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Jessica’s Story of Becoming Stronger Than Her OCD and Anxiety, Age: 17

What have you struggled with? When did it become too much?

I have struggled with anxiety mostly but at times OCD as well. I realized it was too much when it stopped me multiple times a day. I wouldn’t be able to go outside if there was a cloud in the sky, or be near a friend if they coughed. An instance that I knew it had gotten too far and I needed to do something about it was when my fear of flying took over. My family was going to California and I told my family leading up to it that I was nervous because I hadn’t been on an airplane before and I did not want to go there because there can be earthquakes. My family thought it was regular nerves and kept pushing it off saying that I would be fine. On the drive to the airport I said out loud “I hope we get into a car crash so we can miss our flight”. Once we got to the airport I continued to say that I was not coming with them. They didn’t understand what I meant by that but for me I would do anything, and I did. We got on the plane and I sat down. I started screaming and crying saying that I wasn’t coming. Eventually the flight attendant came over and said it wasn’t fair for the other passengers for me to scream the whole flight and I had to leave.. So my dad got off the plane with me and I thought I was safe. Until he told me that we were going to try again. A couple hours later we got on another plane while the rest of my family was already there and the screaming, crying, and kicking off happened all over again. For years I missed more family vacations and opportunities because of this fear.

What kind of support did you get at first? Did it work?

At first I would speak with my school counselor and I was signed up for therapy, Although this was better than no help, I wasn’t paired with the right therapist for me. I felt like I was treated like a baby and she didn’t understand.

Were there any turning points where things really started to change for the better?

A turning point for me was when I found my new therapist and got on the right medication. Although I still on a daily basis have to deal with my anxiety, I am now able to cope and manage it and it no longer stops me from doing things!

What’s your life like now? What have you been able to accomplish, and what are you working towards?

Since I had learned how to deal with my anxiety I have been able to accomplish so much! Although I still don’t love flying, I have been able to fly to 5 states, and 7 countries, no longer missing out on family vacations or opportunities. I am able to go outside when it is cloudy out and be with a friend after they cough. I have been on a ropes course and top of a building despite my anxiety towards high up things. I have been to a sleep away camp, a teen tour, and two month trip to a different country without my family. Although these adventures were still difficult for me, I was able to do it!!

What would you say to people who are having a tough time? What’s helped you that you wish you had known earlier

I would say to keep working on it. I know that it may not feel like you are making progress, but you are! Keep working because you are getting closer to a place that you want to be! I wish I had known that my friends would support me. I had been scared to share my story with them thinking that they wouldn’t understand and wouldn’t be supportive but I was surprised at how many understood and had even been going through things similar to me.

If you’d like to reply to Jessica’s Story, click here!

Ben’s Struggles with OCD, Age: 17

What have you struggled with? When did it become too much?

I’d like to preface this by saying that my story’s far from the worst example of OCD. I’ve heard stories of far worse anxiety than mine, and far worse compulsions and effects on their lives.

When I was 16, I began struggling with religious OCD. In other words, this meant that my obsessive fears were over religious topics–namely, going to Hell. And, as is indicative of OCD, I began performing compulsions to alleviate these fears. These compulsions took the form of specific prayers for repentance for “sins” I believe I had committed.

The list of these sins was broad. At the time, I was following a strict interpretation of the Christian Bible, taking to heart quotes such as Luke 14:26– “If any man come to Me and hate not his father and mother, and wife and children, and brethren and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be My disciple.” For me, this meant that any thoughts I had that were about myself were automatically sinful, meaning that I would be spending a lot of time believing myself to be headed for Hell. And even if I had repented compulsively for hours on end, there was still that sense of uncertainty that drives OCD: “what if it’s not enough?”

Of course, there was a honeymoon period in my religious experience, before my OCD started taking off. I remember tracking the date as December 18th, 2017. I had something of a conversion experience– I resolved to put my religious faith first over everything else. I’d had an internal fear of Hell for as long as I’d remembered; now, I would do something about it. I would become the kind of religious the Bible had talked about. I would do everything I could not to go to Hell.

