A close Up Look
Each painting is a representation of an individual living with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Included are their personal stories told in their own words.
106 Steps from my car to my classroom door. 890 steps from my classroom, down around the theater
and back. Photos on my desk lined up no more than 2” from the edge, maximizing work space and
ensuring they don’t fall easily. Canned goods organized in the cabinets with labels facing outward,
alphabetized. Volume on my stereo in my car is set at 12 when driving in town, 14 if the windows are
down, 18 on the Interstate and 20 if windows are cracked on the interstate. Obsessive-Compulsive
tendencies with regards to organization or symmetry or numbers don’t seem like an illness to me. They
make logical sense to the extent that, if everyone else thought about them, more people would do them
too. Debilitating? Sometimes, if medicated. Always, if not medicated. Misunderstood? You betcha.
It started innocently enough. I started seeing a therapist for disturbing thoughts. I would think to myself:
what if I jumped off the pedestrian bridge into the river? What if I ran my car directly into that utility
pole? I had no death wish. These were just illogical fears that I experienced from within. Soon after, I
was brushing my teeth 7-8 times per day because it allowed me control and to prevent something bad
from happening (gingivitis). I didn’t want to, but any time I felt the littlest bit of plaque build up after a
meal or drinking something, I had to brush. My gums were raw and my teeth actually had brush
abrasion marks from brushing so much and so hard. The therapist I was seeing suggested that I try to
turn my attention to other things when the urge to brush came over me. So, instead of brushing my
teeth, I would concentrate on something outside of myself. It was the mess in my car. It was the illogical
organization of my roommate’s college textbooks. It was a need to find a pattern in the numbers of my
apartment building. I turned so far outside of myself that my teeth were no longer suffering. My mental
itches had found a new way to express themselves, and that was in the external. It was something I
could more easily control AND see a visual representation of my efforts.
One of my biggest pet peeves is when others say “I’m so OCD about my room!” or “I have OCD when it
comes to organizing my backpack. I want to scream: “REALLY???? If someone runs into your dresser,
derailing a picture and sending it to the floor, do you have to wipe off the edges and touch each of the
corners against the surface before setting it down? If you make it to your door in more or less than 106
steps, do you have to go back and try it again until you get it ‘right’?” OCD isn’t about preferences. It
isn’t just wanting things to be orderly: it’s needing them to be orderly. I can’t concentrate if I know that
the volume in the car I’m riding in is at 13. I experience a sort of mental itch until the volume is set at an
even number or a multiple of 5. The inability to function when students have moved my desks from the
perfectly aligned 5 desk pods often comes off as humorous to my students, but I still feel a need to find
a way to mask my crazy in order to avoid embarrassment.
Learning to curb my anxiety in an imperfect and chaotic world has been a journey in and of itself. I just
struggle to grasp why the symmetry of a poster on the wall in tandem with other posters on the other
side of the room isn’t an issue for other teachers. I don’t get why organizing everything into electronic
files, sorted by subcategories and saved in multiple places in that same order, isn’t a priority when
preparing for the school year. I struggle with allowing students into my room, because they inevitably
change the structural integrity of my desk groupings or leave garbage behind. Still, in comparison to the
space I share with only three other people (my home), my classroom is the best place for me to exude
my preferences and maintain my control. It’s a constant battle in my head, no matter how well
medicated I am. The mental itches need to be scratched, but I’m finding ways to reach them without
being outwardly destructive…most of the time…
I have had OCD since I was about three. I saw a psychiatrist when I was around the age of
five but was not diagnosed. As a child I suffered from so much anxiety that I developed
alopecia and would worry to the extent that I would actually feel sick. I also had a fear of
germs and wouldn’t touch money or kiss the Wimpey mascot at a classmate’s birthday
party! I remember blocking the toilet numerous times from using so much paper and I
would compulsively wash my hands. I have Relationship OCD although I was not aware of
this term until recently. This means that the OCD will attack whoever or whatever I am
closest to at the time, from my mum to my pet rabbit to my boyfriend. When I was in
nursery I lost a paper handkerchief my mum had given me. In my mind there was a strong
connection between my mum and the handkerchief and I was distraught when I lost it,
hiding under the teacher’s chair and crying. I was extremely worried about my mum dying
and when she was asleep I would regularly check to make sure she was still breathing.
