I was 7 years old when I finally gathered the courage to confront my father.
We were sitting in the living room on a pleasant evening. I wanted to ask him how, in my mind, he could possibly participate in my life in the way that he did. He didn’t know anything was wrong; he didn’t know the thoughts swarming and buzzing inside of my head, how they were telling me what he was and what everything was and how it was all fake. I told him that I knew his secret. I told him that I knew that he, my mother, my brother, everyone in my life wasn't real. They were shapeshifters who created this world— my entire reality! Created to examine me— an enigma— to figure out how I worked, why I was different from them. I was an alien. I knew this to be correct. I told my father this.
Nine years later, I was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder; Pure Obsessional.
The path to get to have these words to describe the things that were happening in my head was difficult. I started seeing a therapist when I was 14; my family suspected anxiety, or an eating disorder, as my weight had dropped to 90 pounds. She was the first one to tell me that I had “intrusive thoughts”, and she told me that the vile things my brain convinced me weren’t me. I was more than my thoughts. I could take control of my feelings and I could choose how I let them affect me. I learned that it wasn’t me telling myself to kill my family, it wasn’t my choice to hear these violent words in my head, it wasn’t my inner, evil consciousness wanting to come out every time I felt nervous around the sight of a knife. I learned that I am who I am, and that’s okay; the world’s opinion of me doesn't matter.
OCD affects my life in nearly every aspect possible. Before visiting my therapist, I struggled deeply with my relationships in particular, and despite her help, it does still affect me. Often I would sit in my room for hours on end doing nothing but staring at the ceiling, letting my thoughts race. Was I being intrusive with this friend group? Did they want me around, or was I forcing myself into their circle? I wasn’t worth having friends. I was an enigma, an anomaly. I was something to stare at and sneer at. Every conversation was a test of my willpower and skill— one wrong word, one slight sentence out of tone, and my thoughts would collapse in on me, burying me in shame.
Now, after treatment, things aren’t as big a daily challenge and struggle as they used to be. I still wonder if I said something wrong to someone; did my opinion change their perception of me? It is far easier to let these questions go, and I appreciate the people who stand by me as I struggle deeply and more intimately now that I know the value of my thoughts. Being able to push through these things allows me to make these connections; I understand that my friends and family are worth so much, and I mean to them as much as they mean to me. The value of a relationship where you can voice yourself authentically is not something that can be measured.
My future, like my relationships, is not limited by my OCD. I have self-described lofty goals for my career; I intend on creating games through my graphic design and storytelling skills. Through this avenue, not only can I express myself through creating vibrant worlds and epic tales, but perhaps inspire those suffering similarly or differently to me. During the height of my struggle before seeing a therapist, my primary escape from my racing thoughts was gaming, and the online community of players surrounding the games I’d play. I’d spend hours on end immersed in various strange worlds, playing as a character with a unique story, just to get a break from who I actually was; or at least, that’s how I saw it at the time. My experience with my mental health has helped me realize just how important a good story is; it isn’t an escape from yourself, but a tool to understand what about yourself you love. Being someone else and seeing the world through their eyes contextualizes your own life. It isn’t a way to disown yourself and shed your identity, but instead appreciate who you are— what makes you special that you might share with a video game protagonist, what you want to improve upon yourself that the protagonist does over the course of a story. My goal for my future is to help those who play the games I create come to these conclusions about themselves. I want to improve the lives of those who interact with my art.
My struggle with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Pure O, is an integral part of my life, positive or not. The ways in which I view and appreciate the world are different because of it, but that does not mean that they are worth less than others’ stories or make me a terrible person. I intend for my future to include avenues to help better the lives of anyone I can; I know how much consideration can mean.