My anxiety actually dropped as a result of this. For the first time in my life, I had no fear of Hell, and while I was praying more, I was still able to go about my life as I initially had. But then I started noticing a feeling in the back of my brain compelling me to behave certain ways– more religious ways. I called this feeling the Urge, and it was starting to ask the question, “are you really saved?” “I don’t know,” was the answer. And so, the compulsions started slowly.

There were very specific things I had to do not to go to Hell. For example, if I were walking down the street and I didn’t compulsively pick up every bit of trash I saw, I was going to Hell. If I didn’t evangelize to a certain group of kids I had deemed to be sinful, I was going to Hell. If I read, watched Netflix, or did anything that wasn’t inherently religious in nature, I was going to Hell. And the only way out of this was to pay a tax, one that I spent hours trying to pay, ending up crying many nights, as I would be down on the floor with my face covered, Bible next to me, telling God that I was sorry and to please save me.

Eventually, it reached a bit of a breaking point, which I’ll talk about in a later category.

What kind of support did you get at first? Did it work?

After a year of this happening, I reached out to my mom. I told her that I thought I had OCD. I wasn’t sure myself, but I knew that something was wrong, and it seemed to be the closest thing that fit. My mom initially thought that I didn’t have the symptoms, but after we talked for a while, she decided to sign me up for therapy. We made sure to find a therapist who was religious, and I had my first meeting with him in March 2019, a month after having talked to my mom. He turned out to be amazing, and we got really close. I was diagnosed with OCD in the coming months.

Were there any turning points where things really started to change for the better?

I do have one turning point, but it falls into the “you have to move backwards to move forwards” category.

Things got a lot worse in the Summer of 2019. In the last few weeks of school, I’d been watching a series of online sermons about how to know for certain if you were saved. They gave lists of ways to tell based on Bible verses, and after examining these signs, I started to realize that I didn’t meet these criteria.

This was when things started to change. For the first time, I had certainty, though it was the opposite certainty that I was looking to hear. The people in the sermons said that if you realize you weren’t saved, then you had to get on your knees and pray until God decided to save you. So, I became convinced that I had to keep repenting, that my OCD was right, and that anything my parents told me or my therapist told me was Satan trying to get me to stop. And so it began.

The problem was compounded by my lack of distraction. During school, I had something to do other than compulsions. But during Summer, I would spend almost entire days on the floor, begging God to save me and watching more sermons. I was hoping they would say something different, and occasionally they did. Sometimes, I would be able to trick myself into thinking that I met their signs. But in the end, I always came back to OCD’s compulsions.

My turning point came in the middle of August, when one day, just as suddenly as I had decided to become religious, I stopped believing in Christianity. I stopped believing in Hell, and so I didn’t fear it anymore. My obsession dried up, and so the compulsions stopped too.

My therapist told me that there will always be a part of me that reacts differently to certain things, but in those months following my turning point moment, we worked together to keep OCD from rising back up. It’s still with me, its hold over me gone, only flaring up occasionally until I can bring it back down.

What’s your life like now? What have you been able to accomplish, and what are you working towards?

I’m coming up on the one year anniversary of my last compulsion. It was a bit of a struggle to find new meaning after my religious beliefs changed, but I think I’m starting to get the hang of it. I’ve started writing, which has proved to be a major passion. I’ve been fixing the relationships that have been hurt by my OCD. I’ve started writing a novel, and I’m a fifth of the way through.

Life’s looking brighter now, all in all.

What would you say to people who are having a tough time? What’s helped you that you wish you had known earlier

Spirituality isn’t bad, by any means. I’ve never stopped respecting religion, particularly those devout people with the courage to give their lives to it. And making sacrifices for a higher purpose is incredibly honorable. But you have to be doing it because it’s what you want, not because you’re forced to by an underlying condition. Seek out help; people care. And when you begin to recover from these issues, you’ll find that you’re free to follow your faith how you desire, and it will be clearer as a result. Only through recovery can you have the spiritual experience you want to have.

Rachel’s Journey with OCD

What have you struggled with? When did it become too much?

