Title- Dealing with It

Chapter Title- OCD

Disclaimer- I do not own The Outsiders

Reviewers-

XAmberX- School… it is a very evil thing. I'm sitting here organizing Post-Its for my summer assignment as I'm typing these… 100 Post-Its! They're trying to kill me!

Darkravenx0- Thanks for the advice. I'm done with my summer assignment for English. I'm organizing the notes now. I can't believe you're moving. It sucks!

Gia- Why do you have to be that mean to me? I'm a person, I have feelings. I don't see you writing. I get good reviews; it's what keeps me motivated. If you don't like it, you don't have to read it. I didn't like that fact that you put in my friend's penname and reviewed a chapter. That wasn't cool. I can tell the difference between her and you. She IMs me when she reviews. That's how I knew. I don't care what you say to me, I'll keep writing. Please, just back off and try to be nicer (if you plan on reviewing again). I think I handled my temper very well.

Note- Resources: Kissing Doorknobs by Terry Spencer Hesser. It was a very good book and the later half of it has a lot of information on OCD. I know this chapter is a lot of talking, but it was the easiest way for me to get in the information about OCD. Everybody- I think I need a party! I finished my summer assignment! Now all I have left is Social Studies. That'll be a breeze. All I have to do is read a biography about the starter of religion.

"You aren't gonna tell me?" I asked looking at her. She shook her head. "I'm gonna find out, and you know it," I informed her.

"Not if I have anything to do with it," she said. I laughed and closed my eyes. I felt gross, but I also felt good. I didn't have to wash anything, it felt so relieving.

We arrived in New York the next day. Mom drank a lot of coffee to stay awake. She got us this really classy hotel. A hotel that was clean enough to meet my standards. As soon as we got in, she checked the time. She put the suitcases on the bed and then dragged me out.

The therapist spoke to mom, asked her how she was doing, and other stuff like that. Then she introduced me. She seemed nice. She was older, but then again she saw my mom around 16 years ago. We talked with mom and then mom left the room so we could talk privately.

"Why exactly are you here?"

"I do these weird things. I'm obsessed with being clean and cleaning and every thing needs to be even."

"Do you like it?"

"Hell no, I hate it! I don't want to!"

"When did you start?"

"When I was 7. Right after my mom lost my baby brother. It was all my fault too," I said breaking up. Tears poured out from my eyes. The lady did something weird. She came over and hugged me. She didn't call mom in, she just hugged me. I hated to be touched, everybody knew that. I pulled away and stared at her.

"Mom lost the baby and I wanted things to be perfect, so I made things even. Everything had to be even. A few months later my aunt Megan told me 'bout germs and that's when things had to be clean. I just kept cleaning, I wash 'til my hands become red and sore and the water has to be boiling hot and by the time I get out of the shower, its freezing cold."

"Okay, well, I'm going to get your mother so we can discuss things." She brought my mother in.

"Is everything alright?" my mom asked, staring at the therapist.

"Well, I think I know why your daughter does these things," she said looking at her papers occasionally. "She suffers from Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, OCD. We aren't sure if it's genetic, caused by chemicals in the brain, stress or trauma. It's been around since man first roamed the Earth, but it's all new to researchers." I do it because I was traumatized; I felt I was the cause of Jonathan's death.

"So, everybody that has it does what I do?" I asked her.

"Oh, no, there are many, many different types of OCD. There are people who fear germs or dirt, like Ronnie, people who doubt everything, people who fear harm of themselves and other people, and people who need things perfect, people who need things symmetrical."

"Is it odd to have more than one?" I asked her. I had the fear of germs, the fear of hurting others, and I needed things perfect.

"Of course not, tell me, which ones you think you have?" she was so nice. Her voice was soft and her room was comfortable. Back home, the rooms where ugly with cheap, plastic chairs. I was sitting on a loveseat next to mom. Mom had tried to put her arm around me, I simply slapped it away. The therapist sat across from us, in an arm chair. In one corner was a desk that was neat and clean.

"I need everything clean, so the fear of germs, I'm 'fraid of hurtin' others after what happened with Jonathan, and I need things perfect, 'cause nobody gets hurt when things are perfect." She nodded. "Can I get better?" I asked her. She smiled.

"Yes, your mom said you weren't spending much time here, you were going home shortly. I think, you can start your treatment on the way home. It's called Exposure and Response Prevention, or ERP. Basically, what you do is you are exposed to the things you try to stop for about an hour three days a week. I was thinking on your way home we could start by introducing you to germs. Jessica, this means you need to stop at those disgusting motels for at least an hour. No matter how much she cries or anything, you need to keep her there. She will say she hates you for making her do it, but believe me, she doesn't. Here is my address. The top one is my home and the bottom is the office, same with the phone numbers. I looked up a good therapist back home for you." She gave mom two cards and she wanted us to write and call her. She would pay for long distance charges.

I wished I could take her back home. She was really nice and seemed to know what she was talking about. We called dad that night and told him. I was so excited I found out what was wrong. I wanted to scream it. Mom let me take one, nice, long, and hot then cold shower before we left. I nervously sat in the car; the therapist said this would be hard. I believed everything she said, it must've been the way she said it. Mom locked all of my other clothes in the trunk and told me we would stop at fast food places to eat.

"But she said one step at a time," I argued.

"I just wanna see you better. How 'bout it's a big step? Or, she said we'd work on the germ thing on the way home, your others we'll do with the therapist," she told me handing me the card. I looked at the name and number.

"We were here already; this is the fat balding guy." She took the card out of my hand.

"I don't think so..."

We drove until dark and pulled up to the motel. I was in for one hell of a night.

Reviewers get... nothing. Sorry, I am unfortunately poor and school is starting. I have to hope my mommy is a nice person and lets me get the shoes I want.