Читать книгу Leaving the OCD Circus - Kirsten Pagacz - Страница 12

It was a Sunday night. I had just spent another weekend at my dad's, and he was dropping me off at my mom's red brick townhouse in Oak Park, Illinois, like he did on every other Sunday night. He had partial custody of me, so I stayed with him every other weekend, and he would come visit me once a week. Usually, we'd go to a movie or to the park to play Frisbee or something, and then we'd grab a bite to eat somewhere in Oak Park. My mom's philosophy had always been that it was better to have a father than not to have a father at all.

This townhouse was where I lived with my mom and two older brothers, Kent and Brian, from a different dad. Dad got my suitcase out of the trunk, and Mom came out to greet us. We were standing beside my dad's blue Chevy Nova. I was tired from a long weekend at his place. I was eager for them to finish talking so I could go inside.

Then I heard something like this. It came in a voice that I had never heard before. “Want to play a fun game?” this Stranger said softly, sort of in my head but kind of from above looking down at me at the same time.

I didn't answer him out loud, knowing instinctively that our communication was not for anyone else to hear. I answered him back silently: “What's the game?”

“The game is Tapping, and if you play it perfectly, you get the prize. It's simple, but it takes a lot of skill.”

This piqued my interest, of course. I liked prizes. What nine-year-old doesn't?

“How do I play?”

“You tap your index finger precisely on the very same spot of the car hood with the same amount of pressure, over and over, exactly twenty-seven times with absolutely no error in your action.”

Hmm, I thought, I can do this. I'm certain of it. I knew the prize would be mighty. I just knew it. I believed that my reward would be feeling good inside, that I would feel calm and secure, and everything would be right again. That's what I wanted more than anything, especially after a long weekend at my dad's house. “Okay,” I said to the clever Stranger.

I felt so special. He'd designed this private game just for me and for no one else to see. So, as my parents continued to talk, I started my first Tapping game, the first instance of OCD behavior I remember.

I thought over the challenge one more time before I began. I would have to use the very tip of my right index finger and tap out to this certain designated number. Twenty-seven taps on the trunk of the car. My reward would come after I had done it perfectly, after I had dedicated myself to the game.

I found it exciting that the Tapping rules were so exacting, and I did not want to fail. I stared down at my index finger and started tapping. I got to nine perfectly, but on ten too much of the fatty tip of my index finger touched the car and with a bit too much pressure. Immediately the Stranger spoke. I would have to start over.

I looked over at my mom and dad to see if they were watching. They were not. I knew that if I really concentrated, without any distractions or interruptions, I could do it; I just had to apply myself better.

The Stranger watched over my shoulder to make sure I was doing it right. This game was harder than I thought. I had to start and stop at least a dozen times. I craved the moment when the Stranger would say, “At ease, soldier.”

Turns out my timing wasn't too bad. Just as I successfully finished the game, my parents were wrapping up their talk. I'd won. It felt so good. I felt some sort of rewarding self-satisfaction.

Of course, I didn't know I'd be playing the Tapping game with the Stranger again.

“Bye, Dad. Love you.” I grabbed my suitcase and ran to the front door of our house. Just like a normal nine-year-old. I held the screen door open for my mom.

Of course, this wasn't the only time I would hear from this Stranger. He magically seemed to know that I often felt uncomfortable and unsettled, and he knew just how to fix it: more games.