I usually say I’m mostly free from my OCD. Indeed, I no longer have to cancel out every intrusive thought that enters my mind, and I don’t have to double-check everything I say or write for a blasphemous double-meaning. Without hesitation, I can read passages of Scripture that once sent me into a full-blown panic attack. I’ve truly come a long way, but lately, I’ve been realizing that my fight isn’t over.
What I’ve been through as a result of Scrupulosity OCD was extremely traumatic. Do you know what it was like, as a devout Christian, to believe that you would be forever separated from the God you loved with your whole heart? To me, this was the worst thing that could have happened, and as far as I knew, it had happened.
The pain was real, even though the reality was totally different. The truth is, I just had a disease that manifested itself as extreme OCD that happened to take the form of religious obsessions and compulsions. No matter the content, all OCD is essentially the same. It wasn’t a “spiritual” issue any more than it was when I caught mono last year (and subsequently descended into the worst flare of my life).
I wish Scrupulosity got more attention both in the OCD community and in churches and other religious organizations. How many people are secretly tormented by unwanted thoughts and believe that God is mad at them because of their struggle? How many people are worried that they need an exorcism, when really, they have a misfiring brain that can be treated? Even one person going through what I have is too many.
Words are completely inadequate to describe the despair of feeling as though the next intrusive thought that came into my mind could ruin me forever—and living with the awful suspicion that I’d already doomed myself to an eternity apart from God. Scrupulosity is surely the closest thing to Hell that exists on this side of the grave.
If I told you it was once like the constant dripping of a Chinese water torture in your own mind, it wouldn’t begin to describe the torment.
If I said it was like being blind and deaf and unable to run while knowing you were being followed around by a hungry tiger, it couldn’t describe the incessant anxiety.
If I told you it was like having someone dangle you out the window of an airplane to drop you at any moment, it couldn’t communicate the sense of impending doom.
Even if my OCD were completely gone (which it is not), I still couldn’t just get over the sheer trauma of what it once did to me. Sometimes, I still blame myself for not being “brave” enough to try to get help sooner–and for concealing my OCD so well. But I was petrified and did the best I could.
While I may no longer have the compulsions surrounding my obsession of being unforgivable, the anxiety is still here; I am terrified of ever having to go through that pain again. Every time I go to church, every time I read the Bible, every time I just try to worship, that sense of imminent doom follows me there, because I can never forget how OCD once used my faith to torment me. I’m always waiting for the next obsession to come that will leave me paralyzed with anxiety all over again.
Sometimes, I think that OCD is going to make the very thing I feared the most come true for real—me walking away from God. How can I possibly keep believing when it hurts so much? How can I possibly trust in a God that I am, on some level, still afraid of? How can I ever get over what happened to me?
I’m mad at God—partially for letting these horrible things happen, but mostly because He has seemed so silent through much of my ordeal. Where was God during all those nights I spent alone in my room, sweating through panic attacks over Bible verses my brain abused? Why didn’t He just plainly tell me, “Hey, I’m not like that. Don’t listen to those lies…”
But don’t you see? Even if Christ Himself had appeared to me and assured me that none of my obsessions were anything to worry about, my OCD would’ve still moved on to find another thing to torment me. And I’m convinced if I had never had Scrupulosity, I would’ve had another kind of OCD—just like how now, it has become mostly contamination fears.
I know that God isn’t like my OCD—He’s not just waiting for the next opportunity to torment me and make me as miserable as possible. No, I’ve experienced His love for myself and on some level, I do know that He is the Perfect, Good Father that He says He is.
But I can’t fully believe it—not yet, anyway.
Yes, it’s true that I have a long way to go in the healing process. But I can’t help but be grateful that I am even at a place where I can recognize that I have OCD and am not a reprobate or a spiritual failure. Had I not figured out I had OCD, I certainly wouldn’t know I have PANDAS. Considering the severity of my symptoms, I might not still be here had I not gotten a proper diagnosis and treatment in time.
As traumatic as my life with Scrupulosity was, remembering it and then seeing how far I’ve come gives me hope that someday, I’ll get to a place where the pain no longer haunts me.