So the numbers 2,4,6 and 8 are dear to me and this is all thanks to my OCD
Odd numbers provide uncomfortably
Even numbers provide me with a form of safety
Shoes on twice, light switches on 8
These rituals ensuring I am always late
Sorry am late it must be fate that I am controlled by the number 8
I sometimes challenge these torturous thoughts
But I end up drowning and these rituals are lifeboats
It’s a raging ocean inside my head
A head filled with dread making me wish I was dead
So I go back to bed and obsess instead
My ripped soul requires a needle and thread 8 stitches only please I said.
Even I can’t keep up with my own mind some days. It’s like it thinks this is some game of tig! Once I began writing, I felt more clarity, I felt as though I’d reigned in part of my madness. ( I did want to keep some in the outside world. I believe it’s needed!) Having OCD is like 2 separate lives and we have a choice between the life we want and the life it wants.
Sometimes it’s like joyriding in my body and I sit in the passenger seat watching the destruction. Since undergoing CBT, psychotherapy and some good old meds I’ve found growth in my anguish and gained my beautiful life back. I just hope someone reads my writing and doesn’t give up.
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