Letter to OCD

*The text describes the personal experience of G. D. and has been written entirely by him

Dear OCD,

To be honest, I never expected to address a mental illness with the word "dear." I don't know how on earth I had to wait until I was 47 years old to receive a diagnosis that largely explains symptoms, thoughts, and irrational obsessions. The truth is that I already feel very worn out, because over the past seven years my quality of life has been tragically degraded.

To put things exactly as I feel them, I also harbor some anger, because our time in life is finite and extremely precious. Therefore, it is more than reasonable to make use of the gift of life with as much boldness and quality of living as possible. After all, I am now convinced that I am the most important person I have.

I'll open with the more difficult chapters of my story, because I want to rid myself of their burden and, if possible, exorcise my painful recent past. It's not ideal to realize that a long-term treatment was going in the wrong direction. Money, but above all strength and patience, were consumed in an endless psychoanalytic process that pushed me to my limits. My wife, my parents, and family were always at the forefront, which was exhausting for me and for my relationships with the people I love. Fortunately, true to the proverb 'better late than never,' I'm happy to have found the right path for my treatment. The encouraging thing is that, since I feel fully aware, I won't drown in self‑pity or complaint, because I care about a healthy present and my future. I do not feel sorrow or mourning — perhaps I've already passed those stages — but I'm at the stage of acceptance and optimistic anticipation for the path I've chosen. What worries me most is the possibility that my young daughter might suffer from this disorder. That would really sadden me and would leave me with some guilt as an unfortunate bearer of 'wrong' genes. At least I'm comforted by the fact that I'm aware of the disorder and could, very early on, provide her the care and support I unfortunately didn't have.

My beloved OCD, do you remember when we traveled to Patras together with the blood pressure monitor? Do you remember the Lexotanil in my bag? The endless medications I carried? The fear of travel and airplanes? Do you remember the fear of falling asleep? The fear that I might hurt someone? The fear that I might go insane? Do you remember the endless doctors and tests? Do you remember the anxiety and panic attacks at night? Do you remember that I wasn't professionally ambitious? The fear of exposure? The fear of death? The saliva I kept swallowing while counting how many times I swallowed per minute? The right eye I kept opening and closing at every opportunity to check my distorted vision? My ears I would block to see if I heard ringing? That unthinkable feeling that I would harm my child? Do you remember my refusal of sex? The health fears for the people I love? Do you remember the crying? Do you remember how much you made my life difficult? I remember everything in detail.     

My dear OCD, I'm sure you haven't come into my life only to cause harm. Maybe I even owe you a kind of "thank you." I've always been reliable, organized, methodical, intelligent, and creative. I suspect you've put your disturbed little hand into these defining traits of mine. Lately, because I'm making peace with you, I'm trying to take you by the hand and have you give me some abilities in artistic imagery. I think we're doing splendidly — perhaps it's even an important part of therapy to give you an outlet in language and art. But I'd ask you to pet that little beast you hide inside my synapses and tell it that I love it. It's part of me. I gently pat its back, embrace it and whisper: "we traveled together and we will continue," yet from now on there will be no room for its autonomous action. I ask that terrifying creature of yours to become a domesticated little being. To be honest, I'm not asking — I'm demanding it, and so it will be. On my part, I will make sure to provide all the means so you find healthy outlets; I will provide a safe environment for release and will meet your needs so they become ultimately bearable and bring us prosperity. But keep firmly in mind that your pathology will be sterilized immediately.

My beloved OCD, you have caused me a lot of suffering, yet I bear you no grudge. From now on I want you to know that you will be bounded and directed toward our common good. There is no room for discussion about this decision of mine — I'm simply announcing it and at the same time asking you to cooperate. From now on I will not be your prey, but a beast-tamer, and I will make sure we have a great time as long as fate allows.