This past week of October was OCD awareness week. OCD, or obsessive compulsive disorder, is clinically defined as a condition characterized by obsessive and compulsive behaviors. Obsessions can be classified as recurring or persistent thoughts, urges, or images that are intrusive and unwanted. Compulsions are repetitive behaviors or mental acts that an individual feels a need to perform in response to an obsession.
I can’t exactly remember the first time I encountered the term, but I remember it being portrayed as the stereotypical need to be excessively clean and organized. I loosely remember even making jokes about it myself. I’ve always been a little bit of a clean freak, and I appreciate when things are organized. There were moments when little things that I wanted a certain way would make me jokingly say to others that I must have OCD. I had no idea that a lot of my other internal behaviors would actually end up being it.
It was around my sophomore year of high school. As it did for many, the isolation during COVID hit me hard. My anxiety was the worst it had ever been, and I struggled to get through everyday without feeling a sense of derealization. It was hard. It was different from much of the anxiety I had felt in my life before, causing me to physically feel ill and hold me back from doing the things I loved. Physical sensations made my mind spiral through endless lists of “what ifs.” Countless trips to the doctor led to consistently being told that there was physically nothing wrong with me, but that wasn’t enough.
I started going to therapy the summer before my junior year. I had gone to therapy briefly when I was around eight years old after my grandfather had passed away. I was nervous to try it again, as all I was left with was the fuzzy memory of the dark and stuffy room I had gone to when I was young and struggling to understand what had happened. I knew it was time to try it again.
We talked about everything at first, how I was feeling, things about my past, specific triggers for my anxiety. It was unassuming. I had always known I had anxiety, that wasn’t a breakthrough by any means, but things started to hit me more when I was handed a piece of paper and asked to fill it out before my next appointment. It asked questions about different obsessions, thoughts, fears, suspicions, anything you could think of that could get stuck in your head over and over again.
It started to all click. Not only did I deal with anxiety, but it was pressured by intrusive thoughts that left me to spiral. It made me understand the way my mind works and the ways in which I can navigate it. Going to therapy and discovering more about myself was one of the best decisions I could have made. I now understand the thoughts and feelings I experience every day and have tools and methods to combat them.
OCD is not just the urge to be clean and organized. It’s anxieties about your health, morality, actions, needs, and much more that hangs stagnant in the back of your mind. For me personally, it can range anywhere from having to hit my toothbrush on the sink twice before I can brush my teeth just because it feels right, to worrying the food I’ve eaten hundreds of times is going to send me into anaphylaxis. It’s unpredictable, but as time goes on I’ve learned the patterns and come to the realization that it really only makes up a small portion of who I am. With OCD awareness week behind us, I urge everyone to continue to raise awareness and reduce the stigma around it. I hope to remind everyone that as cliche as it may sound, it’s okay to not be okay, and there will always be a brighter day ahead.
Yours Truly, Maggie
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