My OCD
It's there, in the back of my mind. It's a constant itch...taunting and mocking me. It's that nagging thought I get, telling me that it isn't perfect. It's not right, it's too disfunctional, and I have to fix it. I have to rid the itch, the more I try, the more I just add to the problem. It's all one big clutter before I know it...I'm freaking out, on the verge of losing my mind. It's not perfect...it will never be, and so the itch will never go away. The only thing I know to do then, is fall, clutch my knees, and sob like a pathetic child.
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So this is what an episode is like when my OCD is on max. I feel so hopeless in trying to catagorize my books my genre, year, A-Z. When my clothes aren't folded right, or when the smallest piece of paper isn't clean and straight. This is what happens when my doors aren't shut, or my pillows aren't in a certain way...etc. My OCD is getting really bad...but I'm working on it.