My
OCD started when I was around 9 years old.
One evening, when I was in bed, I overheard my dad talking about heart attacks. Later that night I woke with a start, with my heart racing, gripped by the fear that I was going to have a heart attack. Strange as it may seem, taking a drink of the milk that was next to my bed seemed to stop my heart from beating so fast.
This was the start of my OCD. From here on it span out of control, manifesting itself in many ways: washing my hands again and again, switching a light switch on and off tens of times; much to the amusement of my younger brother who referred to my OCD as a “habit”. This was how I too used to label it, as I didn’t even know such a condition existed until much later.
My OCD gradually got worse, so bad, it began to affect school, home and every part of my life as a teenager. Reading books, which I had always loved, became increasingly difficult. The irrational side of my brain made me read and re-read the same phrase, even the same page over and over again. It made me so tired and frustrated, I just couldn’t be bothered to read anything of value. What was the point? I didn’t enjoy it anymore.
Over the years, I just “coped” with my OCD, obeyed it, it was just easier to. Putting shoes on and off, until it felt “just right”, touching things in a certain order before I went to bed just seemed normal to me. There were just such horrible thoughts intruding my mind. Friends, family dying, getting injured, myself having a fatal heart attack. Every headache was a brain tumour, every pain some terrible disease. It was much safer in my mind to just comply with my “habit”.
It got worse after my dad died from the dreaded heart attack brought on by Cancer; all my fears from when I was younger came flooding back. Had I not touched things or ritualised enough? I felt the lowest ever. The world was so black, there was a heavy gray cloud over my eyes constantly. At Christmas I didn't open all of my presents, what was the point? I might not live till tomorrow to use them.
At 18, I went to University, and despite my OCD I managed to study for a BA in English, which ironically involved reading a lot of books!
Gradually I developed a coping mechanism, which dulled the OCD during my studying, making it bearable.
One day, I read an article on the internet about something that sounded
similar to what I experienced every minute of every day. Finally I could
give it a name: “OCD”.
Having that label reassured me, it meant that it wasn't only me; I wasn’t
mad, other people had this too. I began reading about OCD, and gradually
managed to bring my condition under some sort of control.
I still suffer from OCD every day, still have rituals and thoughts which scare me, but I know now that whatever it is in my mind can’t hurt me. The only one who can do that is me, by listening to it and acting on it. It is so hard sometimes, but I just refuse to let some stupid brain electrical circuit fault take over my life.
I have a job I love with an airline and a partner whom I adore. I now have the life I always wanted. The OCD can never even compare with that.
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