Life with OCD — How to live with it, and not just survive it (Warning: Triggering)
Intrusive thoughts
I remember the first time I realized that something was deeply wrong with me. I had always been a troubled kid, pathologically shy, social anxious to a point where I could barely interact with other people without giving myself a heart attack, but when I turned seventeen, I truly knew something had gone awry in my brain.
I remember it vividly. I was in high school, my last year, and I was studying History on the couch in my living room, with my mom reading a book on the armchair next to me. Suddenly, a seemingly unrelated thought raced through my mind: “What if I get up from this sofa, I grab a knife from the kitchen and I stab my mother and kill her?”
Now, whether you like it or not, everyone has this kind of thoughts. But, in people with healthy minds, that’s simply what they are — fleeting thoughts, that don’t even get recognized most times, as they are preposterous, ludicrous. However, like many other people, I never really had a healthy mind to begin with.
My brain, which I later discovered suffered from OCD — Obsessive Compulsive Disorder –, as well as one bad case of “too much self-control”, stopped that thought in his tracks and started over-analysing it.
“How can I have this type of thoughts? There’s no way I could ever hurt my mother, I love her, even if she does my head in. But then, why did I think of that? What’s wrong with me? Am I going crazy?”
Those questions repeated themselves hundreds of times in my brain. I felt I had no control over them, and it was like they had a mind of their own. They fuelled each other, over and over and over again. And, that, is when I had my first encounter with a panic attack. A full-blown mental breakdown, a fear so powerful I could barely breathe. And in my head, a chorus of my own repetitive thoughts. So, being the teenager I was back then, I did the only logical thing. I pretended nothing was happening.
Can you imagine how the conversation would have gone between my mother and I? “Sorry mom, I could use your help right now. You see, I’m half convinced I want to murder you with a kitchen knife and I’m feeling extremely anxious because of that. Could you please toss all the knives out of the window and come hug me? Please?”
So, I kept it inside. For a long time. Until, one day, I couldn’t bear it anymore, and I begged my parents to please find me a psychiatrist, because that kind of shit just isn’t right. And that’s when I met Joy, my first therapist. And that was one of the best things I’ve ever done. Which brings me to the next chapter. Never be afraid of…
Asking for help
I’ve heard people telling me, countless times: “I feel miserable, unhappy, depressed, with no will to live. What can I do?” To which I usually listen to, and then answer with, “You might want to see a therapist, because you need a specialist to talk to and figure out what’s going on.”
Nine times out of ten, I get one of these three replies:
1) “Oh, but I don’t have any problems, I don’t need a therapist, I’m not crazy!”
2) “I could go, but what if they prescribe me medicines? I don’t want them to change who I am!”
3) “I want to solve these issues with my own willpower!”
To various degrees, these answers make me so infuriated that I feel the need of punching someone.
Let’s analyse those three points:
1) You’re in complete denial. You just told me you have problems. You said you were depressed, that you felt a void in your life. That IS a problem. When something interferes with your quality of life, that IS a problem. No-one is calling you “crazy”. Believe me when I say that “crazy” people are 100% sure they are the sanest and most balanced human beings on the planet. They would never seek professional help, because they’re absolutely convinced they don’t need it. They’re not crazy! Everyone else is!
2) I perfectly understand being worried about having to take medicines. There are side effects, but most of all, LOTS and LOTS of stigma, which is probably the worst part, I believe. I’ve been taking meds for a decade, and it always was a lot of trial and error. One of them caused in me the appetite of a small dinosaur, making me gain 10kg in a year or so. However, it also saved my life. I’ll talk about them in one of the next chapters, though. One crucial aspect of it is that, yes, meds change you. But the right medication changes you for the best. The depressed you is not the real you. Whatever the cause, chemical imbalances, grief, etc., those are things preventing the real you to come out. The real you is a motherfucking badass who is able to live their life to the fullest, and not a scaredy-cat plagued by anxiety and depression.
3) Ah, willpower. The old “I want to do it myself, I just have to want it bad enough!”. Now, let me assure you of a thing. Willpower is great. It makes you do amazing feats, stuff you never thought possible. However, consider this as well: if you’ve been suffering from anxiety and depression all your life, and you’ve done your best to overcome it to no avail, why not seek extra help? You might be suffering from the aforementioned chemical imbalances in your brain, or perhaps it’s genetics; or maybe you’re just really fucking anxious. So, why not talk to someone and start your recovery, instead of attempting to do it all your life and maybe succeed, when you could have just swallowed your pride and asked for help? Remember: only strong people can admit they’re weak and ask for help. Be one of them.
There is NO shame in asking for help. On the contrary, it shows you have self-awareness, that you recognize your weaknesses, and that, is one of your best qualities. You are NOT alone. But now, let’s take a step back and let what we’ve learned settle.
