I remember the day the chemical imbalance in my brain was triggered for the first time. It was finals week at nursing school, and I was working diligently to keep my 4.0 GPA. Then, I came down with pink eye and an infection, which meant I wasn’t able to spend the week preparing as I’d planned. I panicked at the thought of not only ruining my 4.0 streak but also of failing my exams. I was frustrated that I didn’t have control—I felt like my life was spiraling out of control.
From that point on, I decided that I couldn’t get sick, especially at critical times in my life when I needed to perform at my best. I was frozen in fear and couldn’t see past the doom. My OCD has been mainly related to contamination over the years, (but I have also experienced harm obsessions, rumination and mental checking compulsions, and intrusive thoughts). Most of my fears have been, and still are, related to the fear of dying.
It started with the handwashing. I’d wash my hands about 15 times while getting ready in the morning. They became so dry that my skin split all over, and I was always bleeding. Seeing that I’d exposed my body even more by creating open areas on my hands led me to an even deeper state of irrationality. I started showing up late to classes because getting ready became such a production. I was terrified to use the bathroom. I even dreaded touching my underwear, so I started limiting my food and water intake to reduce the number of times I’d have to use the bathroom. When I did use the bathroom, I’d have to change my clothes. Within a matter of months, my OCD progressed to the point that I couldn’t function. This was my new normal.
Then, my OCD started to manifest in different ways. A year ago, I was convinced that hanging out with my best friend, who had a roommate who went deer hunting, would give me rabies. I didn’t even trust the experts at the health department. I was convinced that I was the exception. Nobody could convince me that I was wrong. Before that, I was afraid to visit my boyfriend at school. I wouldn’t let him touch my face for fear of spreading germs or getting something in my eyes that might blind me. I made him wash his hands nonstop and would watch everything he touched to make sure I didn’t miss anything that might have contaminated his hands. I made him keep hand sanitizer on his nightstand, and for a while, I wouldn’t even sit on his bed because I was terrified of what bacteria might be on his sheets. I found myself getting angry at him for not following my directions. It was exhausting and debilitating for both of us. This went on for a couple years, and eventually, there was so much frustration between us that we ended up parting ways. I felt as though he didn’t understand my anxiety and was not able to support me. He felt as though he could not do anything right while supporting me without enabling my compulsions. I couldn’t understand how he didn’t see things the way I did, and he struggled to know how I could become so irrational and why I couldn’t just go back to being my usual self. We’re back together now and happier than ever!)
For years, I tried to combat my OCD with avoidance and reassurance. I was always Googling, seeking comfort, rationalizing my obsessions, and trying to convince my family and friends that my concerns were valid. I’d make my support system engage in my compulsions with me. I’d interrogate people for the sole purpose of ensuring my safety. Sometimes, I’d even avoid the world and potential dangers altogether. In hindsight, these attempts did the opposite of helping me. Instead, they fueled my OCD, bringing me to a state of debilitation.
Finally, it got to the point that I knew I needed help.
I found a therapist who’s been a tremendous help in working with me through Exposure Response Prevention (ERP) therapy. I also started taking medication. Routine medication and therapy have enabled me to be more “myself” than I have been in years.
I have found that although it may feel like the most challenging route to take, exposing myself to and seeking out my fears has provided me with the most growth. Sometimes facing the fears and not giving in to the compulsions feels dangerous, and sometimes it makes me feel and think that I’m going to die. But I’m still here, and I’m okay. Surviving my fears and facing them head-on has led me to see that I am, and will be, okay. I have learned to accept that I cannot control everything in this life and that I was not living because I was consumed with the fear of dying.
I have also found that my faith has helped me deal with my OCD. I’ve relied on my belief that we’re called not to live in a spirit of fear and worry but to give our troubles and anxieties over to God, as He is ultimately in control. The combination of therapy, medication, faith, and relying on my support system has enabled me to get to this point in my life. It has been the most freeing feeling. Dying is part of life, and I have accepted that I cannot control when it’s my time. I’ve stopped living in constant fear. Instead, I face my fears and refuse to give them any of my time. This process often involves telling my OCD, in my head or out loud, to just stop.
Three years ago, I’d clean my body with bleach wipes out of fear I’d been contaminated with blood, body fluids, drugs, and the list goes on. A year later, I wouldn’t even go in the same room as a bottle of bleach because I believed that touching the bottle would somehow get bleach into my eyes and blind me. Every year, month, week, there was something new. That’s how OCD works, and there will always be something new that triggers my mind to obsess about. I’ve accepted that OCD is something I’ll continue to battle, and that sometimes it’ll be harder for me to combat my chemical imbalance than others. OCD will always find something to scare me and attempt to control me, but I’ve learned that I have the power to take control of it. I’m now able to see the difference between what’s rational and what’s irrational, which has given me the strength to push through the struggles. We all have this ability—we just have to figure out how to do that within ourselves and apply it to our own experiences and lives. There is hope. It can be hard to see at times, but I promise it exists.