There's more to OCD than what's typically seen through media. It isn't just things like compulsive hand-washing or cleanliness – there are many complex and varied symptoms of OCD that can affect men, women and young people of all ethnicities, cultures and socio-economic backgrounds. Obsessions – recurring thoughts that become unhealthy patterns of behavior – and compulsions – acts performed to alleviate or reduce the thoughts – can first present in childhood or early adolescence, but may appear at any time throughout someone's life. It's really important to know that OCD is treatable and seeking professional support is the first step towards recovery. If you've noticed any of these difficulties or you're concerned you might have OCD, you can talk to your GP or speak to someone at your local headspace centre about support and potential treatment options.
I'm a needy woman.Needy to the point of no return. My neediness is theorised on misogynistic dating forums and men's advice columns. You-said-you'd-call-me-at-five-needy. A bumbling mess of tears, insecurity, and hot cheeks-needy. An almost clinical representation of needy—the sort of needy that embodies the "51 Traits of Needy Women That Turn Men Off".But my neediness—which is really an uncomfortable desire for reassurance—is the product of something far more sinister: my OCD. I live with "Pure O," which is an unforgiving vein of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, so my behaviour is often dictated by paralysing fears. I respond to those fears by engaging in equally paralysing behaviours. I fear the unexpected death of loved ones, or worse still, being abandoned by them without warning.So rather than washing my hands or meticulously checking to see if my straightening iron is off, I send frazzled messages: Have you arrived? Are you safe? Do you still love me? And relief—albeit passing—comes only when I have been met with a reply. Or better yet, a love note. A majestic gesture. And until then, I remain a victim to my own made-up, tired, monotonous grieving. I remain needy. As fuck.But the relief I seek—the sort that looks like a seen 8:18 PM receipt, or an active now sign, and an answered call—never feels absolute. I'm a walking trope: a woman who doesn't know how to just have fun. A crazy, neurotic tale of obsession, over-thinking things and tears. A meme, even.Vikki Ryall, Head of Clinical Practice at headspace, the National Youth Mental Health Foundation.