November Community Blog Post

Each month, I will be sharing a guest piece written by someone from my online community. November’s submissions includes a piece about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder by Saleema Lookman. The work of destigmatizing mental health is a community one, and I’m honored to share this space.

If you would like to submit your writing to be featured next month, please review the submission guidelines at the end of this post.


The intrusive thoughts pummel me like hail.

One after another. Becoming more aggressive with each attempt to ignore them.

What if I just yell obscenities at the top of my lungs?

Am I sure I'm not going to spontaneously vomit? 

What if I hit someone on the drive here and don’t remember it?

Wait, what if I'm actually living in a dream? 

Even if I run for cover by numbing myself with substances or distractions, I never feel safe from them. Because I can't escape my own mind.

Growing up, I thought everyone experienced these unsettling thoughts.

Surely my peers wore their lucky socks on school trips to prevent the bus from crashing and locked their bedroom doors at night for fear they would sleepwalk and murder their parents.  How are they so poised? I’d think. After endless hours in a state of panic they didn’t seem weary or unsettled at all. So, why was I? They must be stronger than me, I reasoned. 

So, I continued on, trying to appear as composed as the others. Along with a signed permission slip for class trips, I made sure to identify every emergency exit on the bus and in the venue, should the need arise to evacuate. I shook my hips with my friends at school dances, then sobbed until my entire body shook into the wee hours of the night. On the outside, I laughed and smiled with my classmates while a persistent knot formed in my stomach. 

Likewise, my own thoughts became progressively knotted and intertwined with these unwelcome notions. I couldn’t separate my thoughts from the ones that popped into my head. Even though I didn't feel safe in my own mind, I didn't let it show. I can be strong, too, I reminded myself. It wasn't until I shared these reflections with a campus therapist at 17 years old that I discovered just how strong I needed to be.

"Am I hearing you say you want to harm yourself?" they asked, as a look of sheer panic flashed through their eyes.

"No," I replied, "I don’t want to, it's just something that… pops into my head. Like, if I make plans for next year, sometimes I’ll have a thought like, ‘But what if I'm not here then?’"

"You've made plans to do it?"

"No, no. Like plans for my future or even social plans to hang with friends. But then I hear a phrase–"

"So, you're hearing things?" Their expression changed again, this time from panic to disapproval with large brushstrokes of judgment. 

"I don't know, I just–" the sound of them furiously scribbling on their notepad was enough to silence me. I never knew someone’s silence could be the cruelest kind of interruption. 

Then a long stare.

"I think your situation is too complex for University counseling services, so I'd like to refer you to an off-campus mental health professional for further evaluation–"

This time, I was the one who stopped listening. Does this mean I'm too complex? There must be something very wrong with meDo I want to hurt myself? Are these words mine, or am I hearing voices? A hailstorm of new thoughts entered my mind. Questioning everything. I reluctantly accepted the referral and raced back to my dorm.  

Next week, in my new therapist’s office, my mind was churning. I mentioned stress about exams, minor conflicts with my roommate, and how I missed my family. I didn’t say anything about the intrusive thoughts. The therapist’s eyebrows knit together as I spoke, but this wasn’t the same concerned furrow I’d seen on my last therapist’s face. It was a kind concern. Understanding. 

I see, these are acceptable things to share

I wanted to share the panic I felt when I spiraled into obsessive worry. The fears that I might be in a coma and making up my entire life. Or the frightening images of my hands steering my car into oncoming traffic that popped into my mind, as if on a mental loop. I wanted to share how every time I cut vegetables with a sharp knife, I panicked that I'd snap and stab someone. Or myself. I never had, but what if one day I actually did it? And worse, what if these thoughts meant I wanted to? I wanted to tell them these things, but I didn't. 

In that moment, I decided the disturbing thoughts were a facet of myself I would hide in the dresser drawer of my mind, underneath my lucky pair of socks. Clearly, they were deeply unsound, and I was too fearful of letting anyone else see them again, let alone look at them myself. I vowed to keep them locked away for as long as I could. I needed to stay strong. 


I'm OK. I'm safe. I'm OK. I'm safe. I'm OK. I'm—my self-soothing post-panic attack chant-and-scroll was interrupted by a colorful infographic. "Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) Themes," it cheerfully read. Huge tears bloomed in my eyes as I saw my innermost thoughts written in swirly pink font: "Unwanted violent thoughts. Existential obsessions. Self-harm fears. ‘Just right’ fixations."

