Posted in Mental illness, OCD, Uncategorized

OCD in the Workplace

Earlier this year, I turned down a job opportunity that would involve training employees at my current company’s new locations. There were a lot of reasons I turned down the job, but I definitely fantasized about what I would tell my trainees. Later, I learned I would basically use a training script. Occasionally, I would wonder how I could incorporate OCD and mental health into the training.

When I first started my job, I had only been receiving treatment for about two and a half months. There were moments when I would freeze because of my OCD. I continued counseling and was taking medication, and over time, these moments occurred less frequently.

One part that still freaks me out is cleaning restrooms. Now, I don’t really mind using public restrooms- although I don’t like that the stall doors usually open into the stall. But cleaning them isn’t fun. Wiping questionable materials off toilet seats, cleaning disgusting toilets, changing out sanitary disposal boxes…UGH. I remember one night when the back of that tampon box touched my pants. I didn’t do much after that. When I told my co-worker about the incident, I was relieved to know she would have freaked out if it had happened to her.

Having a mental illness can make work more difficult. There are good days and bad days. Some nights, I just say, “Screw this. I’m not doing it. I can’t do it.” Disposal boxes are not completely emptied. Hands are washed multiple times. I’m not always a step ahead of OCD. But luckily, the good days outweigh the bad. There used to be days when I couldn’t get out of bed or wash my hair or even make it to my former job on time. What I want to say is that I’ve held this job for two years now. I’ve succeeded at it. My OCD struggles aren’t over, but life moves on. Have hope.

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Posted in OCD

Red Hands

We talked about OCD recently in my psychology class. It reminded me of my high school days when my hands had to be “clean.” I would continuously turn on the faucet, lather on some soap, rinse, possibly repeat.

Red, raw, chapped hands. Tiny spots of blood from small cuts because the skin was so dry. Red up to my wrists.

There was so much more to my OCD than this, and there always will be. But this is one part of OCD that is mostly treated. I am not embarrassed to be at my desk and use my hands to write, type, or simply sit. Even though my problem runs much deeper than this, I am glad that at least one chapter is finished.