Obsessed
Every time I hear the word, a shiver goes down my spine.
I usually find myself facing an impulse to negate it as soon as I hear it. Usually, it comes in a context like “I’m so obsessed with this new TV show” or “I’m obsessed with your nails, they’re so pretty!” It’s not presented in a negative way in the slightest, and it’s become so ubiquitous that when I type the word into a Google doc, the autofill suggests that I say I’m “obsessed with” something too.
The dictionary says that to obsess over something is to be preoccupied with it, potentially to an extreme degree. There is a connotation of worry or trouble, and even some language similar to definitions I’ve seen for intrusive thoughts. Synonyms range from thoughts that are frequent to thoughts that occupy, like an enemy invasion. It even goes so far as “besiege,” my favorite synonym because it comes closest to what I feel obsession is truly like.
No one would say they are “besieged” by thoughts of their favorite new Instagram account, book they’re reading, or fashion accessory. But it’s perfectly acceptable - if not common - to say that they’re “obsessed” with these things.
To me, using the word “obsessed” in a context that is solely a hyperbole of liking something demeans my experience of - as the dictionary says - living with “a personality characterized by perfectionism, indecision, conscientiousness, concern with detail, rigidity, and inhibition.” It makes people take people like me less seriously if I say I have an obsessive thought, since the idea of it seems quite normal. To people who don’t know better, there is no difference between being “obsessed” with a favorite movie and the way the “Lord of the Rings” movies were front and center in how I fight back against tidal waves of obsessive thoughts when I was little.
For me, an obsession about a positive thing is not a “want.” It’s a deep need to twist the negative elements of my mind into something positive and stop myself from spiraling out of control. It’s a coping mechanism I barely accept in myself even after being told by multiple therapists that it’s the best thing I can do to keep myself happy. It still feels bad to me, though, because all my life, I’ve associated the word “obsession” with negative connotations.
To me, it’s only a step away from someone saying they’re “so OCD” if they wash their hands before they eat or alphabetize their bookshelf. It’s making my entire lived experience seem like a joke, which only makes it harder for me and people like me to seek help and get taken seriously by those who we confide in.
My family - small, close-knit, and extremely supportive - knows how I feel and never uses the word. But when I’m out and about, even with my closest friends, I run into it constantly. Every friend of mine except for my best friend from college has used it around me for a positive thing that makes my skin crawl, but I never want to say anything in the fear of looking like I’m too sensitive or needy as a friend.
And so I bite my tongue. I let people talk about all the things they’re “obsessed with,” but I never join in on the conversation. I instead let my mind drift to the things I am legitimately obsessing about, or have obsessed about in the past. I space out from the present, and I fight the impulse to distance myself - even if just a little - from a friend who I suddenly wonder if they can understand me at all.
After all, no one would really understand if I were to say something like “I’m obsessing about whether I remembered to bring my keys when I left my apartment today and checked my purse pocket at least twice.” No one would know what to say if I mentioned any of the phobias I obsess about or any of the traumatic memories in my head that cycle around thanks to the repetitive nature of obsessions.
In my opinion and experience, using words that relate closely to mental illness to describe everyday experiences makes it harder for a person to admit that they have a problem or get a friend to understand what they’re going through. If I told a friend I was having an “obsession problem,” they might simply assume that I have been procrastinating on my chores and work to binge-watch something on Netflix. Then, the fact of how much an obsession disrupts a life could make the sufferer look needy, dramatic, or high maintenance.
For me, even just hearing the word brings back years of therapy visits and coping skills, fears I learned to overcome and others that still have a chokehold on certain parts of my life. It’s a reminder - even in a conversation where I am with friends and feel accepted and loved - that I am different and can’t see the “normal” meaning of the word when it carries so much more weight for me. It reminds me that my lived experiences are so different from my friends and sends me on a very familiar spiral where I doubt my ability to blend in socially and form friendships that are true and deep and meant to last.
It might seem like such a little moment in a big conversation or a word casually thrown aside as part of a common expression. And yet, I urge everyone reading this to consider the language you use. I’ve had to do the same multiple times, especially when I started writing my blog for No Shame On U and was educated about the different words that could evoke a response like this in others.
I’ve been told many times that I’m too sensitive for feeling this way. After all, it’s only a word - what can it do?
In the moment, the word brings me back to my worst moments and makes me wonder if my OCD is “showing.” I feel the urge to hide, to withdraw from the conversation and potentially even from the person saying it.
In the moment, even though I understand that “obsessed” is just a word in the dictionary, I feel so much more, and it’s not up to someone who doesn’t have OCD to tell me how to feel about it.
The best way to learn something like this is by reaching out the community in question. The stereotypes we live with every day are defeated just the littlest bit every time we meet someone with a lived experience that looks different from our own and it is in this way that the stigma against mental health can be shattered. Even though I feel like walls are built around me every time I hear the word “obsessed” misused, there is an opportunity there for growth and learning, if people are truly interested in helping people like me feel accepted no matter what.
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.