OCD caused me to do many things:
OCD caused me to not wear blue, my favorite color; because blue is for boys and boys like girls, therefore I like girls.
OCD caused me to throw my clothes around my room because going into my closet was symbolic and meant that I was “in the closet”.
OCD caused me to not be able to not be able to walk around my house, cook in the kitchen or go to the bathroom out of fear of seeing my three girl roommates.
OCD caused me to never go to the gym or do any physical activity because this was a “butch” thing to do and meant that I was gay.
OCD caused me to take the long way home from school everyday because on the main route, there was a house where a “most likely gay couple” lived over 30 years ago (before I was even born).
OCD caused me to drop all contact with some of my best friends in the world because they are gay and it would rub off on me.
OCD caused me to never go visit my college friends in Columbus, OH, because it’s one of the “gayest cities in the country”.
OCD caused me to never use the internet out of fear of seeing just about anything—a pretty girl, an ugly boy, a gay reference, LGBTQ+ headlines, an article about coming out.
OCD caused me to never look up my symptoms or tell a therapist because I had convinced myself that they would say this is normal for a person who just finds out their true orientation a little later than usual.
OCD caused me to never look at anybody when in public. If I looked at a girl, it meant I was attracted to her; if we made eye contact, there was a connection. If I looked at a boy and I wasn’t completely swooned away, it meant that I wasn’t attracted to him and thus not attracted to men.
OCD caused me to isolate myself from literally everybody.
OCD caused me to quit my job, move back to my hometown and live at home with my parents.
OCD caused me to nearly take my life so the torture would end.
…but OCD is just a silly quirk, right?