When Covid first hit the U.S. in force, I made the joke that I had been preparing for this sort of thing my entire life. I’ve been an expert in tracking contamination since I was first diagnosed with OCD when I was four. Keeping track of what had touched what was second nature to me. But until 2020, that kind of behavior was frowned upon because, you know, it was a symptom of my mental illness. But suddenly everyone was obsessed with germs and hand sanitizer and my compulsions were not only normalized but encouraged. It was like the world had come together to tell my OCD, “Go wild, kid. You were right all along.”
Then as we learned more about Covid, got access to vaccines, and became tired of safety behavior, many people started to go back to their normal routines. They were thrilled to no longer have to wipe everything down or Purell 45 times a day. After months of being mostly at home, re-entering the world was a welcome reprieve.
For me, though, the idea was terrifying.