Although my mum dying was my greatest fear, I remember once staring out of my window,
unable to sleep and having to say that I wished she would die over and over again. Many
years later I was kept awake at night tormented by thoughts of throwing my beloved pet
rabbit out of my third floor window.
I was relatively symptom free from about the age of twelve to twenty-two. I only remember
slight obsessive compulsive behaviour when opening exam results or being nervous about
speaking to a boy I liked. Despite the fact that I had no symptoms of OCD while in high
school, I now know that the difficulties I have had my whole life with spatial recognition,
memory and awareness (I greatly struggle with map reading, following directions, shape and
pattern recognition etc) is a common trait amongst those with OCD.
My OCD consists of intrusive thoughts and magical thinking. If I had a bad thought while
doing something like opening the fridge or walking through a doorway I would be stuck
doing it over and over until it “felt right” despite my frustration and desire not to. My OCD
made me aware of every single action I took and would assign great significance to it.
Whether or not my worst fears would come true depended on which tea bag I took from the
box, which knife or fork I used or what clothes I wore that day. One of the hardest aspects
of OCD is the fact that you are completely aware of your behaviour, the fact that it is
illogical and that there’s no way a bad thought can make something bad happen. But that
part of your brain doesn’t listen to logic so you’re locked in a battle between reason and the
counterintuitive actions your brain makes you take. Physical compulsions can be seen but
what is harder to understand for those not suffering from OCD is the mental torture and
anguish it causes. If you could see inside the mind of a person with OCD you would see a
perfect storm of harrowing thoughts, guilt, anxiety, frustration, exhaustion and despair.
Trying to live a “normal” life with OCD is extremely difficult and I spent more than a decade
in a cycle of low paid, sporadic employment, berating myself for not being able to do what
others could. Although I was diagnosed in approximately 2004 it wasn’t until 2014 that I
completely accepted and acknowledged my condition and what it meant. I didn’t work for a
year and I completed a course of Cognitive Behaviour Therapy. I feel that while parts of my
brain are not as well developed as others, I have been compensated in other areas with
creativity and a unique thought process. While I wouldn’t want a life with OCD if there was
no treatment, I also can’t say I would wish to have never had it, if that meant I would not be
who I am.
I used to count to 42 as I turned the light switch off and on.
I used to wash my hands to dry cracks and blood as I washed away the germs that tainted me.
I used to only buy food that was white because anything with color wasn’t pure.
I live in a world where I constantly feel vulnerable.
I am an individual who lives at the expense of my thoughts.
Thoughts that torment me, that ridicule me, that make me feel hollow instead of whole.
I live my life being ashamed of my ideas, my mind, and my brain.
You say you’re “so OCD” but do your thoughts haunt you every second, every minute, every hour of every day?
Do they make you want to hide far away and cry yourself to sleep at night?
You say you’re “so OCD”, but do your thoughts of hurting someone or yourself metastasize if your task is not completed?
You say you’re “so OCD”, but do you have to complete compulsions even though they put you in a deep and dark depression?
Do you hate your thoughts more and more each day but you can’t seem to live without them?
Do you feel your life a roller coaster, going up and down, and spinning all around?
Do you know that what you are thinking is bizarre and illogical but yet you keep counting, disinfecting, worrying, contemplating, and repeating?
No, I can’t stop.
No, I can’t ignore it.
No, I can’t make it go away.
When I hear you say so casually the words that haunt me, my stomach churns with anguish and I want to scream.
For me OCD is not casual.
OCD is not something easily said in passing.
OCD is not a conversation starter while discussing matching socks or the cleanliness of your home.
To me OCD is a demanding and complicated 3 letter word that has turned my life upside down.
It has taken control of my relationships.
Made strangers stare and whisper as they ask “why”.
It has made me question my thoughts on life, on God, and my purpose within this world.
OCD is a mixture of chaos that makes you feel horrid and inferior.
OCD is a bully that you can’t seem to make fade.
OCD is not a quirk.
OCD is not funny
OCD is not compliant or anything but distressing.
OCD is an illness.
OCD is a disease.
It is my disease.