OCD

II

Four years ago, this was not me. I was not OCD. I lived in a normal house, with a normal family.

We walked into the new restaurant, waiting for our food. We had all gotten iced water. I heard a small snap and a pulling sound. My mom passed me a wipe from her purse. She took one as well as she slid the wipe across the top of my glass, and did the same to hers. I was nine
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My therapist tells me something must have happened in my past to have triggered this situation. There is nothing in my power to tell me what this memory was. My mom is careful when it comes to germs. The "wash your hands before dinner" kind of careful. That's the only relation.
"Maisie, dear, there must be something you can pull from that smart brain of yours that could have triggered the obsession you have. Being a clean freak is-"
"I'M NOT A FREAK!"
I screamed at the counselor. She gave me a look if shock and excused herself to the bathroom. She came back out with a hairdryer.
"Why do you have a hairdryer?" I asked with as much confusion as there was in me.
"It's supposed to relax the soul." she breathed in and out heavily as she went to find a plug. She extended the cord and turned the hairdryer on.
"If you think you're getting that anywhere near my head, I will-"
I said. But Dr. Sam, my therapist/counselor/yoga master/ crazy wako my mom set me up with to fix my OCD, cut me off before I could finish.
"Maisie! Stop being so stubborn and let me blow dry your hair!" I shook my head vigorously and left the room. I grabbed the helmet off of my bike, and the sponge inside. I cleaned the bike and helmet in a matter of 3 minutes while Dr. Sam was in the small trailer messing with the blow dryer. I rushed to put my helmet to escape from this psycho-maniac with a "degree" and peddled the fastest my legs could peddle all the way home.