I have struggled with pretty bad OCD. OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) is a disorder in which a person has uncontrollable, reoccurring thoughts (obsessions) and behaviors (compulsions) that he or she feels the urge to repeats over and over. Compulsion’s included counting, checking, ordering etc.… I started exhibiting symptoms of OCD when I was around 9. I’d spend my time checking/ordering my school bag, making sure everything I needed was in there preventing a future panic attack for when I realize I am missing something I need at school. Years ago, on my nightstand table, there was chap stick, glasses, water, and my earrings. I spent hours staring and counting each item on my night dresser until it finally ‘felt right’. I struggled maintaining friends because my OCD rituals would constantly interfere with what we were doing. I began to feel sad, as I was frustrated and confused. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. Once my OCD starting to truly interfere with my everyday life, my parents brought me to see a psychologist

What kind of support did you get at first? Did it work?

The first support I got was from my parents. They listened to me through everything. They brought me to see several therapists to figure out what was wrong. Sooner or later I was diagnosed with OCD. Soon after, I went on medication and went to exposure therapy. Eventually, things got a lot better and I was able to continue on with my life.

Were there any turning points where things really started to change for the better?

I have seen so many therapists in my lifetime. It took months to find the right therapists for me. But once I found her, the search became worth it. This was a huge turning point, as I was finally able to confide in someone and learn techniques on how to subside the OCD.

What’s your life like now? What have you been able to accomplish, and what are you working towards?

Now I am mentally healthy. Although I am still on medication for my OCD, I am happy and haven’t experienced any OCD symptoms in a long time. I am now on the track to establish a career in psychology. I took AP Psychology as a senior and got an internship job for TurningPointCT to work with teens and adults with mental illnesses or substance abuse.

What would you say to people who are having a tough time? What’s helped you that you wish you had known earlier

To the people who are having a tough time – reach out. Ask for help. There is nothing wrong with needing help. You are not alone.

Ana – Bulimia: The Never Ending Cycle

What have you struggled with? When did it become too much?

The Never Ending Cycle

October 24, 2009
Dr. E suggested I keep a writing journal along with the food journal, so here it is. She said to write about my progress (or lack thereof) plus anything else I want, and that it will be for my eyes only. I used to write in journals when I was younger, but opted out once I realized how much they brought my thoughts to life. Silly thoughts, dark thoughts, sometimes thoughts I never knew I had were all hastily materialized per blue ink scribbles. I soon learned that past me preferred to keep such thoughts from future me, and with that, the journaling ceased.
Today, the journaling commences.

October 26, 2009
I threw up today. I woke up knowing I would; not a single hint of doubt crossed my mind. I’m supposed to keep track of all the times I throw up and pursue possible motives, although I don’t know that there are any. My life really isn’t that hard, and I feel like naming “triggers” is just delegating blame. Have a bad day? Eat the problems away. Don’t like looking in that mirror? Try the toilet. Dropped a pencil on the floor? Go ahead and purge about it. And I do purge about it. I purge about this and that, every day.

October 30, 2009
Dr. E told me she doesn’t expect my habits to change overnight, and to not be discouraged on days like today, or like yesterday. She says once the new prescription kicks in (Prozac) that things should get easier. I’m finding it very hard to keep the food journal for reasons similar to why I couldn’t keep my childhood journals. Quantifying my binges makes me feel almost as sick as the binges themselves. I am aware that humans are not meant to bring so much food into their bodies. Before and during a binge my stomach has learned to disregard the concepts of “hungry” and “full,” and I’m not sure why.

