hey OCD havers. it can be a little hard to have OCD and be on the internet, right? especially in fandom spaces. the culture has become somewhat hostile to us. but i have good news! it is very possible to have fun online with your friends while avoiding the more inflammatory corners of the internet!
here are some tips for my fellow OCD havers on navigating life online:
you don't have to respond to every single message you get. if someone is trying to bait you into an argument that doesn't appear to be in good faith, you can ignore it. you should ignore it. this is especially true if the message includes a false or exaggerated accusation about you. you owe this person nothing. don't give them ammunition
moral OCD can trick you into joining in on discourse because it's the 'right' thing to do. don't do it. it is only going to make you feel worse and won't actually help anyone. if someone sends you an anon asking you if you support someone you've never heard of that has apparently done multiple terrible things, there's a 99% chance they are trying to trick you into joining a harassment campaign. turn off anons. block anyone who sends you messages like this, they're likely trying to get you to do their dirty work.
the block button is your best friend. you can block anyone you want. if someone is posting something that's making you uncomfortable or feeding your obsessions or compulsions, block them. even if it's stuff that you think you need to be 'aware' of. your mental health comes first. blocking people before they can start shit with you is also pretty handy! something i do occasionally is search names of the latest Main Character Of The Internet and block people posting about it who seem prone to joining in on online hate mobs in general. only do this if you're feeling up for it, this can trigger your OCD.
if you have real event or false memory OCD, online climates can make you feel like you have to "confess" to them publicly. confession is a compulsion, don't do it. the only person who needs to hear about your real event or your false memories is your therapist. you should only discuss these things with professionals who can help you deal with them in the appropriate way. strangers on the internet cannot do that for you. also, no one asking you about your real event or false memories is doing so in good faith. block them
responsibility OCD can also trick you into joining in on discourse. "oh, but if i don't also post about this, what if someone gets hurt because i didn't say anything?". listen. listen to me. posting very, very rarely brings about material change. OCD is so rotten because it correctly identifies you as a person with strong feelings about making the world a better place, and then tricks you into hurting yourself over it in a way that doesn't actually help anyone. joining in on posting about these situations will only end up hurting you. you can make a difference in the world, but not like this. responsibility OCD is lying to you
familiarize yourself with online privacy and internet safety, but be careful. these are real things to be concerned about and they should be taken very seriously, but also something that OCD can latch onto very quickly and create further obsessions about. no one's going to track down your home address from a text post you made about what you had for dinner so there's no need to lie awake all night thinking about that. but posting a bunch of pictures around your identifiable hometown in quick succession probably isn't the best idea, so deleting those is probably for the best. be smart, but try not to panic over what ifs. we can cross those bridges when we come to them
get a group chat!!!!!!!! seriously. sometimes you wanna vent about some stupid shit you saw online, but it's almost always best done privately. get a group chat with some like minded friends and vent there instead. you might find your friends are in need of a private space to rant instead of their public blogs too! this goes for everyone, btw, not just folks with OCD
honestly, every day i find it a little harder to exist as a person with OCD online. there's so much out there that can trigger us and make our OCD worse, without us even knowing it at the time. but this blog will always be a safe place for folks with OCD, and i will always share my tips and tricks for having fun online despite the evil gremlin that lives in my head! you've got this. i'm in your corner 🧡
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Summary: Jack abbot x reader!friends, reader has contamination OCD and hesitates to have dinner at Jack’s. Eventually he comes over and picks up on your OCD.
It’s a story about friendship, with a hint towards them possibly loving each other.
Word count: 2.3k
TW: expect anything medical you’d see on the Pitt, mention of OCD spiralling or OCD traits
Notes: I would have loved to explore more of a love-dynamic between reader and Jack, but I didn’t know how reader’s OCD would cope if Jack were to kiss reader etc…and I truly didnt want to get it wrong. Or pretend that reader is okay with kissing him when saliva is FULL of bacteria.
