Today is the final day of OCD week and I have written in the past about OCD, about the reality of it, and what it is not.
You can find that post here
Today’s post is about OCD in the form of a poem I wrote a few months ago. The poem involves me having written out some of my various compulsions within, and describing the horrors in my mind.
Obsessively tapping
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Done correctly? I silently ask my brain
A response screams no
Not a voice
But the thoughts remain
So of course I didn’t do it correctly
I never do.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Correct now?
The same response,
Of course, why would I have done it correctly.
But my head is louder
Now I can see what will happen if I don’t do it correctly
Desperate I go again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Three sets of three done three times,
Surely that gives me a little time.
It does, but for how long I think.
Thoughts of causing a train crash may have reduced,
But I am a ticking bomb
Waiting for the next obsession.
There it is.
A switch turned on with no plug in its socket.
Immediately I go to turn it off
But I wonder will switching it off be enough
Words ‘fire’ ‘your fault’ circle my brain
Rushing to the switch to get them gone.
Click.
It makes that perfect sound,
As if resetting my brain for a few moments again.
Giving myself a moment to think,
As I know I won’t get long.
It never is long at all.
A few minutes if I am lucky.
Another switch turned on,
This time my brain is louder.
I don’t want people to die
I rush to the switch
Hoping it is a one switch job.
I fear it isn’t as i begin to see flames.
Click.
It wasn’t right,
I know straight away
Can’t tell you how or why.
I just know.
Now my head is full of flames
I am scared.
Click. Click. Click.
Click. Click. Click.
Click. Click. Click.
Three sets of three don’t work
The switch is back to on.
I sit,
looking at the switch
To an onlooker just staring at it
As if pointlessly
One. Two. Three.
One. Two. Three.
One. Two. Three.
One. Two. Three.
One. Two. Three.
One. Two. Three.
One. Two. Three.
One. Two. Three.
One. Two. Three.
Click.
It works.
The flames retreat.
I breathe for a moment.
Trying to let my heart settle down.
And my palms dry.
All the while knowing it will start again in a moment.
Constantly I am
Checking
Counting
Tapping
Turning off
Turning on
Lining up
Moving.
Constantly, constantly.
You won’t know this,
But today I have been
A murderer,
A rapist,
A peodphile,
An arsonist,
A terroist,
Infectious
Diseased
A liar
And tomorrow I’ll be the same.
The next week,
Fortnight,
Month,
Year.
I’ll be the same.
So I will always be
Checking
Counting
Tapping
Turning off
Turning on
Clicking
Moving
Lining up
Rearranging
Always
Because if I don’t
Those moments of quiet I get
I’ll never, ever get.
So I will tap, check, count
As much as I need.
Because I am desperate for the moments of quiet.
Desperate for my brain to stop telling myself I’m a monster.
Really fucking desperate.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The Tudors make me tic 