I’ve walked this world for thirty years. Suffice it to say, walked is generous. There hasn’t been much exploring for me. Interesting, as I always envisioned myself as globetrotter when I was young. My dream was to travel the world, and to fill my soul up with culture and experiences. Maybe that will be something for my thirties…

For as long as I could recognize it I knew something was wrong with me. An itch I couldn’t scratch- I tried to ignore it. There is always some sort of excuse we can convince ourselves of, isn’t there?

There is this piece lodged within my brain, and it makes my mind stir incessantly. There is another between my ribs, and it causes a pressure against my chest with each breath. They never go away, but they make me me.

Would I want them to?

On my shoulders lies every thought I’d ever had. They materialize into fears, and then palpable objects. It’s like I’m some sort of twisted Santa with a bag of items thrown over my back. Except these aren’t gifts… these are punishments. Because, living with pure obsession OCD is like being punished everyday, for just being you.

You know what you think is irrational, but there is still a nagging, beating heart that ticks, ticks, ticks. Is it? Did I do that? Could I do that?

Memories begin to blur into fiction, and back again. Suddenly the monster in my dreams is me, always has been. I’m capable of unspeakable acts that make my skin squirm, my breath catch, and…

No. It’s not possible. The mere concept of it makes me panic, makes me degrade myself, makes me despise every inch of this stupid, stupid, suit of pathetic armor made of air.

Then there is sunshine, and I remind myself in so many compulsive words (my own personal mantra) that this is real, they are real (the ones I love). Maybe if I keep this inside, maybe if I push it away, it will disintegrate.

And someday, I’ll finally be at peace.

But if they ever found out… the wall would crumble, this comfortable facade would become a mist. And all of my ugliness would be seen. Stark and naked.

The cycle begins anew.



1 Comment
  1. jdhamster 4 years ago

    I too dream of a day of peace and I too am fearful of my ugliness being seen. Hugs.

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