Dear OCD…

Posted: March 2, 2011 in OCD
Tags: , , , , ,

I’m getting a little tired of eating the same shit over and over.

Okay, I love my KSP* wraps. I love my ham and Swiss sandwiches (NO TOMATO!!!). I love my dry Vector cereal and my Sweet’n’Salty peanut butter granola bars. And when I go out, I love my pepperoni-mushroom pizza, or my plain avocado-free sushi rolls, or my tomato-and-onion-less fast-food burgers, or my meat-and-cheese-only donairs. And once in a while, when I actually sit down to buy a meal, I love my ribs or salmon and the Caesar salad that comes on the side.

But isn’t it kind of sad that I quite literally just boiled my diet down into one short paragraph? Yeah, I know I didn’t include all the candy and chips I eat, but even that list is limited. Also, I do eat veggies, but not nearly regularly enough, and I tend to eat only broccoli, cauliflower, green beans, asparagus, peas, cucumbers, carrots, and corn. Maybe lettuce. Maybe. A few fruits. I can count them on one hand. And drinks? Apple juice, wildberry juice, lemonade, Coca Cola, lemon/lime Gatorade, the occasional cup of coffee (with a veritable island of sugar growing from within), and lots and lots of water.

There. Bezuidenthustra’s entire diet, including all the details. You ask most people, they’ll tell you what they don’t eat, since it’s only a few things. Me? I’ll tell you what I do eat, since going through what I don’t eat could take all day. It’s just easier doing it my way. Hell, the proof is right here on this page. Two paragraphs. That’s all it took. Now anyone reading this can be my personal chef. Reader, you’re hired. Make me a KSP* wrap, stat.

Now, people can easily look at this and say, “Well, buck up, chump. You just have to get over it and try a few things.” That’s probably true. Well, it could be true. Only, there’s one little thing getting in the way.

That’s you, OCD. You’re getting in the way.

You see, my food issues look like preferences, but they’re not. Oh, sure, I tell people they’re preferences, but preferences are things you can ignore when necessity calls or you feel like it’s time for a change. I can’t do those things. I would literally rather starve to death than eat a tomato. I’d much rather abandon a night with friends than try Suzie McChum’s delightful stuffed green peppers. (I don’t mean that figuratively, of course. I’d love to try Suzie’s metaphorical stuffed green peppers, ifyaknowhatimean.) I’m about to head off home to see family I haven’t seen in nearly a decade, and instead of being bursting with excitement, I’m worried about how awkward dinner’s going to be and what I can say to least offend them.

And why do these things happen? Because of you, OCD.

Somewhere in Bezuidenthustra’s murky past, simple likes and dislikes turned into obsessions. I don’t really know when, how, or why. It doesn’t even really matter, to tell you the truth. The point is that it did happen. You somehow got your claws on this aspect of my life, and you’ve been slapping me around ever since. It’s a food fight, and I’m not talking about the fun neon splatter kind of food fight. It’s the bad kind of food fight. The kind that fucks me over good and proper.

When it comes to my diet, you’ve been slipping me anxiety pills since I was a little kid. I’m not leery of trying new things because they’re gross. I’m leery of trying new things because my anxiety sky-rockets. I’ve literally broken into a sweat before. I snap at people. I run away. It’s not about the food. It’s about the fear. A while ago, I ordered a burger (NO TOMATO!!!) and, being famished, just tucked right into it without doing my usual inspection. Lo and behold, a tomato lurked within. I ate half the burger before I diagnosed this bizarre taste and texture as belonging to my arch nemesis. That realization plunged me into a spiral of dread. The blood drained from my face. I started shaking. I fought the urge to vomit for nearly an hour. This small chunk of tomato is destroying me from the inside out, I thought to myself. But then I corrected myself. It wasn’t the tomato destroying me. It was you, OCD. Your anxiety. The tomato was just some silly fruit. Or vegetable. No, wait… fruit. Yeah, fruit.

There’s no rhyme or reason to these “preferences”. I mean, yeah, I rationalize it to myself and others, but that doesn’t mean it’s actually rational behavior. It’s quite literally the opposite. It’s you, OCD, tripping me, slapping a KICK ME sign on my back, then pointing and laughing as I stumble off into a netherworld of social judgement. It’s you, pulling my strings, compelling me to eat and drink whatever you feel is appropriate on any given day. “Welcome to OCD’s! Table for one?” Damn right. I’m your only customer, asshole.

Well, I’m getting tired of eating the same shit every day. I’m getting real close to losing patience. I don’t particularly like monotony, and I don’t particularly like feeling unhealthy, and right now, you’re causing a hell of a lot of monotonous unhealthiness in my life. Most of all, I don’t like alienating my friends. You’re one friend-alienating son of a bitch, you know that, OCD?

I may not be eating a tomato tomorrow, but the next time I run into an avocado, I’m going to take a shot at it. And I’m going to laugh when you start squirming instead of me, OCD.

Masticatingly yours,

KSP = Ketchup, Sliced meat, Pickle. However, since last July, I’ve turned to making KSC wraps instead, replacing the pickles with cheese. I just still like the sound of “KSP”. And yes, that’s literally all there is in that wrap. Lay wrap on counter, slap down sliced meat, sprinkle cheese, squirt ketchup, roll ’em up, microwave, eat. Rinse. Repeat.

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