Coming Clean - Living with OCD. Hayley Leitch
and Zara, but as soon as I walked into our bedroom, everything looked wrong – it all seemed so cluttered. The wardrobe was far too big for the corner, even though it had stood there for as long as I could remember, and the bunk bed was too sharp and angular in the right hand side of the room. I shook my head in despair – everything had to be moved. My hands were clammy so I wiped them against the hem of my dress. Even the top of the white chest of drawers looked messy, scattered with hairbrushes, bands and bobbles. Everything needed sorting and I’d be the one to put it all back in order again.
How could we have let it get into such a state? Why hadn’t I noticed before?
The more I glanced around, the more I saw. My heart thudded inside my chest as panic gripped me – I couldn’t believe I’d been sleeping in such a messy bedroom! It all had to be rearranged and it had to be done now. Pushing the door closed behind me, I looked across at the wardrobe. Besides the bunk bed, it was the largest piece of furniture so it needed moving first. There was just one problem; it was far too heavy for me. I stood back and scratched my head. For a moment I thought about shouting down to Lauren to give me a hand, but I dismissed the idea because she’d only argue and say where everything should go. But I already knew where things had to go and I didn’t want anyone messing it up – I’d have to do this alone. Gripping my fingers around the edge of the wood I tried to yank the wardrobe away from the wall and towards me. My knuckles flashed white as I pulled as hard as I could but I realised it was impossible. I stood back; I’d have to think of a better way. The wardrobe wasn’t on wheels; it didn’t even have ‘feet’, only a flat base. I knew if I could get enough strength behind it I’d be able to push, rather than pull it along. But first I’d have to create a small gap, small enough to crawl into. I spanned my arms out once more and, using all my might, I gave it a small tug, which caused the wardrobe to shift slightly. It was all the encouragement I needed. I tugged again and again, using small bursts of energy until soon, it had shifted a few feet away from the wall. Squeezing inside the gap, I wedged my back up against the wardrobe and pushed as hard as I could until there was enough room to sit down. Placing my feet flat against the bedroom wall like a human crowbar, I heaved with my back and shoulders. Instead of jarring, the wooden base slid along the smooth carpet like a knife against butter until, ten minutes later, it was exactly where I wanted it to be – at the other end of the room. I was satisfied because it definitely looked better over there. I considered the bunk bed – it was even heavier than the wardrobe. Placing my feet flat against the wall, I forced my back against it. Using my feet as a guide and my back as the force, I edged it around the room. It was tiring work and it took ages. I was sweating profusely and my thin top was sticking to my skin, but I refused to give up – I needed our bedroom to be perfect. After more huffing and puffing, I managed to manoeuvre the bed into a better place. Then I tackled the chest of drawers using the same technique and brute force. With everything in place, I calmly picked up and sorted through the hair bands and bobbles, arranging them into little neat colour-coded piles. I wiped the top of the drawers even though they weren’t dusty as cleaning somehow made me feel calmer. Finally, I took a step back and admired my handiwork. A contented smile spread across my face.
Not bad! The voice congratulated me.
My pounding heart started to slow and calm. With everything less cluttered and lined up I felt better because where there’d once been mess, now there was order. It’d taken me ages to move it all but the satisfaction I now felt made it worthwhile. A slight draught brushed against my back as the door opened behind me.
‘What’s going on?’ It was Lauren. She gasped and her mouth fell open as she looked around the room. ‘Hayley, what have you done?’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘It just looks so different.’
‘But it looks nice? It looks better?’ I offered.
Lauren nodded.
‘Yes, it does look better,’ Lauren decided, jumping up onto the bed. ‘I love it!’
I should’ve been happy, satisfied that I’d sorted it all out, but I never was. To me, after that day it never looked quite right. There was always something that needed moving. If it looked wrong, then it was. It became an itch I had to scratch and soon I was doing it all the time.
One afternoon, Lauren walked into the bedroom just as I was pushing the last piece of furniture into place, only this time she didn’t look happy.
‘Mum, Hayley’s moving the furniture again!’ she hollered.
I shot her a hateful stare.
Mum’s footsteps sounded on the stairs and I cursed Lauren for telling. Mum crossed the hallway until there she was, standing right in the middle of the doorway. I’d been caught bang to rights, with my back wedged up against the wardrobe and my feet on the wall.
‘Hayley, stop that! You’ll hurt yourself!’ Mum said.
‘Okay,’ I replied, but I didn’t mean it.
Instead, I waited until she’d gone back downstairs. Once the coast was clear, I moved the rest of the furniture because, by now, I couldn’t stop myself. If I didn’t move it then I knew something bad would happen and I’d be responsible. Also, I knew just where everything needed to be, no one else did. No one else could make it perfect, and it had to be right otherwise bad things would happen.
But Lauren got fed up with me moving her stuff.
‘Stop touching my things,’ she snapped one afternoon.
She was protective of her possessions and didn’t like me moving the soft toys from her bed. I didn’t mind sharing a room as long as I could control where everything went. I even colour co-ordinated our clothes hanging up inside the wardrobe. The more Lauren complained, the more I dreamed of having my own room. Our house was big enough but Nanny Linda had one room and my parents kept another spare for Uncle Roger. He lived in Hong Kong but he often came to London on business and kept all his belongings in the other bedroom.
As the months passed, so the furniture migrated around the bedroom in an endless cycle. In fact, I was so busy moving stuff that I soon forgot about jumping the fishpond until I no longer thought about it at all. Instead, I became consumed with other worries, particularly my appearance. My insecurities occupied every spare moment I had until I constantly fretted and fussed over my looks. I was getting older and, like most girls, judged myself against others in my class. Everything bothered me about my face. My eyes didn’t look right – they were too small. I hated my reflection because my eyes always looked wrong, whatever I did to them. I focused in on them and myself until they became my new obsession. I needed to find something to make them look bigger. When Mum worked at Selfridges, she regularly brought home makeup samples which she kept locked inside a vanity box, tucked in a corner of her bedroom. The box was enormous and stood on four metal legs which were so tall they reached up to my waist. Whenever I undid it, it would open out into a cascade of different makeup compartments. One day, I was rifling through these compartments when my fingers stumbled upon something: a tube of thick black mascara. As I rolled it over in the palm of my hand, I knew it was perfect. It was just the thing I needed to emphasise my eyes. My hand was a little shaky and unsure as I coated each lash with the black gooey mixture. Within seconds, my lashes had extended. I was amazed, almost immediately I looked and felt better because my face looked as though someone had drawn on a new and prettier pair of eyes. The more I stared at my reflection, the more something changed inside. My face looked better, it wasn’t perfect, but the black, sticky liquid had made a real difference until soon I was applying it every day. Mum noticed but didn’t mind – she knew I was growing up and wanted to experiment with my appearance. But the more I applied, the more I needed. It was as if in Hayley’s world, nothing would ever be good enough.
Soon, I’d reached the end of primary school. On one of my last days there, a girl called Kayleigh approached me at the school gate, threw me up against it, and pinned me there. I was simply terrified. Mum was waiting to pick me up and saw everything. It was home time and lots of children were spilling out of school so the playground was packed. Above