Its hard to understand

It was hard to put into words. It was rather confusing and I lacked the desire to figure it out due to the frustrating nature of it. I wanted peace when I came home after a long and arduous day of the anxiety inducing place, I called school. I liked my healthy isolation, you can assume I am a surefire introvert. I love him, he's family and I would do anything for him. However, his obsessive-compulsive disorder was as powerful as my introversion and at times it was nothing short of infuriating. Of course, I would always my brother with glee and joy and have lengthy conversations about our days but my so called "me time" was approaching and I wanted that without any doubt. It was the stereotypical fears of younger siblings taking the older sibling’s stuff or going into their rooms but exacerbated by a mental disorder in which they had no control over. I never did because I knew how he was and I too would be annoyed but that was not something easily etched into his mind. When I finally had my alone time, I always knew when it was going to be disturbed by my brother coming to do his ritualistic checks. He never knocked and I had no working lock on my door which to any teenager is kryptonite. What they don't tell you about obsessive-compulsive disorder is it is not as cut and dry as avoiding germs or preferring deep cleaning. It’s a mental battle which without guidance the individual almost always loses. My brother didn't avoid germs or even make sure things are in perfect order. He simply was constantly worried about losing personal materials such as his wallet or keys. He would come into my room with his unique footsteps, which is how I knew my deep loved peace was about to be disturbed, and look behind my door or scan the room for objects that have no business being in my space. It wasn't speedy either, he could easily spend a couple of minutes searching for something that isn't there. When it was about to end it always came with the "did I leave anything in here?" The response was always a resounding no but no matter how much I said it with conviction it would never be left with an indelible mark in his mind. Just when I thought my peace was to be restored his ritual sometimes needed to be started again delaying the Zen I craved during my teenage angst years. What bothered me the most was the unintentional gaslighting. We would be in the same room seeing the same thing when the question "did I leave anything over there?" Once again, the resounding no would come and the counter question "are you sure?" appeared. He never meant to gaslight others he just wanted his anxiety over the situation to dissipate which I can easily empathize with. Yet my annoyance would never hesitate to crawl into me over the possibility I wasn't experiencing reality. Public spaces were far from easy especially when time was of the essence. Being on a train where impending closing doors does not allow for ritualistic anxiety reducing acts is quite the rough ride. Other people being around is not a deterrent for this meaning the confusing looks never ceased. He needed his reassurance for everything, the echo in his mind coming from another source. The number of pills he had in his hand, the food he ordered, and whether his grooming of his beard was sufficient. At times it was endearing but that feeling was fleeting. My own "think for yourself" libertarian mentality clashed with his need for reassurance and rituals. The need to check things it is so unknown to most of us. I'm not talking about the common "did I turn the lights off?" or did I leave the oven on?" I'm talking about the unrelenting desire to know something wholly and completely because if one doesn't their mental homeostasis is rocked to its core affecting the individual in ways most people won't ever understand. Looking back, I want to yell at myself for being immature and lacking sympathy for something I couldn't understand... at least at the time. I've grown and matured much when it came to people with disabilities and mental health disorders. I want to be able to say it was my natural journey which meant something for myself but alas it wasn't. This newfound understanding came from being diagnosed with the very same thing: obsessive compulsive disorder. I knew anxiety but never in this form. I never was able to feel so unsure about thoughts and feelings that came from my own mind. Those rituals which bothered me so I now have a need for. I want to be reassured and find relaxation like I used to. The water in my mind ripples from unseen rocks dropped for no apparent reason. I hate myself for feeling the way I did and it eats me up inside because it makes me question whether I was a good brother or even a good person. Did I deserve this? Was it some sort of karmic justice that came from being selfish with obsessed with my own peace? I later realized these questions are meaningless and plays into my specific compulsions. Perhaps my own diagnosis doesn't have to be karma but a way of bringing my brother and I closer together. The age gap was wide, my brother was an adult in most of my memories, so instead of looking at my diagnosis as retribution, I could look at it more positively. It was an opportunity to see him as a reflection rather than a distant figure. I don't have the same compulsions as my brother but the feelings and sensations surrounding them are one and the same. Maybe we can even help each other out with our respective issues and grow parallel to one another. It is no longer hard to understand.