I continuously asked one friend, ‘Did I rape you. Are you sure I didn’t do anything?’ (Picture: Gray Brame/ Michael Abijade)

I was sitting in a restaurant with my best friend when suddenly a vision popped into my head. 

It was of me trying to take my own life.

The feelings of anxiety and panic that accompanied it were all consuming, and not knowing what was going on, I thought that I must be suicidal and was a danger to myself.

Confused, I stumbled into an Uber to take myself home to safety as quickly as possible, and from the back seat of the taxi, began phoning my friends to tell them goodbye. 

Instead of being able to understand that the vision was simply an intrusive thought, I was treating it as a premonition. 

I have since discovered that I was suffering with OCD and this kind of thinking is typical for people with the condition. 

But at the time I believed these kinds of thoughts were a true reflection of what I wanted to do, or was thinking. Which is why I was even more distressed the first time the word ‘rape’ popped into my head. 

Like many, I grew up with the idea that OCD was just cleaning things obsessively – a completely incorrect stereotype shamelessly promoted by shows like Obsessive Compulsive Cleaners.

I never realised there were different branches of the condition, let alone that I could have one of them. 

Just a few subtypes of OCD include Harm OCD, the fear of hurting others and yourself, Sexual Orientation OCD, being obsessed about your sexuality and Paedophilia OCD, the fear of being a paedophile.

For me, it all began around three years ago. I had a nonsexual dream about a random man I couldn’t see fully, just his upper back and a pair of colourful boxers. 

I woke up with the obsessive idea that I was no longer heterosexual.

I attempted to rationalise it as best as I could but ended up down a rabbit hole and believed that I had ‘turned gay’. I knew that that is not how sexuality works, but for every logical thought I had, my brain turned up ‘evidence’ to prove I was, in fact, gay. 

For example, if I saw a good-looking guy, the mere fact I was able to acknowledge his looks or admirable physique was used as ‘proof’ or my homosexuality. 

I was incredibly anxious – I felt like I no longer knew who I was. I struggled to concentrate as I continually tried to settle this internal argument with myself. 

In the end, the only thing that could distract me was a sinister intrusive thought: that I was a rapist. 

It all started when the word ‘rape’ appeared in my brain without rhyme or reason. A person without OCD will be able to just go, ‘oh that’s weird’ and brush it off, but for me I thought, ‘this must mean something.’ 

The thought caused me distress, and because of that panic, the word carried on popping up (if you try not to think something it’s of course going to be the only thing you think about). 

Still, logic held no power – especially as I didn’t know I had OCD – and so I assumed that my brain was trying to send me a message. I became obsessed with the question, ‘Am I secretly a rapist?’. 

The thought really hurt me; I grew up with all my aunties who raised me after my father died. This strong matriarchal unit gave me my morals and values alongside those I learnt directly from my mother. I could never commit such an act on a woman.

Of course I know I’m not a rapist, but every time I would provide ‘evidence’ to myself that I was not, my brain tried to trick me into thinking otherwise. 

I was convinced that I must have done something (Picture: Ismail Qasim)

On one occasion, I was at home with a friend and I was so concerned I was going to do something to them that I broke down and begged them to stay away from me. 

I was sure that I was a danger to others and felt that by having these thoughts I was going to act on them. I cried because no decent man wants to be a rapist. These intrusive thoughts broke me as a person. 

I continuously asked one friend, ‘Did I rape you, are you sure I didn’t do anything?’. Seeking reassurance is common for people with OCD, and although she of course confirmed that I hadn’t, the thought would not go away. 

I was convinced that I must have done something, lost control or that I eventually would – I avoided being around female friends. 

If I was on public transport or walking around, I put my head down, to prevent the thoughts from triggering when I saw a woman. I felt the only way to cope and keep others safe was to lock myself away in my house for weeks on end – I struggled to leave my bed. I worried I just couldn’t cope with life.

All three of these thoughts – that I was gay, that I was a rapist and that I was suicidal – rang around my head like alarm bells, from the minute I woke up to the minute I slept, it was constant.

While some intrusive thoughts only stay obsessions for a while – I was for a time convinced I had HIV – these latest ones weren’t going anywhere.

Thankfully, by some algorithmic miracle, I found anxiety specialist Emma Garrick on Instagram. 

I did not hesitate to message her when I stumbled across her account. 

Emma is a private therapist and I turned to her when I couldn’t get support from the NHS due to the backlog. 

Crying my eyes out, I frantically explained my story to her, which she informed me was Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). I was suffering with ‘Pure OCD’, or rumination OCD, in which the illness manifests inside your head, instead of by doing things like washing hands or flicking light switches. 

Learning that I had a condition was an incredible relief, even more so when Emma informed me there is treatment for OCD. 

CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy) and ERP (exposure response prevention) are go-to treatments for most people with OCD – and are the ones I am currently undergoing with great success. 

Slowly but surely, my therapist gave me the confidence and the belief that I could go outside and do very simple things without being a risk to myself and to others, from walking to going to modelling jobs and even hobbies such as football and the gym.

I also have a treatment called ACT (acceptance and commitment therapy), which teaches you to stay focused on the present moment while accepting thoughts and feelings without judgement.

The aim of ACT is to aid you in moving forward through difficult emotions and instead of focusing on the negative, putting your energy into healing.

You sit with the thoughts that come when you are triggered, allowing your anxiety to reach its peak and learn to handle what comes with it. As it continues, the anxiety will eventually begin to fall.

I had to learn to resist the urge to perform the mental compulsions that would further alleviate my anxiety – such as arguing with my thoughts and convincing myself that I would do something bad.

By sitting with compulsive thoughts and having to face the discomfort, the idea is that this desensitises you to what you fear most.

Some people with OCD like me also benefit from medications such as antidepressants.

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A book I recommend highly is Rewire Your OCD Brain: Powerful Neuroscience-Based Skills to Break Free from Obsessive Thoughts and Fears – it had such a powerful effect on me.

I’m writing this article to give hope to those with OCD or to those who know people or have loved ones with OCD. I want others suffering with the condition to know your brain can change and will change; it takes hard work, which you are more than capable of.

I promise to never give up and to keep going. I am not my OCD.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing [email protected]. 

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I continuously asked one friend, ‘Did I rape you. Are you sure I didn’t do anything?’