Endless

Blue cheese is technically mold, there is black mold in the middle school, blue and black makes navy blue, Nina's Wings and Pizza has a navy logo; I think Dave Januzzi was in the navy for maybe three years, like my uncle Mike, I wonder if they would share stories if they ever met, would they cry together? Is the Navy anything to cry about? Isn't there a common stereotype that only pansies join the Naval branch of the millitary? Naval branch, naval branch, naval branch, makes me think about a nose on the end of a tree branch -- that's a weird image.

"Evan," called out the cashier at Nina's Wings and Pizza, a young woman with brunette hair that looks an old girlfriend. I try not to get up too quickly, making it seem like I'm overeager, even though I am, that doesn't come across as cool, James Dean never popped out of his seat -- he stood up calmly and walked with pride, so I try to do the same, checking the mirror on the wall out of the side of my eye, not even close. "Thank you," I say to the cashier. She really looks just like Natalia; I have my drivers license now, I wonder how much of a difference that would make, I don't think she has a boyfriend, my brother just told me he saw her at the club and she was only with her girl friends.

The old man walking into Nina's might hold the door for me, then again, he might not, he is, how nice of him, I have to speed up a bit, don't want him to regret this, I nod my head thanks, and notice his camo hat "Vietnam Veteran: U.S. Navy." I wonder what he would think about that stereotype; who'd he vote for or why didn't he vote, why'd he vote for Trump, how couldn't he see through the bullshit, maybe he's just racist; is his wife racist, or did she change him the same way my mom changed my dad, I guess my dad and I wouldn't have been friends. That makes me sad as I open my car door and sit in the driver's seat, making sure the bag doesn't touch anything other than my lap, even though I know germs can't seep through plastic and Styrofoam, I'm still weary because I don't know for sure, you can't know for sure: how do doctor's even exist when they know so much about germs and bodily dysfunctions? Are smarter people less anxious and more depressed? I'm both, I guess that about sums me up.

"Who have you seen lately, other than your parents?" my therapist asks me, it's a weird question, I don't think I've ever been asked that. "No one," I respond. I haven't been out of the house much, but I felt good on Tuesday so I went to Nina's and ate in my car, so I guess I'd be lying if I said "no one."

"I actually saw a few other people. I went to Nina's Wings and Pizza on Tuesday, have you ever been there? It's on Pierce Street and there's one in Scranton too."

"I have, but other than them, you haven't seen anyone?"

"No"

Ellen has been my therapist since I was 13 and had my first OCD episode when I had a strict routine to save the lives' of my family members, it worked, and one day I stopped having panic attacks, so I stopped going to therapy, six years later and I'm back, will I ever get better?

"Am I going to be like this forever?" I ask while I have the courage, it's a terrifying question to ask and I don't think I'm going to like the response but I've been obsessing over it recently and I'll hate it if I have to wait another week to find out.

"Most likely," she starts, I sit closer to the endge of the Navy blue couch, and run my hands through my hair. "People with OCD can't be cured but it can definitely be managed and you can live happily but you have to work hard, and medication would help a lot; have you thought about seeing a psychiatrist? You could still see me weekly to talk but I think medication would increase your quality of life tenfold."

"I have, but it scares me," she nods her head, she's understanding, I love her like I love my mother; I get so sensitive during these sessions, I start crying, Ellen turns around to her desk and grabs a light blue box of tissues, I take one and wipe my nose, then my tears, I regret this. "I guess I should have wiped my tears before my boogers, I would do that over if I could."

We both start laughing, I look to the clock, it's 6:45, only 15 minutes left, "I'm thinking about reaching out to Natalia," I've talked about her before so I don't need to explain our relationship or lack thereof. "She's liked a few of my tweets in the past few weeks, I don't know if Boomers know this but that's how us young-ins flirt nowadays," we both laugh.

Before I go outside I have two make sure there are even numbers on the clock, of course I count my steps, too, this isn't the extent of my OCD, I'm not a movie character, I have obsess over a phobia too, that's why I count my steps, they don't tell you that in movies, they paint people with OCD as orderly, control freaks -- my room is filthy but I am a control freak, which is why I got my license.

I asked Natalia on a date, before leaving my house, I dont check the time, or my steps, I'm too excited and nervous, I'm always like this when I start dating someone, I often joke that new girlfriend's are my medicine, I'm taking her to the Nina's in Scranton -- the spot of our first date, she also told me she loved me there, and I responded with the same, two months later I had a spike and could barely leave my house, even for her, I'll make a joke about how this is a grand gesture, in the back of my mind I fight off the thought that this may end the same way, how I could be stuck in an endless loop.

I think about the sailor, and how Vietnam must have been hell, it's over now, but I doubt a day goes by without thinking about it, so it will probably never end for him, comparing a Veteran's problem with mine makes me feel bad about myself, I write that in my phones notes, to make sure I don't forget to bring it up to Ellen; I start the car, if animals weren't constantly slaughtered for human consumption, would I have to worry about a cow standing in front of my car in my driveway? I text Natalia, on my way, then drive off.