A few weeks ago I wrote a piece outlining my experiences with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder in an effort to help reduce the stigma surrounding it. I focused primarily on the scariest, most dramatic aspects of the disease, such as my repeated months-long obsessions with my health, unshakable fears that I had contracted terminal illnesses, and the general spiraling that accompanies the most insidious thought loops. My goal was to explain how horrifying mental illness can be when untreated and dispel the false notion that OCD is just a synonym for neurotic cleanliness.

But after finishing that article on a hopeful note that alluded to my treatment of therapy and medication, I’ve been reflecting on my process of seeking help and thinking about how the struggle against mental illness changes after the treatment begins.

I think it’s sometimes easy to assume that people with mental illnesses can be fixed in the same way we fix curable physical illnesses. A person is sick and suffering, then they go to the doctor to get a prescription and — voila — cured! This is especially true when mental health treatment happens to be effective and the person in question is noticeably better.

The issue, though, is that while many mental illnesses are treatable, none of them are completely curable. Unlike the relatively straightforward process of addressing many physical ailments, it can take weeks, months, or even years for a person suffering from mental illness to find a suitable path to treatment that works for them. And even after reducing the most harmful, life-disrupting symptoms, one can still find that many of life’s smaller anxieties can be compounded by the same thought processes that led to bigger meltdowns.

I, too, have fallen into the trap of thinking that I’m 100% better because I started taking a medication that works for me. It’s easy to stop thinking about having OCD when it isn’t presenting itself in a way that constantly disrupts my day-to-day life. And it’s easy to feel cured when my OCD now manifests in much subtler ways that don’t lead to doomsday obsessions about illness and health.

But taking for granted the success I’ve had treating my OCD is to ignore the remaining ways it affects me and risk letting it rule over other areas of my life.

What I’m saying is that after reflecting on my first piece, I realized that there are many other, seemingly innocuous ways OCD tries to control my thinking. I had wanted to feel like I’d cracked the code of my mental illness and cured myself, but I’m coming to understand that such a cure is not possible.

I decided to write this follow-up because I struggle to find content on the internet that addresses the continued struggle after treatment begins. The fact is that mental illness is rarely an open-and-shut case and that the process of battling against it is requires constant self-reflection.