She saw a speck of dirt on the hem of her dress. She rubbed at it. The stain only spread farther. She took a sheet of wet tissue from her handbag and rubbed at the spot. “Out, spot, be gone spot!” she said. The moisture only dampened the mark. The blight remained as elusive as ever. She looked at her hand. The black was transferred onto her fingers. She rubbed her fingers together. The smudges proliferated. Her hands were soiled. What was wrong with her? No matter how hard she rubbed, the stain was there. Worse, the stain had spread. She rubbed her hands on her thigh in frustration. Oh no! Now her dress material at the thigh area was smudged with black. “I mustn’t let this get a hold of me. It is only obsessive compulsive disorder. There is no stain.” Then she had a sudden thought. “The stain is in my eyes! I must rub it out of my eyes!” A few minutes later, the stain became the focal point of her eyesight. She only saw black.
A story of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
