I wrote this sobbing last night. Never written anything this easily - it literally poured out of me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had the feeling that my own actions could possibly save the lives of those I love. Whether it was my keeping my mom from dying in a tragic car accident and having a mental image of me staring at her casket flash in my mind or if it was keeping my brother safe from the boogeyman, I have always felt compelled to try something. If my actions, or what i later learned are compulsions can make a small difference and help keep someone safe, why would I not just walk back and check the light while counting to eleven three times in a row? It’s nonsensical. It’s illogical, but, yes, I still get these thoughts. It’s because I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or OCD. My earliest obsession that I remember was about telling my little brother the same thing every night. He slept in the bunk bed above me and every night I would tell him “I love you. I have you have good dreams. Please know you can always talk to me about anything.” I said this to my brother ritually because my brain was telling me that if I didn’t my brother would die in his sleep and I’d never have the chance to tell him that. Or worse my brother would die and be mad at me, with me having no recourse to right my unsuspecting wrong prior to his unseemly and early demise. Again, it doesn’t make sense, but to a 9 year old it felt quite burdensome. Then came the religious aspect. It was around this time that I was exposed to Christianity and the idea of being saved. Through learning about the concept of heaven I was also taught that an inverse existed: hell. This would be my OCD’s playground for the next several years. I was taught the Lord’s Prayer and I felt that I had to say it a certain number of times each night in order for God to deem me, a lowly 9 year old sinner, as “worthy” of the kingdom. This number felt absolutely imperative that I complete the prayers otherwise I might die in my sleep and go to hell. So I stayed up and said the prayers over and over. To say the Lord’s Prayer over 100 times in an evening was exhausting for my brain. Then afterwards to have to convince myself that I had met my requisite demands and would be allowed into heaven. Then came puberty and picking my face. I had acne and I was extremely self conscious about it. I picked at my face and created scars only making things worse. I picked at my skin and would put paper clips under my fingernails because the pain allowed temporary relief. It was possibly to ease my mind because it was a distraction from the constant heavy stuff I was considering. This is also when the intrusive thoughts began to materialize and get worse. It would be near constant that when I was speaking with someone I would get strange sexual or violent intrusive thoughts. I had no desire to act on them and I was in fact utterly confused and disgusted by them. They only compounded my confusion - how could I, the person who just thought about pushing someone down the stairs or holding another dude’s hand, be worthy of heaven. It led me to question every sense of my being as a person. I didn’t have a foundation to question but I still felt more confused because these thoughts were coming from me, maybe I wasn’t worthy of heaven. Maybe I was even dangerous or worse a monster and needed to be kept away from people so that I didn’t cause pain. I didn’t know at the time that these strange violent or sexual thoughts were apart of my mental illness. A distressing prod from OCD followed by compulsions to pray or reassure myself about everything. My relationships in college included me constantly seeking reassurances from myself that my friends didn’t secretly hate me. I knew that it wasn’t normal because I was exhausted. I can remember thinking to myself why is nobody talking about this? And then I remember thinking, that I didn’t want to talk about it either because it involved weird, embarrassing or even taboo topics that my intrusive thoughts seized upon and weaponized my own worst fears against me. Amazing nobody wants to discuss that with their loved ones regularly. In law school, the pressure ratcheted up and I knew I wasn’t right with all the compulsions I had to do just to make it through the day. Between the mental aspects of dealing with absolute chaotic intrusive thoughts, reassuring myself i was a decent person and physical manifestations of compulsions like repeatedly checking my bottom floor apartment to ensure I hadn’t killed the 300 other tenants in the building - I was exhausted. Luckily, my then girlfriend now wife was able to make it through the mush that is my brain through sheer effort and love she convinced me to get help. I didn’t tell anyone but her and I remember hoping nobody recognized me as I walked in to see a psychiatrist. I’d like to say things got better there and I learned how to control things, but they didn’t necessarily get worse either. That’s one of the tricks that ocd plays on you. It makes you think you’re stuck in the middle of something and it’s incredibly daunting to make it out. You should just give up and give in to these compulsions rather than actually try to fight all this. I got married and had a child and became a lawyer all very quickly. It was a ton of change and my anxiety was heightened. Recently I’ve had debilitating panic attacks and have felt the a sense of terror surge though me that I have never felt before. My panic attacks can feel all consuming and physically manifest themselves with weird symptoms like my hands cramping from hyperventilating. I’m seeing a therapist and trying different medications to get the balance right. I know that I am less anxious when I practice self care. It’s a process that I’m trying to learn because for most of my adult life I’ve lived with this secret that I felt like was all my own. Nobody ever mentions this kind of suffering for obvious reasons and popular culture portrays ocd as a neat assigning of colors and rows. I believe if we talk about our struggles more openly and practice empathy with each other we can help people suffer less. I suffered silently for a long time because I was scared to death what people would think of me if they found out I was broken - but what I was unable to see was that there are others out there suffering too. We are stronger together if we talk about these things openly but it takes courage. I have debated on speaking out about my struggles for sometime but I read something recently and it cemented that I had to speak out. If I recover loudly maybe other won’t have to suffer silently. I believe if someone had spoken to me and told me this was a disorder in my brain, it could have saved me a lot of suffering. I want kids and teens to know that intrusive thoughts and ocd exist. If it means one less kid going to school tired from being up too late saying prayers then it is worth it. My pride is not more important than other people’s suffering. I’m in a position to speak out and positively impact people. If you or someone you love has OCD please know I’m walking this journey with you. I don’t have the answers but I do know we can beat this. Together.