I have the kind of OCD that deals with sanitization rather than with organization. Basically, I am Purell’s and Clorox’s number one customer. To paint a picture of the extent of my problem: On a typical day, I have four sets of clothes: outdoor, indoor, after showering and sleeping clothes. I change into another set of clothes immediately upon coming home every day because it horrifies me to think about sitting on those faded red, stained bus seats and then coming home and flopping onto my bed with the very same pants. I also have specific attire for going to certain places. When I go to the dentist or hair salon, for example, I must wear an old shirt and my most disliked pair of jeans (which I only keep for these occasions) because I hate having to fully lie down on those chairs. When I first moved into my apartment, I used disinfecting wipes to clean the entire wall next to my bed. Lecture hall tables disgust me because of the fingerprints and stickiness on most of them, so I keep a piece of binder paper folded up in my notebook so I can put it on the table before I put my notebook on top so that it doesn’t have to make direct contact with the table.

Airports are especially like obstacle courses for me. I dread flying home for break because I hate having to take off my shoes while going through the security checkpoint and then having to put my personal belongings into the same bins that people put their shoes into. My response to this: I go to the bathroom, get as many paper towels as possible and paper the entire bin before putting my laptop and jacket inside. It’s also a good day when I overestimate and have leftover paper towels that I then use to cover my airplane seat before I sit down.

A friend deems me “casually OCD” because I do my odd routines without creating any fuss. Although TV show characters like Sheldon Cooper from “The Big Bang Theory” and Adrian Monk from “Monk” possess exaggerated characteristics that are meant for entertainment, I find them especially hilarious because I can actually identify with them. Like Sheldon, if there are no paper towels for me to use to cover a public restroom door handle, I wait for someone to leave first so that I can tailgate at an uncomfortablly close distance without making contact with any doors.

I will never know if I have an official diagnosis because I refuse to see a psychiatrist even at my parents’ insistence, but having OCD isn’t an impediment. In fact, I am the butt of all of my own jokes. People always tell me that they would have never guessed I was like this because I don’t fit the typical bill of being reclusive and anti-social. If you have OCD tendencies, I would like to meet you. But don’t expect me to shake your hand.