November 5, 2009
Today’s therapy session brought up something I hadn’t thought about in years: when this all started. The first time I threw up was in the seventh grade. Recalling the details feels more like recalling a dream than an actual event that took place in a conscious state. It was in the bathroom sink, and I used a toothbrush instead of my fingers. The purge was both easy and painless, and I remember getting into bed that night thinking I had a new secret I would have to keep from the world. I lied down with a guileful grin, then drifted off into an effortless sleep. At the time, it was a solution to eliminating the perpetual discontent I had with my body. I thought I’d finally found the key to feeling more comfortable in my own skin. I felt I had discovered a covert loophole to the laws of physiology. Of course, it didn’t take long to realize that this wouldn’t be the incredible weight loss solution I had imagined (if anything I have gained weight since the cycle began), but here I am four years later.
That impassioned and temperamental middle schooler is worlds away from the young adult who stares back at me in the mirror now. Today I don’t ride the same emotional roller coaster. I don’t ride a tilt-a-whirl, or even carousel. I am stagnant in manner, aloof in presence. The anxiety and extreme self awareness we all encounter in our awkward pubescent stages had long been lifted, but nothing took their place. There is something quite magical about going through days uninfluenced by emotion. My ‘emotion log’ I was asked to fill out for Dr. E has the word “indifferent” written on Sunday, with an arrow leading it through the rest of the week. My boyfriend doesn’t get to hear the words “I love you” or experience any sort of sincere passion from my end. My friends are granted loyalty, honesty, confidence, but never genuine sympathy. My eyes don’t experience the swelling brought on by heart shattering tears, or by euphoric tears. I embrace the nothing. Nothing greets me every morning, then helps me sleep well at night. And through the years, my purges watched as the nothing slowly began to emerge.
Purges came long before the binging did. The latter was an inevitable aftermath. Once the two met, they linked hands, then chose my brain as their permanent place of residence. They haven’t parted with me since; they’re noisy and ornery and it’s impossible to forget them.

Nov 21, 2009
It’s been about two weeks since my last entry, and to be honest I’ve been avoiding writing in here. I told Dr. E I’m not fond of the journaling, but she says it might help me in the long run. I haven’t yet been given a reason not to trust her, so here is round two.
I threw up six times since Monday, and Dr. E said this is an improvement. I don’t exactly agree. The urges are just as bad, if not worse, and without them subsiding I don’t feel improved at all. For me, the urges are the worst part. Once one is triggered, it doesn’t go away. The urge to eat everything in plain sight takes over my thoughts until it is satisfied. This leads to the next urge, one just as strong, to relieve my body of every last bite.
I’m not proud to admit, even if it is just to future me, that I’ve relieved the urge in places outside of my own home. If the first hint of compulsion cannot be overcome, the cycle must reach completion. I’ve thrown up in friends’ bathrooms, I’ve thrown up in school bathrooms. One time I threw up in a bush in the backyard in the pouring rain, just to make sure I relieved the urge without my family hearing.
I really don’t like writing in journals.

Nov 24, 2009
I didn’t ever plan on going to therapy. I knew I had a problem, but I was convinced that I could stop the purging whenever I felt like it. I was convinced I was in control. I didn’t make a connection between the eating issues and my degrading emotion for a long time.
In the ninth grade my mother heard me throwing up. She called me into her bedroom after the fact and sat me down. I remember being caught off guard by her reaction; she wasn’t upset or worried, but rather angry and disappointed. In her eyes I was a young tenacious warrior, resilient to the petty pressures of adolescence. “This has to stop now,” she told me, “you need to be stronger.” I nodded and went to bed.
I didn’t receive any follow up questions or check-ins after the incident. The issue was brushed under the rug, and I couldn’t have been more relieved about it. The only thing I hated more than having the problem was talking about it.
Then one day, two years later, I finally recognized that hiding the problem wasn’t helping make it disappear, and that talking was my only other option. This time I called my mother into the room and sat her down. I admitted to my continuous struggles with the binging and purging between hysterical sobs. She cradled my shaking body, holding my head close to her heart. My mother may not have been able to identify with the problem, but this time it seemed as if she sincerely understood and accepted her daughter’s indecent flaw. Those were the first tears to escape my eyes in over a year, a prolonged imprisonment of emotions begging to be let out. I let them all out. A week later I found myself in Dr. E’s office.
I was nervous for my first day of therapy, as I had never talked to anyone about purging, let alone a perfect stranger. My mother offered to accompany me to the primary session for support. I accepted this offer.
I am at a loss for words to appropriately describe the feeling of having my mother in therapy that day. She had to hear her perfect little angel confess to the purges, describe them in their utmost detail. She had to listen to me define what a typical binge consisted of down to the last calorie. She took this all in silently with a blank face, and I have no idea what went through her mind. My voice trembled as it filled the cumbersome office air. It was the first time I’d verbalized any of this.
I was relieved when I first met Dr. E. My first impression was that she was very amicable, a good seven inches shorter than me with ivory white hair and a truly sympathetic demeanor. When I attend our weekly visits she listens thoughtfully and intently for the entire sixty minutes. She often wears a smile, which helps me feel relaxed. Her face is aged from a lifetime of grinning and laughter. In one of our earlier sessions we discussed the option of me going to a month long rehab clinic for other ‘bulimic’ adolescents where they’re given communal meals and daily therapy. I declined this offer, but it is still on the table if I decide I need the extra help. Judging by my food diary for this past week, it is still a viable option.

