I sighed internally as I got into the lift to take pictures of the giant silver bins downstairs. I’d put the recycling out about 15 minutes earlier. I was sure of it, but I had to check. 

I have OCD and my issue with rubbish, contrary to what you might expect, has nothing to do with germs. Instead, it has everything to do with lying. My obsession with being truthful began after I discovered I’d been extensively lied to by an ex-partner and friend. When I found out, I was determined to be the exact opposite of them. I was contaminated; not by germs, but by association.

This is ridiculous, I thought, as I snapped away at the bins. My desire to recycle – and prove that I’d done it – began after my new partner visited my home for the first time last summer. “You really should be recycling more,” he advised, inspecting my admittedly large rubbish pile, which had formed while living without flatmates for the first time and trying (and failing) to keep on top of a stressful job.

I began carefully separating out the obvious recyclable plastics and cardboard to go into the right bins. While I knew taking pictures of the recycling process was ridiculous, it was the only way to quell the anxiety and fear that I’d somehow lie to my partner and forget about it. To me, even the most innocuous lie was unacceptable. I sent him a picture of a milk carton above its environmentally friendly graveyard. “Good to know it’s definitely being recycled,” he joked.

Other smaller acts of reassuring myself included writing a note on my phone to confirm that I did, indeed, eat the entire panini after I’d informed my partner that I was lining my stomach ahead of a big night out. But the more I engaged with my fear of lying, the worse it got. Such is the nature of OCD. 

That’s when it swiftly moved onto something much scarier – cheating. I wasn’t worried about my new partner cheating; I was worried that I’d do it and somehow forget. My ex had, after all, apparently forgot how much he’d cheated on me. Then there was a former friend who insisted they hadn’t drunkenly cheated, when I’d seen it with my very eyes.

It’s advisable that OCD sufferers shouldn’t seek reassurance – whether that’s by repeatedly washing their hands to rid themselves of perceived germs or, as was the case for me, telling my partner about my cheating fear to see how he’d react. I managed to resist for quite some time. 

When I eventually told him about my fear, he was unfazed, rightfully describing it as a ‘brain fart’. It also helped to remind myself that when my ex lied to me about cheating, it was the lie that hurt the most. At least I’d been honest about my fear.

I was scared I’d somehow cheated with a platonic friend, who also assured me that nothing had happened. But as is always the case with OCD, seeking reassurance makes the situation worse.

My compulsions soon spiralled beyond taking pictures of bins to making notes on my phone whenever a man so much as sat beside me on the bus because I was scared I’d somehow shag them and forget. It sounds funny, but it was exhausting.

On one occasion, it was so bad that I crawled into my bed on a Saturday afternoon because I was simply too scared to go outside. Within a few weeks, I was anxious whenever the doorbell buzzed, terrified that I’d snog whatever man was likely delivering a parcel or takeaway.

I eventually told my partner after a few drinks. I showed him the state of my phone’s notes app – on some days, I was repeating the same reassuring sentences over and over again, often swearing that I hadn’t cheated with an Amazon delivery driver. Thankfully, he found it hilarious, and I was able to laugh too. To my surprise, this helped me find the strength to stop this particular set of compulsions.

It was tricky at first, but the longer I managed to resist, the more I began to trust that I’m not some crazed nymphomaniac. 

But it’s an unfortunate reality of my brain that, since my late teens, I’ve not been able to trust myself when it comes to the things that matter the most to me. If I care about someone or something, I have to be sure I’ve done the right thing by them. OCD falls into a lot of different themes, and mine has always been a form of harm OCD. I’m scared I’ll do harm – even if it is as innocuous as lying about recycling.

I’m proud to say I’ve stopped making notes on my phone… for now. But even though these were comparatively harmless compulsions – acts sufferers carry out to relieve their anxiety – the distress I felt before doing them was as extreme as when I’ve had more taboo obsessions.

There has, for example, been my bizarre tendency to take pictures and videos of my dead pets to make sure that they are indeed dead. What kind of monster would bury a hamster alive?

Unlike conditions such as psychosis, people with OCD know their fears are illogical, but that doesn’t make them any less terrifying.

OCD is often a chronic illness, and recovery means different things to different people. While my head is far from quiet, I can currently go about my day-to-day business without being too distressed, so I’m counting that as a win. I’m also grateful to have found a new coping strategy through my partner that I hadn’t really considered before: humour.

I was able to put this into practice when I got a new couch. It was green, not blue as expected. For some OCD sufferers, superstitions can be a problem too, and I’ve always been told that green is a cursed colour – an old piece of folklore that the colour belongs to faeries, who get angry when we humans use it. After bad things happened by sheer coincidence the last two times I had the colour green in the house (including the death of my gran) I’ve avoided it, but this time I was able to laugh through my justified yet ridiculous anxiety.

“So…” I joked to my partner. “I think I’m scared of the couch.”

Frame Of Mind is Stylist’s home for all things mental health and the mind. From expert advice on the small changes you can make to improve your wellbeing to first-person essays and features on topics ranging from autism to antidepressants, we’ll be exploring mental health in all its forms. You can check out the series home page to get started.

Images: courtesy of Emma Guinness