That's me, I gaped. Other people experience these thoughts too.

I urgently scrolled to the caption, where a single phrase caught my eye, "thoughts do not align with the sufferer's values or beliefs." I finally had the permission I needed to release the belief that these thoughts meant I wanted these things. Because I didn’t. I knew I didn’t want to drive into oncoming traffic or stab my partner, yet my mind had become my enemy. I no longer trusted myself.”  

The comments revealed dozens of specific obsessions from people with OCD, words of encouragement, and stories of recovery. "It gets better!!!" the post author, who is both a therapist and OCD sufferer, wrote. And I wept at the notion that perhaps I wasn’t too complex after all, and I, too, could get better.

On the morning of my therapy appointment—my first in over a decade—I practiced saying the words.

They came out as a whisper.

“I think I have OCD.”

The taste of education I’d experienced through Instagram made me eager to learn about this disorder I’d misperceived. Yet I still felt the terror of my 17-year-old self pulse through my body as I mustered the strength to share my story. 

I slowly gazed up from my anxiously bouncing leg and back to the telemedicine call. I’d just poured everything out of my heart and into the ears of a stranger on the other end of a Zoom call. The intrusive fears, rumination, panic attacks, and dissociation. It was a relief to finally set down the things I’d been carrying around with me for so long, but I also felt naked. No one had ever seen so much of me. 

I expected to see my new therapist engrossed in their notes, writing down each of my symptoms and evaluating just how damaged I am. I braced myself for the torrent of questions, but they didn't come. Instead, the therapist  looked directly into the camera, smile unwavering. Not so much as a flinch. 

“These thoughts must be incredibly frightening for you,” they compassionately validated. “And they’re very common with OCD.” 

I let out a long sigh. Possibly the first time I’d allowed myself to completely exhale in 17 years. My throat tightened as I felt the emotions bubble up to the surface: relief that these thoughts are common, fear that I have a diagnosed condition, anger that it took me so long to get the support I need, and hope that my life might look brighter moving forward. There are so many things I wanted to tell them, but all I could choke out was a quiet “thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s talk about a treatment plan so we can help you feel better.” 

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is still widely misunderstood by the public and even among mental health professionals.

Because the compulsions can be unseen mental compulsions, as is often the case with Pure Obsessional OCD or “Pure O,” it’s frequently misdiagnosed as General Anxiety Disorder. Not to mention, stigmatization of the intrusive thoughts associated with the condition can keep many sufferers living in a cycle of guilt and shame, which can hinder them from seeking support. 

Data suggests it can take anywhere from 12 to 17 years from the onset of symptoms to the time a person actually gets appropriate help for OCD[1]. 17 years. This number rings true for me, as it was 17 years ago I sat in that first therapist's office and resolved never to speak of my dark thoughts again. But I’m finally in a place where I’m ready to share my journey so others know they're not alone. 

For many years, I had nothing to shield me from my intrusive thoughts. As soon as the hailstorm started, I would crumble into a panic-struck mess, the impact bruising my skin, leaving me more vulnerable to each hailstorm to come. But now I have a protective umbrella of a diagnosis, awareness, therapy, community, medication, and support. The intrusive thoughts are still there, but I can function safely without getting bruised. 

As scary as it might feel to shine a light on the parts of yourself you've kept in the dark for so long, know you're not alone. You’ve been strong for so long, remaining poised on the outside while weathering the storm in your mind. It’s safe to lean into others for strength when you need protection. If you’re having an intrusive thought, there’s someone else out there who is or has experienced it too. And it’s likely more common than you know. You are not too complex, and it does get better. 

So much better. 

References:

[1]: https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/34898630/


About the Author

Saleema is a writer, recovering overthinker, and magic seeker. Putting pen to paper has allowed her to make transformative discoveries about her inner truth. She hopes others struggling with their mental health can find comfort within her prose.

You can find her on instagram: @Saleemaishq or find more about her on her website at https://www.fearlessphrases.com/.


If you or someone you know is struggling with their mental, please reach out. 

It is so, unbelievable brave to ask for help. I know its hard as hell, and trust me in the moment, I understand how viscerally painful it is to say “I need help.” 

Here are some resources below:

Sharewell: Low cost peer led support groups
Better Help: Online counseling at more affordable rates
Calmerry: Online counseling and chat counseling

Crisis Textline: text “HOME” to 741741

I love you. You matter. Stay;


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