 It's my last year of high school. I've always been someone who thrived at school, an overachiever, well-known by many, and favored by the teachers. Today, I sit with my closest friends and everything is perfect. It feels like any other regular senior day until my friend asks me, what do you wanna do after high school? I freeze. I freeze because I have no idea what to say. I've always run away from the thought of going beyond high school. The unknown scares me. It's like leaping from one cliff to another, but I wonder if I would even make the jump. If I would just fall through instead. So I make up some lie and say, I wanna be a doctor. We end up spending the rest of lunch sharing updates on our grades and how some have already gotten acceptance letters from their favorite universities. I'm not completely present though. And I start to think, what if I don't get into the programs I want? What if I'm not good enough or smart enough? So when I get home, I mindlessly get to work. I open all of my textbooks and homework and organize my space so it is perfect, not a pencil or paper out of line. My mind tells me that success starts with a perfectly tidy space. I look at my desk and it looks visually perfect, but my mind steers towards darker thoughts, telling me that if I'm not successful, my family will suffer because I cannot support them. I realize that I fear this above all. Sometimes my family is all I have. They've done so much for me and I feel if I can't support them for their needs, I will be incomplete in some way. It also tells me that I have to double check that I have everything I need for my backpack even though I know I do because if I leave anything out, I will fail. Next, it whispers to me, I reorganize those markers. It's not good enough as it is, so I do. And when I think I've organized my space enough, it convinces me that I haven't and I organize it again. I find that I'm obsessed with chasing this idea of perfection even though I know in the back of my mind, it is not possible. It's an exhausting, strenuous cycle and in the end, I've accomplished close to nothing and I'm no closer to calming or relaxing my mind. Later, I invite my friends to my house. I haven't spent much time with them these past few days and I miss them. When they come into my room, I expect to loosen up and enjoy my time but for some reason I coil back up as one friend sits at my desk poking at my organized pants. Another flops right onto my bed, crumpling the smooth sheets. One of them plays with the items on my dresser accidentally dropping my belongings on the floor. The sight of them in my space, touching and messing up my things makes me feel a little crazy and violated. It makes me feel like everything in my brain that I worked so hard to keep neat for hours is once again scattered within minutes. Clean it, my mind screams. Clean it or else someone might hurt themselves. So I do as my mind says, trailing after them and cleaning in their wake, trying to undo the mess they made. As I'm cleaning, I notice my friends laughing at me. Why are you being so uptight? They say, you are so boring now. I know I should ignore their comments. Logically, I know that I've just started to be like this. So precise about the space I live in, my mind constantly racing and thinking. This change they see in me must be confusing for them. I should try to explain what's going on in my head but can't they see how much of a mess they're making that someone might hurt themselves, might slip and fall? Who are they to tell me I'm boring when I'm trying to help them? Their ignorance makes me angry. It leaves me feeling confused. So instead of bottling it all up, I yell at them. I tell them that I'm not the problem and that they are. I tell them that they are horrible friends. I watch as their faces fall into hurt, confusion and shock. Suddenly my palms are sweaty and I feel a little dizzy. My heart is racing and my breath comes quickly. Just go. I managed to say. They run out of my room. But this attack that I'm feeling doesn't stop. I barely notice when my knees buckle and I slide to the floor. It feels like I can't breathe and time has stopped. My thoughts race. What have I done? What have I done? What have I done? It's all I can think. What if they hate me forever? What if they never forgive me? What if? What if? What if? I close my eyes and try to study my breathing. It is so very hard to calm myself because I feel frozen and numb. When I try to sleep, more thoughts begin to bombard my head and my thoughts steer in a slightly different direction. I wonder if I locked the door. I fear if I didn't, someone might break in and hurt my family. I wonder if I should sanitize my room because there might be germs that will make me sick. I start to become hyper aware of everything I do physically. My breathing, my blinking, my heartbeat, all these thoughts are my only company as I fight for sleep. I thought that my panic attack would be a pivotal moment and cure this craze, this obsession I have with being perfect. I thought it would take away these intrusive thoughts. Instead, it only made it worse. Not only do I spend my days thinking about my grades and university, but now also about the well-being of my friends and how I've hurt them in irreparable ways. I think that every small misstep in my life will hurt those around me. I also start to become very aware of everything I do. For instance, I could be eating dinner, something so simple, and become very aware of my chewing and I wonder if I'm chewing correctly or not. It also comes to a point where my intrusive thoughts are automatic. They don't need an external trigger. They constantly exist in my mind. I just can't stop thinking. It has been a few weeks. I haven't seen my friends in what feels like forever. They have called me and texted me, but I'm far too distracted. I spend my days cleaning my room and satisfying those intrusive thoughts in my head. One morning, my little sister came into my room with some breakfast in bed. At first, I thought it was nice of her until she spilled the orange juice on my cleaned floors. I was absolutely livid. I spent so much of my time keeping my space clean and she just ruined it. So I screamed at her. I told her to take her breakfast somewhere else and I watched her face crumple and eyes filled with tears, but all I could see was the juice on the ground and I didn't care that I heard her feelings at all. It takes a while, months even, to realize that this is too much for me alone to bear. My thoughts drown and prevent me from sleeping. They also distract me from school and my grades drop. I cannot live like this reluctantly. I seek the help of my grandmother, someone I trust fully. I tell her everything I've been going through these last few months and how my mind just won't stop turning. I tell her it sends me visions of these intrusive thoughts and tells me to keep everything perfect and that it feels like I'm not in control of my mind and that I hate it. My grandmother says that getting help could change my life. So we find professionals and doctors that can help me. At first, I felt like I was completely alone in my differences, that I was alone in these intrusive thoughts and obsessive tendencies. It felt like a relief when the doctors tell me that many people suffer from the same mental illness I have, OCD. I start visiting an exposure therapist who helps me overcome the harsh ways of my OCD. The therapist helps me face some of my greatest fears. She makes me exist in a messy room in a situation that I can't control. The first few weeks are awful. Forcibly living in a scattered environment makes me feel vulnerable and unsteady. I feel like everything is spiraling out of control too fast and I just cannot keep up with it. With perseverance though, I'm able to learn how to coexist with these imperfections and with time, I learned that I'm starting to become okay with that. It turns out they were right. With therapy, I learn how to manage and control the compulsions I feel. The thoughts in my head don't run as fast. So now I'm not so fearful of every little thing all the time. It feels like I finally have some control over my mind. I'm even finally able to get back on track with school and my friends. I tell them about how I've been struggling with OCD and they don't laugh or tell me I'm boring. They understand. I'm able to go to the mall, go out to dinner and overall be more social without worrying so much about every little thing and whatever relief that is. It finally feels like I'm in control of my life. Something I haven't felt in a long, long time.