Okay, here’s the deal: I’ve got OCD. It sucks. It’s Pure O, not the kind with physical compulsions like hand-washing or counting stuff. It’s the kind where you’re never sure about anything except that somehow, in some way, you must be wrong about everything you think, value, or believe in. (Although maybe those thoughts are actually features of all kinds of OCD. I don’t really know).
Anyway, I can’t really say I decided to start this blog. Deciding is not really my bag. I deliberated about starting a blog. Or learning to play guitar. Or taking a writing class. Or an Improv class. Or going to one of those group events at the Mall where everyone drinks while they paint for two hours. Essentially I just spun around and around, knowing I needed some kind of creative outlet in my life, but unable to decide which one was “just right” for me (Goldilocks and the three bears-style), but actually just trying to convince myself that each one of these would not lead to horrendous personal risk, and repeatedly failing at it.
In my “wise mind” I knew that this was insane; the stakes are pretty low here. I know no one is going to read this, and even if they do they, and I, will be fine. But my “OCD mind” can’t stop telling me that I can’t share my thoughts with anyone; there’s too much risk involved. I might influence an audience to do something, to think a thought they wouldn’t otherwise think, and lead them down the “wrong” path.
If that all sounds crazy to you, well, don’t worry, it absolutely is. But this is the way my mind works, and it seems important to me to paint a picture of this endless anxiety for people who want to understand it.
It took me a visit to my new therapist to actually “decide” to blog. My therapist worked with me on a plan to get me to stop deliberating, and to start doing. Doing something creative. Anything creative. But only one thing. One thing for three months, and while doing that one thing, I can’t ruminate on the other things I might be doing instead, or whether this one thing is “just right” for me, or any other crazy OCD thought that will pop up to tell me I shouldn’t be doing this. I just made a contract with myself, signed it and dated it, and then committed to the actions outlined on that contract, whether they scare me or not. (And they do).
With that said, The Hobgoblin is the result of that contract with myself, and my attempt to stop the endless cycles of deliberation. Per my contract, I’m going to write in my blog for at least three months (longer, if I decide I actually like doing it), about anything I want, posting at least two times a week. I’ll write about Dad stuff, Middle-Aged stuff, pop culture stuff, movie stuff, politics stuff, sex and relationship stuff (if I’m feeling really bold, and who knows whether I will be), and whatever else crosses my mind. This will be an attempt to A) try to give the reader a general sense of the contours of my OCD-addled mind, and B) prove that I can express myself despite my fears.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, whoever you are, and feel free to give me any feedback you want. I think I can take it.
Peace and Happy Thoughts!