I’m Lily. I’m 22 now, and when I was growing up I don’t remember a time where I didn’t have OCD. It seeped into every corner of my life and stole the innocence of childhood from me. I had horrible intrusive thoughts about people I loved and cared for dearly dying, and I knew that if they did, it would be my fault for thinking it.

I thought I was a psychopath; I thought I was plain bat shit crazy. I watched stories about murderers on the TV and shivered because I knew I was one of them, despite the fact that to everyone else I looked like your average cute little girl with a wonky fringe and flowery dress.

I didn’t find out what OCD was until I was 16, and have spent the last few years getting better.

A note from the editor

Lily has just finished writing a book about her experiences entitled “Because We Are Bad“, published by Canbury Press.