I’m a cynical person. Skeptical of anything the cold blade of science cannot dissect. I’m an atheist, a…
“What about the Blinding?” asks Crow, and I shake a fist at that black ball of feathers. “You use a blinding white light like a full stop to finish your thoughts.”
“And my reflection, of course?” says the gorgon in the mirror. “I still catch you avoiding shadows in reflective surfaces.”
“Faces in photographs, ” says Uncle Jack. “Sometimes you have to look at them until it ‘feels right,’ if not you think those people may die as a result.”
“Remember the first gulf war?” shouts Crow. “The rituals you performed with the shadows on the wall. If you didn’t avoid them with your eyes, you thought Saddam Hussein was going to roll into town with his Elite Republican Guard.”
OK, so it’s not easy to dismiss magical thinking.
“What about the AIDS epidemic. You thought you’d contract it unless—“
“But I believed in God in those days!” I retaliate. “Or at least, I didn’t NOT believe in Him!”
“But you didn’t pray. You touched your forehead and counted to odd numbers, but not thirteen, and how many times did you go back and forth through that f*cking living room door?”
OK, I suffer from magical thinking OCD and it frustrates me to the bone because I don’t believe it for a second, but… my cynicism gets lost in the corridors of my mind, with all those dead ends, crossed wires and doubts that multiply and multiply again. There’s a tiny part of me that thinks maybe, just maybe, a billion to one that I control the destiny of people I’ve never met before. And that’s enough to send me spiralling into oblivion. A tiny, niggling itch, a drop of acid dripped onto the roof of a skyscraper, eating through a thousand stories. With all this magical thinking I should have joined the church.
ERP can help, piling more goods onto the conveyor belt at the tooth factory. Look at all the products falling onto the floor. I could have stopped the war in Syria, but the troubles in Oman, North Korea, that’s just ridiculous. A crow swoops from the ceiling and grabs a thought from the growing pile, which wriggles like a worm in its black beak. Off it flies, into the rafters, saving it for another day.
“For when it’s quieter in here, ” he’d probably say, if he was real and not my OCD avatar.
However absurd a thought sounds, an OCD brain struggles to make it disappear, dissecting it before it can toss it into the bin. A non OCD brain would mark it as spam and send similar notions directly into the trash folder. Unfortunately I take every thought on individual merit. Reasoning that attempting to stop Saddam Hussein’s tanks with rituals was obviously my OCD, but Kim Jong-un’s rockets, that’s another matter altogether. If I avoid those shadows on the wall, maybe, if we’re lucky, he won’t hit Seoul with a chemical warhead after all.
You may think it sounds silly, that such thoughts should be easy to dismiss, but to some, a fear of spiders is just as nonsensical, but try telling that to an arachnophobic with a spider on their head. Or dangle someone with a fear of heights from a helicopter and try to convince them they’re being ridiculous.
I’m getting better managing my magical thinking but if I’m honest, sometimes a few fantastical notions get through, paralysing me with fear in front of the mirror as the shadows turn to cancerous tumours. Have I deluded myself that I can cure COVID-19? Not yet, but don’t let that worry medical science, I’m sure I could destroy the virus if I count backwards from two thousand and twenty.
“F*ck sake, Crow. That’ll take me all day!”
“A small price to save humankind!” he sneers, and yes, if I had the magical powers he says I possess, he’d be right.
Luckily, today, I know it’s OCD.