Puzzling Behavior

I have recently become conscious that as I’ve gotten older my once moderately charming neurotic idiosyncrasies have become more and more fanatical. Lately, I have even questioned myself on whether or not some of these tendencies aren’t signs that I suffer from acute obsessive-compulsive disorder. Even as a young boy these irregular social patterns were very much present; but they used to be amusing and innocent. Now, they have mutated into a dreadful set of behavioral challenges that I have to face and deal with on a day-to-day basis.

Let’s take a look, shall we?

As a child I would lie on the floor hunched over my coloring books for hours, painstakingly making sure that everything was perfect. But if my crayon even so much as grazed outside one of the lines, the entire project was ruined and in my eyes considered a complete and utter failure. I would angrily rip the page out, crumple it in a ball, and immediately toss it in the trash. Other times I was predisposed to lock myself in a solitary location and complete a 2000 piece puzzle by myself in a single sitting [some of my early puzzle endeavors are still a topic of discussion with my family during the holidays]. At an early age, no one was allowed to help and I made no exceptions. Even my own grandmother, the one I loved and cherished more than anything in the world, was not given consent to participate in my puzzle creations. As I got a little older and I began to learn how to manipulate people for my own personal gains, I slowly established a tolerance for a select few. This elite group was allowed to take part, granted they agreed to abide by the rules that I set forth. The rules were simple. 

• Rule #1:      You are allowed to turn the pieces right side up;
• Rule #2:      You can help find all the edge pieces;
• Rule #3:      And, in absolutely no circumstances whatsoever are you allowed to put any of the pieces together.

Rule #3 was undoubtedly the least favorite and the main reason why I ended up doing the majority on my own anyway [to this day, these rules still apply and have been the catalyst for a number of arguments and possibly the end of what could have been a meaningful relationship]. I could go on and on about my youth and how I chose to alienate anyone who tried to lend a hand during what should have been, “leisure” activities. Whether it was stacking dominoes, playing video games, or constructing a castle from a LEGOs set; I was totally obsessed with having things done a certain way. I must have driven my family and friends crazy. I mean, honestly, who wants to be hang out with a 5-year old micro-manager?

I used to try and explain to people how it made me feel when I would find myself obsessing over minuscule and seemingly pointless details. How my head would hurt and my hands would shake when things weren’t perfect. Not knowing any better, my initial reaction was usually to lash out at someone or just break down and start crying. But trying to explain that to another child was hopeless. Unless they had felt the same anguish and torment in their own lives, I was seen as nothing more than a brat [understandably]. 

Fast forward to adulthood.

I hit the snooze button twice in an alarm that’s set 10 minutes fast [I have always set my clock forward, although the exact number of minutes ahead have varied throughout my life]. As I get dressed each morning I make sure my wallet is in my back right pocket. Keys in my front right pocket. Cell phone in my left front pocket. Left shoe first. Right shoe second [the same goes for when I take them off]. I check both my front pockets twice before I lock my door. I check my phone twice to make sure I have it on vibrate before I get into my car, which by the way, is parked in the same exact place every morning. Once I’m at work the psychosis continues. I repeatedly twist paper clips around my fingers [on any given day there is a small army of contorted metal bits that surround my keyboard and I’m convinced I’ve cost my company hundreds of dollars in paper clip expenses], bend plastic bottle tops, snap my gum, and constantly click my pen cap to the point where I’ve developed a small callus on the tip of my thumb. I haven’t been up for more than an hour and I’ve already experienced enough obsessive blueprints in my head to drive most people insane.

It sounds so simple, just normal social patterns of a daily schedule. But for me, they’re not. They’re a chore; an ever-growing list of excessively annoying habits that somehow manage to disrupt my everyday life. It’s not even the fact that I do them; it’s the fact that I HAVE to do them. I consciously think about them and when those routines hit a snag or are broken I have an extremely hard time handling it. Although the days of throwing self-indulgent tantrums and immature outbursts are over, these internal fits have manifested themselves in a darker and more ominous way.

Nowadays, I experience painful migraines brought on by stress, panic attacks, and a compilation of nervous ticks that include repeatedly tapping my fingers together or bobbing my leg up and down. But if I can draw out anything positive from all of this, it’s that over the years I’ve learned that making any attempt in trying to control these infuriating mannerisms is futile and exhausting. I’ve come to the conclusion to just accept my limitations and simply acknowledge the fact that I will never completely resolve all my social deficiencies. It also helps to know that I’m not alone and everyone has their own personal weaknesses they struggle with. And ya never know, maybe there’s someone special out there that doesn’t mind flipping puzzle pieces over for a couple hours. And maybe, just maybe I’ll even let them put the last piece together. But don’t count on it!