All the Notes I'll Never Leave

Obsessions and Compulsions

I seal the door behind me-
I count my steps,
One-
Two-
Three-
Four-
Don't you dare end on a fourteen.
With that one fixation room swims- blurring like a murder scene. 
Soon comes the pain in my head-
What is this? Some cancer?
I feel as though I will soon be dead.
No- no,
There is only anxiety here.
But that rationality can not cut through my fear.
My right hand brushes the counter and so my left must too-
Fingertips tripping over the same trails as they always do.
I collapse onto the side of the bath and I cringe.
My hand met the counter and the process must be repeated again.
My fingers trail over the same edge-
And whispers of frustration begin to take place.
Why must I do this-
There is something wrong with me-
They would lock me away if it were things like this they were to see.
I pull at my hair,
I feel as though I am dead.
I ask for no help,
For therapy fills me with dread-
I fear that OCD has invaded my head.