OCD Foundation of Michigan wants sufferers to know they're not alone

The obsessive-compulsives at the board meetings can laugh at themselves, even if they'd prefer you didn't.

If there's a missing period in the minutes of the last get-together, concedes secretary Jennie Shanburn, then yes, it'll draw a bit too much attention.

When the OCD Foundation of Michigan tried to rewrite its mission statement, all two sentences and 37 words, maybe it shouldn't have felt like editing the Declaration of Independence.

And yes, there's an inherently comic image in the idea of an annual obsessive compulsive disorder luncheon -- a roomful of people carefully walking to their seats without stepping on the cracks between the floor tiles, then straightening the silverware.

But as much of a throwaway line as OCD has become, it's not funny to live with.

Also, there's a lot more to it than a few amusing little quirks.

And Shanburn and the lawyer who started the foundation hate "Monk."

"You need to be able to see the humor," says Shanburn, 29, a business development officer for a nonprofit who lives in Belleville. That's her personal experience and also her educated opinion, as someone with a master's in counseling. "But when you're going through an episode, that's painful."

It's more than just alcohol wipes

It's the lack of anguish in "Monk" that troubles Shanburn and Wally Green. The title character in the USA Network detective series hates, among other things, germs, heights, darkness and touching people. He has an assistant to hand him tissues to wipe away any remnants of handshakes and a faithful audience to be entertained by his twitches.

"I thank 'Monk' for bringing OCD into the mainstream," says Green, 70, who went looking for a group to join 20 years ago and founded the Michigan organization because he couldn't find one. But the show "gives it a frivolous touch, and uses it as humor."

Green, who left the group when he moved to Lapeer to write books and run a bed-and-breakfast, used to be an administrative law judge. He developed OCD at 33 and his career imploded because he was checking and re-checking his work until three-hour jobs stretched to 20.

Howard Hughes had OCD and became a recluse. People living with ceiling-high stacks of magazines or 100 cats probably have it, too.

"Most everyone has a little bit of OCD," Shanburn says, "or at least OCD symptoms" -- triple-checking the alarm clock before a big day at work, for instance. The difference is that most of us can let it go.

An obsessive-compulsive lies awake, worrying: "It won't go off. I'll miss the meeting. Where am I going to find another job?"

Not much humor there.

Speaker to address OCD in children

Shanburn and the Michigan OCD foundation don't expect a teeming crowd for the luncheon Saturday at the Ukrainian Cultural Center in Warren. The guest speaker will talk about treating children; call (313) 438-3293, or visit http://www.ocdmich.org">www.ocdmich.org.

They're mostly trying to get the word out about the condition. There's typically a decade or more between the first symptoms and a diagnosis. So if you tend to worry all weekend because you complimented someone's new shirt and you're afraid they've taken it as an insult -- "Does he think I don't like his other shirts?" -- no, you're not alone, and yes, you have issues.

The permutations and treatments are the stuff of textbooks, not columns. But Shanburn and Green can tell you there's reason for optimism.

"I'm not all that exciting right now," she says. And yes, she's being funny.

nrubin@detnews.com">nrubin@detnews.com (313) 222-1874