I have OCD

 

I don’t clean my room every day.

I don’t rip out my hair.

I don’t count the steps or cracks,

But the right foot always goes first.

I am not perfect, but I am particular.

 

The sound the window has to make when it closes

The three bottles of Myers Lavender All Purpose cleaner in the trash

The color and season coordinated clothes

The way I drove past the garage twice to see if it closed

 

I closed the door four times

I plan my schedule out by the hour

I rewrite my to do list seven times

I drive. Only me.

I closed the drawer four times, I didn’t like the feeling

I rewash my sheets at 3 am, because I don’t like how they cling to my feet

 

The damn packing cubes in my luggage that take up even more space

The way I need to hear my feet hit the ground when I walk

The hundreds of dollars on storage and organization containers

The certain level my gas tank has to be on

 

Did I lock the door? Yes

Did I wash my hands? Yes

Did I lock the door? Yes

Did I wash my hands? Yes

The way my hands will be raw from washing

The way events must be planned three weeks in advance

The way my face bleeds after picking for hours

The way my water bottle must be empty or full

 

Did I lock the door? Yes

Did I wash my hands? Yes

Did I lock the door? Yes

Did I wash my hands? Yes

 

The way my body shuts down when I can’t find my things

The way I never feel clean

The little white candies at 8 am every morning with bananas and coffee

Just to make me normal, to feel normal, to seem normal

 

This even feels incomplete.

It never feels good enough.

I question myself once again.

What did I miss? Where did I go wrong?

I’m not a perfectionist, but it will never seem right

Or maybe it’s those three little letters that will always describe me

I don’t know I’ll probably think about it later tonight

Because what else would I be doing?

Besides driving past the garage four times.

 

Did I lock the door and wash my hands?

I don’t know

I don’t know

I don’t know