Housekeeping seemed simple to me: clean, tidy, wash, clean, tidy, wash, clean, tidy, wash…

The talk therapist would later refer to this an addiction. When I scoffed saying that it was a bit of an exaggeration, she leaned forward and said calmly, “That’s what addicts say.”

Where do obsessions begin? Or end? I didn’t know. What I knew, even as we sat on the couch flipping channels, was that an obsessive mind can feel like a cauldron of despair, frothing, bubbling, overflowing. I emptied my mind in our home; wiping away my fears constantly. This one time, I ignored it and held his hand tight, and the anxiety ebbed.

“You know. When it affects you, it affects me too.” He said, his tone defeated. “You are not in this alone.”

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