Based on this brain dump. The brain dump originally mentions reader as female, but this particular fic has no pronouns or gender specified for reader.
@natchitchat @lacy1986
⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆
OCD is a compulsive disorder which means it’s a compulsion you have to act out on, otherwise this will cause severe mental distress.
Any illness is a spectrum and not everyone will have the same symptoms. In the case of OCD, not everyone will have the same obsessions. Everything I’ve written about OCD is from experience, what I’ve learnt in therapy, or other people’s experiences that they’ve told me about.
In my opinion, it’s one of the most common illnesses that is people often self-diagnose, and misdiagnosed. Please educate yourself on the difference between being a neat freak because you like to be that way, or being a neat freak because grandma died 20 years ago because of you. (If you have OCD you will know exactly what I mean.)
OCD isn’t about being tidy. It’s about making sure things are tidy, because if they aren’t, then your mind will convince you that your uncle will die. Its not about wearing white socks only. It’s not about wearing a specific colour at all, it’s about wearing the colour so you don’t get hit by a car later that day. It’s not about checking if all the plug sockets are turned off. It’s about your mind convincing you that if you don’t check them then count to 10, then you’re going to burn the apartment complex down and the neighbour in apartment 3 will die. It’s about making sure things are spaced out evenly, because if they’re not, then the house will burn down. ere are many other types of OCD, the fic will be focusing on contamination OCD. If you read this and think to yourself ‘why is reader doing this, it makes no sense’ then bravo, that’s what OCD is like. It makes no sense why your brain convinces you to do certain things, but you do it anyway, in a specific way, repeatedly until the OCD is satisfied.
Please don’t self diagnose based on anything said in this fic.
⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆
Contamination OCD, for you was as the name suggests, getting contaminated with bacteria, virus, anything that your mind convinces you isn’t clean. But it’s wasn’t just about the contamination, it was about taking it a step further.
Washing your hands for 15 seconds each time. The recommended is 20 seconds, but your mind prefers 15. So you do 15.
Not eating out in most restaurants. The type of plate they serve food on has to be specific. Why? Because that’s what your OCD tells you and that’s what you do. But you’ve so far managed, and it doesn’t bother you, as long as you’re in control. It bothered other people however, and you reached a point where you started to feel embarrassed about your OCD.
To be loved is not to be forced to change. That’s what you reminded yourself.
⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆
“Morning neighbour” Jack waves you down the hallway, all hot and sweaty and must have just come back from a run.
“Morning Jack” you wave back. “Good workout?”
“Heat doesn’t help with my leg sometimes. But I manage. How have you been?”
“I’m okay” you’ve recently come out of an OCD loop, so you’ve been physically exhausted. Also mentally. “I’m sorry I never got back to you about dinner.”
“Hey don’t stress. As I said, I can cook us a nice dinner one evening if you like.”
Your biggest issue was eating at other people’s homes, and you were running out of excuses to say to him. “How about uh… you come to mine? I can cook…”
“You a good cook?” He teases.
“I think so… you can be the judge of that.” You were worried about him coming into your home and judging it, because it was all sterile, and basic. Less equipment to clean meant less potential for bacteria. But he was going to start taking offence soon on why you can’t have dinner with him, so you knew you had to invite him over. “How about tonight? 7pm?
“I’d love that” he smiles, wiping the sweat beads off his forehead, “see you tonight.”
You shut the door behind you and look around at your apartment. For you, it was exactly what you preferred. But for other people, it may look empty. The surfaces were clear of all clutter, especially the kitchen.
You decide not to make any changes to it or move things around, because if Jack found it weird, then that’s on him. You cooked specific types of foods, with ingredients you bought on the day. Chicken was tricky, but you cooked it a specific type of way, and for a certain amount of time. Red meat was a bit less tricky. Fish was a no. Raw salmon was a definite avoid. People who don’t fear bacteria don’t realise that strawberries for example, are one of the dirtiest foods you can buy at the supermarket. But an avocado? Much cleaner. So your meals were planned around that.
