Six months ago,
I caught myself doing something
I hadn't done in awhile.
I was straightening papers.
Organizing colours,
Meticulously,
until it all felt right.
My fingers were bleeding.
Paper cuts all over my hands.
Still, Nothing seemed right.
It had been a while since I had done this.
I thought I broke myself of this habit,
but habits die hard.
My brain kept telling me
to straighten things out.
Arrange things by colour.
Still, I couldn't figure it out.
Three months ago,
Doc diagnosed me,
but I wasn't listening.
He had his papers scattered about,
and he told me,
As I straightened them out,
Nice and neat
OCD
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
Three words, twenty seven letters
Twenty seven divided by three is nine
Nine divided by three is three
That's three time three times three
That's three multiples of three
Doctor told me to take medication.
Three pills a day,
said it would solve my problem.
Still, I arranged the pills
nice and neat
on the countertop.
I was twenty seven pills in,
still no improvement.
My skin was raw from all the scrubbing.
I had paper cuts
from all the organizing I called filing.
Three weeks ago,
I was called insane.
At first,
it didn't bother me
until I thought about it more.
By then this thing I had lived with
for those six months
became debilitating.
I didn't want to be this way.
Two weeks ago,
I went to therapy.
Eleven days ago,
I saw a friend.
Five days ago,
I left my papers uneven.
Yesterday,
I let the colours be ordered wrong.
