“And,” she continues, “that’s why I decided to become a therapist myself.”

Afterward, I think about explaining to Esther how I felt. I practice with my reflection. It takes a few tries but I figure out how to clearly formulate my feelings.

I think about all the times that I fall apart when my mother doesn’t get me. I decide that next time I’ll put thought into it and then calmly clarify my position. I’m building my emotional maturity. I look at the quote on my wall that says: “You don’t know how strong you are until being strong is your only choice.” Then I finger my necklace. I think of all I’ve been through. I’ve slowly been discovering my inner strength.

Today, it hit me that  I really have OCD. I mean I’ve known I have OCD for a couple months already but now it’s really hitting me. More like punching me. In the heart. What’s wrong with me that I have OCD? I know I have to make sure no one ever finds out.

It’s not the first time my diagnosis bothered me, but until now I mostly felt relieved. I had been weighed down by the belief that I was beyond hope, and when I found out I had a real and treatable condition I felt a couple of tons lighter. Now, though, I’m upset about the whole thing. Why did I have to have issues altogether? Why couldn’t Hashem make me normal? I cry for a long time over the girl I was who is gone. Now I’m gonna be tainted forever.

My parents and therapist are adamant that OCD is nothing to be embarrassed about.

“It is not in your control,” Esther says.

Easy for her to say. She doesn’t have a mental illness.