It was just after 6.30pm, and you were prepping dinner when the door bell rings. Jack was waiting by the door, with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine.
“Hi! You’re… early.”
He looks at his watch, “Shit. I thought we agreed 6.30? Sorry.”
“That’s okay! Come in.” He hands you the flower bouquet, and you hesitantly take it and set it on the dining table, making an immediate mental reminder to throw it away. And also not to eat anywhere near it. “These are beautiful, thank you.”
“Do you need a hand with dinner?”
“Oh it’s okay!” You say quickly, “you can… uh watch.” You couldn’t risk him contaminating anything, because you have no idea what his level of cleanliness would be. And he may not be on an OCD-level of cleanliness.
You pour him a glass of wine, then wash your hands thoroughly before you get back to cooking. At first, Jack doesn’t notice anything different about the way you cook. He doesn’t notice how you handle the raw meat with gloves. Some people do that, right? But what got his attention the most was when you washed your hands multiple times when handling vegetable, then bread, then meat. How you couldn’t keep up with a conversation when you washed them, as if you were counting. Jack then counts: 15 seconds each wash. He doesn’t assume anything and carries on with the conversation.
“Do you like where you work Jack?”
“I… like it most days. It’s rewarding in a sense, but you can’t forget about the trauma most days.”
“How do you deal with blood?”
Jack may have a feeling what you mean. “We wear scrubs, and usually take them off before we leave the hospital so we don’t bring anything home. We also wear a lot of protective equipment.”
“Does it worry you?”
“The contamination?”
You nod, avoiding eye contact. You’re desperate to know more about what he thinks of contamination. Because so far he looks clean.
“I got used to it, but we’re also always sanitising. And with proper equipment… you don’t really catch that much bacteria.”
You smile softly and plate up both of your food.
“Can I use your bathroom? To wash my hands?” Jack sees how your reaction changes once he asks the question. When you start paying attention to how clean people are, you realise how many people don’t wash their hands before eating, prior to touching so many contaminated items.
“First door to the right.”
Once he’s out of the room, you move the flowers over to the area that is now ‘contaminated’ with raw chicken. You scrub your hands again, and set the table up. A minute later, he comes out.
“It’s nice to finally catch up” Jack says as he sits down to eat. “And thank you for cooking, this looks amazing.”
“Of course, anytime. Sorry about before I-“
“Hey as I said, no stress. If you prefer we eat here, then I’m happy with that.”
You murmur shyly, “thank you.”
⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆
Your dinners with Jack became a regular occasion. You found comfort in the lack of questioning about your habits, and how much he respected your routine without looking or sounding judgemental.
It didn’t take him long to figure out that you have contamination OCD, but he never brought it up with you. You washed your hands at least five times, he lost count after that. There was a lack of appliances on the kitchen counter, hand sanitizer scattered all over the apartment. He also saw the binned flowers that he got you — he wasn’t offended in the slightest, and made a mental note to not buy you them anymore so you don’t have to worry about pesticides. Instead, the next time he came over, he brought you something even more special. He walks into your apartment with a bag in his hand. “Hey neighbour, this is for you”
“You didn’t have to get me anything!” He opens the bag for you to reach in, and inside was three boxes of sterile gloves. “For me?”
“I… umm thought you could use them when cooking?” Jack mutters shyly. He doesn’t want to offend you, by indirectly saying he guessed your diagnosis. “We use them in surgery so they’re very very sterile”
“You.. know?”
“About your OCD? Yeah…I hope that’s okay”
“Sorry”
“What for!”
“Did I make you feel uncomfortable?”
“What! No! I thought this… might make it easier for you.”
“I don’t know what to say…” the gift was thoughtful and kind, and you desperately wanted to give him a hug as a thank you. “Did you come here from work?”
