It’s just a doorknob—just a little piece of metal attached to my door. For most people, it’s an overlooked necessity that doesn’t get a second thought. But for me, it’s a peril.
Until a few days ago, I’d gone the entire school year without ever touching my bathroom’s doorknob. I avoided this by either leaving the door cracked enough to let me use my feet to open the door, or I grabbed the doorknob with a designated washcloth that I kept nearby. Unfortunately, I often don’t touch any other doorknobs or handles of any kind in the rest of my apartment, either—not the refrigerator, not the microwave, not the cabinets, and not even the doorknob to my own bedroom.
Continue reading “Slamming the Door on OCD” →