Coffee Talks: Proses And Roses

Let's Talk About OCD

If you aren't aware yet, I was diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) when I was nineteen years old. It's a type of anxiety disorder that is often so overlooked and stereotyped. And I'm not blaming anyone for that. My only concern is that---for someone who suffers from such mental illness, society should acknowledge OCD as much as they acknowledge physical illnesses. They are both crucially torturous and difficult to live with.

I have first showed OCD symptoms since I was around six years old, maybe even younger. I would pick at my skin and bite my nails until they bleed. I remember my aunt being disgusted by the sight of my fingernails. And at that time, I was helpless and embarrassed by my compulsive behavior. But I couldn't find the strength to stop. It was like a drug that made me so anxious and terribly satisfied at the same time.

I would often panic when our elementary teacher would check our fingernails for hygiene. I've spent majority of my life trying to accept that my hands would forever remain this way. Because it's from anxiety. And from what I've heard, anxiety doesn't go away. You just learn how to live and cope with it.

A time came when I finally got sick of feeling this huge embarrassment inside of me. I told myself to stop the compulsive nail biting at all costs---that I'm doing this for myself, too. And with all the efforts I've exerted for years and years, my fingernails now looks normal. But the anxiety, though? It never truly went away.

Then... the sudden hit of pandemic made all the difference. Being secluded inside the four walls of our house for almost two years was excruciating for me and my anxiety. My OCD was at its peak. I've found myself literally banging my head against a wall, trying to figure out why my brain doesn't work normally like the others.

I have become obsessed with cleaning. I fear germ contamination so badly, I've spent countless of hours cleaning the same phone case over and over again---fearing for my life and being threatened by dirt.

While being obsessed with excessive cleaning, I became overly attached to skin picking, too. I pick my skin so much that I would wince from the pain when I take a shower. It bled so much that most of the wounds appear as faded scars on my skin already. They're permanent now, unfortunately.

From March 2020, I already knew I was LOSING my mind and sanity.

I've endured this feeling for quite a long time. Alone. No one in my family understands OCD. Or any mental illness at all, for that matter.

A year later, I finally gathered every ounce of courage and finally reach out to a psychiatrist. Indeed, after a series of questions, psychological consultations, and sessions... my deepest fear came true. I became a 19-year-old girl who's clinically diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. And I was advised to take medications.

My medication is an anti-depressant called Escitalopram. It apparently fixes some chemical imbalance in my brain---allowing me to be less stressed, anxious, and depressed. I've been taking the same medication for almost a year now... and so much has changed. My life became easier to bear; anxiety melts down a little and compulsions aren't as bad.

I've never felt more in control with my thoughts. None of this would ever happen if my family didn't support me with getting professional help. And I owe that to them... and to myself!

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As a terrified girl who's dealing with OCD every waking day, I decided to be an advocate for this mental illness. I promised to try my best to inform people about this---so they'd learn to acknowledge this, too.

I'm sick and tired of people labelling OCD as a 'neat-freak' or another mental illness that only cares about being perfect. A TikTok video actually became viral after a girl says that having OCD is a blessing. What has gotten inside her sane mind to actually think that having a mental illness is a good thing? It's like saying that having cancer is a blessing. Both doesn't make any fucking sense (I apologize for the explicit use of language).

This is why I'm doing this. This is why I'm writing this and sharing my story to all of you. To let everyone know that OCD is an actual mental illness that should be taken seriously. Now more than ever.

We don't need sympathy for our illness. What we need is understanding and acceptance. A community that will assure us that our feelings are valid; assuring us that there is no shame in being diagnosed with OCD. Or any mental illness at all, for that matter.

So the next time you think of a topic to talk about to your friends, over a hot cup of coffee or anything, I want you to tell them about OCD. Educate them. Inform them what you've learned. Because, truthfully, this is what OCD sufferers dream of---to be seen, heard, and valued.