I see you, Howie Mandel

In 2023, as I was finally getting sober from harder substances, I found myself in one of the scariest mental spaces I'd ever known. I was still smoking daily, my relationship was rocky, and one night—it all hit me. It felt like I had slipped into a video game. Nothing felt real… or maybe everything felt too real. The world around me was distorted. I had always dealt with anxiety, but this? This was something else. I was spiraling—drenched in guilt over everything I'd ever done, every person I thought I hurt, every wrong I tried to make right all at once. It was suffocating. At 23, I tried checking myself into a mental hospital—something I hadn’t done since I was 17. I was desperate to understand what was happening. My relationship took a hit as I spilled every ounce of guilt I carried to my partner, unable to stop the cycle. It wasn’t just anxiety. It was OCD. And while the diagnosis was terrifying at first, it was also reassuring. I finally had a name for the storm inside me. I wasn’t alone. People I admire—like Jenna Ortega—deal with this too. It’s not just me. It’s real, it’s hard, but it’s also something I can face. Since then, I’ve made big changes. I stopped smoking—realizing it only made the noise in my head louder. I started therapy. My partner didn’t understand at first, but as we both learned more about OCD together, we grew stronger. We’re now engaged, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been. But now it’s time to reconnect—with myself. I want to find the me before everything. The creative, passionate, connected me. I want to start streaming games again and hopefully rebuild the following I lost. I want to connect with people again—I don’t have many friends left, but I’m determined to find my people again. I’m also diving back into my art. Journaling. Sketching—even when I don’t like it. Because it’s the act of creating that heals, not just the end result. I won’t let OCD run my life. I will prevail.

I was super recently diagnosed with OCD and nervous to share my diagnosis with my family. I’m a somewhat messy person and don’t have germophobic tendencies, so since I don’t have the stereotypical OCD presentation I was terrified that nobody would believe me. I ended up talking to my mom and making a silly TikTok post about it, which my grandma saw. Not only did they believe and support me–I learned that my grandma has it too! Funny to look back on, but really cool to see that the worst outcome doesn’t always happen. (:

Last night I watched The Aviator (2004) for the very first time and I am shook at how much I related to Leonardo DiCaprio's depiction of Howard Hughes and his severe OCD. I never realized just how differently OCD can present, not just with the germ theme but as agoraphobia and not eating and verbal looping. If I had seen this when I was younger I wondered if I would have caught on sooner that I had severe OCD and not have been misdiagnosed until age 41 with other severe mental illnesses. If I had seen the scenes of Howard Hughes's mental breakdowns in The Aviator (2004) ... They looked so much like mine. Too much like mine. But without knowing about Exposure Response Therapy I still wouldn't have done anything about it. Deep down I knew I had it, probably knew by my late twenties, I just didn't have a name for it because they depicted OCD as these weird little actions you have to do before you do what you want, like turn a light on and off or count ceiling tiles, and not the things I do. And they never explained what was behind the compulsion, so I didn't know I was performing compulsions. I just wondered why I was exhausted all the time and had trouble with executive functioning. But the signs were there ever since I was a child. If I couldn't do it perfectly or figure out a way to do it perfectly I wouldn't initiate anything. Not for lack of initiative. So I wasn't washing my hands to bleeding or eating only 6 peas. I was writing until my hands were sore, memorizing Bible verses, uncontrollably glitching verbal loops, and suffering sleepless nights because my bedroom walls were not the exact shade of blue I wanted or I didn't start the day in the right order and it felt life-threatening. I remember in sixth grade I yelled out, "Spider!" That gave me the feeling of safety I chased and then I literally could not stop yelling it out, I was even annoying myself and everyone else and telling people I couldn't stop but all that would come out is the word "spider!" So I grew up miserable thinking I was the weird little girl in class not knowing I was sick. And that turned into the weird adult trying to hide the fact they were weird from everyone else until I broke over and over again. And that's when my adulthood sometimes looked like being frozen on the couch, porch, or bedroom for days, weeks, months convinced everything was crawling with bugs and avoiding everyone's phone calls and eating only popsicles, doctors thinking my repetitive glitch brain meant I was hearing voices and my lack of hygiene was something else. I was afraid of the harm I did, I was afraid I was in trouble, I was afraid I'd harmed other people without knowing it, and I was afraid I was too gross to love. This is still true to this day. Under the care of professionals almost all my life and only correctly diagnosed at age 41 when it feels like it's too late to make it better because I've been burned out for years is daunting. But I'm still here and it's been almost six years since my last hospitalization. I no longer think I am a monster. That in itself is more than I ever dreamed of.