Throughout the years I've encountered various forms of the condition, such as 'Halo' thoughts or 'Purity' thinking, in which you believe your thoughts to be 100% true. For example, 'if I don't turn this page in this book six times the world will end'. Whilst this was distressing it didn't particularly affect my life in a grand sense, these thoughts were fleeting, it just meant I felt a little odd, confused and upset sometimes.
As I entered adolescence I noticed myself doubting things I had done, from the extreme, such as if I had hurt anyone whilst I was out, or the more mundane, if I had actually handed in an essay assignment at school. Of course everyone has general worries or concerns but when I would share these with my friends, mine would seem far more extreme.
My OCD took a real turn for the worse when I went to University. I was always fairly confident during my time at College and so thought I would love University. However, I begun to experience bouts of depression during my gap year between College and University and would regularly go out drinking. So by the time University came, I wasn't in the best place, mentally. Not to say I didn't enjoy any of it, I did. I made some great friends and enjoyed the freedom. But my anxiety began to increase and in turn, my depression.
By the second year I was very depressed and felt incredibly alone. I just didn't seem to be able to hold a positive mood for longer than an hour and my moods would be extremely erratic and intense. To avoid this I would often drink which, although a fun distraction, only prolonged the depression in the long run. Unfortunately a rather toxic relationship followed suit which did little to help.
He was extremely manipulative and controlling. I would even go so far as to say he was emotionally abusive. I don't wish to dwell on this too much, although I wanted to mention it in the hope of maybe helping another person going through a similar ordeal. Domestic abuse doesn't have to equal physical abuse, mental abuse is just as dangerous. Anyway, to summarise, the anxiety generated from this relationship, coupled with my already fragile state meant that my OCD resurfaced once again, this time in the form of severe compulsive checking. I spent the next year struggling with University life, a miserable relationship and my OCD.
After I eventually cut all ties with the boy, things then became a little dark and my depression was as rife as ever. I had moved home post University and was working in a dead end job and this is when my OCD began to gradually creep in again. I should explain now that I suffer with contamination OCD. This is probably the most recognised form of the condition and is even often glamourised within the media. However it doesn't mean that I'm a clean or tidy fanatic. In fact, my room is often a right ruddy mess! My obsession is with the notion of going blind as a result of coming into contact with dog faeces (crap, shit, etc). I realise this sounds completely insane, and I agree with you. But I can't help it, it's the nature of the illness. Its the 'what if's'. What if I go blind from contact with dog feaces?
I finally had to give up work, as I was having to bleach my shoes in the staff toilets before entering work after walking from the station. A once pleasant walk had become an extremely stressful scanning mission for dog mess and a series of checks and pauses to question myself. I was also spending an obscene amount of money on Carex soap and Dettol Wipes daily, trying to rid myself of any contamination. I would throw away bags, shoes, coats in fear that they had come into contact with dog faeces. I also noticed that I was becoming increasingly snappy and agitated. After months of this routine I was finally signed off from work with the hope of returning but I never did. I spent the next few months having a rather relaxed form of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) to which I found pretty useless and nowhere near intense enough for the extent to which I was suffering. However some time went and I felt a little better and a little more capable so when a job offer came along in London, I took it. In hindsight it probably wasn't the best idea but I had longed to live in London all my life and the majority of my friends lived there. So in the space of a week I had moved up to the East End and was working in Piccadilly.
The next three months were probably the darkest and most distressing months of my entire life. My OCD reared its ugly head once more and I became a recluse. Functioning only at work to keep up appearances but as soon as I left at 6pm I retreated back into my illness. I would spend £20 a day on cleaning products and would go through 2-3 bottles of Carex soap a day after bleaching my shoes upon returning home. I didn't see my friends, I avoided all calls, I was an absolute ghost of myself. One day, three months after I had begun my life in London, I decided I couldn't take anymore. I had finished work late and was commuting back home to Portsmouth by this point. Whilst walking to the tube I had noticed some dog mess and convinced myself I had trodden in it. I then embarked on my practically daily mission of buying a new pair or black slip on shoes to change into on the train. Here I was, marching up and down Oxford Street at 8.30pm at night. It was dark, Christmas shoppers were everywhere. I was pushed and shoved and couldn't see the pavement and that's when I just broke down. I arrived home late that night and confessed to my parents how difficult everything had become and I could no longer cope. They seemed relieved to be honest. The next day I called work and terminated my position. I was devastated, I loved my job, it was the only reason I had stuck it out there so long.
The next month was awful. I had become a complete shadow of my former self. I was suicidal and unresponsive. The medication I was on was not agreeing with me and I became rather aggressive (completely out of character). My parents were extremely concerned and so called in a doctor. It was then that I was admitted to 'Hospital at Home'. A mental health facility in which patients are visited at home by a psychologist and mental health nurse or support worker. Slowly but surely I began to improve. My medication was switched and this instantly helped. I received intensive therapy for 12 weeks and did come a long way. However, due to funding this stopped and for the past 4 months I have been visited one a week by a mental health nurse. And here we are..at the present day!
I've still got an incredibly long way to go and am on the waiting list for proper psychological help again, until then I'm sort of in a limbo where I'm just waiting for help. I am stuck inside most days as outside is a pretty scary place for me at the moment. Some days are harder than others but I try and stay positive. I have very supportive friends and family who are there for me and finally understand the condition and as a result, me. I guess the point of this blog was to share with you just how harrowing his illness is. To those who have never had to encounter OCD I envy you. And to the media who so often mock the condition, I resent you, for misrepresenting an illness which destroys lives. But we have to stay positive and I can honestly say I have managed to sustain my sense of humour throughout all of this. I guess you have to, because when you're sat there, wiping a pack of Dettol wipes WITH a Dettol wipe, you have to think to yourself
'WOW.....'
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