OCD
The Thoughts I Thought Were Me
Sometimes the rarest thing for me
Is to simply be.
.
To exist.
To live in the moment.
To accept the uncertainty.
.
When things are bad,
I think.
I think and I think and I think and I think and I think and I think and
I think andithinkandithinkandiTHINKANDITHINKANDITNEVERENDS
.
Fog, dense, day, next.
Worry, question, worry, cry.
Think and think until I die.
.
But not forever.
Not, not forever.
.
There is hope.
There is more.
.
The tightly locked door
Which I feared?
.
The bolt is on the inside.
I just needed a guide.
.
Now,
When things are good,
Or even when they're bad,
Sometimes--more often--I can just be.
I am so close.
I am me.
.
Not rare anymore
but so rare still.
.
Just me.
.
Just here.
.
Just happy.
.
Just sad.
.
Just peaceful.
.
Calm.
.
And I think to myself . . .
I think less now.
And I'm still me.
.
Not such a bad thing to be.
About the Creator
Abigail Penhallegon
I'm an aspiring novelist. I've started many stories and just recently become more confident in my abilities due to the encouragement of great friends and teachers. I'd like to spread joy through my writing, so prepare for happy endings. :)
Keep reading
More stories from Abigail Penhallegon and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Digital Pandemic.
After a long day in the department, Emily dropped her worn and tired dark leather bag on the counter before navigating through the small and disordered kitchen to grab a cold beer from a contrarily empty fridge. She hadn't had a chance to unpack since moving from Newcastle to Glasgow, let alone shop for sustenance, except for cold brews naturally.
By Billie Whyteabout 6 hours ago in Chapters
Comments (3)
This was beautiful!! I relate to so much of this (postpartum OCD and PTSD) and I adore that you found a way to calm your mind. I have a poem in drafts here about, well, existing, that I havent touched in 2 months but this is inspiring me to publish it. 🥰
Nicely done. I could see the frustration, then the relief. Wonderful
very nice I think 😂😂, I like it