“No, I went home showered, got dressed then came here.”
You smile and hesitantly reach over for a hug. “Thank you, I love it.”
Jack embraces your hug, although doesn’t allow his arms to fully touch you. “You’re so welcome. So what’s for dinner?”
“Home made pizzas!”
“Seriously?”
You usually don’t buy pizza from restaurants, something your brain has convinced you that there was a lot of cross contamination. “Do you like pizza?”
“Sweetheart I love all foods. I’ll eat anything!” He makes you feel at ease, being so comfortable with your little habits. And you might have found the friend you’re been looking for this whole time. You don’t let him help with dinner, instead he stands in one corner of the kitchen and watches you work.
“How do you cope with it most days?”
“My OCD? Uh… I just take it day by day.”
“Did you ever do therapy for it?”
“Once but… I couldn’t do the exposure therapy. Too many panic attacks and meltdowns and I eventually got exhausted.”
“Would you do it again?”
Silence follows for a few minutes and Jack doesn’t question it.
“Jack I lost many friends because of my OCD” you say quietly, feeling somewhat embarrassed, “and with exposure therapy, you need a support system to help you get through it. I don’t have that.”
“You do now” Jack says softly, smiling at you once he sees you smile, “whenever you are ready, let me know. I’ll be there.”
“Thank you Jack.. now I’m gonna let you do something which… I don’t let anyone else do. But you’re gonna help me prep the pizza.”
Jack’s face lights up with excitement; this meant that you trust him enough and he couldn’t be happier. “You’re the boss, tell me what you’d like me to do.”
⋆ ──── ♡ ──── ⋆
Your friendship developed beautifully, a mixture of regular hang outs, easy conversation, dinner and a lot of flirting. Jack started bringing you more little things from work, like hospital grade hand sanitiser, more gloves, disinfectant….
But all it took sometimes is for one inconvenience to send you back into your OCD loop, and this time it was catching a cold. Catching a virus or spreading it was one of your worst nightmares, so your OCD told you to scrub. Scrub scrub scrub. You scrubbed your hands over and over again, but your OCD told you it wasn’t good enough. So you scrubbed harder and harder until you cried and scrubbed.
Your anxiety was an at all high. You started to spiral and you felt like there was no saving you.
Jack texted asking you about dinner but you told him you weren’t feeling very well. The next thing you know, he’s knocking on your door.
“You can’t be here” you’re tired, weak, anxious and your hands were red and sore.
“I want to be here.” Jack says softly as he clicks the door shut behind him. “I’m gonna make you soup.”
“But-“
“But you’re gonna tell me exactly how you want me to make it. What to touch and what not to. Okay?”
You shake your head, “I can’t, no I-“
“What’s ticking in your mind? Tell me. How can I help?”
“There’s nothing anyone can do. I feel disgusting. I feel dirty and I keep scrubbing my hands over and over and over-“
“Hey that’s okay, that’s okay don’t panic.” He approaches you slowly, “I’m showered and these are fresh clothes. I have gloves and masks. I’ll start on soup.”
“I don’t know if I can eat it”
“That’s okay, let’s make it, and then we’ll see okay?”
As promised, he spends the day in your kitchen making you food exactly how you’d prepare it. He followed every exact instruction, and he didn’t protest it. You wondered if he’s doing it out of love? Or sympathy?
But Jack was doing it out of love. He was doing it out of love for his friend, who’s struggling and needs help. You manage to eat some of the soup, this time forcing yourself to. Because you needed food and your body was starving.
Jack noticed your hands, the scratch marks that trailed between your fingers all the way up to your elbow. “Is it always this bad?”
“No…” you look at your hands, “I haven’t spiralled this bad in a long time.”
“I’m gonna get you a cream for your hands, and then we’re gonna wrap them up.”
“I don’t know if I can do that…”
“You can because you won’t need to touch anything else. Okay?”