Nov 29, 2009
Today I was in math class when something happened. The back of my head began to swelter and pulsate, my vision blurred, and I lost feeling in my hands. I felt my brain liquify and begin to drip, drip, slowly down the inner lining of my skull. I became both unaware and hyper aware. Time stood still. I watched myself from a place within my own head, but also from a place thousands of miles away. For those few moments I was certain I was going to die. Once my legs were able to bear my weight, I stood up and walked out of the classroom. I paid no mind to the rest of my peers or the teacher. I had no mind to pay. I sat in the school bathroom until I was physically able to conjure thoughts and words, and to call my mother. Even though the hysteria was descending, she offered to pick me up if I didn’t feel comfortable staying at school. They say the crazy don’t know they’re crazy, but anyone who’s experienced this delusional reality can say that for those brief minutes, which feel like days, they are crazy. I left early with my mother that day. And for the first time in a long time, I was scared.

Dec 4, 2009
Dr. E isn’t surprised about the panic attacks. She says they’re probably a consequence to letting a lot of demons surface by talking about my struggles for the first time. Her words don’t help me because it doesn’t make them go away. She says only I can make them go away, but it’s difficult to believe her.
They have been coming out of nowhere, an abrupt assault of my most guarded possession: my mind. It is such a dreadful realization that I am no longer in full conscious control of my mind. At any moment, something beyond my scope of awareness can prompt its kidnap, and I am left to deal with the consequences. I don’t know where I’ll be when they come, and I am still not convinced that they’re harmless or temporary, so getting out of bed has become a real drag.

Dec 24, 2009
It’s been awhile since my last entry, and things are actually a bit better. The Prozac has finally come into full effect and has helped me more or less regain control of my psyche. I can now feel when the panic attacks are coming on and sometimes I can even make them go away before they fully surface. With the panic becoming my main priority, the binging and purging have taken a backseat in my mind.

Dec 27, 2009
Today I met with a nutritionist. Dr. E suggested it be the next step, since the frequency of purging has gone down, along with the urge. My older sister Maya asked to accompany me. My parents have always viewed her as the fragile, over-emotional daughter, while I was thought to be more stable and calloused. Maya, too, had problems with throwing up at my age, but never sought help. I admire her for being able to get through it on her own, something I could not do. Despite the dichotomous character roles assigned by our parents, I believe she is much stronger than I am, although she says she wishes she would have spoken up and gotten help like me.
The nutritionist gave me a couple of tips on how to eat healthy and to avoid food deficits because they trigger binges, which are followed by purges. She had a bunch of plastic food to help visually represent meal portion sizes. I’m pretty sure they were from those kid kitchen sets, so I couldn’t really take her seriously.

Jan 2, 2010
Since the cycle was broken, it really hasn’t been as hard to keep it that way. I’ve heard the first three days of being cut off from an addiction are the hardest, and then it slowly gets easier. As horrible as panic attacks are, they may have been just enough of a distraction to get over that initial three day roadblock, a blessing in disguise. I haven’t thrown up once since my last two entries, which may be the longest I’ve gone since the cycle began in seventh grade.

