Battling Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

It's been about 10 years since I was diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. I had heard of OCD, of course, but I had never before made any connection between the disorder and the chaos that was slowly destroying my own life. I always thought of OCD sufferers as people who checked the burners on their stove all day whenever they could fit it in between hand washing sessions. I didn't do that. What I did do was read the Bible-a lot.

I didn't just read the Bible. I scrutinized it. Specifically, I carefully studied each word of the passage in the Gospel of Matthew where Christ describes the Unpardonable Sin. Most Christians find this passage disturbing because the thought of a sin that cannot be forgiven is a hard pill to swallow. When Jesus says, essentially, that blaspheming the Holy Spirit is a one-way ticket to Hell, those of us who believe in Jesus are bound to become more than a little anxious. For most Christians, it is a passing moment of worry and discomfort before moving on to the next verse. I didn't just find it uncomfortable-I found it to be the most horrifying thing I'd ever read. I would read the passage, compare various theologians' comments on the text, then lay down on my bed and spend the next few hours examining my memories in agonizing detail to see if I'd ever accidentally done this. I probably did this five nights a week for a month in my spare time - which meant whenever I wasn't checking myself for signs of cancer.

When I noticed that other people didn't seem to spend any time wondering whether they had committed the Unpardonable Sin, I assumed it was because they were too busy doing something else - like checking themselves for cancer. That I could understand. A genuine lack of concern about the issue, I could not. One day at work, however, it dawned on me that perhaps these other people weren't unthinking fools tottering on the brink of Hell. Perhaps they were normal. Perhaps there was something wrong with me. Crazy, I know, but still, I couldn't shake the thought. That night I decided to make an appointment to talk to someone. Satisfied with my positive step forward, I did a quick cancer check, read the Bible for a few minutes, and settled in for a late night of movies on the Sci-Fi channel.

It took the psychiatrist approximately seven seconds to diagnose me with OCD. Looking back with the knowledge I have now, it's amazing that I was blind to it for so long. It explained so many things, like why I spent so much time reorganizing my to do lists because they didn't feel right or the hours I spent wondering if I might have hit a kid with my car and never realized it.

I know all this sounds crazy. Some part of me even knew back then that these extreme obsessions and compulsions were abnormal. One of the distinguishing characteristics of OCD is that sufferers know on a rational level that they are not behaving normally. I guess what took me by surprise was the extent to which OCD controlled my life without ever rising to the level of arousing my suspicion that something might be wrong. It affected everything from my college course decisions to the order my books were arranged on the shelf. It had stolen over twenty years of my life, and there was no getting them back. I picked up the pieces as best I could and decided to move on.

I can see OCD clearly at work in the lives of other family members who refuse to acknowledge it and will never seek treatment. Often, people with OCD battle it with humor, but left unchecked, it's not at all funny. It is progressive and it destroys lives. I have enough insight see what they're going through and it pains me deeply that they won't take control of the situation.

That's a shame, because OCD is a treatable disorder. I was ashamed to talk about it for so long because it was-gasp!-a mental illnesss. What I know understand is that a mental illness is not all that different from any physical illness. It's simply a problem in brain physiology that needs medical attention. For me, the answer was Prozac, an anti-depressant that happily has the side effect of working wonders on OCD. That's only one of a number of possible treatments though. I can say that if you or someone you love suffers with OCD, it's worth investigating those options. I'm living proof that treatment works. I have been transformed. I am a happy, well-adjusted husband and father of two boys. I manage a terrific staff in a large library, and I enjoy my work immensely. None of that would have been possible without that visit to the psychiatrist. Sometimes I still wonder if I have committed the Unpardonable Sin (which isn't a smart thing for someone who might have cancer to do), but then my son wants to wrestle or my wife wants me to help with the dishes. I make a token complaint about not having time, but secretly I smile and think about what a blessing it is to being so beset with the mundane.