I feel trapped.
My hands shake as I wash them over and over
The freezing water drips from my fingers
I have to be clean

I flinch away.
My friend backs off, her eyes wide
I don't like the contact, it scares me
I must not get touched by germs

I'm tired and awake.
The stars outside my window are bright
I can't sleep because of them
I need darkness

I'm terrified.
I've been told I hoard things
Apparently, I need to get rid of my things
I can't lose anything

I want everything to end.
But I can't do anything
I want to end myself but I can't
I don't know what to do

Obsessive. Compulsive. Disorder.
I need help.

When I was thirteen,
I was anxious about my obsessive rituals,
Didn't expect that it was Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
And once you have it, it will never leave you.
Even at night, when I go to bed.
My mind drowns in waves of questions.
Have I washed my hands?
Are these plates clean enough?
Did I close the door?
Have I drank enough water?
It was hard for me,
The repetitions,
The struggle of everything turning into endless cycles          

When I was fourteen, I said,
"Mom? I'm having these kind of rituals."
I said, "Mom? Am I getting better?"
Well, mom thinks it's normal. But it's not.      
Well, I feel something bad and I feel that the world was against me, that the rituals were indeed sempiternal.

When I was fifteen,
My Obsessive Compulsive Disorder had completely risen up to another level.
I feel anxious, I feel bad, I feel that I am slowly sinking into an ocean filled with unspoken mysteries.
And every time, I try not to listen to those voices, those voices seem unable for me to conquer, those voices become higher than my power.

So when I turned sixteen,
I wished the life of a genuinely normal teen.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is like a spell, a lifetime spell.
A spell that covers me, that controls me,
a spell with ***** hands that touch my soul.
And yet people think I'm crazy, I'm insane, that I'm hopeless, but the truth is I need help. I need people to stop the judgements and please understand my condition.

OCD is a part of my life that I thought was over and done.
Turns out it is a battle that is not easily won.
There will be ups and downs, it will be a war.
Things may never be the way, they quite were before.
I am determined though to keep it under control; this is a battle I'm sure I can win.
I just need to suppress it, this evil within.

If you could look into the mind of an OCD sufferer, what would you see?
You would see bravery and fear fighting it out.
One side of the mind trying to reason with the other.
If you tell us to get on with it, it's because you don't see the amount of strength and determination that it takes to overcome a mental illness.

when i was 8 years old,
i got off the bus.

i got off the bus to two words.
the next 72 hours were spent hiding in a basement.
nothing was coming.
i think, at least...

the whispers in my head told me otherwise though,
so in the basement i stayed.


when i was 10 years old,
the news woman shared stories.

the news woman told me the end was near.
maybe that wasn't her exact words.
i didn't sleep...
just in case.

insomnia became a friend of mine.


when i was twelve years old,
the new year rung in and i was alone.

the house was blanketed in silence,
and i sat on an empty couch,
and everything had seemed so quiet.
a razor blade was my only company.

we became quite close that night.


when i was fourteen years old,
i wandered barren hallways,
adorned with crimson.
they had given me free socks when i'd arrived.

the psych ward was not nearly as loud as the voices in my head.

i am now sixteen years old.
medications flow through my veins,
scars dance up and down my wrists,
and although i am surrounded by people,

i am so alone.


the moral of the story:
tell me when you figure it out,
because trust me, i'm still trying.