Free Guilty by Joy Hindle

had failed to stop my worst obsession happening. Would she die? The fear of this brought in more severe intrusive images, distressing me further. It was difficult, confined in this hospital bed, to carry out any of my usual compulsions to try to neutralise the obsessions.
    I’d always had an obsession with numbers, feelings that they had significance to my destiny. Five and a multiple of five had always seemed to bring me relief. This was serious, Mum too ill to visit me after all that had happened to me. Wild horses would not usually have kept her away. Desperate measures were called for. 5000 would surely bring her here, 5000 switches on and off of the toilet light switch. I knew in my present state it would be very exhausting, the concentration I would need to ensure it was exactly 5000. It would take ages but I had decided on 5000 and somehow I knew it was the thing I needed to start to put things right.
    At least everybody seemed to be working on the same jigsaw puzzle – I had to get going again, take my normal place in family and society and carry on. School was on the agenda, not just because it was important times with my GCSEs but because I had to participate in normal life.
    Caroline discovered the empty white sheets at the same moment Mum finally made it to the hospital. Bad timing really, as she arrived to the sound of the start of the 5000 clicks. Reassurance sped through my veins – I had been so right to obey this compulsion – it had brought her back. Mum tried dragging me back to bed. What sort of hospital was this that a patient could be given the freedom to indulge in something so obviously wrong? I was having none of it. The 5000 must be completed. Our reunion – yet another ugly fight.
    Caroline pulled the duvet back, somehow expecting to find Della languishing there! She felt anger, Della’s lack of appreciation and gratitude was like a smack in the face really.
    *
    “The jigsaw was nearing completion. I had been released from the mental health ‘section’ once everybody was satisfied that home life was stable yet again. Mum had rallied round quickly. Simon had tried his best to honour his intentions and had taken the trouble to discover from the mental health team how he and Sadie could spend time together finding out more about my condition. He has hidden talents, that uncle of mine because, miracle of miracles, there must be a God, Sadie had actually agreed to accompany me on my ERP session (Exposure and Response Prevention). Talk about Mum’s ideas to arrange family outings – bet she never envisaged Sadie would agree to such quality time with me!
    Simon and Sadie had done their research. They thought it would pacify me as we waited in the waiting-room to know they didn’t think I was alone in being such an idiot!
    ‘Did you know,’ Sadie began, ‘about 3 per cent of teenagers have OCD?’
    ‘Yes, we were saying, about 300,000 people in the UK under sixteen have it.’
    They were saying, were they! As if you just say those sorts of things! But I give them their due, they were trying, although I was still expecting Sadie to tag some sarcastic comment on to the end of her sentence. Maybe it was that final suicide attempt that made her change her attitude so dramatically or maybe we had underestimated Caroline and Simon all these years, because Caroline was trying real hard with Mum too. Paid to take her to some hotel spa for a couple of nights. Maybe they really were determined to help turn us all round.
    ‘How long do you think this session will last?’ Sadie asked Simon. I could tell she was revelling in seeing somebody else, me, having psychotherapy instead of her.
    ‘Up to one and a half hours. I think too many cooks will spoil the broth so I’ll leave you two cousins to it. My mobile’s on. Ring me when you want picking up,’ and with that he scooted off.
    Funny, but I already felt a bit better. I think it was because for the first time in yonks Sadie was my friend, not my