The New G.B.F.
*Note: This post was originally published on November 14, 2020, on an earlier version of this blog.
Like many of the events that unfolded in 2020, no one asked for this blog, but here it is anyway. The last time I made a blog, I was a 7th grade Gleek who believed dElia*s epitomized fashion, and Algebra 1 was the bane of my existence. I was also convinced that my best friend and I had the secret sauce to become "Blog Famous," as we proudly told our history teacher. Blog Famous? Really? Mrs. H, thank you for your patience.
Since then, I've matured and developed new aspirations. For example, now I seek critical acclaim for my Spotify playlists, a goal I set in the early days of quarantine. I've had little to no success so far, but hey, it's only been 8 months.
Damn. Even though 3/4 of a year has passed, I still find myself thinking about those early weeks back in March. Like so many others, I saw my reality rapidly turning into a Contagion knock-off, featuring a risky resurgence of bangs and an unprecedented obsession with America's captive tigers. It was surreal. At the same time, I felt like I had been preparing for something like this for a while.
Ok, well, not the Tiger King stuff. Nothing could have prepared me for the Walmart meat truck. Nothing.
See, I have OCD. And although my case is mild, I've been consciously living with this anxiety disorder since around the 5th grade. Superficially, my OCD manifests itself as you might expect: hand sanitizer would be one of the three items that I would take to a deserted island. Vacuums? My weapon of choice. For my birthday this year, I bought one of those UV phone sanitizing boxes, knowing full well that the comfort I would get from hearing an automated voice say, "Sterilizing complete," would outweigh any Madewell cardigan.
So, do you get why I felt prepared in some way? The hyperfocus on hygiene that swept the nation wasn't anything new to me; I've been disinfecting doorknobs for years. However, the consequences of these actions, or lack thereof, were.
Like a ticker running headlines throughout a newscast, my rituals of handwashing and avoiding the number 4 originate from a constant rotation of pessimistic hypotheticals and worrisome what-ifs. Stuff like, if I don't make sure the oven is off three times, the apartment might catch on fire, and the entire building could go up in flames. If I don't wash my hands with 5 pumps of soap, then my family will perish.
As you can tell, it's a real walk in the park.
For someone who does not have OCD, these scenarios sound ridiculous, maybe even hilarious (trust me, I've laughed at them). But when I was a kid, I was afraid to acknowledge an intrusive thought, believing that one grain of recognition could grant the imaginary license to be a reality. I've come a long way since then, and, for the most part, those nightmare scenarios remain just that: nightmares that I can cast off so that I can continue with my day. Honestly, it's pretty empowering when you can recognize that your brain is screwing with you. How's that for mind games?
Of course, there are days when you're off your game. Exhaustion, periods, and stress present unique challenges. And when they're entangled together, as they so often are, I can feel like I did back when I played for my town's youth basketball league: benched. It becomes harder to negate claims that I would otherwise find outlandish. At times, I struggle to ground the impact of my actions, believing that refusing to comply with some made-up rule will cause irreparable destruction. In my case, these imagined consequences commonly play out with my infecting loved ones with an incurable illness.
And then we got a pandemic. Alexa, play "Ironic" by Alanis Morrisette.
For years, I had been squashing concerns that if I didn't do x, y, or z, I would be the harbinger of doom for all around me. And as I saw New York turning on a dime and Clorox wipes becoming the new must-have item, I wondered if my worst fears were coming true. Did this mean I had to take my OCD's rhetoric seriously? It was a switch I couldn't quite compute.
Ultimately, I didn't have to.
Because here's the thing: heightened vigilance about how we interact with one another is our new normal. Masks, disinfectants, temperature checks, nasal swabs are all day-to-day experiences. Flattening the curve, second waves, vaccine trials, and antibodies are now common vernacular. These are the new facts of life. And if there's one thing I've come to understand about OCD, it's that facts are its kryptonite.
OCD thrives off the hypothetical, continually asking, "are you sure?" to sow doubt any chance it gets. And when I've found that I'm not sure; that perhaps I'm feeling a bit more vulnerable one day, I turn to the facts. Thankfully there's a lot to learn. Reading up on mask protocols, vaccine trial updates, and social distancing have not only taught me best practices - it's also helped me understand that the current state of the world is not the result of my OCD fears coming true. Since frequent handwashing is no longer an exaggeration but an expectation, my OCD now must seek new sources of concern, which is not that hard to do in 2020. It's annoying and exhausting and frustrating to push back against a new group of absurd fears, but there's also a sense of power from knowing why this is happening. Meanwhile, it's been comforting to see so many people stepping up to safeguard public health, especially when my OCD can make me feel like this responsibility rests entirely upon my shoulders.
Let me switch gears for a second here. Since a lot people have recently developed this hyperfocus on hygiene, I have to wonder...is OCD having a moment? If school was safe to hold in-person, would OCD kids would be at the popular table (six feet apart, obvs), with hoards vying for their attention? Could this be the beginning of a new social hierarchy where OCD kids reign supreme? A time where a G.B.F. now means "Germaphobe Best Friend" and has become the "it" person within every social circle? Think about it...a 2020 G.B.F. would always have an extra mask on hand. They'd be the first to share the latest CDC updates in the group chat; Dr. Fauci even once retweeted them. Somehow, they make regularly wiping down commonly used surfaces sexy, fogging up the face shields of all onlookers. And they even find the time to create a popular TikTok dance to do while washing your hands. Everyone wants to be them...at least until this pandemic is over.
I joke, I joke. But its digressions like this that have allowed me to find the humor in an overall pretty humorless time. I'm a big believer in comedy's power as source of resilience. And if there's one characteristic we could all strengthen right now (in addition to our empathy), it's our resiliency.
2020 has pulled the curtain back on a lot of longstanding social issues, giving us an unflinching look at the systems working to create a variety of inequities, prejudices, and our contributions to them. However, because of this, we've also realized how much work must be done going forward to heal and rectify these issues. I have a lot of hope for the future, but I am not idealistic. There's a multitude of hurdles before us. And dealing with my OCD over these past months has underscored just how many of these hurdles are tied to mental health alone. I hope that one of the byproducts from this time will be increasing education and empathy towards mental health and the mental health community. From basic access to quality mental health services to thoughtful representation, there's a lot of work to do. And ideas like the new G.B.F.? Well, they're just the comedic entry point.
