As part of Mental Illness Awareness Week, Lifestyle featured personal stories from Queen’s students each day from Oct. 6-10. We’ll be continuing the initiative throughout the year with more stories. If you’re interested in submitting a story, please email journal_lifestyle@ams.queensu.ca.
Going to the washroom gives me a profound sense of anxiety.
I furtively look around, hoping that no one notices why it’s taking me so long. The soapsuds trickle down the counter towards my fellow washroom inhabitants. But I can’t stop counting to a specific number even though the tap should have stopped running a minute ago and the soap dispenser is half-empty.
Since childhood, I’ve suffered from OCD, a form of anxiety that permeates in repetitive thoughts and subsequent rituals.
I remember being in the third grade and thinking that I could only get the newest Harry Potter book if I believed it had already been checked out of the library. As I became older, my concerns turned academic. I believed I couldn’t do well on tests unless I berated myself afterwards.
I’ve always been open about my anxiety. Being an expressive person, I’d tell my mom that I was worried about meeting new people when I started CEGEP or I’d confide in my CEGEP friends that I was nervous about an upcoming presentation.
Everyone suffers from initial shyness and butterflies, but the difference was my perception of the consequences. I was convinced that one bad presentation would hinder my acceptance to Queen’s. If I told new friends something slightly mean, I’d feel guilty about it for hours. I should have known something was up when I offered my friend’s cute older brother some Purell at Subway and he laughed at me.
I refused to believe that I had OCD because I thought that only “crazy people” had mental illnesses. I first realized that I had this disorder as a preteen, but this discovery was marked with feelings of shame and disgust. How could I be hiding something so monstrous in my very being?
My OCD only got worse once I came here due to my extremely difficult transition to Queen’s.
My first friend group turned sour despite friendly pretenses. As a result, my academics began to decline. I had no friends and abysmal grades. My sense of self-worth was completely shattered.
Slowly, I began to make friends who were better suited for me and my marks started to increase.
Still, my battle with OCD was relentless — I wonder if the cleaner for my floor knew why she had to replace the soap dispenser so often. My thoughts grew even worse.
My breaking point came at the end of first year. As a newly selected Gael, I attended ORT Training and listened to a guest speaker’s struggles with mental illness. I had an awakening within myself — except, I absolved to prevent myself from acting out the physical component of my illness. I could treat myself without anybody ever knowing.
Fast-forward to the end of second year when, after some personal difficulties, I was paralyzed. I couldn’t do my schoolwork and I always showed up late for events with my friends. Even basic household chores seemed impossible to do because I had no energy to do it the “proper” way. I knew I needed help when I had a paper worth half my mark due three days away that I couldn’t bring myself to start writing.
I got help on March 17, 2014, when most people were colour-coordinating lime green with Kelly green and putting on their best Irish accents. That day, I saw a counsellor I’d previously seen for my personal difficulties, and I was directed to a sympathetic doctor and an informative mental health nurse.
My experience with HCDS was mostly positive. I’m grateful for how they took my issues seriously by getting me the help I needed while allowing me enough time to complete schoolwork. I took the summer off and began the healing process.
Still, I feel the weight of the stigma and I’ve told very few people about my OCD. For the majority of people, anxiety as a label would suffice. It was one thing for people to know that tests exacerbate my sense of discomfort. It was another thing for people to find out my specific method of calming myself down.
I still struggle everyday. I have to reassure my inner perfectionist that sometimes the smallest steps are the grandest gestures. I realize that pain and discomfort are a normal part of life. I try now to walk out of tests knowing that the answers have already been sealed.
While I try to be a good friend, I now understand that tactful words will not always escape my mouth. Growing up, I was so afraid that I was the one in five affected by mental illness. Well, I am the one in five and there are seven million other Canadians like me.
If you feel like your mental state is unwell, just remember there are plenty of helpful resources on campus. You’re stronger than you think.
Tags
Anxiety, Mental Illness, MIAW, OCD
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