“I’m so OCD!” is a phrase that’s been seen in TikTok videos, Twitter (X) posts, and Instagram captions for years. All over social media, people have been describing themselves as “#OCD,” with popular phrases like “It’s my OCD is kicking in,” or “I’m OCD about…,” and “it’s triggering my OCD,” amongst other variations of the phrasing.
Being a queer woman with obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), I applied to Columbia University believing that students would be cautious, aware of, and educated on the usage of certain language pertaining to various identities, especially considering that Columbia was ranked as the one of the most liberal colleges in 2020, as well as being located in what is considered one of the most diverse cities in America. That’s not to mention that Columbia gears itself towards upholding diversity and inclusivity within its student body in its mission statement.
The other day, I was working with peers from my dorm, when a friend visited us to join in on our study session. Someone from our study group saw the number of steps that he had taken to get to a solution on one of his homework assignments, pointing out how extensively he’d completed the one question. He replied, “it’s just my OCD—I need to write out all of my steps.” After he had left the room, I asked my friend who spoke to him if he really had OCD, to which he replied “I don’t know. People usually just say that as a figure of speech.”
Aside from pointing out meticulous behaviors, society generally uses “OCD” to describe how people feel when their pencil case has the “wrong” pencil in the “wrong” pocket, or when they see that someone’s handwriting isn’t neat, or when they need to color-code their notes. The social definition of OCD aligns more with media depictions of it, like the cleanliness of Adriane Monk in “Monk,” or as particularity and organization in how things are done, much like Sheldon Cooper’s behaviors in “The Big Bang Theory.”
That’s why I was surprised when my psychiatrist diagnosed me with OCD. I certainly did not have the cleanliness, organization, or need for symmetry that I had heard about and saw from friends, school, media, or shows; instead, I picked my skin and scalp, I hoarded scraps of material out of fear that they would go to waste, and I constantly asked others for reassurance, along with other behaviors and thoughts that I logged on a 10-page paper that I ended up handing over to a psychiatrist.
OCD is often viewed as a “joke condition.” Online, it’s used as an accessory, where having the illness can make someone appear to have “quirks” or “personality traits” rather than a debilitating mental health condition. People incorrectly label themselves as OCD through a newer syndrome called “virtual factitious disorder” or “Munchausen by internet,” where people pretend to have disorders to gain attention, gather sympathy, display anger, or control others with different motivations and consciousness.
In March, the New York State Comptroller announced that the mental health needs of New Yorkers had spiked: 21.1% of adults struggled with mental illness in 2021-2022. In April, NOCD, an online therapy platform, announced that receiving an OCD diagnosis and effective treatment can take 14 to 17 years on average for adults, and that in one study, family physicians misdiagnosed 50.5% of OCD cases. Given the ever-increasing media usage by Gen Z and Gen Alpha, it is essential that media be scrutinized to accurately reflect the gravity and varying symptoms of OCD to increase awareness surrounding misunderstandings and stigmas that target people with the disorder.
Opinions expressed are solely those of the writer(s) and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Able News at The Viscardi Center and/or The Viscardi Center.