What It’s Really Like to Have OCD
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I see misconceptions about OCD floating around the internet far too often.
Though the stigma is steadily lessening and people are becoming increasingly aware of the true nature of mental illness, I nonetheless constantly see articles and posts, such as this, which make the disease seem more like a quirky personality trait than an anxiety disorder affecting millions.
How many times have you heard someone say something along the lines of “I’m so OCD!” when really they mean that they like staying organized?
I get it. OCD can sometimes manifest itself in extremely visual ways. It can cause compulsive cleaning, hand-washing, or organizing. And to outsiders looking in, it may seem as though the person with these compulsions is just a little bit anal about staying tidy. So, if you also prefer cleanliness, it’s easy to adopt OCD as a slang term for being stressed out by a mess.
But OCD is far more complex than this. People suffering from the disorder perform their compulsions because they feel they have to and as though something inconceivably horrible will occur if they stop.
Others don’t have compulsions at all. Their OCD is almost purely obsessive and results in a feedback loop of horrifying, never-ending thoughts.
The fact is, OCD can present itself in numerous ways, not just as the desire to be clean as portrayed in pop culture and the media (think Monica from Friends).
My goal here is to contribute in my own small way to the destigmatization of mental illness by describing as best as I can how OCD affects me. Others can experience it in completely different ways, which is part of what makes OCD, and mental illness in general, so confusing.
Hopefully, with enough focus on awareness, we can deconstruct the stereotypes that fuel the confusion.
We all have intrusive thoughts every once in a while, but for someone with OCD these thoughts rarely stop.
As an example, maybe you’ve thought once or twice something like, Huh, this mole is dark, what if I suddenly got cancer? or what if I jumped in front of this car?
If you don’t have OCD, you probably follow up those thoughts by thinking “that was silly” and then move on with your day. You might not even remember having the thoughts because they were so illogical.
For someone like me with OCD, these can become matters of seemingly life-or-death importance. The thought process might instead go like this:
What if I suddenly got cancer? No, that’s ridiculous, you don’t have cancer. But what if I do? I’ve been wondering about this mole on my arm, is it cancerous? How could I even know? Well, I’m not sure. What are the symptoms? I’ll just quickly Google it to reassure myself. Oh, fuck, early symptoms of a tumor can include fatigue, weight loss, indigestion, loss of appetite… I have been tired lately. Ok I’ll quickly hop on the scale to check… shit I think I lost 3 pounds. And this mole does seem like it’s been growing. Should I go to a doctor? No, you’re being stupid. But what if it’s cancer? Wouldn’t it be better to catch it early? How could I know? How can I figure out how to be sure? Let me do a bit more Googling to reassure myself. If I pick the mole off then it can’t be cancer. I’ll just get rid of it.
And so on, until I’m so deep into a spiral that I forget what started the thought process to begin with and I find myself sitting in the bathroom with a knife and a bloody arm.
I’ve had similar spirals not just about cancer, but about basically every life-threatening illness you can imagine, and some you’ve probably never heard of.
I’ve skipped classes to get tested for HIV, left the movies early to do pushups in the bathroom in order to test for the atrophying muscles that accompany ALS, and had my blood tested by a number of doctors, just in case the prior one missed my obvious signs of leukemia.
Sometimes the thoughts last for weeks and take control of every aspect of my life. I once spent 4 months convinced I was showing early signs of Multiple Sclerosis, which caused me to perform numerous strength checks throughout each day and spend countless hours combing through research on the internet.
At the worst point I was probably spending about 3–4 hours per day on the internet chasing the non-existent end of my thought loops. It was time I could have used for homework, friends, or hobbies, but instead was spent in my room on the computer. I wanted so badly to stop, but couldn’t. I figured that if I researched enough about the physical illnesses, health anxiety, and ways to treat both, I could reassure myself once-and-for-all that I was healthy.
(One product of this is I’ll now be great at any trivia questions that involve symptoms of life threatening illness. Give me an illness and I’ll bet you I can name you at least 5 symptoms. Go ahead. Try me.)
The point is that with OCD, small problems can quickly become humongous. I’ve had episodes where I do something simple, say eat a slice of cake, and against my will my brain goes:
Oh god, that was really unhealthy. Think of all the horrible processed sugars and carbs you just ingested. Think about how many processed, unhealthy foods you’ve consumed throughout your life. Who knows what they’re doing to your body? You’re going to get obese because of this, or get heart disease or diabetes or have a stroke or get cancer AND THEN YOU’LL DIE. You need to go do a hard workout right now, and just to be safe, you should skip your next two meals.
These thoughts are so obviously illogical when reflected upon, or when described to someone without the illness, but they feel so incredibly real when they’re happening inside your head that you can’t be sure what is true and what isn’t. Each thought, regardless of its logical merits, must be attended to until it is resolved. And with OCD, the thoughts are rarely resolved.
At it’s worst, it feels like my brain is being forced onto a track for a race it hasn’t prepared for and then told to run until someone says stop. The problem is, no one ever says stop.
I felt compelled to write this because I wouldn’t have realized I had OCD or made strides to treat it if I’d continued to believe in the OCD stereotype. When I came to understand that the disease can be more than the need to be organized (because I am most certainly not organized) it was easier to identify what I was feeling and seek help.
I’ve now been on medication for 2.5 years, developed a relationship with a therapist, and can happily say that my last obsession over an illness was more than 9 months ago. Options for treatment exist and can help drastically with managing the illness. But first, we need to break the stereotype and the stigmas so those in need can feel confident enough to reach out.
