A Comment on THAT 'OCD' Poem

Probably the most watched poem on Youtube is ‘OCD’ by Neil Hilborn. You can watch it here:

My initial intention when I started to think about writing this blog post was to discuss how much I disliked the poem. However, having thought about the matter a good deal, this will no longer be the focus of what I have to say. Instead, I am going to do three things: (1) highlight my misgivings about the poem (for I still have some), (2) engage in a bit of critical self-reflection regarding my response to the poem, and (3) say something about one of the redemptive messages of the poem.

My primary beef with the poem is that it glamourises mental illness. It makes it look like OCD is romantic, the remit of the tortured artist. It also plays into some stereotypes about what OCD is. In the public mind, OCD involves things like obsessive handwashing and organising the food on one’s plate. My experience of OCD does not involve these things. Hilborn is perfectly entitled to speak from his own experience, but then he shouldn’t call his poem ‘OCD’, as this makes it seem like he’s speaking for all OCD sufferers. Similarly, when he states “when you have OCD…[emphasis added]”, he purports to be speaking as some kind of ambassador. I too am an OCD sufferer, and much of what he says doesn’t represent my experience. I do not view the condition as in any way glamourous or romantic; it is a total and utter ball-ache, and far more likely to completely destroy any poetic impulse than to stoke it.

Hilborn’s poem also perpetuates some damaging ideas about romantic relationships. When he states “how can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touched her”, he is tacitly saying that the role of being in relationship is to have one’s flaws smoothed away. But problems do not just magically drift off once one is ‘in love’, and to think they do would be to enter the land of Hollywood. In fact, one of the cruel ironies of OCD is that it is more likely to latch onto and attempt to destroy one's intimate relationships than it is to just go away once one finds a loving match. It seems to me like the poet may have used his relationship, and his partner, to fix himself. This does not seem to me like a healthy basis for a relationship.

This is all very po-faced I know. Am I committing some kind of category-error? Is it appropriate to bring this kind of discussion to bear on what is just a poem, a piece of entertainment? Maybe. But it isn’t just a poem, clearly. If it was, not many people would want to watch it. It clearly speaks to something deep within a lot of people, and as such I think it behoves us to look deeply at it. The problem with dealing with things like mental health through the medium of a slam poem is that the complexity of the issues get distorted and simplified on the altar of brevity and the pursuit of a pithy phrase. Does this mean slam poetry can’t tackle mental health and relationships? I’m not sure. All I can say at this stage is that I often feel very alienated by this art form.

This brings me onto the second point of discussion, for it is undeniable that a good deal of my antipathy towards the poem stems from me, rather than anything inherent in the poem itself. I find it hard to see much, if anything, in the poem to justify its massive hype. It is fairly well-written, and well performed, but so what? So are millions of other poems. Its proliferation across social media seems to me as much to do with luck as with being a really deep poem.  

It is not easy for me to admit this, but I am jealous. I am jealous that probably fewer than ten people will read this blog post, whereas many millions have seen Hilborn’s poem. I am jealous that Hilborn was able to use his experience of mental illness to reach out to people (even if, as I discussed, his message seems a bit distorted) whereas I haven’t yet figured out a way to do this. I am jealous that someone else is getting lionised rather than me. I am jealous. I am jealous. I am jealous. I am jealous. I am jealous. I am jealous. How much art, how many experiences, have I cut myself off from because of jealousy? This is a question I seriously need to ask myself.

Having acknowledged this tendency, let us now turn to the third point of discussion. When Hilborn gets to the final lines of the poem, “I leave the door unlocked./I leave the lights on”, the audience lets out a little yelp of approval and wonder, as though they have just seen the Northern Lights or something. This reaction strikes me as a little pathetic and, well, American (granted, this may be just jealousy talking again). However, let’s consider the lines again. The message I take away from these final lines is that OCD has lost the battle. The purpose of OCD is to maintain the illusion of control; it is the ego’s attempt to use ritual to control the universe (is religion, then, a form of OCD writ large?). It is an attempt to make the world conform to us, at the expense of having to conform to the often painful vagaries and flux of the world. The loss of his partner is thus a gift that helps the poet see that his previous defences have not worked. When things happen that are truly out of our control, the healthy thing to do it to drop all pretences. In other words, it is to leave the window open and the door unlocked. It is to invite the intruders in, and let them do their worst. It is to say “yes” to life, rather than to OCD. 

I've no idea if the poet intended any of this. At a guess, I would say that most people would interpret the take-home message of the poem as saying that love conquers all, that being in a relationship was the only way the poet could salve his addled mind, and that the loss of his partner is a heartbreaking tragedy. I take home something far more empowering: it is time for us to face up to ourselves and stop using others to cover our raw spots. In this case, the failure of the poet's relationship should be seen as a gift, and the message of the poem one of redemption.