This Is the Third Article About My T-Shirts Not Fitting

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About two weeks ago, this: My Obsession with the Fit of Shirts Deserves Its Own Article.

Then, soon thereafter, this: My Obsession with the Fit of Shirts Deserves Another Article.

This is my OCD. This is how it manifests. My mood is rotten, which is a perfectly human thing. That is not a disorder. However, I now have an obsession that none of my t-shirts fit right. I hate them all, they all feel too small. I have not gained any weight in the past week. My shirts fit perfectly all last week. These same shirts will feel fine in a few days. But today it is all I can think about, along with the mood thing. The mood thing can’t just be something my brain works through as a process of thought. My brain needs something in the real world to obsess over. It is often the fit of my t-shirts. It is not rational. I know the shirt I am wearing fits fine. A part of me knows this. That part of me is not driving right now.

Does it matter if I am projecting? Knowing the psychological… whatever… behind all of this does nothing to solve it.

I am obsessed. It is my singular focus. I should be focused on real problems. I have them. They are the harbinger of all of this… shirt stuff. Yeah, I have half-hearted compulsions. I try other shirts. They are all the same. Oh, I have a real compulsion waiting in the wings when stores open—I am going to buy t-shirts 3 sizes too large for me. That feels like a solution! But, that is not something that is going to happen at 5:23 am.

It is also not a solution. It is a compulsion. Compulsions are not solutions. I know this, but I cannot stop this obsessive-compulsive behavior. This is why what I have is a disorder. It is not a quirk, it is not cute or interesting. It is disabling and it sucks.

It is worth writing this because the repetition is a good display of what I go through. This could essentially be one article. But it is intentionally not. It is currently three articles. I can foresee a fourth, fifth, sixth article.

The one thing I cannot foresee right now—even though one of my brains knows full well it is going to happen—is getting back to feeling like my t-shirts fit right.

I hate the world and my t-shirts.


That is OCD.