He grabs a cream from his medical bag, along with bandages and gently wraps it around your hand. His touch is slow, calculated and gentle. You found yourself crying at the way he took care of you, and you’re well aware that people often use physical touch to thank someone but you weren’t sure if you could do that yet. He helps you sit on the sofa, and he sits beside you with another bowl of soup, that he helps feed you. “Sleep and rest, this time tomorrow you’ll be better.”
“Thank you Jack, I don’t know how to repay you.”
“You being my friend is enough.”
“I like being your friend. You don’t judge me”
“There’s literally nothing for me to judge. You’re uniquely you, I’m me. I have my own quirks you know…” he teases softly.
“I can’t wait to know more about your quirks”
“But for now… rest and sleep. I’ll stay on the sofa if that’s okay?”
You shift over next to him, he gently wraps an arm around you and you willingly ignore any OCD thoughts as you drift off to sleep.
By the time the morning comes, you wake up feeling much worse, this time your chest is aching and the fever is burning you alive. You called Jack crying on the phone, “I don’t know if it’s my anxiety making me feel this way…. Or something’s wrong”
“Can you get a taxi over here? Do you think you can manage?”
“I uh… I don’t know”
“I’ll come pick you up”
“No, no, you’re busy I’ll uh manage”
“Can you keep me updated? Please? I’ll be waiting for you in triage okay?”
You use up the last bit of energy you have left in you and fight the OCD as you head over to the hospital.
Jack paces around the floor, constantly popping into triage to see if you arrived, but you’re late and not answering your phone.
He never once expects that you’d be brought in via ambulance. “Jack there’s someone in trauma 1 — saying it’s a friend of yours? There’s been an accident.”
Jack bolts over to the room and finds you on the bed, covered in cuts and blood. You’re not crying, but hyperventilating in panic, trying to reach over to scratch your arms but the nurses were pinning them down, trying to work on you.
“I’m here, hey I’m here”
“Jack I did as you said” you whimper, your lips shaking and jaw tight from the anxiety, “but the car it came out of nowhere and the driver wasn’t waking up and-“
“You’re here, with me and we’re gonna make it all better.” He looks at your hands and sees them shaking. “Tell me what you’re feeling”
“There’s something on my hands-“ there was blood on your hand and it was making your skin crawl. “Please make it stop it’s making me spiral please please please”
“Everyone stop what they’re doing please”
Confused faces look at him, about to protest.
“Let go now!” He says, voice stern and authoritative.
“But-“
“Everyone gown up, mask up and change your gloves please. I’m gonna clean up the blood from the hands and we’re gonna start again. No questions asked.”
You’ve been searching for what love meant to you, all these years.
thinking about a robby who just…never stopped covid decontamination protocols.
he still takes off his scrubs in the entry way and bags them, not wanting the germs from that day to carry into his space. he still wipes down his groceries even though he knows it’s useless. he sanitizes his doorknob every night because he touched it before he did his twenty minute, exhaustive, so-hot-it-was-basically-sanitizing-him shower.
he could’ve relaxed this years ago, but moving on felt wrong. people died. people were still dying. and here he was, standing within six feet of people all day, living life amongst everyone else again.
it didn’t just feel wrong. it felt dirty.
he was aware of every chance of contamination. every surface he could transfer bacteria or viruses or pathogens. he didn’t like eating out anymore because he didn’t like not knowing how they washed their hands or cleaned their dishes.
and nobody noticed. because why would they?
it’s normal for a doctor to sanitize their hands between every patient, robby did it multiple times an exam but he was just thoughtful. it’s normal to hold your breath and lean away if someone was coughing, robby did it in a barely perceptible way that only his coworkers could read. it’s normal for a doctor to be concerned about illness. so what if he sanitized his station more than everybody else combined?
robby felt unclean before he showered off the outside on him. that was normal. the problem was, his brain was starting to convince him the inside was wrong too. he didn’t know what to do about that.
