In the thrilling saga that is
My Neurosis
I have finally decided to
Seek help -
Popping prozac,
Coupled with telling a
Kind woman
About my three hour WebMD purge sessions
And
My deep fear of speaking out loud
For about
Fifty minutes a week.
The next chapter will be titled
"Support Groups: Sitting In a Circle With Strangers As We Compare Our Obessive Spirals on Fears of Death, Fears of Living, and Fixations With Folding Laundry."
This is not as much poetry as it is just ranting about the **** that's going on in my life in a quirky format. Humor is my coping mechanism, just as much as semantics, spoonerism, and creatively enveloping my feelings into a metaphor is - so I suppose that's my *poetry.* Today, I met with a therapist for the first time and told her about my OCD. The eye contact was terrifying and as she told me a bit about herself, I was itching for her or myself to make a joke about my fears, her past, the flowers, *literally, anything.* I sometimes think about how dark this would all sound to someone I know. If any of my friends found this page, they'd be like fucucuckccukckkkkk I thought you were just awkward. Yeah, JOKES ON YOU I'M ACTUALLY MISERABLE LIKE ALL THE TIME haha. Anyways.
I'm working on a slam poetry piece that I want to perform before the medication fully kicks in and I loose my sad boi side to myself again. It's about OCD, and how ******* ******* ****** up it is that it's portrayed as a personality trait rather than an actual debilitating mental illness in the media. If you're still reading, then congrats. I'm gonna go **** with my Bop It Extreme 2 for a bit to blow off some steam ya feel.
July, 2017
