Read Online Am I Normal Yet? by Holly Bourne - Free Book Online Page A

life. Plus you know how much she worries.”
    The smell of spag Bol, slightly burned, wafted up my nostrils as I entered the kitchen. “Mmm, smells great.”
    Mum frantically stirred a pan and didn’t turn around. “Evie, do you mind boiling the kettle for the pasta? Oh God, the sauce is too thick. How do I make it less thick?”
    I steered past her to grab the kettle. “Just add more water and keep the lid on.”
    She did as I said, but all clanging and banging with the pan. My stomach turned. Having Mum cook always made me stressed. She got in such a state about it, like every meal was as important as Christmas dinner. It was so much easier when we just heated up fish fingers.
    â€œDad’s home from work early,” I said.
    â€œYes…yes…” she muttered, now lifting up the lid to peer at the sauce with genuine fear. “So, how was your appointment then?”
    â€œOkay. The usual.” I flicked the kettle on to boil.
    â€œDid Sarah give you any homework I should know about?”
    I shrugged, even though she wasn’t looking at me to see it.
    â€œJust the usual. Don’t go mad again. ”
    She whipped round and a bit of sauce flew up and splattered her apron. I didn’t tell her.
    â€œDon’t talk like that when Rose is around.”
    â€œWhat? She’s watching TV. And she knows what’s going on!”
    â€œYes but still…she’s very young, Evie. It’s best not to…you know…make her more aware of it?”
    â€œOCD isn’t chlamydia,” I said, copying Rose. “It’s not like she’s going to catch it off me.” Though there was some research to suggest OCD could be triggered by learned behaviours. They asked about my mum a lot when I went through psychotherapy on the ward…
    She bashed the pan down, splattering more sauce. “Evie, that’s disgusting! I’m just saying, we don’t have to rub it in Rose’s face now, do we?”
    I took a deep breath, knowing arguing only made her worse. Then she’d start crying, or blaming herself, or overcompensating for the guilt by following me around the house like a prison inspector, making sure I was following Sarah’s homework to the T.
    â€œCan I help any more with dinner?” I asked, offering it like a peace pipe.
    Mum pushed some hair back from her face. I tried not to think about the hair getting into the spag Bol. I failed.
    â€œDo you want to help with dinner?”
    â€œYes, Mother. That is why I asked.” Another deep breath.
    â€œAll right then, can you lay the table too?”
    I dutifully got out all the relevant cutlery and only released my big sigh once I was in the dining room. My mum – oh the issues. I know saying you’ve got issues with your parents is about as groundbreaking as saying “Hey, I have to poo most days”, or “You know what? Sometimes I get bored” but that doesn’t make the issues any less true. Oh, I love her. Of course I love her. And she’s a good person. I’d even go as far as to say she’s a great mother – until it comes to my “mental health problems” – then she’s…well…how exactly do I put this…?
    â€¦ She’s a nightmare.
    Okay, well, both she and Dad are, but she’s worse. Like, I’m sure it was very traumatic and all, to have me go just so very mad. But they’re so…scared of me now, that I feel almost like a shared science project between them – the “Let’s-never-let-this-happen-again” project. To be fair, in one of our family therapy sessions, the CBT lady at the unit told them they had to be “strict” with me, “for my own good”. Because us OCDers can be quite the manipulative bunch, getting everyone all worried about us, convincing them our fears are totally valid, becoming puppeteers of everyone around us, emotionally guilt-tripping