This OCD
It's killing me
I'm a bit dead already
(But I won't die)

A normal day
I saw a spot on the glass
I cleaned it once to sanitize
Don't know what touch came to my mind
I voice in my head I can't comprehend
I wasn't sure of myself
So I cleaned it a second time
3rd time out of doubt
4th time to maintain my sanity
15th time it was insanity
And I still thought that the glass wasn't cleaned
In that moment I became diseased

I heard these voices constantly
Dictating me,giving decrees
Things I didn't think about
Now so hard to live without
Thinking of them

Intrusive thoughts
Intruders
Included
Such apparitions
It haunts me still
And they wouldn't leave
(I begged and begged and begged)
Such thoughts
I could die
(But I wouldn't )
I felt like the worst man alive
Was I bad
Or was I mad
It made me insufferably sad

A spot a speck
A fallen drop
Rendered me paralyzed
And I carried out rituals
Just to have some respite
I cried inside
Most difficult to fight
To win with your own mind

Internal demons
Killing me
Using me as their device
Too frightened what would others think
An academic boy
Being possessed
I didn't utter a single word
Until I was caught
It was too much
I was obsessed,compelled and disordered

I don't know why I did things
I just felt disgusted
By the spot the speck
Real and imagined
I doubted everything
Even things I did seconds ago
And made crazy theories
Of how that speck would **** me slow
Rationality thrown out of window
Lady Macbeth why won't you go

I confided
Couldn't bear
Thankfully
My parents were there
They couldn't understand
Why I was acting
Such
Over silly things
But it was real to me
It mattered too much

I searched the web
To find the cure
But thing I read
Made me more
And more scared
Was I forever impaired

I went to the psychiatrist
He fed me with some medicines
I would be lying if I say they didn't help me
But my real fight was with the demons inside me
The thoughts
Be gone
I beg to you be gone
I to again become the master of my life

Make your mind stronger still
So what if speck landed on you
It won't be the end of the world
Boy gather will
Said mrs psychologist

I tried it was hard
To be exposed yet prevent reaction
Be obsessed and prevent the compulsion
I had panic attacks
And emotional outburst
Yet I feel
Slowly but surely I am getting better

Thank God my family was so considerate
I feel for those less fortunate

Mental health is all too real
And first step to cure it all
Is to talk(please please for God's sake talk)

I knew it was bad when my fingernails were ringed
with red
as I ran them over ribbons and excused myself
from confetti cake to make them
redder.

my head was burning
a sparkling candle burning
my hands were yearning
a spazzing sticking yearning

my family was singing
a muffled stifling singing
my ears were ringing
a loud ear-piercing ringing

sing
ring
sting
stop stop stop my scalp is stinging

Nothing was clear until my fingernails
were red
and coated with pieces of my head:
rubbed raw and picked clean
You’re telling me
this is something you haven’t seen?

It doesn’t make sense because:
I don’t put pencils in a perfect pristine line
I don’t count my cheerios before I can dine
I can turn the lights on and off just fine
but my fingernails
are red
and apparently that’s a sign.


I can tell you where
every single pinprick lives
and spreads fire down my scalp
into my brain
How it tells me
your math homework can wait
save me
or you’ll go insane

My nails are short
but still red
My brain is intact
but still missing its head

Oh, how I could See the Disorder in a
demented disturbed decision
to forfeit my favorite vanilla cake
for blood

stop stop stop, i’m begging you, brain

you can’t stop; you know you need pain
leave me alone, and you’ll go insane.

I'm not entirely here
I'm trapped somewere
Living half aware
Hanging between the realities
Sitting in a room
A waiting room
Yellow and warm
Tense and eternal
Safe but never ending
Reality twisted
Overactive imagination
There is no door
But I can leave at any time
Only one way
Find my inner peace

the blind is broken
on the back door
where I try the handle
maybe one two three four
times before bed
my foot treads
wear a furrow
into carpet pile
patrolling by the mile
a circuit I navigate
from door to window
and back again
checking checking
my doorbell's camera eye
spies on the street outside
intruder alerts on my phone
warn of incoming......
something
all so I can complete
a nights sleep
with one ear open
tossing turning
I have covered all eventualities
except the Bogeyman
in my head
under the bed

The Demons are back again,
Haunting me with darkness,
Painting me with insanity,
Those sick little artists.
It's all my fault,
All the years of failure
And the neglect to cure this disorder,
That controls me.
The sadness consumes me,
The water is getting higher,
I can't breath, I'm drowning
In everything that becomes of me.
My mind bubbles with regret
And burns in pain
For ignoring this illness
That makes me insane.
My heart beats slowly
As it frowns in silence,
My blood rushes around
in heavy violence.
My body shakes
And I'm short on breath.
I'm becoming attacked by this panic
And I become a mess.
It's maniac ways
Every days the same.
It's calm and it's crazy
And I'm always fighting to stay Sane.

I want so badly to be me enough
That it doesn't matter how crazy I am.

In a world full of deadlines and assignments,
I often wonder if I am getting credit for my life.
Did I pass the exam because I didn't want to die today?
Am I succeeding for inhabiting a level state of consciousness?
Will I be penalized for the fatigue or the anxious habits,
The inevitable compulsions?
Do they see below my skin where the turmoil lays?
Are my bones enough to hold me up under the weight
Of my perfectionism and pressure for success?
Am I too slow or different in a world that demands I exist in a system?
Am I enough in the course of Planet Earth?
Is who I am what they want,
And does it matter?
Is there extra credit for taking a shower and complying with medication?
Professor, did I achieve an A?

"It's just a thought."
"It's just an image."
But still I make the demanded pilgrimage.
A triple lock.
A double check,
Compulsive look under the bed.
Oh, how strange!
Silly me!
Yet, I go.
I must repeat.
Therapist says I have OCD.