When I was a child, I had moderately bad OCD. Not so much an aversion to germs or a set of superstitious rituals, but a painful anxiety related to perceived disorder and an urge to put things exactly right. That meant endless straightening (90-degree angles only), cleaning for the smallest specks of dust, going back time and again to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be. Beneath this mild affliction, I learned, is a hatred of disruption, of events spilling out unpredictably and — even worse — uncontrollably.
When the world feels hostile by its very changing nature, ...
Continue reading this article with an NRPLUS subscription.
America 250 Special Offer: 6 Months of NRPLUS for $17.76.
