The benjamin Brain Chronicles Begin:
Three is The Only Number; in other news, Poisonous
Leaves Resume Their Attacks After Years in Hiding
I’ve known
for a while that everybody has obsessions, that everyone has compulsions. They’re
a simple fact of ordinary life for everybody in the world. Some people must
alphabetize their CD’s, some wash their hands when they’re not certain that
they’re actually, dirty, and who hasn’t felt that nagging sensation at the back
of their skull that even though they just locked the car door, maybe
you
should go check it again? And please don't take any part of this entry as "I'm crazier than you!" I don't subscribe to the whole "Don't bitch about losing your finger, I lost my whole hand!" method of pain-comparison. All I'm doing with these entries is laying out how I feel and how I work. I understand that others have stronger OCD, others weaker, but none of us get a prize for it, right?
At what point can one see the
difference between standard deviation and the truly skewed? You know that time
you knew
you had to wash your hands? Imagine that all the time. Had to make sure you
turned off the stove? How about doing it nine times?
I am in no way trying to portray
myself as the most OCD motherfucker on the planet, it’s just that some people
seem to think that—because they, too, do a few of these things on occasion—I’m just imagining that I’ve got it as bad as I do. Allow me a moment to
explain what I mean when I say that my life is a constant fight against the O’s
and C’s. And The OC, but that’s different…
Three…an interesting word. Say it
aloud. Three. Not bad, huh? Do me a favor, I want you to reach for something
near you and touch it. Now, try to remember the exact way you touched it, and repeat it two more times. Whoops,
that last touch wasn’t quite the same, was it? Okay, remember that one, but try
to finish the first trio, please. Okay, good, but now you’ve only got one of
that other type of touch. Maybe you don’t need three of that one. Maybe you
could get away with one more of it, and then a single instance of another type
of touch. Oh, shit, that last one was JUST like the first one, wasn’t it? That
makes…four and two? Unacceptable. Let’s see how we can fix this…two more of the
first, then three new ones, and a single new NEW one. That will make six of one
(acceptable, a multiple of three), three of another, two of a third, and one of
a fourth. Nice. That last bit even makes a nice pyramid.
Now take a sip of water. Follow
above procedure. Tap your index, middle, and ring fingers on a surface, three
times. Now just the middle and ring, twice. Now just the index…mmm, pyramid
again. Now do this again with everything you ever do in your entire life. You
just took a step through MY door.
Maybe I better explain the pyramid.
You see, three is Teh NuMbR. It’s where it’s at. Multiples of three also work,
and three times three times three? Awesomeness. There is a pattern of three,
however, that works extra-perfectly, and that is to do something three times
and two times and a single time. In my mind, this is visualized as a pyramid, built from the bottom up:
1
2 2
3 3 3
Sometimes I even count off as I do something.
Am I drinking a glass of water?
Count the swallows, benjamin… threethreethree, twotwo, one. Okay, good. Now set
down the water glass. Rotate, so that the dimples on the side of the glass
match up with the sides of the square coaster. Now, rotate the coaster 45
degrees, so it’s a diamond instead of a square. Now line the corner up with the
edge of the table. NOW you can go back to watching the Romanian news on Scola. Until you’re thirsty again. Or need to
pee.
That’s a sampling of the threes.
That’s what ninety-some percent of my everyday actions are dictated by. Not
that alone, oh no…that’s just part of the process that my brain runs through
with nearly everything ever. My OCD piles other rituals, other obsessions on
top of that, but three…man, three’s the motherfucking FOUNDATION of my LIFE.
Even non-countable things get counted. Hugging somebody? Rub your hand up their
back, count threethreethree in your head, rub your hand down their back, count
twotwo, one. Nice. Well done, benjamin, you’ve been granted a brief respite.
Some days I wonder what it would be
like not having to do everything in a multiple of that number. Usually, though,
I’m too busy worrying about how the poisonous wind-blown leaves have returned
after a number of years on hiatus, and are once again trying to stab me in the ankles. Fucking autumn bastards.
Ask me about them later, I’m going
to work. And as I walk to the bus, I will walk three times in one sidewalk
square, two in the next, and one in the last, even if I have to leap off into
the grass to make sure I don’t go over that number.
Maybe a little smack, first, to
take the edge off.
Oh, and feel free to add comments about your own O's and C's, or ask questions...
benjamin sTone
Current Music: “She’s The One” – Robbie Williams
Last Book I Read a Page of: The Boy Who Couldn’t Stop Washing: The Experience and Treatment of
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder – Judith L. Rapoport, M.D.
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