With Riddle, Leona, and Azul x Reader with OCD (Separate)
Established relationship, SFW (possible spelling/grammar errors)
I don't see a lot of these for the Twst Fandom, which makes me a bit sad bc I have OCD, so I thought I'd write one :)
Warning: The subtypes of OCD that will be shown/detailed include Arithmomania, Contamination, and Scrupulosity. These subtypes, along with any other kind of OCD, can affect people and show themselves differently, but I wrote these scenarios with how they've affected me and shown in my life. If you might find any of this triggering, please don't read. Your mental health matters. If you don't believe OCD exists, or that it's just "perfectionism on another level" please never interact with my blog again. Thank you :)
If you have any questions about OCD, feel free to comment here or DM me, or do some digging yourself :)
Riddle
He knows what it's like to have your life structured around rules that seem nonsensical. Though his rules come from a book, and yours come from the lack of gray matter in your brain, making you do things that a "normal" person wouldn't.
Before you two got together, he suspected something was a bit off about you. The way you tapped every table you touched 4 times, the way you scrubbed at your hands until they were red. Little things, but they were near constant occurrences.
But he never brought it up. You seemed embarrassed whenever you were caught doing any of these rituals, so he ignored them, until you two started dating.
The day after you started dating, you pulled him aside, explaining why you do those "odd" compulsions. By all accounts, you should have sounded crazy, but Riddle only met you with understanding. To be governed by odd rules and expectations, he knew all about that. Having a voice inside your head telling you to do things a specific way was his life, though your situation was much worse.
He would often reassure you when he saw you starting to spiral. When he saw you at the sink for half an hour, because you didn't feel like your hands were clean. When you kept asking him if you really didn't interrupt him.
He'd touch your shoulder, telling you that all the germs had come off.
Or, he'd say, "No, my dear. You didn't interrupt me."
He would do anything he could to help you, even if your own mind seemed like a prison most days. Taking a walk through the hedge maze, randomly inviting you to tea at Heartslabyual if he noticed you were stressed. Anything to get your mind off the intrusive thoughts, the compulsions you're mind was screaming at you to do.
This was one of the rare things that would never anger him. He could never be annoyed or irritated at you, even if you asked him the same thing 100 times to get the anxiety to stop. How could he get angry at his love being under such stress?
You felt blessed to have such an understanding boyfriend. Even if he was busy, one text or call from you would have him reassuring you, either through the phone or, if he wasn't busy, inviting you over or heading to Ramshackle.
Never would he be annoyed. Never at you and your mental strife.
Leona
Honestly at first he was just confused. Why's this herbivore touching each table they're in front of 4 times? Why do they always ask overly polite questions?
"Did I interrupt you?"
"Sorry, did I bump into you?"
You always smelled like soap, too. Honestly, he'd probably have been annoyed if he didn't like you. Though one day, a few weeks before you two started dating, he decided to do some research. You didn't act like you wanted yo do all these strange things, but no one seemed to be forcing you...
He spent that entire night reading artcke after article. "Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder" is what it was called, apparently. Those who have it different from intrusive thoughts, or "obsessions" that lead to them having to do compulsions.
Huh... Well, you probably had that. But there was no point in bringing it up.
At least, not until he started dating you. You didn't even have to initiate the conversation, thankfully. No, he had just gone over to you after you tapped your fingers together 16 times in a row after you passed the threshold into your dorm.
"You doin' one of your compulsions again?"
That startled you, ice settling in your gut. When you turned around, you expected disgust, or judgement.
All you got was a cocktail smile, like he'd finally confirmed something.
He sat you down, telling you his suspicions. There was no judgement, only curiosity.
From then on, whenever he saw you doing one of your compulsions, he'd get closer, waiting until you were done to put his hand in yours. It was comforting, being grounded like that by your boyfriend. If you needed reassurance, he'd give you that, too. Usually with a forced huff or sigh, but he was never actually annoyed.
