Bevan Goldswain/Getty Images
- I was diagnosed with OCD when I was 16, but have had compulsions as long as I can remember.It's counterintuitive, but the symptoms of my OCD intensify around people I'm comfortable with.I'm working on fighting my compulsions when I'm around my partner.
I've been counting since I can remember. Balancing, blinking, scanning for cracks to step on with my right foot whenever my left foot accidentally landed on one. The feeling of something, anything, being "off" can mess up my day and have an intense effect on my interactions with others, particularly with those I'm closest to. I wasn't diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder until age 16, but I have no recollection of life before it.
My list of triggers is long (and doesn't include the "neatness" commonly associated with OCD), but the main categories are checking (confirming the door is shut or my curling iron is unplugged), symmetry/exactness, and a symptom I've seen anecdotally referred to as "memory hoarding," wherein I feel a compulsive need to internalize even the most inconsequential information.
I've learned to appreciate some aspects of my condition. My desire to take verbatim notes makes me an excellent typer, and, because I compulsively repeat patterns and numbers in my head, I internalize them pretty easily. Case in point: In 2013, I was hit by a car. While still on the ground, I memorized the driver's license plate before they peeled away. (They eventually stopped and came back, but that's a story for another day.) Certain information is like a hard-to-forget jingle, except instead of a fun little earworm, it's a game of Freecell I played in elementary school.
It's not all fun and actual games. If my mind grabs onto a word or even text on a billboard, I lose focus and stop processing whatever I'm supposed to be doing. At night, if my body feels off balance, I may spend a half-hour tapping and twitching until things feel 100% right. Sleeping next to me can be very difficult at times. And yet, I do sleep next to another person each night — someone who is very patient, which can be both a blessing and a curse, through no fault of his own.
I stop hiding my OCD when I become more comfortable with someone
When I first meet someone, I try to disguise my OCD with workarounds. But when I'm around someone who cares about me, who accepts me, the hiding stops. This sounds positive in theory, but in practice, it's like my OCD is suddenly given free rein, allowing it to operate openly and aggressively. This happens in my romantic partnerships and my relationships with immediate family members, best friends, and even my therapist.
For years, I didn't understand why the presence of my loved ones exacerbated my OCD symptoms. It seems counterintuitive that being with the people I'm most comfortable around could amplify my compulsions; after all, their presence usually decreases my anxiety, and anxiety can intensify someone's OCD symptoms. But no — these people usually bear witness to the weirdest, most intrusive compulsions in my brain's repertoire.
My OCD is a principal part of who I am, inherent to my personality, nature, and disposition. For a long time, I thought that having people in my life who accepted my OCD made it OK to ask them to go above and beyond to placate my worries. Through therapy, I've realized that, while supportive relationships are important — even necessary — they can only go so far, and asking them to go to such great lengths was unfair to them (and a disservice to myself). I was asking my loved ones to make me feel better — over and over and over. And then I'd ask myself, "Why am I not getting any better?"
What I was asking for is something known as family accommodation, which can occur when a person's loved ones try to alleviate the sufferer's anxieties, thereby "preventing patients from developing tolerance or habituating to the anxiety associated with their OCD triggers." If one of your compulsions is checking to make sure the stove is not on, and your partner always reassures you that the stove is off whenever you ask, it may stop you from seeking help with your appliance-focused anxieties.
When I started dating my partner, I decided to fight some of my compulsions
Early in my current relationship, I jumped on the opportunity to start fighting some of my compulsions, like not asking my partner to repeat himself or to quadruple-check the door's locks. At first, I didn't discuss this effort — and, good god, it took effort. Not only is it difficult to explain, but acknowledgment could make the compulsions feel more urgent, harder to avoid.
A few months in, I told him everything and asked that he try not to indulge my OCD if possible. Progress has been slow, and I still experience compulsive urges on a minute-to-minute basis, but each minor victory is still a victory. For decades, resisting any compulsion felt excruciating, even impossible, so even the littlest steps forward are thrilling.
I now recognize that my interpersonal relationships can mean the difference between living peacefully with OCD and suffering from it. There's no cure, but a path to acceptance exists, and I feel grateful to finally be walking it.
