Читать книгу Leaving the OCD Circus - Kirsten Pagacz - Страница 15

There was nothing I could do about my dad's crazy, drug-fueled life or my mom's busy work schedule and the late hours her demanding job required, but I could tap. I could tap, and the chaos inside me would stop—at least for a little while.

I started playing the Tapping game more and more. I tapped in school, at home, anywhere. I tapped on my favorite green corduroy pants, the kitchen countertop, a stranger's parked car, my school folder—no place was off-limits for the game. I even tapped on Angela, my Siamese cat, which was especially hard because she was a living target and rarely stayed perfectly still. It would take me a long time to tap correctly on her soft and smooth fur.

Of course, the Stranger was always there, always judging.

The Tapping game was especially hard if it was at a higher number, like thirty-two or forty-five. Sometimes I would have to chase Angela around the house or pull her out from under a chair or the couch so that I could finish tapping on her back. Sometimes, if she was particularly unhappy with me, she would puncture me with her pointy fangs, but I would work through it. I had to.

A substantial portion of people do what they are told to do, irrespective of the content of the act and without limitations of conscience, so long as they perceive that the command comes from a legitimate authority.

DR. STANLEY MILGRAM, IN THE SOCIOPATH NEXT DOOR BY MARTHA STOUT

Eventually, once the Stranger thought I'd gotten good enough at Tapping, he graduated me to some new challenges. By this time, however, he was sounding more like a military sergeant. He spoke with a soft voice, but he was very, very insistent and there was an omnipotent quality about him, too—there to make sure I did everything correctly and to code—and to keep me company like a friend.