How One Woman Overcame Her OCD

See  Melissa’s Top 3 Takeaways

It was March 2021, and I thought I was going to die. No amount of therapy, self-help, trying harder, or praying had been able to free me from unrelenting compulsions, which had led to severe weight loss, feelings of isolation, and constant, debilitating anxiety. Despite having worked with dozens of psychologists, psychiatrists, and other mental health professionals, I found no relief from the obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) I’d lived with for decades. Nothing was working.

OCD is a mental health condition that plunges you into a cycle of intrusive, obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviors. These obsessions grip your mind, causing unbearable anxiety, while the compulsions become cruel tasks, compelling you to perform repetitive actions to relieve your torment. This, in turn, causes intense emotional anguish and can damage your ability to lead a normal life.

This was certainly true for me. There was barely anything I could do without feeling overwhelming anxiety. Combing my hair or folding laundry was nerve-racking. My heart would jump out of my chest if I found a wayward cat kibble on the countertop. I’d panic when having to choose whether to wrap leftovers in plastic or in foil. I stopped saying certain words for fear they wouldn’t sound right.

On top of this, exercising became my primary compulsion, and it had nothing to do with vanity or health. It was a trap — a punishment for things that went “wrong.” If I spotted a piece of fuzz on my slippers or placed a fork on the table too loudly, I’d feel obligated to do certain exercises. The workouts varied depending on the trigger, though none of it had any rhyme or reason. It was not an option to ignore the compulsion. The only way out was to comply. If I didn’t, my brain felt like it would explode; I couldn’t think about anything else.

Of course, I kept all of this to myself. It’s not the type of information you breeze through while talking about your day. The burden of keeping my secrets and masking my condition added another crushing layer of stress.

I managed my OCD as best as I could for years until the COVID-19 pandemic exacerbated my anxiety and compulsions, threatening my health and making me think I was about to die.

Reaching a Crisis Point

I’d lived with OCD for decades — possibly my whole life, though I wasn’t diagnosed until I was in my 20s. But something about the pandemic amplified my disorder. Surprisingly, I wasn’t overly worried about COVID itself. Rather, I was concerned about gyms closing and having to complete compulsive workouts in my home office. When this became a reality, however, the privacy only meant that I could exercise even more.

The best way I can explain my obsessions and resulting compulsions is this: Imagine dropping a coin and saying, “Darn it!” but picking it up and moving on. I couldn’t move on. The “darn it” feeling would last until I exercised.

For others with OCD, it may be excessive hand washing or tapping three times on the tabletop. I did these types of things, too — compulsively and protectively — terrified that something bad would happen if I didn’t. But exercise was my primary compulsion.

I’d wake up at any hour to exercise. Physical illness wouldn’t stop me. I’ve walked on a treadmill for five hours at a time. I once lifted 50 pounds over my head 700 times in a single afternoon. All of these exercises were in addition to a regular workout routine.

I frequently made lists while running errands or visiting family to remind myself to exercise later because I couldn’t do it then and there. I’d email the lists to myself multiple times a day to ensure they wouldn’t get deleted from my phone. I maintained a “savings account” of exercises I’d do in advance to cover myself from future OCD-related mishaps.

All this overthinking and overdoing was ridiculously time-consuming — not to mention exhausting.

As the pandemic progressed and my workouts increased, my weight plummeted. Some of the weight loss was also related to a new obsession around following a no-wiggle-room, reduced calorie eating plan. Although I knew what was happening, I was stunned at how thin I’d become. None of my clothes fit. I couldn’t wear my wedding band; it would fly off my finger. I had stopped menstruating, no longer perspired normally, and my hair was falling out. I was tired and scared, but OCD was too powerful.

Reflecting

Looking back, I’m amazed that I managed to do anything that was not related to my condition. But I did. For years, I worked hard to overcompensate for my OCD and pretend that I was managing well. I was responsible and trustworthy, and I pushed myself to maintain regular social interactions because I knew isolation would do me in. I’ve worked in offices, attended holiday festivities, and held my own special occasions (including my wedding) so others wouldn’t be disappointed in me for not participating in the activities most people enjoy.

All the while, I felt like I was locked in a phone booth with a thousand bees ready to sting. But I’d smile for photos, be as personable and funny as I could be, and count the minutes until the experience would end.

