Existing with OCD During a Global Pandemic

98.3. 97.9. 97.6. 98.1 The metal rod uncomfortably pokes at the fold underneath my tongue as I cross my eyes to read the numbers climbing on the thermometer. "This is rediculous, but what if?" I take my temperature, again, triple checking that I don't have a fever. My brain is constantly oscilating between a state of safety and paranoia. Just as I finally feel peace, the grip of my anxiety comes from the shadow and ambushes relaxation, reasserting it's dominance to perpetuate my infinite state of worry. The formal name for this mental asswipe is OCD. The worst part is that without OCD, I'm a completely different girl. I'm confident. I'm fun. I don't worry about what I can't control. I take risks with a proactively, calm attitude that even if something goes wrong, it will be ok. My internship supervisor gives me a task not normally meant for interns, becuase he sees an ability to remain unphased by stressful situations. But then I hear a knock. "Please, not now," I beg. Then all of a sudden, everything is scary. Every small, insignificant move is maticulously planned to eliminate risk. I spend my days sleeping as much as I can, presuming that there is less that can go wrong if I'm not awake. When I can no longer sleep, my time is dedicated to barricading the entryways that anxiety is seeping through. I call friends and hold my breath counting to ten. I wash a record number of dirty dishes. I run up and down my street blasting angry, Taylor Swift, break-up songs at a volume that the health app in my iPhone deems "Ok." Puzzles begin to colonize tables and desks because anything that occupies my mind is worth relocating a years worth of clutter. I abhor my inability to control my own thoughts and feelings, fears that I know are irrational, but nevertheless that I can't quiet. Normally, my OCD is controlled. I live my life with occassional flare-ups throughtout the year. But meerly existing as a woman with OCD during a global pandemic means that this internal battle has been raging for almost five months. But before I continue I need to clarify some things: 1. OCD does not necessarily mean someone has a fear of germs. 2. OCD does not necessarily mean that someone is super neat or color coordinates their m&ms. 3. Having an appropriate awareness of hygiene does not mean you have OCD. 4. Although people may say "I'm so OCD," they may actually have never set foot in a mental health clinic in their life. 5. Lastly, in my experience, having OCD is more about the patterns and the manner in which someone worries about things, rather than the topic of worry itself. Process vs content. My own experience of this diagnosis began when I was 12, however it took me four years to recieve a diagnosis. I was afraid to admit the way my mind worked. I never imagined that anyone felt the way I did, and furthermore, I never imagined that the way I felt could be explained by OCD. According to tv and conversations I had overheard, OCD was about washing hands and cleanilness. Just the average state of my locker alone seemed to rule out this possiblity. My fears were always rooted in an intense concern for hurting others, and yes sometimes that did entail washing my hands. "What if I accidentally get peanut butter from my sandwhich on the table and someone has an allergic reatction?" And more recently, "What if I accidentally pass Covid on to someone who can't fight it off?" But again, OCD isn't about what I am afraid of, but rather the way in which I fear it. Even when I take actions to mitigate risk, go through the number of reasons in my head why everything is ok, or get reassurance from several people, my mind cannot release the worry. Some therapist have described this phenomenom as being stuck in a loop. While most people can release a concern after coming to a comforting solution, people with OCD have trouble with the thought cycling through the process of fear, resolution, and then again what if over and over. I know that my fears are rediculous, but OCD doesn't differentiate between rational and irrational. Covid, as we all know, is unprecendented. All of a sudden, rituals that were previously thought to be for paranoid people, have become recommended by health care proffesionals. The line between overly-cautious and responsible has gotten increasingly blurry. If it was hard for me to distinguish what was a legitmitate concern, and what was my OCD before Covid, it is impossible now. What's more unprecedented is the immense restrictions on what I can do to cope. For my mental health, I stay busy. I see my friends, go to work, and try to reduce the amount of time my mind has to wander into those dark rabbit holes of anxiety. I cannot put into words how much I want to walk down the street with my arm casually dangling around the shoulder of a friend, laughing about who knows what, and not having to think about the fact that this innocent moment of friendship may be perpetuating a major issue. If you're reading this, there is a couple things you can do to help me out (and probably help a lot of other people out too.) First, please, please, do not loosley use the term OCD as an adjective. It is absolutley insane to me that when I tell others I have OCD, I have to reiterate that I actually have OCD. Part of me wonders if I should start carrying medical documentation. This has nothing to do with the people I'm talking to, but rather an increased need to differentiate between OCD the diagnosis, and the hip way of saying "clean." I promise you, I wish OCD was as simple as being bothered by a crooked picture frame. But when people instill this misunderstanding, not only are they demeaning the severity and complexity of the issue for those of us who truely have this diagnosis, but they are also preserving an uninformed image of what OCD is. As I said earlier, it took me years to imagine that OCD could describe what I was thinking and feeling, due to my own misunderstanding of what the diagnosis was. Secondly, and this should go for everyone, be patient with everyone's comfort level. No one should have to defend what makes them feel safe. If Joe doesn't want to ride in the same car as you because he can't social distance, then let it be. We're all doing our best. If you read this all the way through, I truley hope this wasn't a downer. My experience might be relatable for some, but in no way is meant to represent a group of people. I'm ok, I promise. Secondly, if you're reading this and you're on my personal Covid-19 Crisis team I appreciate you and I love you. There's something to be said about the fact that even though I havn't seen much of anyone in the past four months, I can rest at night knowing I have a stellar, incredibly present, support system. Please don't forget to wash your hands, Sarah ;)