It just hurt him to see your mind torturing you like this every damn day. If you had gotten to your breaking point, or were just really stressed, he'd hug you, settling you in his lap as he nuzzled into your neck or hair. You felt safe, like the disorder couldn't find you when you were being hd by Leona. It was a temporary freedom, but freedom nonetheless.
He'd also offered to pay for your therapy or treatment, which you were still undecided on. Nevertheless, you were thankful. Your OCD seemed like less of a burden whenever he was around.
Azul
He prides himself on knowing most everything about anybody he comes across. That includes you, even if you didn't have a past accessible to him before he started getting closer to you.
He observed your strange habits, noting the patterns shown with every one. The way you seemed to touch your color 8 times after you coughed, the way you purposefully ground your foot down when entering a room for exactly 4 seconds. The fact that your hands always looked dry, no doubt from all the times you'd wash your hands and put sanitizer on.
He thought it was odd; everyone had weird habits and superstitions, but yours were in excess. Honestly, he was surprised you never came to him begging for a way to stop the habits, since it seemed like you truly didn't want to do them.
Yet, he kept quiet. All good things come to those who wait.
He just didn't expect to start dating you before he got the definition of your issue.
He had asked offhandedly, not a week after you started dating him, about your odd habits. He had chuckled, but you just frowned.
It was then when you told him about your disorder, the obsessive and compulsive components of it that caused you to do those "odd" things.
He felt terrible, trying to apologize, only to feel even more guilty when you told him this wasn't the first time someone's called your compulsions odd. Honesty, you'd been called worse because of your OCD.
That day Friars, he made sure to reduce your triggers. Disinfecting things you said you couldn't touch due to germs, washing his hands even more thoroughly. He even distracted you when he could so your mind wouldn't force you to do another compulsion.
It was tiring, but worth it. And you couldn't have been more thankful for him and his kindness. You knew that this was one of the few things he truly did out of the kindness of his heart.
If, by the end of the day, you were stressed and frustrated, he would treat you out to dinner. He'd learned to pick up on your moods so he could plan accordingly, aiming to help ease your mind as much as he could.
Even if that meant answering 50 text messages in a row asking him if he'd cleaned your toothbrush; Even if it meant cooking all protein you two were to eat to the highest temperature to ensure no food born illnesses could come from the meal.
He was the model boyfriend, the model helper when it came to your disorder. You couldn't have felt luckier to have him as your partner.
He'd do anything for you and your peace of mind.
Thank y'all for reading, I hope you enjoyed! If you want more characters, or a different version of this with different subtypes, pls let me know or send a request in :)
Evan hates when people touch him. He’s sorted the world into things that are clean and things that are dirty and will contaminate him and people are dirty. There are some exceptions. Pandora is clean, of course, she’s his sister, and Regulus and Dorcas are usually fine as well, but Barty is not. He’s dirty, filthy, disgusting, and every other adjective Evan’s brain can come up with. He can’t be near Barty without feeling the overwhelming urge to scrub himself clean. The easiest solution would be to stop spending time with him, but he doesn’t want to. His mind might have decided that Barty was dirty, but Evan disagreed. He loves Barty more than anyone or anything, so if he had to be contaminated every time he holds Barty’s hand it’s worth it. He will wash his skin until it’s red after, but for a little while it was alright for them to be dirty together.
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people seem to forget that even people with contamination OCD are often not clean....? and in fact their OCD can make things dirtier....?
it seems counter intuitive but contamination OCD can result in really, really dirty environments.
hi I have contamination OCD and one of my biggest obsessions is mold! I go to extreme lengths to avoid mold! and I just spent an hour cleaning real, not imagined mold out of my bathroom! how did that happen!? how did it get that bad!? it's really simple! my OCD made me avoid mold which meant avoid cleaning the mold which meant the mold got worse which made it harder to clean the mold.
the increasing distress at the mold meant very little until it got me to the point of breakdown where the mold was finally bad enough that my avoidance of it was a weaker force than my need to get rid of it.
