I've always had a thing about lines. No, not the kind you stand in. Nor, the kind that hang from telephone poles. It’s what captures my attention. The lines where a wall meets the ceiling or one type of floor intersects with another type of floor.
I think things should line up. My shoes should be pointed just so on the floor. When moved, the TV should be moved exactly back to where it belongs. For me, most things have a place. On my desk at work, things are placed carefully. I can tell in an instant when someone has moved something or been in my space.
I can't stand it when the handle of spoons or forks in bowls or on platters point at me. In fact, I don't like it when they point at not only me, but also my daughter and my partner. At a round table with friends and family, I have to just give in. Everything can't be not pointing at someone.
It can be a bit annoying. However, my partner has lived with me for so long, and some of my behavior mirrors her father, so that she just doesn't take it personally.
I know this is a touch of OCD for me, also known as, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I am lucky in that it appears to be fairly mild and doesn't get in the way of major life activities. Many people with OCD are not so lucky.
My partner has long since gotten use to my sitting in a chair and then getting up just to move a magazine on the coffee table to be square with the edge of the table. Don't get me started with magazines on round coffee tables.
When I vacuum the bedroom, I see that my partner's shoes are placed every which way. I think to myself, "How can she stand to live that way?" Fortunately, I do not feel the need to straighten her shoes but only my own. That fact alone has probably saved our marriage.
When I went to live with my grandparents at 14, I wore long, white knee high socks. I had issues with the pairs of socks being the same height on my legs. So, I devised a plan to keep them properly paired. When I got a new pair, I used a black marker to number the foot of the socks. I had pair “1,” “2,” “3,” etc. I had an issue with sixes and nines. I could only use one or the other, because I couldn’t be sure which side was up. I feel for my poor grandmother who did the laundry. But, she was patient with me.
When I was 15, my grandparents took me to Florida. My grandfather was attending a conference. One afternoon, I was sunning myself on a deck chair by the pool in my bathing suit. A man walked by, looked at my feet, and said, “You know, they do that to dead people.” I had no idea what he meant. He gestured to the bottom of my feet. I looked at the bottom of my foot and there was a black “3” clearly marked on my foot. Sweat had transferred the sock number to my foot. For a 15 year old, that was embarrassing.
When I was young adult, I had a 1969 Mustang that my grandparents had given me. I had to leave it parked at a parking lot several blocks from my work. I was terrified it would get stolen. I had a hell of a time leaving my car. "Did I lock it?" Go back and check, "Yes, it's locked." I start out again. "Wait, did I turn off the lights?" Go back to look. "Yes, they're off." Walk away again. “But, is the dome light off?" I’d go back and check. I couldn’t hold onto knowledge that things were all right long enough to leave the car. This would drive me nuts.
It got so hard to leave the car that I finally just figured out the six things I needed to check before I left the car. I would count the six things off: driver side locked, head lights off, dome light off, passenger side locked, car in park, do I have the keys? It made it much easier to leave the car and more timely to get to work. Although, I felt like a pilot checking the plane before take off.
For a time, I had trouble with locking the front door of the house. "Did I remember to lock it?" Got back and check the lock. A few more steps, "But, is it really locked?" Go back and check. It got so bad that I finally decided that if I checked three times, it must really be locked. Therefore, I will would not check the lock more than three times. Fortunately, this was a line I could hold.
It was really problematic when someone broke into my workshop and stole $3000 worth of tools. I had good homeowners insurance and learned that tools don't depreciate. But, are things safe? Were the thieves coming back to my house? For a bit, I got so worried on some days that I would put a stuffed sleeping bag on the couch and turn on the TV so someone would think I was home sick. Oh boy, I really didn't want to go too far down that track.
When I'm bored or exceptionally upset, I look at lines on walls, ceilings, or floors. While waiting in restaurants, I look up at the ceiling and look at the wires, lighting, pipes, crown molding, or anything that's in a straight line. Somehow, I think it might clue me into something important. I have no idea what, but it is comforting.
I assume this is somehow related to trauma I experienced as a kid. While enduring something very upsetting, I distracted myself by looking at lines. I believe it is something I used in my mind to feel I had control. I remember doing it in junior high when I reached the height of my early mental health issues.
From when I was a child, I made patterns of sevens with my fingers. I touch three fingers down and then four. Or, five fingers down, and then two. I still do that when I am stressed, but I have learned to be subtle so no one else notices.
We all find something to comfort us in trying times. Sometimes, that comfort item is reasonable and regular, like getting a hug or holding a teddy bear. Other times, it turns to something that is irregular or strange to other people.
Fortunately, in my mind, I no longer feel trapped by these things. Sometimes, I can even let the magazine on the coffee table stay crooked. But, DON'T point that spoon handle at me!
I know, though, there are other folks who struggle so hard just to get ready for school or work, just to leave the house, just to drive to work without making any left turns, or walk down the sidewalk and not step on cracks. I feel for that struggle.
I've had some humorous and difficult times. But, remember, it is just a light dusting of what others go through. Be kind. We all have lines.
Joceile
1/1/17
Can you guess which shoes belong to whom?
Can you guess which shoes belong to whom?
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