Blog: OCDoing It
04/09/2020
There’s an entry in my now long neglected diary which is introduced in such a reverent way that you’d think I was announcing I’d won a Nobel Prize. So, if you were sneaking into my personal journals (don’t do that please) you might feel it a little anticlimactic when the next line announces, “Last night I told my boyfriend I have OCD”. You’d probably throw the diary on the floor, disappointed at the lack of a seminal event or a deep secret being recounted. I’d be furious, not only had you sneaked into my diary but you’re now crossing over into vandalism. But I’d also once have been surprised that that bombshell, that I had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, wasn’t shocking in itself.
That truth is that, to me, that was a hugely notable event. So notable in fact that I literally noted it down in my diary for me to come back to in future years. I put it there in black and white to help get out of my own head and be able to start unpacking what had just happened. I’d worked up to this disclosure you see. I was 26 and had never told another person, outside of my doctor and my immediate family, that I had OCD, though I’d now had a diagnosis for about eight years. I was so paralysed with shame, fearful that I’d be seen as damaged goods. Telling my boyfriend, the first partner I’d ever told, was both a sort of coming-out for me and an admission that dating me would involve some adaptations on his part. Telling him was essential because whether he decided to stick with me or not, he needed to have all the information at his fingertips. (Spoiler: We’re now married and I’ve learned that telling the truth is important but it’s also essential not to devalue yourself and what you can bring to a relationship.)
Nowadays I talk a lot about OCD. I’ve shaken off the shame and I proudly claim the disorder as something I’ve had to grapple with. Yes, it’s not ideal but it also isn’t the end of the world and I like to think that talking about it has done plenty of good for others as well as myself. I’ve co-hosted a BBC Ouch takeover where we spoke frankly about the disorder, I’ve written a play that spoke to many sufferers and their struggling parents and I’ve written and spoken on the topic on podcasts and in publications. It surprises me when I remember the times I deflected conversations or outright lied if I thought my dirty secret would be uncovered, at the ever present fear I felt, on top of that already produced by OCD, that I’d be viewed as ‘other’, as ‘broken’.
Despite all this newfound confidence I still sometimes, often, question why I talk about it. Whether I talk about it too much. If I’m becoming ‘that girl with OCD’. I don’t want to be that girl. I want to be a fully fledged human being with plenty of angles to her. I’m scared that talking about OCD too much diminishes who I could be in the eyes of others. I also worry that I’m tying myself to my illness, that by writing plays and articles on it I’m making my creativity and potential success inextricable from a disorder that shouldn’t be the central element in my life. It shouldn’t be something I rely on to benefit from right? Just dredging up pain and disorder, rehashing it over and over again for others to consume. And because of this I haven’t written about it for a while. So why now?
The thing is that, even though I write about other stuff, work on other projects, I’m always amazed at the incredible response I get when I try to articulate my thoughts about OCD. By the people who get in touch, the questions that are asked, those who reach out in a way I never knew was possible when I was a kid and had no idea what was wrong with me. Truthfully, I don’t always love it. I don’t want to spend too much time diving into other peoples’ experience of disorder because I don’t necessarily think it’s the healthiest thing for any of us to have that worldview constantly backed up (in the same way it’s unhelpful for those with contamination related OCD to be told by the government to constantly be washing their hands). But sometimes I do love it. I’m not underestimating the importance of medicine and therapy but I also have to give credit to the words that have helped me understand myself over the years. That have reached me when nothing and no-one else could. Joanne Limburg. David Adam. Bryony Gordon. They’ve all been able to articulate what was going on in my head when I couldn’t and helped me explain it to myself and others. The idea that I now might, even in a tiny way, be doing that for others who are struggling is a remarkable one. And so, providing I feel I’m doing it responsibly and also not boring anyone to tears, I may well continue.
Note: If you’re struggling with intrusive thoughts, compulsions, ritualistic behaviour or anything else that’s making you concerned please do look after yourself. Let loved ones know you’re struggling if that’s something you’re able to do. Make an appointment with your GP. Call the Samaritans.