Jan 6, 2010
I have just finished my final scheduled therapy session. Dr. E agrees that I’m strong enough to no longer need sessions on a regular basis. Now that I’m not throwing up anymore or frightened with panic, we’ve honestly ran out of things to talk about. I never thought there would be such an abrupt end to such a perpetuated problem. The Prozac has helped with more than just controlling the cycle and panic attacks; I also feel less like a robot and more like a human being. I feel it has almost been too easy.
So, I guess this means bye bye journal. You’ll be going into the box in the garage along with the rest of them. You may have served your purpose these past couple of months, but now that my journey is ending I prefer to keep you with the rest, where I don’t have to see or think about these things anymore.

What’s your life like now? What have you been able to accomplish, and what are you working towards?

TODAY:

Flipping through that journal so many years later fills me with mixed emotions. It brings me back to a time I hate to remember, but a time that is still relevant to me today. I wish I could say that hiding the journal meant closing the door to these problems, but over the years I’ve learned that it doesn’t. All my former struggles with the cycle creep up from off those pages, slither under doorways and around corners, then silently make their way up my unsuspecting body and into my head. I can go weeks, or even months feeling carefree, and then an urge will hit me, the same urge that has always hit me.
I would be lying if I said I could always suppress the urge to throw up again. I have had occasional relapses within the past years, though never as serious or prolonged as the original problem. I do still feel like an addict. As the years progress, I become more confident in my belief that bulimia is a real addiction.
When the urge surfaces, just as in the past, a switch is flipped in my mind that is much more difficult to turn off than to leave on. If left on, I stop thinking clearly. I get anxious and aggravated with the people around me. All I want to do is follow the same cycle I’ve grown accustomed to, and then the urge, with all the negative passion it brings, will go away. First, I eat. A lot. Then, with two fingers, I unearth the lowermost point of my emotions, as I reach the pit of my stomach. There, I find shame wearing relief’s disguise.
Thankfully, I usually do manage to switch off the urge when it first surfaces. Although, this isn’t quite as satisfying as it may sound. It leaves me with somewhat of an empty feeling that must slowly be forgotten throughout the course of the day. This feeling, however, pales in comparison to the awful feeling that overcomes me after a purge.
For every urge I’m not able to overcome, I tell myself that it will be the last time. I come to this false conclusion where I am certain I’ll remember how horrible that awful post-purge feeling is, and that I’ll never want to endure the same guilt again. The guilt of being too weak and hurting my body. The guilt of making a mess and wasting food. There is enough uncontrollable guilt in the world, and by relieving my urge, I add to the pool.
I used to not understand what perpetuated the cycle. The yearning to be thin would never be satisfied by this habit, which was something I learned soon after it began. There was instead something else, a different driving force only wearing the mask of addiction, which strongly persisted to be met. Addiction starts as a means to catch a high, but over time becomes the only feasible method of coping with life. The neurosis that built around the habit acted as a distraction from dealing with thoughts and emotions I felt powerless to. Addiction stands in for control, but it is nothing more than an illusion.
Throughout the years, the panic attacks have mostly retreated, along with my dependence on the little white serotonin boosting capsules of Prozac. It’s been a slow process, but I’ve been able to better accept emotions of all kinds as they initially arise. With a passion for love comes the pain of disappointment, and the thrill of risks brings the anxiety of failure, but in the end, living life makes much more sense to me in the context of emotion rather than the indifference I had once chosen.
Even with all the positive changes, I know I still have a lot of growing to do. I’m confident that, while I don’t think the urges will ever fully dissipate, they will continue to fade away and become easier to recognize and deal with as I become older and wiser. I am confident that one day I will be able to embrace my emotions fully instead of feeling the need to control them, or hide them behind a mask of binging and purging. I am confident that one day, opening the old journals won’t be such a dreaded experience. But, until that day, they will remain in that box.

Kat on OCD and Depression

What have you struggled with?

Happiness & Crappiness.

This is me ‘getting loud’, ‘being bold’, and ‘taking action’.

 

Part I: Stomach Pains and Patterned Pant Suits

For those of you who don’t know, when I was 9 years old I was diagnosed with Celiac Disease; an unfortunate condition that restricts me from eating all that is delicious and full of gluten. With this in mind, I spent much of my childhood afflicted with horrible stomach problems, cycling through doctors and specialists until they finally came to a conclusive diagnosis. Besides being extremely discontent with the fact that I could no longer eat my regular Vanilla Dip donut from Tim Horton’s or indulge in PB&J sandwiches like the average 9 year old kid, I was pretty healthy for a while after that.

