Lidia

I’m introducing today’s post, but someone else has written it; here we’ll call her Lidia. Lidia came to see me with a diagnosis of OCD roughly two and a half years ago. I remember that in the first few sessions I was struck by how wary she was, but little by little that changed and she began to open up, giving me a chance to help her. I’m not going to tell her story, because that’s what she and her account are for; I’ll just say that the results are the fruit of a great deal of hard work and perseverance on her part, with setbacks along the way that she picked herself up from as many times as it took. Like many other patients, she is proof that you can win the war against OCD, though not without going through a difficult process to get there.

I really love these posts because they give hope and motivation to people who are where Lidia was two years ago, so in my view this is a valuable piece of writing. Apart from a few small details I’ve changed to protect her anonymity, I haven’t changed a thing in her account; here it is, just as she sent it to me.

Of all the experiences I’ve had in my life, the periods when I’ve lived with OCD have without doubt been the most painful and difficult. The first one happened when I was very young, in my late teens. I got psychological help straight away and I think that was the best thing that could have happened to me. Even so, I remember deep distress, fear, crying and paralysis in the face of the horrible thoughts that came into my head and that I couldn’t understand, because they had nothing to do with who I am, was or had been. It was nothing like the problems people my age had, or my friends… Not even like the anxiety I had seen in my father and other adults.

I remember wanting to die so I wouldn’t have to live with those thoughts, so young, in a relationship with a boy I loved deeply, with my whole life ahead of me. I couldn’t have borne it if my psychologist hadn’t assured me that what was happening to me had nothing to do with my personality or my desires, or with some hidden personality, but was just my mind playing a nasty trick on me.

I always thought my type of OCD was different from all the others we talked about in therapy and that come up most often in books. I believed the nature of the thoughts tormenting me added far more weight to what is already a horrible process of any kind. My OCD has always been the sexual type, involving children. And of course, that’s not the same as washing your hands… or so I thought. These ideas were, and are, completely contrary to everything I am and believe, and they repulsed me so much that it was impossible for me to understand why they kept tormenting me, these ideas and doubts, over and over again.

When you’re in that situation, it feels as if you’ll never get out. It doesn’t matter how many times it’s explained to you, or that deep down (very deep down) you know those thoughts don’t match reality, or who you are. Over and over, OCD forces you through the torture of believing it, with all the suffering that brings and the agonising doubts one after another, to the point where at times you can’t tell what’s real from what isn’t.

Back then, I remember crying a lot in therapy and asking my psychologist a thousand times whether it would ever go away or whether I’d have to live with it forever. In the end it turned out that this had become a kind of compulsion too. So I kept quiet and did what I was told. However much I thought it wouldn’t, over time, with therapy, it eased off. And it seemed like nothing more than a bad dream. My mind buried it, the way I imagine the most horrible traumas must get buried.

I forgot about it and lived without OCD for years. I studied, got married, found a job and was happy when life gave me reasons to be.

My life was no different from that of someone who had never had OCD. And that’s something that seems impossible when we’re going through a crisis. We can’t see that the only thing that makes us different from everyone else is our imagination. If someone asked me whether you can forget OCD, I’d say yes, at least 99%. In fact I forgot it so completely that I never thought anything like it could happen to me again; I’d simply think: how could I ever have thought such nonsense? And thinking that, I grew into an adult, with the memory of the pain but without understanding the reasoning or the process that had led me into OCD.

Years later, it all seemed so far away that I forgot to look after my weak spot: anxiety. I let everyday problems overwhelm me and a stressful situation at work pushed me to the limit. Then, to my surprise and terror, the same thoughts came back.

The second time was different from the first in that I had more weapons, being older and having been through therapy before. That may have helped me stand firmer, although the weight of the suffering was eating me up inside every day. I lost my essence. Both psychologically and physically, I could honestly say I didn’t look like the same person: I aged 10 years. Today I look at photos from that time and I can see it clearly. I forgot how to feel, what it was to allow myself affection or desire, or even to feel someone else’s skin against mine; I forbade myself all of it. All my energy went into easing the OCD distress however I could and pretending nothing was wrong.

My previous psychologist was no longer practising, and it was incredibly hard to find someone who could really help me. That second time was the most frustrating year you can imagine, when I came to believe I’d never get over it again, that this time it was for good, that it would stay with me forever.

I saw several psychologists and a psychiatrist, and although they understood my problem, the therapies failed. Every time I had to start over it was an ordeal, because explaining what kind of thoughts I had was hard and distressing for me. Every failed therapy, every day the thoughts stayed the same, was false proof to me that they would never go away.

I was about to throw in the towel, thinking that a slight improvement was the most I could hope for this time. My life had adapted to the compulsions, and when the deep distress came I’d simply close my eyes and wait for it to ease. That was my routine and I was used to it; it even came to feel comfortable, much more so than facing it. But I didn’t give up. I wanted my old life back. I remembered what it was like to be free of OCD and I wanted that. I wanted to be myself again. So I was stubborn and kept looking. I stepped right out of my comfort zone and started searching online for information about my type of OCD. I found all sorts: some good, some not so good, and even the odd attempt to take advantage of the desperation of people going through this kind of thing. In the end I found a therapist who used a specific therapy for OCD and, most importantly for me, who knew my type of thoughts and had treated other people with the same ones. She was far from my city, but I went anyway, very wary at first. Each session meant several hours of travelling there and back.

I can’t say it was easy. Talking about it, lots of ups and downs, the exposures, the fear, and working harder than I ever had. But after about six months, that moment came. The thoughts began to dissolve. It wasn’t like the first time: this time I was much more aware, and I think I really came to understand a lot of things. Everything moves forward, and this therapy really worked for me. The moment came, not suddenly, but gradually, as I began to get my life back.

For me, it wasn’t waking up one day and not having it any more (as I had so often imagined), but little by little regaining ownership of my thoughts and feelings. OCD no longer ruled what I thought, felt and did. New feelings, sensations and behaviours, my own this time (whether I liked them or not), gradually took over my everyday life, so gradually that I barely noticed. My personality began to re-emerge, without fear. And I got myself back. Suddenly I found myself telling my psychologist about everyday problems instead of the same old thing, and that’s when I realised I had started to heal.

Today I can say I’m living a life without OCD again. My advice to everyone going through this is never to give up. Look for therapy even if it doesn’t work the first, second or third time, and don’t be afraid to change professionals as many times as you need to if it isn’t working over time… Everyone has their own pace and their own moment. Sexual OCD is very hard emotionally, but time has made me realise that, in the end, it isn’t so different from other types, except in the emotional burden and the shame we feel. I think it’s important to find psychologists who know the type of OCD we suffer from, because feeling that this person knows how your mind works, and that other people have been through the same thing, helps a lot.

Don’t believe that OCD can’t be overcome. Even if at times we can’t help believing what comes into our heads, the worst mistake we make is thinking it’s forever. I can’t tell you never to forget who you are, because at times you do forget and it’s unavoidable. But keep trusting, and don’t lose hope that you can get better, because it isn’t impossible. Sexual OCD is more embarrassing to talk about; it seems more repulsive because it’s tied to something deeply rejected by society, and that’s very often the key to why it persists. When it goes, it will be no different from any other kind, because only the content changes, the setting. But it’s still imagination.

Today all that suffering is a memory again, but this time a memory that taught me something. And although I don’t know whether it might come back at some point, I have more and more tools so that it will never be the same again. What once seemed impossible is now a reality. At last I can go back to worrying about everyday, real problems.

Never give up.

Thank you. And once again, congratulations.