like five. I always bought two. Ten is awful. I always throw two pairs out, I liked six. 10 was not divisible by six.
I was finished in my bedroom. I wandered through my house, I had already mesmerized the steps. My house was like a hedge maze,that was a bad example because I've never been in one. My mom has been in one. She said she turned nine times before she found the center. As soon as the word nine crossed her lips I started counting,
“One, two, three, four, five.” I jumbled my numbers because mine was a bad number. It wasn't divisible by six.
I kept counting, repeating nine again and again. It wasn't until I felt my mom’s hand tapping me that I stopped. She was tapping me six times. She always knew how to comfort me.

The author's comments:

This piece focuses on the daily struggles of someone with OCD. As a writer, I like to delve into topics that people find uncomfortable to talk about. That's why I enjoyed writing this because mental health is someone that a lot of people struggle with and should not be ostracized.

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