How OCD Took Over My Life (and How I Took It Back)

The day I hit a small bump in the road and was convinced I’d killed someone was the day I knew something was deeply wrong. My chest tightened, panic set in, and before I realized it, I had turned the car around — again and again — scanning the street for a victim who didn’t exist.

That’s OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder). It doesn’t whisper. It shouts. It hijacks your thoughts and convinces you of the worst possible things — while no one else sees the war that’s raging in your mind.

When OCD Crept In

Looking back, I can see it started early. I was that kid in high school who couldn’t stop second-guessing himself. At the time, I didn’t call it OCD. I just thought I was “too careful,” maybe even weak.

By the time I was old enough to drive, OCD had me in a chokehold. Driving should’ve been freedom. For most of my friends, it was. But for me, every trip behind the wheel was a minefield.

Hit a pothole? My brain screamed: You just ran someone over.

See an ambulance on the road later that day? My brain whispered: That’s because of you.

I’d circle back again and again, scanning the road for evidence. Sometimes I’d spend an extra hour retracing my steps, stuck in this loop of guilt and fear, long after everyone else had gone home.

Even speed cameras weren’t safe. OCD told me they could “catch” me saying something blasphemous — even if I wasn’t speaking. So I invented rituals: I’d hold my breath, cover my mouth, roll up the windows. Imagine driving down a street, suffocating yourself just to feel like you’re not committing some invisible sin. That was me.

School wasn’t much better. My textbooks, homework, and exam papers became another obsession. I was terrified I’d accidentally write something offensive or blasphemous. Sometimes I’d sit frozen over the page, staring at my own handwriting like it might betray me. I’d erase and rewrite the same word over and over, until the page nearly tore.

From the outside, I looked like a normal student and a normal driver. Inside, I was falling apart.

The Compulsions That Kept Me Stuck

OCD is clever. It convinces you that relief is just one ritual away. Check the road again and you’ll feel better. Cover your mouth, and nothing bad will happen.

And for a moment, it worked. The panic eased. My chest loosened. I could breathe again. But it never lasted. The fear always came back — louder, sharper, more demanding.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that I was feeding the OCD. Every time I gave in, it grew stronger. Compulsions weren’t saving me — they were trapping me.

It felt like playing a rigged game I could never win.

When Curiosity Took Over

At some point, my fear turned into something else: curiosity. I wanted to know what this “thing” inside my head really was. Instead of only running from it, I started studying it.

I read articles, medical journals, and personal stories. I learned the science of intrusive thoughts, why compulsions made things worse, and how treatments such as Exposure and Response Prevention (ERP) worked. The more I studied, the more I realized OCD had patterns — and patterns could be understood.

This curiosity didn’t erase the pain, but it gave me a sense of power back. I wasn’t just the victim of OCD anymore. I was a student of it, learning its tricks, shining a light on the monster hiding in the dark.

Finding My Way Out (Slowly)

Recovery didn’t happen in a single moment of clarity. It was more like a long climb out of a pit, with plenty of slips along the way.

Exposure and Response Prevention became a turning point. ERP told me the opposite of what OCD wanted me to believe: that I didn’t have to give in to compulsions to be safe.

At first, it felt impossible. When the thought hit — You ran someone over — every fiber of my being screamed at me to turn the car around. Choosing not to was torture. My heart pounded,

my hands shook on the steering wheel. But over time, I realized something: the fear eventually passed on its own. The world didn’t end.

Journaling also helped. I didn’t use fancy prompts — I just wrote down the thought, what I did after, and how I felt. Slowly, patterns emerged. I saw the thoughts were worse at night. I realized certain routines that felt “safe” were actually feeding the OCD. Seeing those patterns on paper gave me a kind of clarity I hadn’t felt in years.

The gym became another lifeline. At first, I went just to escape my thoughts. But lifting weights, pushing myself, sweating through workouts — it gave me back my confidence. For the first time in a long time, I felt strong. Exercise became more than just a distraction. It became proof that I could handle discomfort and survive it. The same way I had to with OCD.

Where I Am Now

I wish I could tell you I’m cured, but that’s not how OCD works. It hasn’t disappeared, and some days are still hard. But now I can see OCD for what it is: noise.

The thoughts that once convinced me I was dangerous, sinful, or a terrible person — I don’t buy into them anymore. I can see them for what they are: symptoms of a disorder, not reflections of who I am.

I live with OCD, but I don’t live against myself anymore. That shift has changed everything.

To Anyone Reading This

If you’re caught in the cycle right now, I know how heavy it feels. The constant checking, the panic, the guilt. It’s exhausting.

Here’s what I’ve learned, and what I want you to know:

The thoughts aren’t you. The fact they scare you proves they don’t reflect your values.
Compulsions bring temporary relief, but they only keep you stuck.
Recovery isn’t about eliminating OCD — it’s about finding freedom even when it’s there.
Curiosity can be powerful. Learning about OCD gave me tools to fight back.

You don’t need to fix everything today. Start small. Tell someone you trust. Write one thought down. Or simply remind yourself: this is OCD talking, not me.

I went from circling roads for hours, convinced I had killed someone, to studying OCD, understanding its tricks, and living a life where it no longer calls the shots. If I can fight my way back, so can you.

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About the Author: Hussain is the founder of The Struggling Warrior, where he shares his lived experiences with OCD to help others feel less alone and more hopeful.

Photo by Sindre Fs: https://www.pexels.com/photo/person-driving-car-1073031/

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