I have OCD. I do not wash my hands religiously after using the bathroom. But I do live with a constant feeling of impending doom, like a black cloud is following me wherever I go.

I have OCD. I don’t keep my flat especially tidy, and I’ve never cared for dusting. But I do frequently and vividly picture my family’s deaths to the point of tears.

I have OCD. I don’t turn the lights on again and off again. But I do count almost every action I take, and make sure it’s in 3s, 4s or 7s.

I have OCD. I can drink out of glasses at any restaurant without a second thought. But I question my sexuality almost constantly, to check I haven’t been lying to myself and everyone I love.

I have OCD.

And I do over-use alcohol hand gel. And I do line my shoes up in a funny way else something terrible will happen. And I avoid new car journeys for fear of causing a crash and hurting or killing the people I love. And I do actually knock on wood. And I salute to every magpie I see. And I do neutralize “bad” thoughts or words with “good” ones.

The “ands” and “buts” can also be true at the same time.

We are walking contradictions.
We are stereotypical and we are opposites.
We both are and are not.
And all those experiences are valid.
But it’s okay.