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Life changed for me when I was fifteen. The first fourteen years of my life, I had everything pretty easy. I had a wonderful family with enough money, I was smart and diligent enough to do very well in school, I had several close friends, I was a decent swimmer and I had a lovely home in a great state. The fifteenth year of my life however, new challenges presented themselves. I gradually found myself spending hours doing senseless rituals to ward off increasing anxieties. I was in a psychology class in high school at that time, and we covered obsessive-compulsive disorder one day. As I sat in class, everything the teacher described seemed to perfectly describe me. I experienced recurrent and extremely persistent thoughts and urges, which caused incredible anxiety. I tried to calm my fears by performing repetitive actions. That night, I came down into my parents’ bedroom, and told them I thought I might have OCD. Shortly thereafter, I began to see a psychologist who diagnosed me as obsessive-compulsive. She told me to attempt to change one small thing about my bedtime ritual. That particular ritual involved spinning in circles, kissing my door knob, scrunching my toes in the carpet and many other irrational actions. This was supposed to make sure my bedroom knew it was appreciated. The most unusual thing about OCD is that the sufferer experiences extremely “crazy” thoughts, such as “my bedroom feels unloved and under-appreciated.” However, an obsessive-compulsive also knows, deep in their mind, that these fears are not sound or based on reality – but, this does nothing to make it easier to expel those thoughts.

If done perfectly the first try, my nighttime ritual took fifteen minutes or so. However, it was never done perfectly the first time. If not done absolutely perfectly, I had to repeat the whole thing. It sometimes ended up taking 2 hours. When the psychologist instructed me to change one little thing it led to a downward spiral that ended up being very destructive. See, I was not prepared to do something like that alone. I needed more structure. I was so thoroughly entrenched in the ritual that the anxiety provoked by changing one little thing ended up causing me to slap my face. The asymmetry of that action was additionally provoking, and I had to slap the other side of my face for symmetry’s sake. That was the first night. The next night, one time was not good enough and I hit myself six times on both sides. The next night, thirty-six. After that, I was fully aware of the sense of relief that I would immediately feel when I self-injured, and my addiction began. I hurt myself everyday, even at school. One night, I had a panic attack while trying to perform my night ritual perfectly. I screwed up, and I was hit by a wave of anxiety so strong I could not breathe. My heart raced and my mind felt foggy. I knew I would feel better if I could only feel pain. I cut my arms and face. I stayed on the floor, shaking, curled up behind my door.

I was hospitalized in the adolescent psychiatric wing to keep me safe, and, we hoped, to find me some help with my OCD. It was a surreal time. My perfect life had come crashing down, and I did not know how to deal with the anxiety, the moods, and the medications. I stayed in the hospital for one month, until we determined I could not get the help I needed in Alaska. I continued to hurt myself in the hospital. I eventually flew down to Arizona, to participate in the inpatient anxiety program at Remuda (mainly known for its eating disorder program). I was there for two months, and, while I have some complaints about what I witnessed in the eating disorder program, I found the anxiety program to be of immense help. I spent my days doing ERP (exposure with response prevention). Basically, I had to do everything most difficult and stressful for me, OCD-wise. This time, however, I was in a structured environment and the therapy was very successful.

These days, I find rituals creeping up on me, but I use what I learned in Arizona to quell them. I manage to stay on top of it and not get swept away to the place I was before Remuda, though to this day it is neither easy nor completely successful. Little did I know, I was still in for a ride and the next year was chaotic, with two more hospitalizations. To be continued.