Your brain gets hijacked. It happens slowly at first, then suddenly you're trapped in a thought-loop that won't let go. You wash your hands again. And again. And again. The soap burns your skin raw, but you can't stop because what if there's still something there? What if you missed a spot? What if that invisible, microscopic threat is still lurking?

This is the hellscape of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

Now imagine that same brain is making health decisions for 330 million Americans.

Welcome to the fucking twilight zone that is Robert F. Kennedy Jr's appointment as Secretary of Health and Human Services.

Let's be brutally honest: something is deeply off when a man spends decades of his life obsessively fixating on the same conspiracy theories despite mountains of contradictory evidence. The way RFK Jr. latches onto health fears—vaccines, fluoride, electromagnetic frequencies—isn't just political disagreement. It's a pattern that reeks of pathology.

I'm not a psychiatrist, but I can fucking read. And the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5) describes Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder as characterized by:

Sound familiar? Let's look at Kennedy's behavior:

His fluoride fixation has gone beyond reasonable skepticism into territory where he's now encouraging entire states to ban it from drinking water—despite seven decades of research showing its safety and effectiveness. This isn't evidence-based policy; it's a compulsion playing out at a national scale.

The man can't stop. He's been beating the anti-vaccine drum for so long and so loudly that his own family had to publicly distance themselves from his dangerous rhetoric. His sister, Kerry Kennedy, once said her brother is "part of a misinformation campaign that's having heartbreaking—and deadly—consequences." When your own blood says you're dangerously obsessed, maybe it's time for some self-reflection.

The DSM-IV described OCD as often involving "exaggerated sense of responsibility," where the affected person believes they have unusual power to cause or prevent catastrophic outcomes. Kennedy consistently positions himself as a lone truth-teller standing between Americans and supposed health catastrophes only he can see clearly.

His behavior checks multiple boxes from the Yale-Brown Obsessive Compulsive Scale:

The most alarming part? Kennedy doesn't just think these things privately. He acts on them with the crusading zeal of someone whose brain chemistry won't allow them to let go.

When he recently announced plans to "review" infant formula regulations, it wasn't based on new evidence or scientific consensus—it was another manifestation of his pattern of health fixations. And now he has the power to transform those private obsessions into public policy.

The real tragedy is that our political system has rewarded Kennedy's behavior rather than recognizing it as potentially problematic. We have normalized his fixations as merely "controversial opinions" rather than asking the hard questions about whether someone displaying such rigid, perseverative thinking should be making health decisions for an entire nation.

Mental health experts know that untreated OCD often leads to:

Every press conference, every policy proposal from Kennedy's HHS showcases these exact patterns. His recent attacks on researchers who disagree with him exhibit classic symptoms of what the DSM-5 calls "poor insight" OCD—where the affected person has limited awareness that their obsessional fears are unreasonable.

Imagine being stuck in a room with someone who can't stop talking about the same fear, over and over and over. Their voice gets higher, more insistent. Their eyes widen. Their hands gesture more frantically. They bring every conversation back to the same point, like a record needle stuck in a groove.

That's the sensory experience of watching RFK Jr. discuss vaccines or fluoride. The intensity doesn't match the evidence. The emotional investment is disproportionate. The fixation is uncomfortable to witness.

It's like watching someone scratch an invisible itch until they bleed. You want to grab their hand and say, "Please stop. You're hurting yourself." But with Kennedy, he's not just hurting himself—he's crafting policies that could hurt millions based on these same obsessive patterns.

When confronted with evidence contradicting his views, Kennedy doesn't integrate new information like scientists do. Instead, he displays what psychiatrists might recognize as "thought-action fusion"—a characteristic of OCD where the person believes having a thought is equivalent to performing an action.

Kennedy doesn't just disagree with medical consensus—he treats it as actively malicious. This black-and-white thinking is classic OCD territory, not rational policy disagreement.

The DSM-5 notes that people with OCD often experience "overestimation of threat"—seeing danger where little or none exists. Kennedy's apocalyptic warnings about vaccines and fluoride precisely match this symptom profile.

Here's the terrifying reality: Someone potentially struggling with obsessive thought patterns now controls America's health apparatus. His internal mental state—whatever it may be—is now externalized as federal policy.

Every American who drinks water, gets vaccinated, or relies on FDA-approved medications now lives inside Kennedy's potential thought prison. His personal health obsessions have become our collective national health policy.

And the results are already showing. His crusade against fluoride ignores decades of research showing it prevents tooth decay safely. His vaccine skepticism opens the door to deadly outbreaks. His fixation on reviewing "chemicals" in food and medicine threatens to upend vital regulatory systems based not on evidence, but on his personal fears.

Let's be clear: having strong convictions isn't pathological. Fighting for what you believe isn't mental illness. But when those beliefs persist despite overwhelming contradictory evidence, when they cause significant distress and dysfunction, when they involve magical thinking about invisible threats—we move from conviction to compulsion.

The difference between a passionate advocate and someone potentially struggling with obsessive thinking isn't what they believe, but how they believe it and how they respond to evidence.

Kennedy's single-minded focus, his inability to integrate contradictory information, his black-and-white worldview, and his sense of persecution all suggest patterns consistent with obsessive thinking. And now those patterns are America's health policy.

When Donny McNutsack appointed RFK Jr., he didn't just elevate a controversial figure—he potentially put someone with rigid, perseverative thinking in charge of complex systems requiring nuance, flexibility, and evidence-based decision-making.

The DSM-5 recognizes that OCD often involves "rules that must be applied rigidly." Kennedy's absolutist stance on health issues—his inability to see shades of gray or acknowledge scientific consensus—fits this profile disturbingly well.

The result? Americans face a health policy landscape potentially shaped not by evidence but by one man's fixations.

If—and it's a big if—Kennedy is struggling with obsessive thinking patterns, the solution isn't mockery or dismissal. It's compassion coupled with firm boundaries. Mental health challenges deserve treatment, not scorn.

But compassion doesn't mean giving someone with potentially rigid thinking patterns control over life-and-death health decisions for an entire nation.

The American people deserve a Health Secretary whose decisions are based on scientific consensus, not personal fixations. They deserve someone who can weigh evidence objectively, not someone who sees invisible threats lurking in every vaccine vial and water pipe.

Most importantly, they deserve someone whose mind remains open to new evidence—the antithesis of obsessive thinking.

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