Growing up, I often felt like I thought differently than many of my peers. The way I obsessively organized my room or double checked that the door was locked felt far from normal, but that’s just how things were for me.
When I entered adulthood, things only became more complicated. My obsessions and compulsions increasingly interfered with everyday life, to a point where it was disruptive to my work and relationships. On top of that, the persistent anxiety only added to this complex problem.
So it wasn’t until recently that I sought help from a doctor, who after an in-depth evaluation diagnosed me with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). That moment held both relief and fear: Relief that I had a name for what had been plaguing me; fear about coming to terms with this diagnosis of OCD and living out its implications.
It’s still early in the process, but already I’m noticing the ways that treatment is helping me manage my condition