Today is the fourth day that I have left my bed unmade. Yesterday I even messed it up a little extra and put dirty clothes on top of it. It is getting easier but the first two days gave me so much anxiety that I ran around baking and cleaning for about ten hours before crashing. I’m still not sleeping but at least now I’m not festering about trying everything I can to compensate for leaving the bed unmade. I’m also fighting feelings of stupidity and worthlessness: who freaks out over leaving their bed unmade? I do, that’s who. But having OCD is nothing to be ashamed of and hey, I’m working on it. That’s my rational brain saying that but the feelings are still there, nattering at me that I’m a stupid worthless fool that is losing sleep over an unmade bed. It doesn’t feel like just an unmade bed though, it feels like failure. It feels like coming in last in swim meets. It feels like going to grad alone. It feels like sitting at the dinner table holding back tears after being told I’m stupid. And it feels like being told that I’m smart and funny but not believing it because it can’t possibly be true and obviously you’re stupid for saying it. It feels like so much more than an unmade bed.