Dear OCD…

Posted: April 8, 2011 in OCD
Tags: , , , ,

Why do I feel like I miss you?

Is this how deeply you’ve brainwashed me? I mean, let’s face it, all you’ve done is hold me back. You had me penned up, barking and clapping to your tune like I’m a seal and you’re a dude in a wetsuit with a bucket of fish. I hate you, and I hate your fish.

And yet, I miss you.

I’m beating you more regularly now than a 13-year old boy with an online subscription to Hustler. Things that used to feel like they’d lead to the blasting of trumpets and gnashing of teeth and rending of garments and just the general immolation of existence in the fiery bowels of Hades are turning out to be mere blips on the radar, little dioramas pasted together at the very last minute by that kid who never pays attention in class and forgot this fucking science project was due today. (Probably that same 13-year old boy, actually.)

From far away, your obstacles looked like moats, but they turned out to be nothing more than potholes. Small potholes. I’m seeing the road now. You’re disappearing from view. That was what I wanted. I’ve been working towards this with the sole purpose of kicking your ass down an abyss so deep not even Sir David Attenborough could narrate you out of it.

And yet, I miss you.

There’s something wrong with that, OCD, you indoctrinating sonofabitch. You’ve been spiking my punch for so long, I’m experiencing withdrawal symptoms. Only I’m allowed to spike my punch, okay? I know what I like. Fuck you, and fuck your fish.

I guess I liked being controlled. There was safety in it. Comfort. It was easy. I’d let you call the shots, and then I’d explain it away. Rationalize it. Easiest thing ever: just avoid people altogether. Yup, a healthy state of being. Really going to enrich my life that way. Guys love friends who never show. Girls love guys they never meet. Wait… Yeah, that doesn’t make any sense, now, does it?

So why the fuck do I miss you?

The answer is: I DON’T. I’ve just been tricked into believing that I do.

As always, OCD, FUCK YOU. And fuck your fish.

These letters are fun. They’re mini pep talks. So thanks for at least serving up constant reminders of why I’m kicking your ass on a regular basis.

Anything-but-longingly yours,
Bezuidenthustra

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