Overlooked Disorder

Constantly looking at my watch, waiting for the exact time before moving and taking action. Reminding myself the recent things I said to someone. Reviewing my words, my actions and other people's reactions towards me. What did I do wrong?

When I was a young boy. Lego was my favorite toy. Building in symmetrical sizes and colors satisfies me. I buy small chocolates for the spare changes my mom gives to me. Chocolates with roughly the size of a quarter, I divide them into fours, plate them nicely and well arrange, and devour them from time to time. Balance and order satisfy me as a young boy in the age of probably 6 or so. I live in the illusion that I might be a builder, engineer or architect. But I wasn't. It was just the early signs of this overlooked disorder of having orders.

At the age of 9 or 10, I was introduced with a game called Command & Conquer: Red Alert. I was never addicted to any game but this one was a personal favorite. The game is simple. You build a base, find a source of money to provide the necessary finance for the army you need to build in order beat down enemies that will do the same. It was a strategy game, the faster you beat an opponent, the better. I was never fast. I take my time. I build the perfect infrastructures in the best locations. I was anxious on how my base would look like, how my defense system was perfectly aligned. That is how I played the game - I made sure that my base was impenetrable.

At this age onwards, I find the need of placing myself on a group. Something that defines me - a talent that could describe me. Singing was off the list. Dancing was shit too - though I tried to but really I can not (I even tried from hip-hop to ballroom). I was never a sports enthusiast, I tried badminton, I tried basketball, tried the marathon, Nothing worked or probably my passion was not enough. I tried playing guitars. Finally, something I can be good at, but never good enough. I played bass guitar also - I don't even remember the basics now. I need something else so I tried to take a seat in a band. I played drums. I was pretty OK in it. I'm obsessed on beating on perfect time. Playing imaginary drumsets keeps me calm and relaxed - so I finally labeled myself as a drummer (a mediocre one).

"Writing" was just new to me. I tried writing songs before but I never finish it. I tried submitting a story when I was young - it was a fantasy as I recall. Involves trees and shit. I tried drawing. I tried comic style but it was very unsatisfying. I can't replicate the images in my mind through my drawings so as usual, I threw it down the drain.

I tried editing. Photoshop and Video Editing. Photoshoots and Video Directing. I can say I love video editing and directing. I like creating stories, short sketches, and plays. I just love adding personal humor and extending my thoughts through this art for everyone to see. Unfortunately, only a few people appreciate it. Maybe it wasn't good enough to captivate other people, huh. Or I'm just really really bad at marketing. 

I tried lots of hobbies, simultaneously. My parents, my close friends even my partner thinks I wanted to try everything. I wanna be a jack-of-all-trades. I wanted to be something everyone can understand, everyone can notice. I thought the same. I thought that I wanted to be able to relate to everyone or just in the process finding myself.

Ever since I can remember, I have a lot of thoughts before going to bed. Some nightmarish stuff that changes as I mature. Usually, it was a boogeyman under my bed or waking up with a fluffy white horrifying ghost lady breathing straight in my face or even insects crawling from my feet up to my orifices. Now, it was what if's. It's never ending. Recalling past situations and the alternate timelines if I changed my statement or decision.

I checked up the clues. Searched the web with the people having the same situation I'm facing. I have it. Before, I'm just kidding that I considered my over-organized mood was a part of my OCD. 

Like other people and myself, we misunderstood and overlooked the situation. It was not just being organized. The constantly arranging things, constantly washing or cleaning my hands, the anxieties before bed and the never-ending what if's every day, the thoughts of locked doors, the mise-en-place cooking rituals and now, I'm smoking. Everything is connected to assurance. I always needed assurance.

People will never understand the person without knowing the definition of their disorder. Until that, we will always be misunderstood as try-hards with bad and unusual habits.

While we find a cure, we find self-help treatment and seek therapy - People already gave up on us and tried to find fault within us. The pain is not the disorder itself. The pain is knowing somehow, we find hope in isolation. We travel alone inside a bubble that most people we thought would understand was standing outside, judging us.