I’m thirteen,
And although we’ve been living together
For as long as I can remember,
I still talk about it through maybes.
Maybe it’s like being stuck in a labyrinth;
No matter how hard you try,
You can never find your way out of it.
Maybe it is having four cookies in your evening snack
Instead of three;
Not because they taste good (Sorry Mom)
But for the sake of your own mental peace.
Maybe it is being forced to view
Every human touch
As a source of infection,
Rather than as a sense of affection.
Maybe it is obsessing over the heart-shaped birthmark
On her neck;
Or maybe it is kissing her lips again and again,
Till your mind conceives it to be perfect.
Maybe it is waking up at 5:55 exact each morning
And going to bed at 11:11 exact each night
And spending the six hours and forty-four minutes in between
Trying to convince yourself,
That your hands are clean.
Maybe it is coming all the way down
From your house on the seventh floor,
Only,
To end up back at your main door;
Just to ensure,
That it’s properly locked.
Maybe it is biting your lip until it bleeds
When your friend uses incorrect grammar.
Maybe it is the anxious look in your father’s eyes
When he takes you to a party,
Praying that your “disease” stays put so that
You don’t embarrass him in front of everybody.
Maybe it is quite evident,
Or maybe I’m very good at hiding it.
But the fact of the matter is,
I’ve been living with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
Almost my entire life.
You see,
When you are at the mercy of OCD,
Rational thinking takes a back seat.
A feeling of impending doom grips your heart,
As if everything in your life is going to fall apart.
When you are at the mercy of OCD,
Your mind becomes a ticking bomb,
Bustling, with endless recurring thoughts.
But the only time
I am not at the mercy of it,
Is when I bleed poetry.
Maybe the only ritual I perform,
Not in response to my obsessions.
So, as these words come flowing out
From the bottom of my heart,
I have a small message to attach on my part;
Please, stop saying you have “a little OCD” just because
You prefer being organised and clean.
Let this poem remind you,
That OCD is no joke or a hashtag for a meme.
You see,
OCD can never be cured entirely.
But with patience and proper therapy,
You can control how much it controls you.
But if that day ever comes to pass,
When I can part ways with my OCD,
I’ll embrace it with open arms;
And start a new life without it.