OCD

When I was little, any time I got an insect bite or stubbed my toe, I had to ask my mom, “Am I going to die? If I was going to die from this, I’d already be dead — right?” I also had a 30-minute prayer that I needed to say at each meal or else everyone would be poisoned and die. And corners. I had to check all of them before I went to bed.

My compulsions feel like the manifestation of all my faults, rather than what I logically understand them to be: symptoms of an illness I happen to have. I am so ashamed of them that I go to extreme lengths to hide them from the people around me.

I’m sure you’ll find it a delicious and well-stocked place. There are just a few rules