“That’s a great question,” Tracy says. “We don’t. Trying to stop the thoughts can be a compulsion, and engaging in compulsions makes the obsessions worse, even if it initially helps. Instead, we work on accepting the thoughts, accepting the uncertainty of what could happen, and ...we just let them be and move on.”
“I have to accept ...that Shar might get killed?” I raise my eyebrows. “I have to accept that my brain plays me little horror movies about all the ways I could commit suicide?”
“Yup.” Tracy nods. “It’s easier said than done, I know, and there are other tools that come into play besides mindfulness and acceptance. The gold standard of OCD treatment is exposure and response prevention, where we help you experience your fears without doing compulsions. That helps teach your brain to process your intrusive thoughts as just thoughts.”
“What about the voices, though? And the images ...they just feel so real.” I swallow, staring down at the mug. “Are you sure I’m not crazy?”
“There’s nothing wrong with having a mental health condition,” Tracy says. “And certainty isn’t the point. But I can tell you what you’ve told me: The voices are inside you, not something you hear externally. The images are in your mind, not something you’re seeing outside yourself. The thoughts and images you’re experiencing are very upsetting to you and not aligned with your values or what you actually know or want or believe. That’s OCD. If you were hearing and seeing things externally, or if you wanted to die, that would be a different conversation and a different diagnosis.”
I nod. “OK.”
“We’re almost at time,” she says gently. “But I want you to know this doesn’t have to be your experience forever. Successful treatment is very possible. And medication is something we can try too.”
I nod again, and set my mug back on the coffee table. “Thanks,” I say. Something inside me settles, like a cat finding the perfect place to curl up. I have a diagnosis now. And it’s something she can treat.
I don’t have to feel this way forever.
The first thing I do when I get home is text Anna.So ...apparently I have OCD.
She doesn’t respond right away, and I set my phone down, crossing to my window. The backyard is in full fall mode, our small square of grass littered with red and golden leaves fromthe maple tree that shades it. As I watch, a squirrel hops across the lawn to the base of the trunk and starts digging. Probably burying food before winter, so it has something to sustain it when the months get darker and acorns get harder to find. Do squirrels really eat acorns? I pull out my phone to look it up, but a text from Anna is waiting.
OMG THAT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE,she says.
It does?
She sends me five links in rapid succession, and I watch the videos one by one.I saved these when I was trying to figure out my brain a few years ago,she says.I don’t have OCD but... I was kinda just looking everything up at that time hoping something would jump out.
The videos are relatable. Too relatable. One is from a creator I’ve seen on my feed before, a therapist who also has OCD. I’d never watched one of her videos, always scrolling away in search of something funny, or something about books, or queer history, something I was interested in. Mental health wasn’t one of those things. Besides Anna telling me I had anxiety, I mostly tried to avoid thinking about my mental state at all. But the therapist is talking about suicidal OCD, and, hey. That’s me.
Now I know.
“I don’t want to die,” I say quietly into the room. I know it to be true, the same way I know I love our cats, and Shar, and my mom, and my friends.
And Dad.
I do love Dad. I just don’t know what my other feelings about him are.
Are you going to tell Jayden and Makayla?Anna asks.
I stare at her text. I want to. But not over the phone.Yeah, I wanna do it in person, though.
We could all hang out after school this week,she says.I know you’re taking the week off. But you could meet us at whoevers house. Or we could come over there.
After a long moment, I reply.That sounds really nice.
When they knock the next afternoon, though, I almost don’t let them in. The movies play immediately, filling my head with all the ways this could go wrong, and I stand immobile in front of the door, one hand on the knob.
They knock again, and I take a deep breath, opening the door.
“Sidney!” I stagger back a few steps as Jayden crashes into me, his arms wrapping firmly around my shoulders.
“Hi?” I lift one hand, patting his back. He squeezes tightly and then lets go, stepping back, eyes bright.
“I missed you,” he says solemnly.
“Really?” I say, before I can stop myself. God, I sound insecure.
“Yes, really, you dork,” he says, sliding past me. Makayla follows him with another hug at the ready, and I relax into their arms, hugging them back.
