An Open Letter to My OCD

For the last couple of years, I’ve shared this post every World Mental Health Day. I’m proud to say it’s one of my most successful posts, so I’ve been revamping it every year. The events of 2020 and 2021 have certainly meant that my mental health has been affected (of course that’s been the case for everyone), so it seems even more fitting to share this again. This post was actually inspired by one that I read a few months before I first published it, from one of my blogger friends. As part of her 10 Days of Recovery series, Chloe over at Nyxie’s Nook wrote an amazingly powerful post on her story and I knew ever since I read it that I wanted to write one of my own. To make things as honest as I can, this is a post that I haven’t planned any further than the subject. My plan is to literally just sit at my laptop and write. Here goes.

Trigger Warning: OCD
Content Warning: Strong language

Dear OCD, 

You’ve been in my life for a while now. You’ve been in my life for a good 8 or 9 years, but we were only formerly introduced just over 5 years ago. I won’t beat around the bush, I hate you. You have almost destroyed me on multiple occasions, and I’m sick of it. Paired with Anxiety and Emetophobia, the three of you have ganged up on me for as long as I can remember. But out of these three bullies, you are most definitely the worst. While Anxiety and Emetophobia were in my life long before you came along, it was almost like they introduced me to you. And once you were in my life there was no way you were leaving it. You made sure of that. Anxiety and Emetophobia have almost taken a backseat now, but you make sure that they’re still involved with pretty much everything you throw at me.

I dread to think of the amount of money that you’ve cost me over the years. The money I’ve spent on soap, hand sanitiser, antibacterial wipes, clothing, bags, and in extreme cases, phones, is shocking. And that’s your fault. You’ve put so many aspects of my life at risk in the last few years – my relationship, my friendships, my job, my money, and most importantly, my sanity. You’ve driven me to wash my hands to the point where they’ve bled, where the skin has literally peeled off, and worst of all to the point where people have stared and laughed at me in public toilets.

I miss the days when I could wash my hands just the once. I miss when I could leave the house within 5 minutes. I miss the times when weird and unpleasant thoughts were just there for a few seconds rather than hours on end. I’ve never been able to drive without at least one incidence of worrying that I’ve hit a child or a cyclist. I miss being normal. Whatever that actually felt like.

I’ve dealt with many bullies in my life, and you, without a doubt are the worst one. There is no other way to describe you other than a bully. You’ve been there in the background on even the best days and made damn sure that I haven’t been able to enjoy myself to the full. What’s even worse though, is how you’ve been there on the bad days too. The days when I’ve been so low that I physically can’t bear getting out of bed, you’ve seen that as an opportunity to beat the shit out of me even more. To put it politely, you’re a fucking asshole.

To be honest, I wanted to use another word there, but, despite how much I use it in real life, I made a promise to myself that I would never use the C-word in my blog. Let’s face it though, that is 100% what you are.

I feel as though I made some great progress in kicking your ass back in 2017 when I was having my CBT. For a brief period of time, I was in charge, and I was finally starting to stand up to you. But over time, you’ve started to wheedle your way back in, and I hate you for that. I’ve tried my best to fight you, but a lot of the time it seems as though you’re stronger than I am. You still know the times when it’s easiest for you to swoop in and kick the crap out of me – when I’m stressed, when I’m tired, when I’m generally feeling a bit sorry for myself.

I really hate the amount of power over me that the coronavirus pandemic has given you over this year. You’ve had me obsessing over whether or not I’ve passed the virus onto my grandparents, crying my eyes out looking at Facebook, and genuinely wanting to wring the necks of those dickheads buying all of the hand soap. You had me at the point where I didn’t leave my house for two months and drank more than my own bodyweight in gin to try and shut you up. You and this pandemic have teamed up to slowly pick apart my recovery and I hate you for it.

Let’s be honest, you’ve been bullying me for far too long. No matter how many times I’ve attempted to stand up to you, you’ve managed to kick me back down. Frankly, I’m done. You’ve had your fun, and I think it’s time that you piss off. After these last few months, I mean that more than ever. Just fuck off.

I’ll be honest with you. I don’t have the money to get rid of you effectively. I’ve had my quota of free therapy on the NHS and it clearly wasn’t enough. The whole pandemic has put a huge strain on the NHS as a whole, but I feel that even after this all ends, the mental health service will still be feeling it. I wish that I had the money to keep attacking you, but I don’t. So, for now, I will keep you under control with medication, and I will keep confronting you by writing about the weird shit you make me think and do on a daily basis. I will drink a lot of gin, I will listen to a lot of Taylor Swift, and I’ll watch a lot of cat videos on the internet. Maybe one day, I’ll have enough money to stay in therapy for long enough to beat you down. I will beat you down just like you’ve done to me so many times. I don’t know when it will be, but trust me, I will do it, So enjoy attacking me while it lasts. I will defeat you one day.

For further information on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, visit OCD-UK.

Featured image by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash.