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DaSH the Hopeful Sep 2015
You enter
      Riding on a soundtrack of rising blood pressure and self defeat
       Every conversation kills itself at the sight of you;
     A *joke
not quite worth telling, that no one would laugh at anyway
          Every eye stops to stare at you
        *An aging car crash of a human

Wrecked and painted in dried blood
     Seducing onlookers with a rinky-**** smile
     Missing the convenient yellow caution tape that tells you life stops here
          
       You complain to fill the spaces left by your depleting self worth
  That wasn't much there in the first place
In the mirror you see dirt
    And you can't wash it away
, no matter how hard you try
Cause you're ****** in all the wrong ways
Up until you die


     Unintelligently designed
Your stupidity is almost genius
       You blame others for mishaps that you have gained
                            Your sickness a silent auction
                       Anyone could have caught it
       Infectious Anonymous
Attended every week
      And yet you're still so pathetic
you don't accept you're a disease worse than any flare up that could take hold
        You don't know how to recognize the facts that you've been told

       You complain to fill the spaces left by your depleting self worth
  That wasn't much there in the first place
In the mirror you see dirt
    And you can't wash it away
, no matter how hard you try
*Cause you're ****** in all the wrong ways
Up until you die
Restinpiss
anorexia and binge eating disorder
depression and OCD
reactive attachment disorder
sexually assaulted
sensory processing disorder
suicidal
abused
neglected
hostile
resentful toward mother figures
fearful of father figures
cutter
people pleaser
desire to be perfect
high expectations for herself
lost

"im not sure how i am going to help you. but i will do my best" -she says
Francie Lynch Aug 2015
I don't pick my skin,
Pluck my hair
Or number things.
I wash my hands
Many times a day,
But I don't check doors
Or count footsteps.
I set the alarm,
But I don't re-set;
I'm meticulous
But not perfectionist.
I'm self-critical,
Not self-loathing,
I'm proud of my kids,
But I'm not doting.
There's one thing
I'm obsessed with:
To be in your heart
Every minute you live;
To touch you
Before leaving a room,
Have you wash over me
Under all the moons.
I'm not looking for a cure,
I love my disorder.
Kendall Rose Jul 2015
OCD
you said you had been a mess lately.
i ran my fingers through your tangled hair and agreed.
the unorganized chaos in your head sent me into a whirl.
you said that old wounds dont heal,
i said that im just cleaning the cut.
ive always had a habit of disturbing things better left in the dark,
and i don’t think that there is any part of you that i left untouched.
childhood memories and things you had long since forgotten stirring in the dust
i took the paint splattered across your heart
and turned it into a masterpiece,
you said you had always liked abstract better than realism.
the neat rows that i stacked you in feel heavy on your tongue,
and you told me with words that i had already prepared for you
that the messiest thing about ocd,
is that nothing can ever be left alone.
Nairi Kalpakian Jul 2015
Splits ends and a raging wildfire
Connected by a general lack of control (and dryness)
Are carrying on with such a rage untethered
While they sprout and exist, they give me a false sense of
Dominance
Every bit of hair and skin on my body gets to be there on my word
And as I play God I put all my effort
To pluck out the ones that deserve to suffer
Exposed spots and thinning hair, dilapidated as scorched earth
I know now how God feels his work is never done
In his image, I destroy to create
Prozac and Tic Tacs
That's what keeps me sane
One keeps my mouth clean
The other Scrubs my brain
These small sweet little pills I pop
One

                now two

                                         now four

I wonder what would happen if I took a couple more
Mel Little Jul 2015
I don't need drugs. My brain is drugs.

Maybe it's a side effect of a mother that dropped acid for the first trimester of pregnancy and then some.

Maybe it's a side effect of the abusive step father that told me I would never amount to anything and that I am *******.

My brain processes things at about a hundred miles per hour. In conversations I am always three steps ahead of what ever was said last. I make connections in things that are unconnected.

They tell me this is adult ADHD. They tell me I should be proscribed a pill to help my brain focus.

But focus isn't what I want. Nor is the drowsiness that comes with Lorazepam, the fog that goes with Prozac. I have been separately proscribed these things without ever filling the bottles.

But I fear that if I fix all my chemical imbalances, my medical maladies, that I will disappear into a fog.

Who am I without my OCD, without my brain over processing, over loving, over caring. Without the pain in my chest from another panic, my bouncing off the walls and singing to myself.

Maybe I am unwell.

But who am I without my unwellness?
It's 3am and I can't sleep so yanno. Questioning the universe
heather leather Jul 2015
his hands twitch and he starts to blink and attempts
to calm down, because it's okay, people
get nervous and this is what happens when people
get nervous but his hands won't stop twitching and it's
the one imperfect thing in this entire room, the walls
are white the people are silent the floor is
polished the chairs don't squeak and why the hell
is his hand still twitching; he starts to panic because
he can feel the bile rising in his throat, he can feel
goosebumps on his arms he can feel the anxiety
radiating like a furnace he can feel it all and he doesn't
blink, he just tries to focus on his breathing but he
can't he can't he can't he can't all he can do
is look at the boy with the twitching hands and hope that
he stops because it was ruining everything all he
wanted him to do was stop stop stop stop but
he wouldn't, he would never stop it never
stops no matter how many pills he takes no matter
how many therapy sessions he attends, there is
still that boy in the back of his mind and his hands
are constantly twitching and they don't stop they only
become distracted by the ceiling fan or the tiles on
the floor or the hanging thread on her dress or
the on and off switch and having to turn it
on and off on and off on and off on and off
four times before it feels right
nothing ever feels right anymore, it is all a matter
of becoming distracted and trying to focus
******* anything else but the boy with the twitching hands

(h.l.)
kinda want to do an entire collection on mental disorders? thoughts? i hope i conveyed this well
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