Removed from self, an introspection

You tried to spot the difference between OCD and yourself,
held both pictures up to the light
to spot the darkness.

There are voices in your head,
peace comes, stays a while,
then leaves as though a lover that will never be fully yours.
The door is left open,
obsessions rush in,
a pack of beasts intoxicating themselves with anxiety and dread.
Coming into the house to mess up the furniture,
reaching for the picture frames hung up on the wall,
smiling as the glass shatters.
Try to find the truth,
pick up the pictures without being cut by the glass.

The beasts pour gas, throw a match, and watch the light
rising out of the darkness of their creation,
gaslighting you now.
You used to think your mind was sane once
but sanity can be a volatile friend, inconsistent with her affections.
When you go for a drive, count to ten before the red lights turn green,
If you don’t, the impending car crash will be all your fault.
Oh, you magical thinker,
if you were to say a prayer every time you had an intrusive thought—
you’d be God's best friend by now.

Sometimes you’ll long for a place where your mind will go blank. White
with the paint in the cupboard and the brushes put away.
Death won’t bring what you think it will—
where is the consciousness in death?
If you fight—you surely lose, how can you defeat the beasts?
Try to fly—but your wings are weighed down.
You are walking on thin ice, one wrong step from a break—an unamendable mistake.
Freeze—and the ice breaks beneath you,
down you’d go—into a whirlpool of truths and the lies of a disorder.

The light begins to fade as you try to tell the difference—you long for the touch of peace.

Obsessions are caramel—sticky in the mind,
uninvited guests who refuse to leave.
Try and push them out—and find futility,
her legs folded and her face blank,
sat still in the armchair
as she waited for you to notice her.
-
They say it’s egodystonic—dissonant with the true self,
but that knowledge brings no comfort in a time of need.
Toss and turn
but the grasp will not unwind.
It’s stuck between your teeth—in the places you can’t reach,
brush and wash—try as you may,
but what is resistance in the face of a disorder?

Some days it grows stronger, pushing you under the wave.
Some days you show it who you are, and prove to yourself you are not weak—
but it’s not a thing of strength or weakness—is it?
Silly boy,
if Achilles himself had
O - Obsessive
C - Compulsive
D - Disorder
and waged war against it from sunset to sundown,
he too would find it to be an untiring opponent.

You long to go back—back when the mind was free,
horizon ever bright.
You miss the feeling of safety in your mind—
never thought you’d be trying so hard to escape from it.

Someone shut the door—
there’s more than enough company and they’re getting cold.