My family saved my sanity

I had four children and a husband to look after, and I was at college - it all got too much.

I decided to give up the childminding but I found I really missed the children and it got me down.

I wanted someone to talk to, so I went to see my doctor but, unfortunately, there was a long waiting list to see a counsellor.

I got more and more depressed and gave up my other job and my college course. I felt like a failure because I couldn't cope.

It was not long after that that the obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) kicked in.

I was at home all day and I kept hearingmy own voice inmy head telling me that the gas cooker was turned on. I had to keep rechecking it.

It was the same with the gas fire. I had a fear that the house would catch fire while I was out if I didn't keep checking them.

It got worse and worse.

I started washing my hands all the time. It became a ritual to cope withmy anxiety. Every time I couldn't control something, I would wash my hands.

Itmade me feel better but it was like a vicious circle. When I washed my hands it brought the anxiety down, but within five or ten minutes the thought would pop back into my head and I would have to do it again.

It got so bad that my hands cracked and bled.

Another big issue for me was that I kept thinking I had poisoned my four sons. I found it very hard to cook for them - despite being a trained chef - and would wash my hands anything up to 30 times during the normal process of preparing a meal.

If I actually managed to cook a meal, something in my head would say: "There's something wrong with the food, it's been poisoned"

and I would have to make an excuse as to why they couldn't have their dinner.

I would say I had burnt it or thrown it away and we would have to go out to eat instead, which got really expensive.

My family didn't realise what was happening to start with because I hid it really well. The moment they worked it out was when I started worrying that if I touched someone I could make them ill.

There was a point where my youngest son came up to me to give me a hug and I said, "No! Don't touch me!"

I was worried I would contaminate him or pass on germs.

It all stemmed from a fear of hurting other people, really. Not that I ever would.

About a month later, my sister took me back to the doctor and explained exactly what was going on. I was too ashamed and embarrassed to do it myself.

By now I was out of control. I couldn't stop the checking and rechecking, which was very frustrating. I thought I was completely cuckoo. I was worried that if I told the doctor he would have me locked up or take my children away.

The doctor said I was clinically depressed with OCD on top of that.

I was relieved. I didn't know what OCD was but at least it meant I wasn't cracking up completely. There was something wrong and that was why I was doing these strange things.

"I started worrying that if I touched someone I could make them ill. There was a point where my youngest son came up to me to give me a hug and I said: No, don't touch me!'"

He tried to explain what OCD was but I couldn't take it in. I was on another planet.

I didn't want to go on medication but he said it would help.

Two weeks later, my sister and my husband had become my carers. I think I would have been sectioned if it weren't for them.

I was an absolute wreck and couldn't do anything for my children because I was so afraid of everything.

Talking to my counsellor helped me to understand why I might be feeling like I was.

It all started around the time my eldest son turned 11. When I was around that age I was assaulted, but it wasn't by a family member.

I had stored lots of things away and they came out through the counselling.

I wanted to know where my son was and what he was doing every minute of the day. It was around that time that the OCD started. The counsellor thinks it stemmed from what happened to me at that age.

I was feeling worse than ever and got to the point where I was having suicidal thoughts.

There was nothing I could do except shake and cry. I had had enough and thought my family would be better off without me.

I couldn't cope with the intrusive thoughts I kept getting. The washing of my hands and constant checking blew out of proportion.

As for the cooking, even making a cup of tea by that stage set me into a panic, thinking I might slip something into it.

I had a problem throwing things away, just general rubbish.

I had this feeling that if I put something in the bin it could hurt the dustman.

The "glass picking" as I called it started around this time. I had this urge to pick up any broken glass or small object I came across on the street. I thought if I left it there and somebody hurt themselves, it would be my fault.

It made going out a complete nightmare. If I couldn't get someone to help me clear it away I went into a panic.

My sister and husband decided they wouldn't do it any more. It was their way of helping but I thought in that case I won't go out. That lasted for a couple of months.

Another big thing for me was that when the kids went to bed I had to make sure they were breathing. I wouldn't just pop in and say goodnight, I would have to poke them. It was an exaggeration of what a normal mother would do.

You know what you are doing is silly but something in your brain clicks in and says, "do that, repeat, repeat".

My sister dragged me back to the doctor.

Once he knew about the suicidal thoughts he got me an emergency appointment at the local mental health centre to be assessed.

I was told I was a high-risk patient and had severe OCD, and that they would like me to see a psychiatrist. I said, "I don't want to, people will think I'm mad". It was purely because of the stigma attached to it.

I went the very next day, though. I arranged to see the psychiatrist every couple of weeks and also to attend regular oneto- one therapy sessions.

It helped me to understand that the OCD wasn't my fault. I was ill. It could be due to a chemical imbalance in my brain, as well as the incidents from my childhood.

It was a good year before I began to feel almost normal again. I would say I am now about 95 per cent cured. I am in control of it now, it is not in control of me.

I am still medicated but on a very low dosage. I still check the gas fire and the cooker if I am going out but I will do it once or twice whereas before it was 12 times and upwards before.

I have recently started using cleaning products again. I had a real problem with them before, especially bleach. A lot of people with OCD obsessively clean but I went the other way because I was so worried about all the chemicals in the products.

No one dealing with this should be embarrassed to go to a doctor. Get help and don't suffer in silence.

Apart from an organisation called OCD Action, which holds really useful conferences every year, I found there wasn't much help out there for sufferers like me so I wrote my own book. Its working title is Living With OCD and Fighting Back. I have just finished editing the final chapter and am currently looking for a publisher.

For me, the book isn't about making money. It's about helping somebody else with OCD and if it helps just one person it's been worth it.

I believe that OCD is something I will have for the rest of my life. I think it will always be there in the background, I just hope it doesn't come to the front again.