When I was 13 years old, the stomach issues returned (and no… I was not sneaking donuts I promise!). I began having constant stomach aches, refused to eat, lost a significant amount of weight from my already lanky frame, and missed school regularly for about a month and a half. So…back to the doctors I went to figure out what was going on.

After numerous appointments and tests, they found nothing.

This resulted in my first trip to a child psychologist. They told me this was an approach to dealing with chronic pain (since nothing else was working); although, in hindsight, I’m pretty sure they were lying, because let’s be real…there is no way in hell a stubborn 13 year old like me was going to go to a psychologist for any other reason. Regardless, there I was sitting in the office of ‘Psychologist #1’ talking about my entire life history (unsure of how that had anything to do with painful stomach aches).

Much to the surprise of my 13 year old self, turns out that psychological distress can actually manifest as physical symptoms; stomach aches included. Who would have guessed?! Long story short, after a number of conversations with Psychologist #1, and a trip to the ‘Russian Psychiatrist Who Wore Unfortunately Patterned Pant Suits,’ I was formally diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

 

Part II: “I’m so OCD”

Most of you are probably familiar with the OCD stereotypes; neat freak, clean freak, an inevitable discomfort felt in the presence of a crooked picture or a messy room. While these characteristics resonate with many individuals who are diagnosed with OCD (and most definitely for myself), I can tell you that the disorder is much more complex and debilitating than what the stereotypes surrounding it insinuate.

According to Mayo Clinic (because this was obviously the most reliable source I could find on the internet) Obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) features a pattern of unreasonable thoughts and fears (obsessions) that lead you to do repetitive behaviors (compulsions). These obsessions and compulsions interfere with daily activities and cause significant distress. According to Anxiety BC (probably more legit), obsessions are often related to contamination, accidental harm to self or others, symmetry and exactness, and forbidden thoughts. Compulsions include washing and cleaning, checking, counting and tapping, and ordering/arranging.

Over the years I have experienced every single item on this list. I can also tell you that someone with OCD is entirely aware that these obsessions and compulsions are absolutely ridiculous and illogical; but this realization certainly doesn’t stop the obsessing and ‘compulsioning’ anyway. I mean, realistically I’d rather not spend my day checking numerous times to confirm the oven, hair straightener, and lights are off (because if I don’t I might be responsible for burning down my entire apartment building); that yes, the door is most definitely locked, and it was the first 5 times I looked (but if it isn’t, then someone might break in… and that could be catastrophic); I’d rather not wash my hands excessively to the point that they are raw and cracked (but if I don’t then I might contract a deadly disease); I’d rather not feel the need to keep everything constantly clean/organized to perfection (but if I don’t, I know I’ll feel anxious until I do); and I’d definitely rather not waste time counting to 12 for no particular reason other than when I’m done I somehow feel better.

As someone with an extensive amount of education, I can rationally conclude that these associations are entirely irrational; I know the stove is off, I know the door is locked, I know I’m not going to contract a deadly disease if I don’t constantly wash my hands, and I know that counting to 12 accomplishes absolutely nothing. With OCD this is irrelevant, because the anxiety is real, and all that matters in the moment is finding a way to reduce it… even if that means feeling like a fool – a less anxious fool, at least.

When I was younger, the obsessions and compulsions were a very prominent part of my life, but with the combination of many visits to “Psychologist’s # 1, 2, 3, 4, 5”, a group exposure therapy class for kids with OCD (where they provoked our anxiety by having us stick our fingers in toilet water and refrain from washing our hands for as long as possible – although I’m pretty sure any person with some standard of personal hygiene would find this quite stressful…), and medication, things became much more manageable.

That’s not to say I don’t still have my ongoing challenges.

