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Me and My OCD
Annie Yao, 14
Massachusetts
Ahhh, the joys of growing up: with new friends, new activities, new everything come new responsibilities. And that goes double if you're a self-conscious 11-year-old girl on the verge of teenagerhood and moving away from everything you knew as home… For me, that's exactly how it was.
Many preteen girls feel the stress and pressure of friends, of the social pyramid, of needing to wear the right outfit or being in the right clique at school. This, in itself, leads girls off the track of discovering their passions and who they really are, and makes them care more about how much cakey blush or lipstick they can pile on their faces. They think they need to be like everyone else, that the only thing that matters in life is blending into the background. Of course, it is easier to tell someone, "Be yourself!" than to actually do it. It's called pressure….
I am the child of two Chinese immigrants. I was born in China but later moved to Iowa City, Iowa at the age of 4. I moved to Durham, North Carolina when I was 6 and didn't experience much emotion about what I was leaving behind. When I was in sixth grade, my family and I moved to Massachusetts. This time, however, I was overwhelmed with the changes that were ahead.
It was January 2005, and I entered a whirlwind and landed in Oz. I guess that's what triggered my OCD, even if my young self would deny it at the time. I was too stressed with life. I coped pretty well, being the academically-blessed girl that I was, but the introduction to fashion and cliques unknown to me in my previous middle school left me unarmed. I admit, I was internally insecure.
Everyone has a few habits in striving for perfection or achieving success, but OCD is an overactive alarm clock. Worry plagues you, to the extent of making you feel that you need to perform rituals over and over again to neutralize your uneasy feelings, or else they will dwell in your mind, interfering with your daily life.
My OCD problem came gradually, just as anxiety and worry come gradually. I was, and still am, a person striving for academic perfection, someone who can be as fun as anyone else but serious when it comes to me and my A pluses, so schoolwork became the focus of my obsessions.
My disorder took a toll on many aspects of my life, coming and going, and slowly getting worse and worse. Everything had to be neat and organized, nothing changed. I needed reassurance often. If one of my friends teased me, in my heart of hearts I knew that I wasn't a failure at life, but my mind and thoughts begged to differ. If someone said something about me, I believed it was true.
Change was the alien foe to me those months. I hoarded objects no one else would ever think of keeping as a result of my fear of change. OCD took hold of my breathing habits and obligated me to keep certain items with me at all times, or I believed there would be consequences. I had numerous repeating rituals, such as moving in and out of doorways a certain way. On returning home, I couldn't go directly to a certain place, but I was compelled to circle around and avoid entering through a certain doorway. I performed before-bed and after-bed rituals. If a single action was displaced, I would start over again. I thought that through doing all of these compulsions (and many others) I could control my life. Call me weird, but these rules were my reality. In truth, I felt imprisoned within myself.
I was too embarrassed to mention anything to my parents in fear that they would think I was crazy, which I believed myself to be. I concealed the inner, OCD-infested part of myself from the outside world, and it worked…to an extent. It was just a matter of time before people began to notice my peculiar ways: my parents asked why I always kept a pencil with me, even if there was no use for one, and they asked why I never entered through the family room's French doors. I blew away the remarks with the slightest of ease, but inside, I grew uncomfortable. Quite frankly, these were my secrets, and it was nobody's business to meddle with them, thank you very much.
It got to a point where I couldn't take it anymore, where my OCD interfered too much with my everyday life. I wanted so badly to break free of my thoughts, but my mind kept telling me, "If you don't follow this set of rules, something will go horribly wrong."
My break finally came one Saturday evening when I found an article about OCD in Reader's Digest. On the top left corner of the cover were the words "Normal or Not? Test Yourself." I read, "OCD patients make lists of rules: Magazines must be straight, zippers must be closed, pictures must be level… Controlling the zippers or the picture frames is not going to give you any more control over your relationships, your health, your work, or your life. Anxiety from these sources is what's really bothering you, and the only way to deal with these issues is to face them directly." I felt somewhat relieved that I wasn't going crazy, but I wasn't too happy either that I had a disorder.
My pride wouldn't allow me to tell others what I had. Besides, I felt that I should be the one to cure myself. I got to work: I followed the magazine's directions and faced my issues, slowly but surely, dismissing my negative thoughts and recognizing my inner strength. I told myself the truth, and the truth was inside. I was a phoenix*, a confident young woman ready to be born out of the ashes of my old self. My silly rules didn't have anything to do with whether I would succeed or not. I recognized that I didn't need reassurance from others about who I was or what I was to become—the sky was the limit.
Today, I am 14 years old and have won numerous science fair awards, and I am OCD-less.
*Phoenix: a person or thing that has been reborn, and become better after a major event.
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