Source: Corbis
This is an OCD story. Wait, that doesn’t sound look right. Let me try again. This is a story about obsessive compulsive disorder. Hmm…take three? Let’s just say that this story is about OCD and how it played a role in ruining a relationship I hoped would last forever.
Contrary to what you think you know about OCD, for some people, having OCD is about way more than washing your hands eleventeen hundred times or arranging items in your fridge “just so.” Sometimes it’s about relationships and constant worry that the one you’re in may not be right for you. Non-OCD sufferers can experience this doubt too, but not to the same exhaustive, anxiety-tinged, compulsion-inducing extent.
I remember the day my ex told me that people mistook him for being gay. And that it happened on more than one occasion. Not at all concerned about other people’s thoughts or caught up in the trappings of hetero-masculine norms, he shrugged his shoulders to the inaccurate assumptions that a lesser man might have taken offense to.
I, on the other hand, had a different response. I was bothered. Why wasn’t he? Was it because he really was gay? My thoughts weren’t coming from a place of homophobia; they were deeply rooted in OCD, which I was beginning to realize at the time, has plagued me for most of my life.
I don’t recall how the people-think-I’m-gay conversation with my ex came about in the first place. In all likelihood, he was trying to assuage me. It was his response to my unveiling of my OCD and the different sub-types I’ve experienced over the years, some of which are sexuality related. He was very supportive and very understanding, but that wasn’t enough to quench my growing suspicion that perhaps he was gay, a suspicion fueled and further complicated by my obsessive belief that something between us wasn’t quite right.
My first serious boyfriend, I had all these assumptions about what a relationship was supposed to be and about how I was supposed to feel – elated, content, at ease – and at all times. Instead, I was riddled with anxiety and tried to stave off thoughts that because I didn’t feel positive or sure about where we were headed, that meant we weren’t right for each other. If I saw a less than flattering picture of him, I questioned whether or not I was truly attracted to him. If we had a boring conversation, I took that to mean we were ill-matched. If my feelings for him didn’t resemble the romanticized lyrics of some cheesy love song, the fairy tale stories girls have been fed since childhood or the to-be-loved-what-a-feeling kind of wow, I just knew we weren’t going to work.
And yet, with his disclosure, the seed of doubt grew that much more. I started observing the way he walked, the way he interacted with other men as if I could stereotypically discern his sexuality from the pattern of his gait or the way he greeted a co-worker. It was irrational and a perfect example of gender policing, but I couldn’t help it. That’s what OCD does. It’s intrusive, contradictory, confusing, strenuous, and it sure as hell isn’t pretty. It’s as if I was waiting to shout “aha!” and reveal to him that I knew the truth all along.
At the time, I wished I could undergo the world’s first brain-off, a surgery that would give me a non-OCD brain. Concerns, doubts, fears and relationship-related questions popped into my head at a mile a minute. I was tired beyond belief. My OCD brain desperately searched for ways to prove the he-must-be-gay theory right to confirm my inference that together, we weren’t right. Never mind the fact that I was in love, and for the first time. I limited my doubts and concerns to him for fear that he’d confirm what I was already feeling about myself: that I was crazy. I knew I had his support, but who could really put up with something like this, I thought. If he could really get inside my head and get a glimpse of all that I was thinking – he’d leave me before I had the chance to leave him. And so, I left.
While OCD wasn’t the sole cause of our short-lived relationship, it sure played a major role in its ending. What I’ve learned since then has been so valuable in my understanding of my ex-boyfriend, myself and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Namely, I am not my thoughts. Recognizing that has been a tremendous gift and has lifted a serious weight off of my shoulders. My ex taught me that what others think of me is not my concern and not at all important to who I know myself to be. He also taught me that masculinity is far more diverse than the box we try to stuff it in. I learned that a man who loves me will show up for me in ways I don’t expect; that some of my relationship expectations were unrealistic, and that ultimately, I’m going to be fine, no matter what OCD may have me think.
