Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

No, you don’t have OCD for keeping your room tidy.

No, you don’t have OCD for straightening the pictures on the walls.

No, you don’t have OCD for washing your hands before you eat.

No, you don’t have OCD for wanting to write down your day in a journal every evening.

No, you don’t have OCD for wanting to do a job perfectly.

OCD isn’t wanting to keep your room tidy, it’s needing to keep your room spotless.  It’s knowing that it’s illogical to be so upset that your friend pulled one of your books off its shelf, but still feeling nervous and jumpy until you can put it back in its designated place.

OCD is straightening a picture, then unstraightening it just to straighten it again, thinking “this is the last time” at number three, but redoing it seven more times just to get to an even ten, then wondering if it’s even still straight anymore and repeating the process.

OCD is washing your hands over and over, scrubbing at them till they’re raw, knowing that your hands will be dry and cracked by the time you’re done, wishing you could stop, knowing you should stop, but pumping soap onto them “just one more time.”

OCD is wanting to write something down, but getting stuck on one sentence — deleting it and rewriting it, over and over, going back farther each time, hoping you can remember what you wrote because you have to rewrite it exactly the same way.

OCD is wanting to a job perfectly, but messing it up and knowing you have no excuse to give because you’ve been pressing the same button over and over for the past five minutes with no explanation other than you just had to do it.

OCD is Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It’s time-wasting, it’s interfering, it’s infuriating, and it’s embarrassing. It’s not a personality quirk, and it’s not your punch line, it’s a disorder. And it’s not something you want.



Photo by Ian Espinosa on Unsplash