I find when I am really stressed, I keep washing my hands. I need things to be in a certain place or I can’t function. Which is fine for my job, I am extremely organize there. But no one is organized with a house full of kids. I have to have the radio’s volume on an even number. There are many more things about me, but you get the idea.

OCD

My mind is a carousel, spinning and spinning,
With thoughts that won’t relent, that keep on grinning.
Obsessions and compulsions, they rule my day,
Leaving me exhausted, drained away.

I check the locks again and again,
Is the door closed tight, or is it open wide?
I wash my hands until they’re raw and red,
To rid myself of germs, my mind’s dread.

Numbers and patterns dance in my head,
Everything must be perfect, nothing left unsaid.
I rearrange objects, line them up just right,
Seeking solace in symmetry, day and night.

OCD is a cruel mistress, she takes her toll,
On my time, my energy, my very soul.
But I’m not alone in this fight, I know,
Others share my burden, their hearts aglow.

So let us stand together, hand in hand,
And raise our voices, let them understand.
OCD doesn’t define us, we are strong,
We’ll find our way, where we belong.

I’m not broken, I’m wired differently,
My OCD is a part of me, intrinsically.
I’m learning to accept it, to embrace,
To find my own unique path, to make my own space.