Need bleach? You can make your own. This was the subject line of the most recent email in my inbox from Ocean State Job Lot. Pool shock plus water and, voila, you’ve got two whole gallons of bleach. I don’t know, I think Job Lot should stick to peddling their off-brand wares and leave the mixing of chemicals to the scientists. That being said, I did make my own hand sanitizer using aloe vera gel and wintergreen scented rubbing alcohol so who am I to judge? If you walk by me and smell a waft of minty alcohol, please don’t start a rumor that I’ve turned to Listerine for kicks. I’m simply doing my part when going into and out of Shaw’s and CVS.
After leaving Shaw’s the other day, I accidentally touched my lips and thought Maybe I should put a little sanitizer on my mouth. Then I shook my head in disgust. Dabbing Purell on your lips to keep the germs out is neither normal nor healthy—pandemic or no pandemic. But, this is where many of our brains are at right now. Our amygdalae, the survival part of our brains, are all keyed up and if we don’t do something to keep them in check, we will be paying for it later. Do we need to be vigilant about hygiene right now? Absolutely. What we don’t need is to go sliding down the slippery slope of OCD overkill. Trust me. I know this from experience. If you go too far with your fear of contamination, a year from now you’ll be rolling through the South Shore Plaza in your bubble and suddenly you’ll realize that you just might have a disorder. Let’s try and avoid that, shall we?
Part of the work I have been doing since this pandemic started is focused on keeping myself away from the edge. I’m not always very good at it. Wash hands, scrub-a-dub-dub, touch faucet, oh shiiiiiit, wash again. It’s a vicious little cycle. Fortunately I have been in therapy for about two years and I now know that those cycles are OCD loops that want to trap me. The funny thing is, contamination OCD is not really my brand. My brand is focused on fears of terrorism, violence, and other scary things like killer clowns. COVID-19 has created a new OCD loop and I just keep saying nope, nope, nopity, nope, down boy, down. So far, I’m winning the battle. But I’m wounded, just as I imagine you are. It’s going to be OK. Really, it is.
Being hyperaware of one’s own psychology is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, I’m proud of the fact that I can stop myself before smacking my lips with Purell. On the other hand, I miss the days of being blissfully unaware of just how messed up my way of thinking was. In a way, it was easier then. Think, think, think, avoid, avoid, avoid, think, avoid, Google, avoid, think again. I was living inside my own brain and it was comfy. Sometimes, however, that which is comfortable is not healthy. I learned this by wearing Hanes sweatpants for several years after giving birth; there is far too much room for growth in those things.
I am not an expert in anything and I make about 753 mistakes every week and then repeat about 417 of them the next week. What can I say? I’m an imperfect human. I do, however, have a good case of OCD for which I receive therapy. I feel as though it is my duty to stand over here and warn you of the dangers of this disorder before you start bathing in Purell or mixing your own chemicals. Stay away from the edge, people, and find the thing that helps that overactive amygdala of yours settle down. Walk, yoga, beer in the backyard, meditation, dog, cat, FaceTime fun, Netflix, XBox….The list of amygdala tamers goes on and on. So find the one that works for you and yours and run with it. And, for the love of God, don’t make your own bleach. What the world needs now is hope, not a chemical explosion.