Numb3r5: a D150rd3rly Pr1s0n

Numbers. I used to think numbers could give me the answer to everything. I would find myself lying awake at night, contemplating so many things, millions of numbers going through my head. I would sit up in the bed figuring bills, the number of hours I would have to work in a week, how much money was left to spend afterwards, how many hours of sleep I would get... It was a neverending chain, causing my hours of sleep to decrease in a most progressive way.1

I would find myself reading books, counting the pages, arranging everything in the house by number. I would eat by number, and even predict the number of minutes and miles it would take me to drive to work. 2

It's very easy to say that numbers had a great deal of hold over my life. Everything I did was related to a number, in some way. I would always seem to drift off, just being encompassed with all of the responsibilities I would face.3

I could never understand what plagued me like this. I once heard that there was a disorder called Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, where a person who had it would be focused on one thing, or had to do something all of the time whenever something triggered. For example: someone with O.C.D. might have to bark like a dog whenever they touched a door handle. Or someone might have to arrange everything evenly wherever they go. After some research and some development, I concluded that I might have this disorder. My O.C.D. was complex, and it was a rare form. My disorder happened to be that I needed to have everything in order, I needed to have everything in line and taken care of. Essentially, I needed to number everything in order, and get it done respectively.4

This disorder could expand severely, and it normally did. If I knew that things had to be done, such as cleaning my apartment, or doing laundry, or paying a bill, I would set those tasks in order, and they HAD to be done in that order. I could not do anything else until I finished that list. Then I would assign numbers to everything, such as how much money it would take to do laundry, how many things needed to be done in the apartment, how long it would take to clean everything, and so forth.5

This brings me to my original discussion. Because of all this, I would sit awake in my bed at night, just contemplating everything that had to be done. It would deprive me of sleep, and draw me to near exhaustion. 6

My problem caused so many disturbances in my daily life. It got to the point where I could not function normally. I would always argue with my fiance. We would fight over how the responsibilities needed to be handled, to how the bills were going to be paid. My friends also shut me out, because I was so fixated on handling everything I never had time to hang out or do anything. They positively hated it. 7

This disorder was bringing my life as I knew it down. I would just sit by myself in my apartment, thinking about how many hours I had before I had to go back to work, or something along those lines and I would bring myself down. My fiance had left, and I was alone. Everything was crashing down, and I didn't know what to do.8

I knew I had four hours before I needed to go to bed so I could get eight hours of sleep. I would wake up at eight A.M. to get to work by nine, and work a nine-hour day to make ninety dollars before taxes. I had one hour for lunch, and I made sure I would pack one sandwich, two bags of chips, and three sodas. I would have fifty hours on this check, yielding three hundred fifty dollars after taxes, and I could pay all of my bills with eighty dollars left over for groceries and gas. Then I knew I would need to make sure when I got home at six to clean the house and do the dishes, leaving me with only 2 hours before I needed to get to sleep.9

I would sit alone pondering all of this, while my life was passing me by. I missed my fiance's kisses. I missed my friend's laughter. I missed everything.10

Numbers. I used to think numbers could give me the answer to everything. Now, as I sit in this padded cell, counting the number of buckles on my white jacket, I remember how taking a deep breath and actually living my life could have prevented me from losing everything. All I know now is that it's three-o'clock and it's time for my medicine, in three fifty-milligram red pieces of happiness, to take me away from the numbers, and the pain.