At the peak of A’s, I don’t know what to call it, OCD activity? We could hardly walk through the living room for the paper, ruined books, playing cards, and other detritus that he just dropped or flung on the floor. He didn’t keep track of his belongings and most of the time if it was on the floor it was dirty and therefore garbage, but if I touched it he’d have a screaming raging fit and I’d have to wash my hands, repeatedly.
He slept on the coffee table because he could wash it every day and you can’t do that with a mattress. He took three and four hour showers every day. All of his bedding and any clothes that were on the floor had to be washed everyday, whether he’d worn them or not. And he wanted every load to be washed twice. The kitchen light had to remain on all the time as well as the one above the front door. He would not eat anything that my boyfriend cooked. I would either have to buy or cook him something else. All of this while recovering from back surgery. He did nothing to help. He was too busy trying to maintain some kind of comfort zone all the while adding to the pile of garbage that was causing everyone else so much discomfort.
He would get an idea for something and obsess about it until I got the materials he needed. Then if it didn’t work there would be a meltdown and the stuff would just end up in the pile across the room. When I couldn’t stand it anymore it would take nearly a week, on my hands and knees, sorting through the piles, to clean just the one room.
When we moved into our own apartment it took me two weeks to clean the living room and another two weeks to clean his bedroom, which I was not allowed into when we lived there as it was a “dirty” area and he wouldn’t know what I touched or moved. He would go in once or twice a week to sleep in a cleared out space that he had to build himself a “nest” for piling blankets and sleeping.
He was like a toddler in that anything he wanted or thought should be his became his. After we moved and I was cleaning his room I found so many of my things scattered around the room under piles of clothes and books. Things he had no business touching or unpacking, but he thought were fair game because they were in HIS room so they must be his. We had briefly moved back to our old home and things I’d packed to send for later were put in his room so they would be out of the way. When we came back I didn’t get the chance to take care of them before he decided the room was off limits. I thought they were safe in there, silly me. One of the things was a family Bible, over 150 years old, that was in plastic box for safekeeping. I found it in several pieces scattered around the room.
His anger knew no bounds. I compare him to the Incredible Hulk now, but he was much worse then. Several of the walls in my boyfriend’s house have holes punched in them by A’s fist. My computer desk, which matched my boyfriend’s and was an IKEA closeout, has holes in the top that were made by both A’s head and his elbows. He started playing Go, an Asian board game similar to chess, online and when he lost he would take it out on my desk.
He always expects to achieve high results on everything, even if he’s only a beginner or he’s trying something new. He expects it to work perfectly from the first time. He’s tried games, magic, origami, inventing. He does brilliantly at everything, especially once he gets the hang of it. The problem is getting him through the beginning stages. Because he’s so intelligent, he seems to think he should just be able to do whatever it is the first time and not need practice.
Since we have been on our own - two years now - he has cut his showers down to once or twice a week. He no longer needs to wash his bed every time he remakes it, though he is still more comfortable sleeping on the board than on a mattress. He doesn’t always smash things to oblivion, though sometimes... His sleeping area is neater. He still can’t recognize the difference between a clean room and a cluttered one, but he cut down on the scrap paper pile. He still asks me if his hands are clean after washing them. He has cut down on the number of blankets and sheets on his bed so it only takes about three loads to wash them all. It used to be five. However things still get “dirty” by some pretty confusing ways. Last week he dropped a book on his lap and because he thinks he leaks urine the book had to be thrown out because it got “dirty” by falling into his lap. Things aren’t as severe as they were, but they can get pretty “different” sometimes. As more “things” go away others crop up, but they are getting fewer and farther between and easier to deal with. Not long ago he would not have even thought about getting out of the car when we went somewhere. In the last few weeks he has gone into Walmart (at 4 A.M.) and the book store several times. He even went into the grocery store with me one day. He’s talking about taking the class to get his GED, which he should have had a year ago, but couldn’t even think about going into a classroom, and getting a job at Barnes & Noble. I’m not sure what would happen if he didn’t get a job there, or if he did! But he’s thinking about it and that’s what counts. Stepping forward, even if it’s with baby steps, at whatever pace he sets, as long as it’s forward.
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