Katie L.
Photography by Bri Nitsberg
If you’re reading this, know it’s okay to ask for help.
I was 12 years old when I started having intrusive thoughts about contamination. One day in my home economics class, my teacher mentioned the importance of handwashing, and my brain latched onto the idea. It started with a fear of chemicals – pretty much anything with a warning label – and only grew from there. By the end of the month, I was avoiding anything I believed had germs or chemicals. I thought that if I touched it, or even got too close to it, I would somehow ingest it and die.
My obsessions didn’t just interfere with my daily routines; they also altered my relationships within my family. My family didn’t understand what was going through my mind, and I can’t say I blame them. My parents were constantly worried about me, but they also grew irritated at times. The intrusive thoughts overrode the rational thoughts in my brain to the point where I couldn’t do simple tasks without thinking I was going to die. For years, I couldn’t use acne medication without scrubbing my hands afterward.
With OCD, your fears tend to be irrational. You’re aware of that, but it doesn’t matter because it feels so much easier to give in to the fear and perform compulsions to calm yourself. It didn’t take me long to learn that sometimes compulsions can hurt just as much as the obsessive thoughts. My primary compulsion was repetitive handwashing. I would stand at the sink and sing "Happy Birthday" in my head over and over as I scrubbed my hands raw until I felt clean. It got so bad that my hands were visibly red and dry; I couldn’t even close my hand into a fist without my knuckles splitting and bleeding.
I knew that I was struggling. It felt like every day brought new fears and challenges. I felt so alone because no one in my life really understood what was going on or how to best support me. I really wanted to try therapy because I couldn’t do anything without worrying about contamination, but I was too scared to bring up the idea with my parents. I wasn’t able to get the help that I desperately needed until my mom suggested it; I was too scared of judgment from the people who love me most in this world.
When I finally did start therapy, it wasn’t some sort of cure that magically fixed my OCD. It was actually really hard for me at first. I struggled to articulate how I was feeling and what I was thinking because my intrusive thoughts always felt like swirling fragments of sentences. It was also difficult for me to be at my most vulnerable with someone that I barely knew.
It’s taken six years, medication, and therapy, but I've finally taken back control in my life. I still don’t like touching doorknobs, but the difference between then and now is that I can. I know that I can work through any obstacle, and it’s because I have the support of those who care about me. If you’re reading this, please never be afraid to ask for help. If no one knows you’re struggling, then they won’t know how to support you.
Katie L., Washington University in St. Louis
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