OCD
Anyone who knows my kid knows that she has a bit of a "picking" problem. She picks at her scabs like a boy. Like her father. She'll turn a tiny cat scratch into a nickle sized circle in about 3 days. She has some good ones on her legs and a couple on her belly. I took her to the Dr. last year and the woman said, "yeah, she probably has a little OCD." The Dr. suggested covering the soars with bandaids and tape. Which is kind of dumb. It's just as easy to pick bandaids and tape as it is to pick at a scab, but whatever.
Picking hit it's peek when puberty came to town. Puberty kind of hit Autumn like a ton of bricks. She wore sweatshirts all last summer because she didn't want anyone to know she had breasts. Or scabs. She refused to talk about her feelings or anything she's going through. So, I have backed off. Talking would turn into fighting which turned into picking. It's not worth a battle. I had hoped we'd be able to talk about this stuff, like my mom and I never could. Ha! I bought her this book cuz I know she's got questions but maybe she'd rather read about them than discuss them with her mother who's never been 11. I know she's looked at it. She says it's evil, which translates to it's interesting and I like it. Boys are evil too.
She's a pretty resiliant kid. She's growing and changing and accepting her fate. She will someday become a woman. Her own woman. A woman who lives with OCD.
The other day on the way home she asked me, "Mom, what's OCD."
Me, "Obsessive Compulsive Disorder."
Her, "And I have it?"
Me, "Yes you do."
Her, "Cool! I have a disease!!"
Knowing is half the battle right? That's my girl!
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