Did I lock the front door? I’m absolutely certain I did but it’s always best to make sure, right? Well, after doing so exactly three times each and every night over the space of 5 years, it wasn’t a concern with security that had me obsessively checking the doors, no, it was my Obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).

Whether it be checking doors and windows, turning the TV on and off or erasing an entire page worth of school notes – I have done all those aforementioned things and more because, in my mind if I didn’t, someone I hold dear would perish.

It was entirely irrational yet my childhood belonged to this deeply psychologically traumatic disorder, and for a long time, I could see no light at the end of the tunnel.

According to Mental Health Ireland, OCD is defined as a common form of anxiety disorder involving distressing and often repetitive thoughts. That definition doesn’t do it justice, but it’s accurate nonetheless. My first experiences with OCD came right after first entering Secondary - school. It’s an often-turbulent time for kids as the transition from primary school can sometimes be a rough one.

One morning, I was sitting in class and I noticed that I wrote the word ‘probably’ strangely. It was all uneven and inconsistent with the rest of the sentence. So, like anyone may do, I erased it and re-wrote the word to my liking.

However, even though it now looked ‘fine’, I didn’t like the look of that one either so I tried again and again and eventually, without fully realising it, I had rubbed my entire page out and had rewritten everything 3 three times.

What started with me simply erasing a messily written word had progressed to me erasing and rewriting hundreds of words on my page over and over again because in my mind, If I didn’t, my mother would die.

From absolutely nowhere, I had this raging compulsion and only by doing various irrational tasks would I feel at ease, though only temporarily. From that day, my disorder had been born and it was only going to deteriorate.

My OCD absolutely exploded into prominence following its ‘birth’ when I was 13 and it unmercifully attacked my quality of life.

For one, I now had to write ‘perfectly’ neatly or I’d have to erase everything I wrote three times and rewrite the whole damn thing again.

Without knowing why, I now also had to multiply any number I gazed upon by three – and it was always that special number three. Car registration number? Three times it.

Television programme number? Three times it.

Numbers plastered on billboards and in books etc? You guessed it.

My rule was I had to visually see the number before I was ‘forced’ to multiply it by three, so numbers spoken didn’t count. However, as you can imagine, maths class wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience.

My OCD was beginning to get more complex. First it attacked my writing, and then we had multiplication. I

can’t stress how exhausting it is to continuously multiply numbers of all sizes by three or how reluctant I was to show my various teachers my homework as they’d previously remarked about how messy and careless my copy was (couldn’t always use a pencil so erasing wasn’t always an option).

I preferred teachers to think that my writing was merely ‘messy’ than for them to know I was broken and disordered – for that’s how I felt.

These things may seem relatively minor, but they were anything but, and they left me a broken young child.

As the years went by, my OCD began broadening its sinister horizons in a way that left me with little but constant mental anguish.

At 15, I now had to have the television volume on either 13,26 or 39. I couldn’t watch television with friends or family as what were the odds the volume would be on one of those aforementioned settings?

Before bed, I had to check the front door was locked three times. But I couldn’t simply walk over to it and check three times then and there. No, I had to check, then go to my room, then repeat the process until my obsessions were eased by doing so three times. I also had to strangely rub the back of my head three times after watching any episode of the South Park comedy series.

Why South Park? Well it’s a show I’ve always liked, and my disorder likes to attach itself to the things I hold most dear. That’s what it felt like now – I was Ger but I was also being run by my disorder.

At this stage, OCD was majorly beginning to impact on school and social gatherings. When you couple my OCD with me being a relatively shy person, I became a prime target for bullies.

Each day I would get harassed and become more disillusioned with school.

This won’t ever change, this is my life now – get use to it or do something drastic about it – they were the only two options I believed I had. I also couldn’t enjoy meeting friends as I’d be absolutely terrified I’d get a compulsion and be forced to carry out my ritual in front of them.

What if they witnessed me doing them? What would they think of me? That I’m a weirdo? That I’m damaged goods? I had a low enough opinion about myself and the possibility of being labelled those things by my peers could have ended this chapter in my life once and for all.

With me, my OCD always positioned my mother as the person I had to save by completing my various rituals. It’s easy for people who don’t suffer from OCD to say ‘that won’t happen’ or it’s ‘irrational’ I know all that, but I still carried out all my rituals.

Deep inside me I didn’t actually think my mother would come to harm if I didn’t perform a ritual, but my mind wouldn’t stop putting the image in my head and if you could stop it, why wouldn’t you?

The problem was, you were only temporarily stopping it.

Then, at the age of 17, something completely accidental changed everything, not that I knew it at the time.

As I was staying in my older sister’s house, we decided to watch a movie. It was a generic action movie, nothing special. As we were watching, my sister turned to me and said; “could you higher it up” and with that, my heart slumped.

I hadn’t seen what volume it was on but now that she’s asked me to increase the volume, it’ll have to be either 13,26 or 39.

It was on 17 so I increased it to 26. She thought that was much too loud. I disagreed, of course. We then proceeded to argue about what we perceive as being ‘too loud’ until I said something I never thought I would; I told her the true reason why we were having this argument, and her reaction is the ultimate reason why OCD no longer has a hold over me today, as a happy 23-year-old.

Apparently, my sister suffered terribly with OCD too when she was younger.

Who knew? And why hadn’t she told anyone? Well, for the same reasons why I never did; fear of ignorance.

She told me of stories where she would be ‘forced’ to open her window on nights when a loved one was sickly in hospital.

She did this, as she feared that the loved one would perish if she didn’t. I couldn’t believe it.

I knew OCD was prevalent throughout society, but I had been suffering so internally for all these years and I wasn’t even alone in my family?

Even though I had absolute empathy and understanding for her plight, I had never felt so good in all my life.

I had so many questions; but one stood above all others; she said she ‘suffered’ from OCD, so she doesn’t anymore? How??

I desperately want my 5 years of constant hell to reach its rightful conclusion. My sister had her own way of eradicating OCD’s influence over her and it changed my life forever.

It was very simple; she used OCD against itself, as she put it. After similarly suffering for years, she attempted to reverse her compulsions towards doing pleasant things.

Instead of checking locked doors and windows a silly amount of times and at such inconvenient times, instead, when a need to perform a ritual got so bad, she would simply say ‘I don’t need to do this’ ten times in her head.

Essentially, she’s still performing a ritual but it’s infinitely superior to re-writing an entire page’s worth of notes three times over, checking doors and windows three times etc, and given my number was three not ten, I said I’d give it a try.

It was brutally hard at first, but I persisted.

The fact that this system worked for her gave me eternal hope. Initially, I just couldn't get past the thought that 'if you don't do xyz, they'll die thought'.

That was the wall I needed to break through – but breakthrough I did. After a couple of weeks of trying her technique and completing less and less rituals, I eventually stopped altogether.

I no longer needed to check that the door was locked. My disorder would still compulsively attempt to get me to check it by threatening the safety of a loved one, but the moment I resisted the urge to do so for the first time, it got so much easier after that.

As the weeks, months and years passed, my quality of life soared. I went on social gatherings with greater regularity, my grades improved and vitally, I was no longer a prisoner to my disorder.

OCD continues to devastate the lives of countless people the world-over.

As with any other illness, it’s hard to properly emphasise with a sufferer unless you’ve too experienced its heartache.

As a long-suffering prisoner, I know how truly fortunate I was to break free of the shackles of this most debilitating of disorders.

In severe cases, what I would say is this; seek help, both in a professional and familial capacity. Whilst my experiences are just mine, the moment I branched out, was the moment I took control of life again.

If I can do that, I believe everyone can.