I Have OCD

For those who don't know, it stands for Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. According to the American Psychiatric Association, it is "a disorder in which people have recurring, unwanted thoughts, ideas or sensations (obsessions) that make them feel driven to do something repetitively (compulsions) [that] can significantly interfere with a person’s daily activities and social interactions."

I realized I had OCD at a pretty young age. Some of the first memories I can recall are when I was in middle school and some of my compulsive behaviors are still with me today. I'm extremely particular when it comes to the order or things, but I can be quite messy. My perfectionism leads me to procrastinate because I hate the thought of creating something that isn't exactly the way I would like it to be.

I hated when my parents didn't close the doors in our house a certain way. My mom always turned the knob when she closed it, so it wouldn't actually be able to lock in place and wouldn't give that satisfying clicking sound. I hated having to close the door while I was already falling asleep, but I hated it being closed wrong even more. I used to not be able to walk on the separation lines in sidewalks, not because I thought I would break my mother's back, but because I just needed to. My clothing was organized by season and by how often I wore the article, and I could never put something on the hanger that it wasn't on before.

I needed things to always be left to right, and if they weren't I made it so they would be. This pattern would repeat in my head all the time: right left left right. Sometimes, that didn't even work and I would have to do the expanded version of it: right left left right, left right right left, left right right left, right left left right. I put my earring backs on a certain way so I can make sure that I don't put the wrong one in the wrong ear. The back on the right earring always goes all the way to the base of the earring, whereas the left back only goes halfway. I had socks that all looked exactly the same so I wouldn't be able to tell which sock went on which foot. And, of course, I had to put them on left to right as well as my shoes.

When my eyes wouldn't read a line of a page correctly, I had to reread it until I was correct. One time on a car ride to school, I was reading The Hunger Games out loud to my mom and I reread the same two pages over and over and over again because I didn't do it right. I will never forget the word "wretching" because of that experience. I am an emetophobe and I had no idea until my mom told me it was about Katniss throwing up. I hated myself even more for having to keep rereading the chapter.

Now, I can walk on the sidewalk however I want. I can wear mismatching socks (sometimes), and I still prefer to put my earrings on the same side as they were packaged. How did I overcome these compulsory actions? Honestly, I have no freaking clue. But I do know that whenever I am able to do something I wasn't before, the feeling is invigorating. Freeing. I know that I am a step closer to finally living for myself and not for whatever my brain thinks I need to do. It still shocks me when I realize I didn't do something the perfect way I needed to a couple of years ago—and I am eternally grateful for it.