This isn’t meant to sound pretty. It’s meant to be the truth, cold, hard, and raw. It won’t sound poetic, but what more is poetry than feelings slammed on a page anyway?
Not in the traditional sense. But it feels like it, when I’m a prisoner to my own mental disorder. I don’t know what it’s called. Mental OCD perhaps? Anxiety maybe? Tourette’s, but for the brain.
My mind gets stuck on things, like tics.
Telling myself for the thirtieth time I'm wearing jeans, a white shirt, three bracelets on my left hand, I've eaten one sandwich and an orange; I'm wearing jeans, a white shirt, three...
I have every thing I’ve eaten in the past weeks memorized.
After I have a conversation with someone, I’ll repeat that same conversation. I said this, she smiled, haha I made her smile! Then she responded with that, and we said bye. I said this, she...
I'll make mental lists, and will repeat them to no end.
Today you need to go to school, get your homework done, go to the gym, write another chapter, don’t forget to shower, you don’t want to smell bad…even if it’s midnight and I’ve already done them.
Watching a one hour movie takes three hours because I have to stop and repeat things in my head. I loved that one dialogue, let me mentally repeat it thirty times.
I can never fully enjoy myself, because instead of focusing on what I’m doing, I’m focusing on repeating what I already did in my mind till I’m exhausted.
All the time, I’m strategizing in my head…do this, do that, then do this too! But then four hours will have gone by, and I'm still sitting in the same spot planning. Four hours wasted in my head.
And if I don’t repeat everything in my head, I get this feeling of anxiety that bubbles up and grows stronger and stronger until I begin to panic.
It’s taken over my life. All the time, mentally repeating every single fucking thing I do, again and again and again and…. Breathe. I need to breathe.
Even music isn't enough to get my mind to shut up anymore, and that's terrifying.
Even now I'm overthinking, scared that I didn't explain this well enough and no one will understand. Cause of death: Chronic, obsessive overthinking. How sad.
Now you’ll click off this poem, and you’ll be out of my mind, but I’ll still be stuck here, a prisoner. How do I unbind my shackles when I'm the one who forgot to make a key?