Tag Archives: OCD

My OCD Story, Part 1: Hand Washing and Worry

This is the first in a series of posts about my obsessive-compulsive disorder. It’ll be part biography, part documentary about the disease, and part self-help manual. If you struggle with OCD, I’ve learned some tricks and habits that may help.

Starting this is really difficult for me, but I feel like this is the block that’s preventing my life from moving forward. My OCD story is stuck in the machinery of my brain, and I feel like I’ll never be able to write¬†again unless I tell it.

That’s the thing about obsessive-compulsive disorder. It loves the dark. It hates when you reveal its secrets, or talk about it like it’s no big deal. It taught me, at a very young age, to hide, to fear, and to lie.

My Beautiful, Anxious, Shitty Childhood

I grew up in an idyllic middle-class household in Northern Alabama. Two parents, a brother 2.5 years older than me, and all the toys and video games I could handle. We had a huge backyard festooned¬†with fire flies and honeysuckle, and we pretty much always had a pug and a cat. My mom made us Kool-Aid and Jello, and sometimes she’d fry baloney with a slit down its radius to make little Pac-Men.

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Mentally Ill In The First World

I’d like to write a little rant about being sick in the head, and my experience of it so far. It’s not fun, and it’s not all that funny.

I’m writing this for the anxious, who find themselves paralyzed in ways that no one understands; for the depressed, who shrink further and further into themselves, until sometimes they disappear; for those with disordered relationships with reality, who live in the same physical world, but with vastly different perceptions. I’m writing for the soul-hurt, marginalized, stigmatized sufferers, forced to travel alongside everyone else, but burdened with invisible illness.

I’m Ian Harvey, and I have anxiety.

Whee

More anxiety than is normal. Much more. I know that it doesn’t look like it, but what exactly should it look like? I know I don’t act like it (usually), but I’m excellent at hiding abnormal behaviors. Hell, we all are. We hide and we hide, we tell white lies to ourselves and others, all for the sake of passing as normal. When you see us act out or break down, that’s because we couldn’t pass any more.

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