OCD and Manifestations

About a year ago, I learned I have obsessive compulsive disorder.

I mean, I had my suspicions. I have to check my stove (that I don't even cook on, mind you) to make sure each knob is off. Sometimes I'll walk out of my apartment and immediately turn around to check again, just in case. I've done it so often that if a group of my friends are leaving with me, they'll just stand there and wait for me to go back inside one more time.

When it comes time to vacation, I unplug absolutely everything. I start to feel like Aunt Josephine from A Series of Unfortunate Events.

I've driven away from my apartment only to circle back to check thing I'd already checked, just to be safe.

It is ridiculously obnoxious.

I'm not exactly a germaphobe, but apparently I fit into that category. I wash my hands at least fifty times a day, if not more. Until they're red. Sometimes until they're bleeding. I don't even fear germs as much as I fear dirt, contamination, or somehow poisoning myself.

People will tell me, "Well, washing your hands is a good thing!"

And I just stare at them while thinking about how I can go through an entire bottle of hand soap in six or seven days.

I'll touch one thing and immediately think about how disgusting it was. A fork falls on the floor? I pick it up and wash my hands. Then I might walk out of the kitchen when I hear someone knocking at my door. I answer it, move aside to let them in, and immediately head back to the sink because how many times have I touched that doorknob after taking out the trash?

Individually, these things sound normal.

The problem is that it becomes every single thing.

And suddenly, I find myself standing over the sink again and again, scrubbing my hands. One action after the other leads me right back to my sink.

I will talk in circles. I'll convince myself that if I don't eat slowly, I will choke. The more I think about it, the tighter my throat feels. In fact, suddenly my throat is closing.

Sometimes the intrusive thoughts are more exhausting than the triple checking my door is locked before I go to sleep.

And the strangest part is that while you're thinking these things and doing these things, another part of your brain is saying, "yeah, soooo, this is ridiculous."

Only to turn around and do it all over again.

Did I mention it's exhausting?

But the worst part, at least for me, has always been change.

Any type of change: good or bad.

Moving. New jobs. Leaving jobs. Relationships. Breakups. Any shift in my life affects me far more deeply than I feel like it should.

When I first started a job in a new place eight years ago, I cried every night after work for a while. It wasn't even a new company. I'd worked for the same company back in my hometown, but things were different. Different people. Different routines. Different expectations. Eventually, I adjusted and fell in love with the people I worked with. It became a safe place for me.

I moved around a few times as a teenager and since and each time I move, I cry for nights.

Not because I miss the place I left, but because I miss the familiarity of the routine.

When I moved out of my childhood home, I called my then boyfriend sobbing. Nothing was the same anymore. Ironically, my childhood home was unsafe. Moving into my grandmother's house meant finally living somewhere I felt secure. It was in the safest place I could think of. I didn't miss where I'd come from. I just couldn't process how suddenly everything had changed.

I wish I could say this is where I get to the point, but bear with me. It'll make sense.

Recently, I wrote a blog about wanting to leave this town and move on with my life. I wrote about all the open doors in front of me and how excited I was for the possibilities.

And I meant every word.

I'd been filling journal after journal with the same desperate thoughts:

I want to move.

I want to do it now.

Today.

Immediately.

C'monnnnn already.

I couldn't leave because I'd signed another year long lease in September. Every journal entry seemed to include some variation of:

I need to break this lease.

I want to break this lease.

Why does it cost $2,000 to break a fucking lease???

No matter what else I was writing about, those questions always managed to sneak their way in.

And then, just like that, I ended up breaking my lease in the most unexpected way without shoveling over money I didn't have.

I thought I had four more months.

Suddenly, everything was changing.

So why was I so sad?

How had I managed to manifest and receive the very thing I wanted most only to find myself wondering whether I was actually ready for the next chapter?

This is one of the most frustrating parts of having OCD.

You can get exactly what you wanted and still find yourself sitting in this strange unnecessary state of despair.

Which brings me to manifestation.

I constantly see videos saying things like:

"Set your intentions and let them go."

"Don't doubt your manifestations."

"Release them and wait."

And I can't tell you how terrible that advice feels for someone with ruminating OCD.

Because now you've planted another fear.

If I overthink this, have I ruined it?

If I worry about it, does that mean I shouldn't even bother manifesting?

And if I've already manifested something, now I have to fight every intrusive thought telling me I'm somehow creating obstacles or sabotaging myself simply because my brain won't stop analyzing every possible outcome.

I've manifested things time and time again. The apartment situation has made that clear.

And I've also spent countless hours panicking over how they could all go wrong.

Lately, I've been experimenting with new ways of approaching manifestation. The Craft has slowly found its way back into my life after years of feeling too drained to practice. I've had success with the 3-6-9 method. Recently, I discovered subliminals and have started incorporating them into my daily routine.

But I suppose this blog isn't really about methods.

It's about the questions I've been asking myself:

What does manifestation look like for someone with OCD?

How do you work with intention when your mind is constantly circling every possible outcome?

Can you coexist with doubt and intrusive thoughts without believing you've somehow ruined everything?

And, maybe, most importantly—is anyone else trying to figure this out, too?

Do our intrusive thoughts really hold that much power, or have we simply been giving them far too much credit? How much of the human can you take out of the powers of manifestation, OCD or not?