OCD

Courage : A Diary Entry

[If titles this long didn’t look stupid, I would title this… 

"I want to blame you for not loving me,

And that statement goes to every woman in my life who never believed in me."

Or

"I believed in you, when they told me don’t."]

 

Its been four whole days,

And you're still all that I think about,

Its overwhelming, the thought of you saying those things you typed out your mouth,

Im crying now,

I need a get away, calling haso, like baby get me out of town,

But I blew through thousands in my credit card account,

Fell back deep in an addiction many don’t know about,

And if they do, they squint their eyes in doubt,

They say, not you,

Not you,

Its not you…

 

Im salivating, how long are you gonna keep me waiting,

I told you I needed you, and you said not now, maybe later,

When we both know in your mind you're being creative,

Trying to force your feelings for me away,

But whenever you close your eyes you see my face,

Moaning for him, picturing me, but you are still confused of where you need to be...

 

Don’t you dare wish me well,

When your best wishes come from the same ditch where your daughter lays,

Don’t wish me well, my key is still under the mat for when you decide to stay,

Tug me softly, tell me this is the only way,

The only way, so don’t lose faith in me,

I cant let go, cant let go…

 

Paint my face white until the pink in my lips turn bright red and my smile upside down…

Tell them niggas, im alone, no one is around,

Tell them niggas, my spirit is in my knees, close to the ground,

Tell them niggas, before I get ate alive,

Tell them niggas, I want a chance at life…

 

Things are starting to overlap,

And im having dreams about deaths and bringing these folkz back to life,

The devil inside, haunting in life,

Grabbing my old bowl, packing tight,

My heart pumping blood, ready for flight,

My soul is inside out,

And ive lost control,

The woman I once loved sold her soul,

What about me turns all the women around me cold,

Is it a reflection of the ice in my bones,

The snow between my toes,

The shivers I get at home, when it aint even cold…

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Before I go to work I indulge my tormentor

It is 6:15 in the morning

and I could sleep for an hour or two before I go

but I find myself in the mirror

 

I could close my eyes and rest

but I'm so excited for another chance

to make myself into something different

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Artificial beauty and the gift and curse of a new day.

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tags:

Lists...

1. The way you quote your favorite shows

2. The way you sing under your breath

3. The way you roll your eyes at me

4. The way you look when you wear your glasses

5. The way you smell

6. The way you think you're always right

7. The way you're right most of the time, even when I don't want to admit it. 

8. The way your eyes scrunch up when you laugh

9. The way you make lists for everything 

10. The shape of your nose

11. The way you argue against me, even when I agree with you

12. The way you don't laugh at any of my jokes

13. The way you say shoes

14. The way you try to hold back your smile when I say something stupid

15. The way you dance

16. The way you make me happy every time I talk to you

17. The way I want to make you happy, whenever you're hurt

18. The way you're the only one I want to talk to…ever

19. The way I can't get you out of my head

20. The way everything I do, reminds me of you. 

21. The way I fall for you more and more each day. 

THE ANXIETY OF 100 YARDS

Folder: 
Non Military

Steady even paces, watching for those nasty cracks, keeping in the centre of the pavement, trying to look carefree and nonchalant. Tell yourself its only a pavement if you like , but you know that wont actually help don’t you?
The brisk chill of the December morning strangely makes you start to sweat. To the casual observer your short walk is mundane and nondescript you are just another fly in an urban swarm. To you its as difficult as climbing Everest in your flip flops whilst wearing a Tuxedo. 100 yards, no big deal, right?
Like a snipers wayward bullet the flickering rustle of a crisp packet in the periphery of your eye almost makes you leap into the main road in front of a those `mocking` red buses. Eyes zero in on your tormentor cheese & onion flavour. The litterbug who discarded this could never have imagined the haunting psychological terror it has brought to a pedestrian. You know the drill, you should by now, if the crisp packet reaches the end of the pavement before you do then you will be dead before five O’clock. Your own rules forbid you from speeding up, to walk quicker would mean that something terrible would happen to your family. If only the breeze would lessen for a few seconds. Suddenly the packet stops as it hit’s the side of wall, “Oh my God thank you” elated you still maintain the same cautious even paces making sure not to look directly at the crisp packet as this would once again trigger its movement. This battle seems to be endless and leaves you exhausted but it has only been raging for exactly two minutes and twenty four seconds. Keep your left eye shut and it wont move not forgetting to put your right hand in your right trouser pocket, not forgetting to keep your thumb tip exposed. As a gust spiralled the packet into the air your heart almost stops and you feel like collapsing and falling to the ground sobbing and wailing. It surly has a life of its own and can feel your pain and enjoys your suffering. Then as quickly as it all began its is all over as a young boy on a bike inadvertently collects the packet in his spokes taking it in the correct direction towards you. You now no longer have to repeat the ritual of taking the litter home with you in your left trouser pocket folded into six and then placing it in your purple bag inside your wardrobe with the 251 other crisp packets. Once you have collected 261 you can empty the contents of the bag into your wheelie bin at midnight on a Wednesday. Crisis over for now you turn left at the end of the pavement hoping you can make it the next hundred yards to the Post Office, Fingers Crossed.

© Tony McNally

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My take on someone suffering with OCD, just imagine how a short journey like this can become a nightmare.

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