May McDonald's Tale

Threat

It was on that very morning that my OCD, something I had never considered more that a minor disability, acted up. I was just brushing myself off, tears streaming down my face, and running to put on hand sanitizer when I felt strange. It wasn't really nausea, but it was similar. My stomach was churning, and without thinking, I turned around and went into my room. I didn't even need to look while grabbing my colored pencils and sharpener. I sat at my desk and began sharpening.
It started out mildly, but quickly turned to feverishly sharpening, not caring about the four blisters on my hands. I sharpened until my fingers were raw, but there were still ten more pencils to go. I continued sharpening until I felt strong hands on my shoulders. In my desk mirror I caught a glimpse of my mom carrying me to my bed and lying me down; this was followed by her gently placing bandaids on my blisters and a wet cloth on my forehead. I vaguely remember crying out for my parents to take off my clothes, because they needed to be taken off before bed.