I do this a lot.
I bounce between obsessively getting rid of anything that could possibly be moldy or get moldy in the next week and avoiding disgustingly moldy food because I can't touch it. usually I'm doing both. the mold causes me distress but the distress of dealing with it once it's there is greater than the distress of having it there. I solve this by obsessively preventing mold to the point of self destruction.
I have a completely disrupted relationship with food and my environment that makes things infinitely worse for myself because I'm constantly operating in both directions. my environment gets worse while I further restrict myself and destroy myself to try to prevent it but I can't just.... fix my environment? because that would involve interacting with mold.
*Contamination OCD is a subtype of obsessive-compulsive disorder characterized by intense, irrational fears of germs, dirt, or toxins, often leading to compulsive cleaning, avoidance behaviors, and severe anxiety. It involves a cycle of obsessions (e.g., fear of sickness, spreading germs) and compulsions (e.g., excessive hand washing, disinfecting). She knew the name of it by heart the symptoms everything hell it at one point was her everything. It twitched at the back of her mind as she stood out in the ambulance bay. Her eyes closed head tipped back shaky breaths her hands twitching an attack was coming she could feel it the way it knawed at the back of her mind all the time the way her stomach twisted and a subtle part of her whispered no not again. She had had contamination OCD pretty much all her life there was no cure she had tried therapy it made it better but she still had some flare ups every once and a while.
Bile rose in the back of her throat as memories flooded her mind. Her body shook as she remembered about her parents calling her a freak hell some ex friends calling her a freak cause she couldn't eat with her hands for two whole years. She didn't wanna go back she didn't wanna be reminded of what once was. She ran over to the bush and threw up what little food she had been able to eat. It had been looming her OCD it had been too long since it had come out to play to make her barely survive. And with the upcoming flare up came a loss of appetite. The memories came hard harder than before she was 16 scrubbing her hands till they were raw, crying every time water touched her hands she couldn't stop though the compulsions taking over she couldn't stop no matter how hard she tried she couldn't stop. She almsot got an infection she remembered the skin how red amd cracked it was how much it hurt how she couldn't stop crying. No one helped her parents just continued to call her a freak and say how germs were good for the body which was no help being stuck in such a cycle.
She dry heaved hard. As she thought about how she couldn't touch below her belly button or how her skin crawled any time she had to touch anything at all.
She heaved again. She then felt a hand on her back rubbing slow circles as another arm wrapped around her waist to keep her steady. She wanted to tell him to stop touching her that it'd just get worse that she didn't know if she could handle it getting bad again.
"It's ok let it out." Jack whispered to her. She dry heaved again he held her close. Her back to his chest. "It's ok you're safe, you're not a freak, you're not crazy." He said in that soothing deep voice. She felt her walls crack she had waited all her life to hear those words. Her body stilled the dry heaves stopping as the tears came he kept repeating it which broke her more. She knew deep down she couldn't control it but some part of her wished she could. He held her close as she sobbed lightly shushing her.
He knew about her OCD he never knew how bad it was but he noticed her ticks certain ways she moved the way she'd tense if anyone touched her. He noticed and tried to be the steady lighthouse in her rocky seas.
After a while she stopped crying he still held her close applying pressure for her nervous system which essentially shut her OCD thoughts down which had never happened before. Usually she could only get them to stop if she had an orgasm or smoked weed or took something else.
"I don't know what the hell you're doing but its working." She whispered her voice raw from dry heaving. Jack smiled slightly glad to always be her light house on those bad days.
I have never talked about my experience with contamination OCD so I figured I'd write something as I had the urge to everything in this is something I lived through besides the whole Jack holding me but thats what I truly needed. Not being able to eat with my hands, not being able to touch below my belly button all of it that was me. I hope if you're also struggling with OCD you feel seen :)
