“A GP refusing to diagnose my OCD left me broken – I’m sick of the hysteria surrounding overdiagnosis”

At 19 years old, I thought I was losing my mind. My once focused, analytical head had become overwhelmed by intrusive thoughts about depression, suicide and self-harm, and I felt like the world had been pulled out from under me. One day after the next, I’d wake up with a spiralling mind, each thought sending another spike of panic through my chest. My brain felt like the enemy.

Over the course of six months, I booked numerous appointments with my GP, only to be given unhelpful advice about mindfulness, access to messaging therapy (which I was discharged from after six weeks because I showed a marginal improvement) and, eventually, antidepressants.

On the final visit to my GP – after the antidepressants she’d prescribed had done nothing to quell the writhing thoughts in my brain – I was at my wits’ end. I still had no diagnosis, and I was a shell of the bubbly, fun-loving teenager I’d been when the first intrusive thought entered my brain. But I was hopeful going into that appointment, because I’d seen a video on social media of a woman speaking about her experience with pure OCD, and recognised the symptoms in myself. Finally, I thought, I might have an answer – all I needed to do was hand that information over to the GP, and she’d be able to give me the help and treatment I desperately needed.  

I was wrong, of course. As soon as I told her about the research I’d been doing and the affinity I felt with the pure OCD symptoms, she stopped me in my tracks. “I don’t think that’s the case,” she said. “I don’t even think you have a mental illness – you just worry too much.”

I didn’t know what to say at first. Here I was, in front of a GP, telling them I was getting intrusive thoughts about throwing myself in front of a train, and being told there was nothing wrong with me. It felt like some kind of cruel practical joke – like someone was going to jump out from behind a curtain and reveal the whole thing was being filmed for some sadistic TV show. My dad, who was in the room to advocate for me, asked for a private referral, and I left in floods of tears.

Luckily, that was a turning point. Within a couple of days, I was in a room with a private psychiatrist, who diagnosed me with severe OCD. He invited me to spend some time at the hospital’s in-patient unit so I could be looked after until my antidepressants were at the correct dosage, and I learned some coping skills from an in-house therapist, but my parents and I agreed I’d be better off at home. 

It took a year of intense therapy – two hours a week – and a much higher dose of antidepressants to get me back to baseline. Now, eight years later, my mental illness is a much smaller part of my life, and I’ve been able to pursue my dream career. But my experience with that GP still haunts me: if I hadn’t been able to access private mental health treatment, how long would it have taken to get a diagnosis? Would I ever have received a diagnosis? What would my life look like?

It’s what makes me sick about the current hysteria around mental health overdiagnosis – especially the number of GPs complaining about it. Indeed, the BBC recently reported that hundreds of GPs had told them they think mental health problems are being overdiagnosed – with one even claiming that patients are “dishonest, narcissistic… gaming a system free at point of use”.

Attitudes like this are deeply unhelpful. I’m sure there are a few people who try to ‘game’ the system to get diagnoses, but I’m confident that the large majority are struggling in some way or another. These people need support, not derision.  

Even if people are being overdiagnosed (and I’m confident they’re not) and have “forgotten that life can be tough”, as one GP wrote, I think we should be asking why people don’t feel equipped to deal with the rollercoaster that is life, rather than demonising them for trying to get help. The modern world is an incredibly overwhelming, challenging place – it’s not surprising that people are struggling.

Many of the GPs who spoke to the BBC said they were worried about a lack of help for patients, while others said they were concerned about potential underdiagnosis – so I know this isn’t an across-the-board issue. The NHS has been in crisis for a long time, and a lack of funding makes it hard for doctors to give patients the support they need – I know that.

But I also think we need to call out unhelpful attitudes when they arise, and this is one of them. Comments about overdiagnosis and gaming the system can be actively harmful: imagine you’re someone who is struggling and thinking about seeking support, only to see a headline where GPs are complaining about patients seeking diagnoses because they don’t know how to deal with the ups and downs of life. Wouldn’t you feel discouraged to seek help? That delay could cause unnecessary and irreversible harm.

Even if overdiagnosis is an issue, we shouldn’t be demonising patients. Instead, we need to question why this is happening and look at what we can do to put a stop to it, whether that’s increased support in the community, better resources for those struggling with financial issues (a major driver of mental health issues) or simply better education about coping mechanisms for navigating the modern world.

Patients shouldn’t go into a doctor’s office feeling like they have to justify their needs or worry about their GP thinking they’re being dramatic. At the very least, people struggling with mental illness should be met with care and empathy – not suspicion and criticism. 

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