 

Part III: Literally and Figuratively Living Under a Cloud

Despite past experiences, I can confidently say that the last three years have been both the best and the shittiest of my 25 (almost 26) years. I have laughed, I have cried, I have succeeded, and I have failed. I have loved and I have lost. I have experienced the beauty of this country and I’ve found a passion for the mountains. I’ve made amazing friends, I’ve completed a Master’s degree, and l have reclaimed my independence. I’ll spare you the details of the ‘shitty stuff,’ but despite it all, and most importantly, I have learned more about myself than I ever thought possible.

In the fall of 2013, I moved across the country to Vancouver to attend graduate school at Simon Fraser University on top of a mountain in the clouds. It sounds majestic, and on clear days you got a pretty incredible view of the surrounding mountain ranges; but let me tell you, it could be depressing as hell. If it wasn’t raining or foggy at the bottom of the mountain, then it probably was at the top. I mean, our mascot wasn’t named McFogg the Dog for no reason (and yes, I am totally serious).

The first term of grad school was one of significant transition, to say the least. I had recently gone through a break up with my long term boyfriend, moved out of my parent’s house for the first time, moved across the country on my own, and started a Master’s degree in the top Criminology program in the country. Needless to say it was a lot to handle all at once. Despite the constant academic guilt and numerous emotional breakdowns in the department lab, I steamrolled through and successfully made it to the Christmas break, during which I went to visit my parents who were living in Iqaluit, Nunavut at the time (I’ll save my experiences in Nunavut for another blog).

The Christmas of 2013 was my first real confrontation with major clinical depression. Let me tell you, if you think having OCD sucks, being depressed sucks even more.

“A major depressive disorder is different than the blues. Someone experiencing depression is grappling with feelings of severe despair over an extended period of time. Almost every aspect of their life can be affected, including their emotions, physical health, relationships, and work. For people with depression, it does not feel like there is a ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ – there is just a long, dark tunnel.” -CMHA

…And a long dark tunnel it was. That Christmas consisted of lying in bed binge watching TV box sets and constantly on the verge of tears. It didn’t matter that it was the holiday season, that I had successfully completed my first term of grad school, or that I was reunited with my supportive family for the first time in months. I had so much to be grateful for, but the depression clung to me like a heavy fog.

 

What would you say to people who are having a tough time? What’s helped you that you wish you had known earlier?

If we don’t talk about mental illness, if we don’t educate people, and if we don’t say that sometimes ‘it’s ok not to be ok’, then how can we possibly expect people to seek the help they need?

We can’t.

We need to GET LOUD. We need to BE BOLD. And we need to TAKE ACTION.

Over the past three years I have encountered a handful of these depressive ‘episodes.’ Sometimes they are short-lived, and sometimes they feel endless. This past spring was by far the most difficult. It was a time of significant transition in my life and I felt like I had lost my sense of direction. I stopped eating, I stopped exercising, I couldn’t sleep and yet sleeping was all I wanted to do. I started a new job and yet had no motivation to work. I was stuck in a deep hole and I could not dig myself out.

If I’m being honest, I can’t pinpoint the moment when things changed. I cannot identify the day I woke up and didn’t feel like complete garbage. But it happened. Slowly but surely, things got better. I started to eat. I regained my energy. I forced myself to socialize. I made fitness my therapy. I pushed myself and I faked it until eventually I felt better.
Let me emphasize – someone with depression does not choose to be depressed; and someone with depression cannot just decide to be happy. I did not dig myself out of the hole alone and for that I am grateful. I had bills to pay and a new job to keep, I had friends who showed up in the morning to drag me out of bed or push me to leave the house (special thanks to KW), I had phone calls from my family, I went to counselling, took medication, joined sports teams, and started fresh in a new apartment of my own.

There are still days that I can feel myself spiraling backwards; mornings I’d rather stay in bed and shut out the world. Fortunately, however, I’ve come to recognize these signs and find ways to scramble my way out before I slip back into the hole: I have my fitness, I have the mountains, and I have many shoulders to lean on.

I may be a person with mental illness, but I am not alone.

There is help, there are people who understand what you’re going through, and it does get better, I promise.

Read more of my story by following my blog at theobsessivekat.wordpress.com