I’ve had this thing for as long as I can remember. I didn’t know what was happening to me, only that something was wrong. It was a secret. I believed that if I let go of my rituals, something terrible might happen.

I started photographing Sonia two years ago, when I met her on a Greek island. The more time I spent with her, the more small connections appeared. Her mother is an artist. She had the same dollhouse I had as a child. We both wear red glasses and have big brown eyes. She likes to shoot on film. She often twists her ankle. I was hiding it, suffering in silence. She does not.

Sometimes I see her as a healthier version of myself. A version of me that grew up without carrying everything alone.

There is something else I had forgotten.

A few years ago, my mother reminded me of a story from when I was very young. She told me, almost as a joke, that I used to take everything from the coffee table and place it in exactly the same position on the floor. The moment she told me, I remembered. I did it when I was angry.

For most of my life, I doubted everything. I still do. I didn’t trust myself, and I struggled to trust anyone else.

Every object, every action, every thought became a possible danger.

Everything became a threat.

A potential compulsion.

A reason to be anxious.

An endless cycle of suffering.

This work is my attempt to give light and space to my private world of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). Through these gestures, I am learning to speak openly about what I once hid.