Living with the Weight of OCD: My Truth Exposed

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) is a mental health condition marked by unwanted, excessive thoughts (obsessions) and repetitive behaviors (compulsions). Contrary to what many people assume, OCD isn’t just about wanting things clean or neatly arranged. It’s a lifelong disorder that can be triggered by unexpected factors, and it often shows up in ways most people never talk about.

Confession: It honestly bothers me when people downplay OCD with comments like, “I want my things to be neat. My OCD won’t let me have them messy!” That’s not how it works, and it makes the struggle sound trivial.

I first developed a strange repetitive behavior as early as grade 2 in elementary school. That was the year we were finally “mature” enough to use pens instead of pencils. Correction tape, however, wasn’t allowed yet. Mistakes had to be crossed out and rewritten neatly beside them.

At the time, neither I nor the adults in my life understood why, but something in my head kept telling me to “fix” even correct handwriting. My notebook would end up looking like this:

“I I I I I have have have have have a a a a a book book book.”

My mom scolded me when she found out. In her defense, she probably thought I was fooling around with my homework. But over time, I realized this wasn’t silliness—it was an early sign of something that needed attention.

While the signs were there in primary school, the intrusive thoughts appeared later, in junior high.

It was an ordinary night during a school break. I was watching Confessions of a Shopaholic in my room when, out of nowhere, a huge, threatening thought struck me: I was going to die.

My heart pounded so fast I could barely breathe. That night, I didn’t sleep at all—I just prayed to God and begged Him to let me live.

I felt a little better the next morning (thank God), but I had no idea this was only the beginning. Over the next decade, I started noticing strange behaviors and thoughts I secretly labeled as my “inner craziness”. I told no one. I was terrified people would think I was insane. Back then, social media wasn’t big, and mental health wasn’t something my parents even acknowledged.

Ironically, some of my most obvious OCD symptoms showed up during my favorite hobby: reading novels. I developed an unshakable urge to count the words in almost every sentence, convinced that if I didn’t, something bad would happen.

For example:

“He opened the door.” → four words.

“He came in and sat in the only empty chair.” → ten words.

If I didn’t count, my brain told me something terrible would happen—like a robbery or a fatal accident. It’s not that I never tried to fight the senselessness of such thoughts. Sometimes, the intrusive images were so vivid that I couldn’t risk it.

It didn’t stop there. I also developed a strange compulsion to blow air on parts of my body after someone touched me. I remember one time when my sister brushed against my knee while we were sitting next to each other. My instant reaction? I blew a small puff of air on my knee to somehow prevent disaster.

(Of course, my sister found it incredibly offensive. But what was I supposed to say? That blowing air was my weird way of warding off imaginary catastrophes? I’d rather let her think I was rude than expose the truth.)

If being touched was already that triggering, you can imagine how unbearable the COVID-19 pandemic was for me. I washed my hands over and over until some inner voice finally deemed them clean enough. I sprayed sanitizer on every item I brought back from outside. I even banned my work bag from my bedroom, convinced it was impossible to disinfect.

The cycle was endless: touch something → wash → touch again → wash again. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t stop.

I know this probably doesn’t resonate with some of you. And honestly, I’m glad it doesn’t. But for those who do know what I’m talking about, here’s the message I want to spread: you’re not alone. Those terrifying, exhausting phases are real, but they will pass.

As far as I know, OCD isn’t something that simply disappears. Instead, we learn to live with it—to avoid triggers where we can, and to build routines that stop it from taking over. For me, having a stable daily rhythm and a passion project has helped my symptoms show up less often.

But that doesn’t mean I’ve been “cured”. My OCD still pops up now and then—while reading, at work when I feel the urge to check data five times, at night when I notice dirt on my bathroom floor and imagine germs clinging to my feet, when I read about a new virus and suddenly panic it might contaminate me, or when I scroll through heavy news about war and protests.

But after a decade of showdowns between me and my thoughts, I’ve learned this: my thoughts don’t define me. I am not them.

I’m stronger.

Setbacks happen, and that’s normal. What matters is building a mindset that helps you rise above intrusive thoughts. We may be alone in our thoughts, but we’re not alone with them.

Disclaimer: If your OCD symptoms ever start to endanger your life or seriously interfere with your ability to function, I strongly encourage you to seek professional help from a psychiatrist or therapist. Treatment options like therapy or medication can make a huge difference.

If you want to read more posts, I recommend My Three Emergency Wishes (And Yes, That’s What I Call Them) and Gray Hair, Don’t Care: How I Learned to Embrace It (And Dye It).