A few years ago, my brother and I discussed my general displeasure with imperfections. His professor had recently purchased a new car, and like most new car owners, he was anxious about its well-being.
What if someone hits it?
What if I scratch it?
What if I spill something?
What if-
... and so on.
Apparently, this anxiety grew to be more distressing than that which would occur with any actual damage. So, he obtained a baseball bat and hit the bottom of his brand new car.
His intent was not to damage the car severely enough to impair its function nor to negatively affect the appearance; he simply wanted to make it imperfect. He did, and the anxiety disappeared. This may sound a bit crazy (I thought so, too). However, I realized that I did a similar thing with my textbooks.
When I got a new book, I was terrified of damaging it. The thought of even bending a page was nausea-inducing. You can imagine this made reading somewhat difficult (I actually considered reading my textbooks with gloves, but I realized that would escalate my crazy to a whole new level of absurdity). Forced to touch the pages with my ungloved hands, I tentatively read, turning the pages slowly with my freshly washed hands. As you can imagine, this was pretty exhausting, not to mention stressful. So, I thought of a loophole.
If I just bent a page, highlighted the text without a ruler, or did something as equally heinous to a book, I would immediately stop panicking about it. It was imperfect; thus, any attempts of preserving its nonexistent perfection were futile. I could breathe a sigh of relief.
Of course, I now take medication for OCD and that makes everything a hell of a lot easier. I can actually use my books without intentionally damaging them beforehand (I turn the pages and everything!)... but I still do not trust other people, so bugger off.
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