I'm sorry sir, but is that your capacity being diminished?

I have a new mantra: it's not me, it's the OCD. It sounds a little plaintive compared to ...

From ignorance, lead me to truth;
From darkness, lead me to light;
From death, lead me to immortality.

... and certainly lacks the Buddhist mantra's ambition ("from social paralysis, lead me to a pleasant social engagement with some nice people and an ability to really be myself, but nothing too intense"), but it works for me.

The words themselves are taken from the four steps. Yes, having spent most of my life sneering at self-help as self-indulgent clap-trap I am now going through the stages of relabelling, reattributing, refocusing and revaluing. Frankly, I have no right to be cynical when I'm the one with bailiffs on my door wanting payment for a bill I would have paid except I'm, errrr, frightened of the post.

"You have to pay."
"Oh."
"If you can't pay we're able to take possessions to the same value."
"Can't I just give you cash?"
"Er, you can pay?"
"Oh yes."
"Most people can't you see. That's why they don't."
"Oh I imagine so, yes."
"Why didn't you pay earlier then?"
"Well, it's a long story, but, erm, I'm frightened of the letterbox."
"Right. Bit of a nutter then?"
"Yup."
"Seeking help?"
"I'm on this fascinating thing called the four steps. Something to do with relabelling, retiering, repaving and re-tarmacing. I think. It's all a bit new."
"The four steps. Not much of a name is it?"

No. No it isn't. It sounds a bit like a pub. Or a generic alcohol rehabilitation programme. Or an early draft of a Richard Buchan novel before the publisher got him to change the title.

"I like it, but I'm not sure about the title."
"The Four Steps, what's wrong with it?"
"Sounds a bit like a self-help book."
"How about The Thirty-Nine Steps?"
"Sounds like a really, really ambitious self-help book. But it'll have to do."

When I heard about the Alpha Course I thought "that sounds interesting, it's got the word Alpha in it, it must be very intellectual". That was until I saw the footnote and saw the "may contain traces of God" warning and decided to leave it at that.

However, the branding is only my first issue with the four steps (it's not even capitalised, what were they thinking?). The second is the way I have started blaming everything on the OCD. What's that smell? It's not me, it's the OCD! Who ate all the pies? It's not me ... And so on. At what point does this become an excuse?

"So Mr Laphroaig, these dozen dead bodies."
"Fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh. I smell ... evening primrose body spray and ... fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh ... lacey underwear."
"Well don't look at me."
"Sorry, bad habit I picked-up from Doctor Lecter."
"You want to watch that."
"Sorry officer."
"And it's perfectly normal for men to wear lacey underwear."
"Of course, officer."
"So, these dozen dead bodies?"
"It's not me ..."

Not, I have to stress, that I have a dozen dead bodies. But when I sit there, desperately trying to avoid doing whatever chore I've avoided for the past six months and therefore is now a task of biblical proportions, and chant to myself "this is not me", I can't help but hear another, more cynical side of myself saying "yes it bloody-well is you lazy sod ... now I wonder if there's anything interesting on the TV".

Fortunately it's summer - there's never anything interesting on the TV. And so, if the TV scheduling allows, my recovery continues.