I regret the way that OCD has affected my life and isolated me from those I care about. It was often too stressful to be around family. I’ve skipped out on countless gatherings, claiming I didn’t feel well. It was true, but not in a way that others would accept.

My husband knew about my condition, but his knowledge was limited by what I chose to share with him. He observed some of my symptoms but became accustomed to them. My weight loss, for example, may have seemed less alarming to him because my weight had fluctuated a lot throughout the years.

OCD is not like a broken bone or the flu — it can be hidden and is often misunderstood. So much of my condition exists only in my mind.

Sometimes I wanted to apologize to others for how I conducted myself, but I’m not sure that’s what’s required. Having OCD isn’t my fault; it’s an illness.

Looking Up

When I reached my lowest point, during the pandemic, I found a new psychiatrist in a last-ditch effort for survival. My previous experience with medication had not been positive; the drugs offered no relief and caused dreadful side effects. I was hesitant to try meds again, but I knew I needed to do something.

The psychiatrist prescribed fluoxetine (Prozac), a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor often used to treat OCD. Unlike other medications I’d taken, I noticed positive effects right away. I remember getting into bed the first night after taking the drug and feeling different — comfortable. I hadn’t given any thought to comfort in years.

Over time, I noticed that the medication reduced the anxiety surrounding my OCD, so I could cope better. If I were to drop the soap in the shower, I could pick it up and continue showering; I wouldn’t obsess over it or feel the need to perform compulsions. Before starting fluoxetine, dropping the soap would cause my heart to race and evoke a sense of dread. I would do squats in the shower to manage these feelings and then add more exercises to my to-do list to fully “erase” the incident.

I still have OCD — I’m sure I always will — and I continue to engage in some rituals. I still take two showers a day, run a lint brush over my clothing, plan my meals meticulously, and wash my hands frequently. I also still desire perfection, though not nearly as much as before.

These are things I can accept. I know how bad it can be, and I’ve lived through much worse.

I do experience some side effects from the medication: I’m often surprisingly tired, my dreams are otherworldly, and I frequently experience extreme night sweats. I’m OK with that. In return, I can say that I’m the true Melissa now, or a lot closer to her.

I’ve done so much while living with OCD — graduated from college, gotten married, become a stepmother (and grandmother), maintained a handful of important friendships, succeeded with my writing career, volunteered, and more. Still, every moment was tainted by obsessions and compulsions. I’m happy to say that’s no longer the case.

Moving Forward

Thankfully, I’m doing much better now. I’m at a healthy weight and my menstrual cycle has returned (at least for now … I’m 49, after all). Maybe one day, I’ll no longer feel like I need to perform any rituals — I can see it in my future. I still exercise, but it’s no longer compulsive. Sometimes, I actually take a day off.

I’ve made other changes as well, such as prioritizing sleep, focusing on positivity, and connecting with people through online OCD-support groups. I’ve also decreased my daily prescription dose of fluoxetine and plan to gradually continue to do so until I find the minimum effective dose.

A recent study found that it takes 14 years on average for people with OCD to get effective treatment. It took me much longer. A huge part of the struggle to get help is that it’s so difficult to escape the obsession-compulsion loop. In my case, I couldn’t imagine ever ignoring the compulsions. Just the idea of it was too intense. Although I wish that I’d found the help I needed sooner, I feel good about where I am now, and I’m optimistic about my future.

Today, I want to help other OCD sufferers. I also want to encourage their loved ones to look for signs and offer support whenever they can. It’s considered one of the most difficult mental disorders to treat, and I wholeheartedly encourage anyone dealing with the condition to validate their experiences and seek the treatment they need and deserve.

Melissa’s Top 3 Takeaways

1. Don’t give up on finding help. I know what it’s like to feel like nothing works. Keep searching for a doctor or therapist who truly understands your situation.
2. Progress isn’t always linear. My road to managing OCD wasn’t (and isn’t) easy. Expect setbacks. Some days are worse than others. But minor improvements add up. Be patient. Celebrate every step.
3. Be open to opening up. Isolation can make things worse. Sharing your struggles can be incredibly helpful. You might be surprised at the empathy you receive. Try a support group; there are many online if you can’t find one near you.