When I try to put into words, what it is that OCD means to me. I often get lost. Will there ever really be enough words? To describe the pain. The relentless exhaustion – that this disorder brings.

I don’t think so.

OCD, it has absolutely destroyed me.

Time and time again.

Over the past two years, I have known more pain. More rock bottoms than I thought possible. I have questioned everything, and I have questioned myself. The person I was becoming. The reflection in the mirror that was so quickly becoming someone that even I didn’t know.

Someone, that I surely didn’t recognize.

I guess the question is, at this point, what hasn’t OCD taken from me?

As I write this, I stare at the same four walls that I have stared at for nearly two years now. OCD has isolated me, and it has done it well. I know it may sound shocking, but when I say I have lived isolated to my bedroom and bathroom for two years of my young life.

It is true.

And the feelings that come to mind when I think about this? I think those feelings. They may haunt me forever.

Never did I think I would know what it meant to lay crying, helpless on my bedroom floor. Bartering with my mind to let me free. To let me out. To simply allow me to open my bedroom door – and walk out – into the possibility of living a life again.

To live afraid of every voice. Sound. Spending years with headphones nearly glued to my ears. Afraid to speak. To hear.

Afraid of the very world around me.

Never. Did I think that I would go without access to a kitchen. An oven. A refrigerator. Purchasing each and every meal from January of 2020 on – alone. In my car. By myself.

Never, did I think I would do that.

I have sat in that car for more meals than I can ever remember. Sad. Lonely. Wondering why I couldn’t just walk through my front door, and into the kitchen to get water. Like a “normal” person.

What was wrong with me? Please? Someone, tell me what is wrong with me.

You see – my OCD – it came on quickly and strong. And there wasn’t anything actually “wrong” with me at all.

I was suffering from a mental health disorder, that I can only describe as Hell on earth. Life served as a prisoner to your rules. Rituals. Afraid of what might happen, if you don’t get it right.

Every.

Single.

Time.

My experience with OCD? It was almost like an entire shift. Nearly overnight. The person I was before, and the person I was then.

I have had OCD, that I can recognize now throughout my life. Fear of others dying. A lot of Just Right tendencies. And endless associations with “good” and “bad”.

But this?

This was different. Oh, how it was different.

In August of 2019. Everything changed. A few stressful months. Association after association. And I found myself absolutely obsessed. Except, I didn’t quite know what that would mean for me.

The same thoughts.

They played on repeat in my mind. Every single day. For nearly a year before I sought out help. And before I knew it, my entire house had become “bad”.

Every room.

Item.

I would walk in through the front door. Head down. Eyes nearly closed. Headphones in. Petrified of the very world and air around me.

Fast paced – I would walk.

To my bedroom.

Close the door.

And breathe a sigh of relief.

Every thing was bad – and I wasn’t sure why, but I just couldn’t look at it. (Later – I would learn to recognize this as emotional contamination).

March-April of 2020. That is when things really got bad. My isolation – it was enforced by the care I was providing to COVID patients. “I’ll just isolate for a few weeks, that is until this improves”.

Except, it never did. And I never left.

I entered the isolation of my bedroom and bathroom in March of 2020. And I haven’t left yet. Aside from the heroics that have been my ERP sessions, that is.

Do you know how it feels? To spend two years of your life? Unable to speak. Look. Walk throughout your house. Use a door. Terrified of each and every thing from the moment you wake up until you go to sleep.

Developing a depression so real, that you stopped taking care of yourself. Could barely brush your hair. Wash your clothes. Just wishing, for anything that would take this pain away.

If you answered “yes” to that question. I am so sorry. Please, know, you are not alone. OCD. Wow, is it a vicious disorder. I can’t describe it really. How it feels being such a rationale person – plagued by the most irrational behaviors and thoughts.

In the past two years I have found myself caught. Re driving the same routes for hours at a time. My worst night? I had driven the same route near my house over 18 times. Over and over and over again. And I just could not stop.

It wasn’t right.

It was nearing 11 o’clock at night and I couldn’t stop crying. I made a mistake. Again. (Are we shocked?). I had to stop. I just didn’t know how. And the problem? 18 was not a good number. I *needed* to keep going. I had to.

But I didn’t.

I sobbed. Hysterically. The entire drive home. Pleading with my mind to let me go. I was panicking. I needed to turn around. But driving in the pitch black dark of night. It is far more than scary, and most definitely not ideal.

It is frightening, and I just wasn’t going to allow myself to do it. It had gone on long enough.

When I pulled into my driveway, which mind you – was not very far away. I sat. And I cried. And I cried.

“Thank God” I thought. My car – in park.

I got out so quickly. Locked the door. And pleaded, once again, with my mind. “I will fix it tomorrow”.

“I promise, I will make it right”.

My driving compulsions today? Oh, they are so much worse. That’s just it. I can barely drive. I wear sunglasses on my face to undo all of the “bad” and triggering things I see. I keep headphones in my ears – to undo and “bad” things I have heard.

And, as embarrassing as it is to admit, I wear literal socks on my hands – to undo any “bad” things I touch.

I would wear gloves – but the one pair that I have? Even they turned bad. And I cannot get to stores right now. I can barely get anywhere.

Every single road. Store. Place. It had so quickly turned “bad”; my world becoming smaller, and smaller by the day.

To stand back – and watch as your world shrinks. Entirely as a result of your disorder.

Wow, does that hurt.

And my world? Oh, how it is small. Right now consisting only of my bedroom. This bedroom, that I am writing this in right now. My bathroom. And the few “good”, or should I say “acceptable” roads that I have left.

Which are not very many.

When driving – mental phrases and outward compulsions. They play on repeat. It is a task in itself. It exhausts me. So much so, that if I could just never leave this room. I wouldn’t. But I don’t think I can quite survive on water from my bathroom sink.

Even if my OCD would love to convince me that I could.

And so – as I sit – writing this, in the absolute lowest point of my life. Hopeless. Hurting. Lost. I want to leave you with this – there is hope in OCD recovery. And I promise you, no matter how strange or irrational the behavior, you are not alone.

And that? It is coming from the person who is currently driving with literal socks on their hands.

I promise, you are not alone. And I am not judging you. Because I know what it feels like to be so desperate to function. To make the thoughts stop. That you would do absolutely anything. And I mean anything, to fix it.

In just a few short weeks, I will be doing what I consider to be one of the bravest things of my life thus far. Flying, all the way to Wisconsin, in hopes of finding a new life and freedom from what we all know, (and hate), as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I dream of the day that I can bake again. Go in the kitchen again. Throw things away with ease, again. Stop counting *everything*.

Simply walk through the front door, again.

Wow, what a life that would be. What a life that *will* be.

That is, with the right amount of effort. And for the first time in forever, showing OCD, that I? I matter too.

I look forward to that day. The day that I can wake up in the morning. Not so depressed. Not so controlled by my disorder. Able to simply function.

Walk. Drive. Look. Touch. Talk.

Live.

And you know what?

I will keep trying. Every single day. Until that life? It is real for me.

I only hope that if you are reading this, and struggling. That that life? It will be real for you too.

I genuinely believe that it will.

Let’s go do this.

Together.

Love – Always,

Mackenzie (ObsessivelyOCD)