At the age of 22 I purchased my first car, and soon thereafter had to replace the power steering pump. To save $, I picked up a replacement from a wrecker, and installed it myself. The job should have taken maybe an hour - loosen the fan belt tensioner, undo 3 bolts, remove old pump, attach new pump, tighten up, done. However I was faced with an added dilemma that made the process take several times that - Every 10 minutes or so I was compelled to go and wash all the grease and dirt off my hands/arms.
(Drove my mechanic’s assistant, aka girlfriend, nuts!)
No, I don’t have a OCD (err, regarding cleaning my hands)… But I am, to some degree, Tactile Sensitive (or Hypersensitive; seems people can’t decide what to name this thing).
Luckily (cos it was such an old crappy car), over time I was able to push myself to ignore the compulsion - and revulsion - and take a job to completion, then wash up all the grease afterwards.
If however, I was for instance to get a chipped nail, that’s #1 on my mind until such a time as I can get a nail file and smooth it out. No, it’s not vanity - Everything that I touch will feel like the proverbial nails on a chalkboard - putting me on edge. The sensation that travels up from nail to brain is just intolerable.
Grain of salt under bare foot? Got to wipe that off. Lovely soft micro-fibre cleaning clothes? Hell no - they feel like… having your fingerprints intimately invaded…
Thinking back to my childhood, I imagine it’s something I’ve always had. I could play just fine in the sandpit at school, but when the bell went, it was straight to the bubblers to wash my hands off before going to class.
Just another box to tick off for cosmic’s social disorders list.