Love Me, Love My OCD

It’s no great secret that I’m obsessive-compulsive. One out of every fifty people has obsessive-compulsive disorder. In my group, I just happen to be the one.

Earlier in the semester, one of my professors asked me, referring to my OCD, "What does that mean?" I’m sure he only wanted to know how my accommodations would play into his class; but the real answer to his question is one that few people seem to understand. What does it mean to have OCD and be in college? Let me tell you.

It means that every single assignment is a big deal. A minor paper holds the same weight for me as a paper worth a quarter of my grade. So, I tend to write multiple drafts. I agonize over topics. I stop for an hour to research a grammar question. Not because I really need to know but because the idea of doing something wrong is terrifying.

It means that I overanalyze everything that the professors say to me. A short response to an email can result in hours of wondering what I might have done to offend or upset said professor. It means that sometimes I end up sounding like an idiot because I feel compelled to reply back and actually ask whether or not I’m in trouble.

It means that, despite my desire to be a perfect pupil, sometimes the homework doesn’t get done until the last minute, because I simply had to spend all night scrubbing the doorjamb. Or re-alphabetizing my bookshelves. Or checking my closet for wayward hangers facing the wrong direction.

It means that I’m allowed to take double time on tests — because I tend to check my work until I run out of time and can’t finish. It also means that if I don’t take extra time for any reason, I worry that I’m going to look like a fraud.

It means that I want to wash my hands thirty times a day when I’m on campus because I’m absolutely terrified of germs. (And while I love you all – you’re germy!)

It means that, if I say anything about having a disability, most people will look at me and respond, "But there’s nothing wrong with you." Being disabled in any way that is not immediately visible makes many people question your right to call yourself disabled, let alone your right to seek any kind of accommodation for the disability. They don’t understand that it isn’t about getting an advantage; it’s about overcoming the disadvantages that are already there.

Despite everything … it’s not tragic. It’s something that you learn to handle. It’s something I’ve learned to use. After all, perfectionism isn’t always a bad thing in college. And it makes me a really good note-taker. Yes, having OCD in college is a challenge. But life without challenges is boring.

OCD has taught me how to make fun of myself and how to tell the difference between the people who are laughing with me and the people who are laughing at me. It has also taught me how to advocate for myself, and how to find people who can advocate for me in situations that require it. In a way, it makes me a better student. Someday, it will make me a better therapist.

My point is this: Mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn’t make me, or anyone else who lives with it, less capable of success. Not in college. Not in life. And even though I’ll spend the next week obsessively worrying that this post was a bad idea, I’m glad to be ‘coming out’ to all of you. For better or worse, ’til death do us part, I am obsessive-compulsive. Love me, love my OCD.