You have become an all to familiar presence in my life. From the wave of incompetence that often washes over me as soon as I wake up, to the heavy ache that nuzzles itself beside me as I sleep – you are the unwanted intruders that force themselves into the comfort of my being.  You haunt me with my own thoughts, and use my fears and insecurities against me.  Time and time again you feed me lies by telling me that I am not worthy  - that I am not good enough for success or deserving of love.  Sometimes you even tease me by leaving for a short while, giving me a small glimpse of freedom - only to quickly return with new and more powerful tricks up your sleeve.

Together you are the dichotomy that makes it absolutely impossible to get through even the most remedial of tasks.  Anxiety, you keep me awake at night by preying on my paranoia, causing me to obsess over every stupid mistake I have ever made, and reminding me of all the things that I have not done.  All the while, Depression you cast your cloud upon me by keeping me in bed all day, and telling me that nothing matters anyway.  This unrelenting battle in my mind puts me in a state of frantic melancholy – constantly sending me to the brink of madness.  Learning to understand how to live with you is like learning how to live in a body that is not mine.

You are the wildfire that will stop at nothing to destroy every sign of life within its path, and I am the blackened remnant of a forest.  Gasping for breath in oxygen depleted air – I desperately cling onto the slightest bit of life I can find.  I fight to gain control over this insanity.  I will not let you win.

I will not let you win because you do not get to define how I live.  You seek to **** quietly and without notice but I will no longer sit in silence.  I will speak up, because I am tired of feeling trapped within the confines of my own mind. I am tired of putting on this happy face, and pretending like I am okay.  


But you know what?

It is in those moments where you make me feel helpless that I will continue to push forward and fight, because no matter how tight your grasp, how loud your screams, or how hard your scratches may be, I know that I am growing.  Just like the flowers die in Winter and learn to bloom again with Spring, my soul is learning how to rejuvenate amidst this storm.

It is in those moments when I begin to retreat back into the darkness of isolation, where despite my cries for help, I find familiarity in pushing away those around me -that I will write and I will create. I will expose your haunting thoughts, and the debilitating lies that you feed me because contrary to how you make me feel, I am NOT alone in this.

It is in those moments when I start to feel myself slipping into your fatal complacency, when I feel suffocated by the inner workings of my own brain that I will CHOOSE to be joyful. I will CHOOSE to be inspired rather than to be defeated.  I will CHOOSE to be kind to myself. I will CHOOSE to love on those around me, and I will CHOOSE to put my hope and my identity in my God.  

I know that it won’t be easy, and I know that some days will be harder than others, but it is in this simple declaration where a new page will be turned. This is me reclaiming my body, my mind, and my spirit.  This is me CHOOSING to no longer be a prisoner to you.  This is me beginning to set myself free.

I write along the walls of my mind.

I'm going insane? I don't know. Why?

Depression grips tight in a strangling hold.

I'd rather die young than see me get old.

Working my bones eight hours a day;
far too much stress for too little pay.

Real life doesn't rhyme or ebb or flow.

Work never stops and the clock goes tick-tock.

I'll look in the mirror, what do I see?

Old eyes. Sun-scarred misery.

I've got nothing to show for myself. Sure, there are some diplomas up on a shelf—

And far too many stories I have yet to think about:

Get them out of my brain and onto the page; I'll fall into a rage sooner or later.

These thoughts of violence and nonsensical anxieties race around and around in my head. A wheel that never stops. Oh, pure OCD.

Pure. A shot of water that I swallow down and pretend that it's *****.

No, mother, I'm not alright and it's about time that you stop telling me to try harder.

I can't pull my bootstraps up any higher or else I may strangle myself with them!

This is my last breath before drowning.

Oh, dear friend, if I don't find my salvation soon, I'll hit the bottom of the swimming pool.

I make me crazy, and I was never taught how to swim.

Hearing the toaster pop up and realizing you've been spinning in circles the whole time, with no recollection of the time passing,
Saying "f*ck" while you do the dishes or vacuum because apparently that's a trigger for you,
And don't you dare think about time because you'll spend all of it flailing your arms and hyperventilating,
Hoping you're not annoying when you click your tongue over and over,
And feeling the tickle in your arms hoping they won't judge you for twisting your hand three times,
What the hell do I have? Is it OCD, ADD, or is it turrets?
A mixture of all maybe? I don't know but I need some rest.

My scars don't look like
Anyone else's-
They're more careful,
Organized, precise and
Exact.
Not light, but
Never deep enough
Never deep enough
Never deep enough
Never deep enough.

People always ask why
I do such pretty patterns:
Because this is the only thing in life
That I can really control
Control
Control,

And I find it so beautiful-
Though, not so much tragic.

My scars are not chaotic like a
Car-wreck,
They are consistent like a
Coma-
Proof that I was awake
The whole time I was sleeping,
And I could feel everything
Even though I could tell no one.
No one.

That this
Unconscious obsessive compulsion
Demands order
Order
Order, it
Insists by instinct,
An intricate simplicity.

Still, I will 'ever envy
Those stitched gashes, once
Gushing
Gushing
Gushing with surrender and
Serenity...
Each raised and rough coarse collagen fiber
To form a white flag
Forever etched in flesh;
To tell the world
They, were a slave to freedom-

I am only a slave
To *myself.

We all crave
Symmetry
Balance
and
Purity
In this world so
Twisted
Sullied
and
Chaotic

I never suspected I had OCD
Until I replayed your voicemail
On the answering machine
A total of twelve times
Every evening
Just to hear your voice again
Or until I opened your dresser drawer
Thirty times
Before I went to bed
Just so I could smell
Your leftover scent
Wafting into the air
Or until I rearranged my shoes
In the closet four times
Before I left the house
Because you hated tripping over them
On your way out
But I knew I didn't have OCD
When I finally locked the door
And turned off the light
And made the bed on your side
For the very last time.

The sands of time rushed through my fingers, they
Slid through the gaps as easily as water.
Where did the year go?