Outwardly we smile, socialize and take life in our stride. But folded within our psyches are those blind and suffocating recesses where neuroses gnaw soundlessly, fixating on forgotten details and repeating mindless actions in an endless loop, like a David Lynch movie on replay.

the hairy

In elementary school, pimple-faced me had a habit of pulling baby hairs at my hairline, especially near my forehead. When tiny pieces of skin clung to the follicles, I felt pleasurable doses of cleansing. The result was an uneven receding hairline. Perhaps because it looked bad or because my teenage hormones dried up, by the time I found out that my obsession had a name, trichotillomania, I more or less gained control of it.

Nowadays, when my obsession gets triggered—when I’d go a bit above board with plucking my eyebrows or bravely handle my nether region—I wonder why my actions could be considered a bit deviant and problematic, when there are eyebrow threading salons, Brazilian waxing services and even expensive laser hair removal options. Offshoring these duties to professionals separated me from the act and removed my complicit compulsion. But at the end of the day, who controls the definition of “balance” and the normal?

the shopping aisle

going to Duane Reade or CVS is a mental chore. i’d pause at aisle three and examine the backs of every shampoo available.

flowery or tropical?
organic or non-organic?
oils or foams?
big-name brands or niche ones?

and that 85-cent difference…

my brain would loop indecisively as I read the fine-print, and re-read. i didn’t want to go with the tried and true. THERE! that was a decision…but it only eliminated one option and there were so many left still. i’d start feeling increasingly defeated and mad at myself for taking so long over something so negligible. but then again, i had to use whatever bottle or tube every day for two months!

i’d eventually pick up two options where difference in pricing and perceived quality averaged out. i was done with the first item on my shopping list. there were nine more to go.

the mundane

i have a habit of picking up every hair of mine off the bathroom floor,
one by one,
until i’m satisfied it’s clean
(i never use a vacuum—that would make it too easy)
i’m
obsessed with constantly tidying up in general
—a habit that drives my husband crazy
i can’t stand to see dirty plates or clothes or socks
lying around i must
line up the cereal boxes
perfectly
in my kitchen and I always flush the toilet 2 or 3 times at least,
just to be sure the job is done!!

these habits are incredibly inefficient and sometimes even harmful;
once,
in my desperation to clean out our mail, i almost threw away important
tax forms and another time, I was so keen to clean
out stains in our kitchen that I split bleach
all over our carpet

YET I CANNOT STOP.

I don’t talk about these obsessions publicly—I would feel too ashamed of being cast as the “crazy woman.” There’s a certain stereotype nowadays of high-powered, successful women who are also emotionally stunted or unstable in some manner. For example, Claire Danes’ brilliant CIA agent on Homeland has bi-polar disorder and will stop at nothing in her quest to find the truth—a woman who is truly intense, obsessive and emotionally volatile. I don’t want to attract such a stigma, so I try to mask my “bad” habits as well as I can. For me, owning up to these obsessions, mundane as they are, is almost equivalent to admitting to a drug or alcohol addiction—it’s something that sucks you in and controls you, even though you want to be free.

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By Jade and Serena
Photograph by Kristian Niemi