“I don’t want to be dirty. Suddenly, I’m afraid to shake hands with people. I wash my hands all the time. Often I’ll finish washing and start again. My knuckles crack and bleed. ‘Dirty’ turns into ‘contaminated,’ a feeling that’s more abstract and insidious. Something just feels wrong, and that something clings to me all day. The only safe spot is the shower.”

When I first read that passage from Jason Adam Katzenstein’s graphic memoir about anxiety and OCD, Everything Is an Emergency (Perennial/HarperCollins, June 30), I experienced a visceral reaction. The author and illustrator, it seemed, was channeling me—or at least the part of myself I’d grappled with on a minute-to-minute basis from my teenage years through my mid-20s. Long before the pandemic made hand-washing de rigueur, my daily trips to the sink registered in triple digits. In addition to the obsessive hand-washing, I showered at least three times per day, only touched door handles with a shirt sleeve (or even my foot if no one was watching), and had to wear specialized moisturizing gloves at night to ameliorate the pain and bleeding.

Reflecting on my experience as a young man diagnosed with OCD, I felt an immediate connection to Katzenstein’s memoir, which is a pleasing mix of text and cartoons that strikes just the right tone: accessible yet laced with enough gravitas, occasionally humorous but incisive in a way that makes others with the disorder feel less alone. The author effectively demonstrates the banality of the affliction, which “begins with a thought. The thought is distressing, and it plays over and over again, overpowering other thoughts, distracting me, sapping all of my energy.” That’s a fairly simple yet apt description of OCD and its ability to worm its way into every crevice of your consciousness and leave you frustrated and exhausted.

While I learned more than a decade ago that there were millions of others dealing with varying degrees of the disorder—and have read countless articles and books about OCD and its attendant difficulties—Katzenstein’s memoir brought back into focus a period of my life I hadn’t considered in years. The book also embodies one of the primary reasons I enjoy reading memoirs: the power of another’s story to reveal thoughts and emotions that have long lay dormant, often bringing much-needed introspection or clarity.

For my part, the appropriate combination of prescription medication, therapy, unconditional parental love, and nourishing friendships buoyed me through the darkest moments of my OCD. And if anything can accelerate the process of immersion therapy for a germophobe, it’s living in New York City and riding the subway every day, which I did from ages 24 to 30. Years later, the urgencies of raising a toddler complicated matters (you can only exert so much control over what they touch or put in their mouths), but they also forced me to confront issues I thought were resolved, and I continue to work on ensuring they don’t adversely affect my son and others around me. Now, I’m blessed to be in a much more comfortable place, hopefully wiser and able to fully appreciate books that examine mental health issues while simultaneously avoiding jargon-laden didacticism and airy, self-help platitudes.

Especially in these high-stress, spiritually draining times, I continue to assert my belief in the significance and vitality of books that tackle difficult subjects in a manner that is both instructive and empathetic. Everything Is an Emergency is not as groundbreaking a graphic memoir as, say, Roz Chast’s Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant? or Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home, but it’s welcome nonetheless. Indeed, Katzenstein’s story could provide solace to any young person struggling with OCD. I know 17-year-old Eric would have embraced it with both raw hands.

Eric Liebetrau is the nonfiction and managing editor.