Bound To One Another…

My earliest world was built out of dread,
With my Father’s loud anger and the things that he said.
My mother was distant, detached, and so cold,
Dismissing the words of a child four years old.
Dad drank and grew paranoid, questioning why,
Demanding the truth while he called it a lie.
He threw dinner plates through the window in rage,
Trapping us both in a violence filled cage.
I’d hit with small fists, begging him to give peace,
While he shouted at Mum, to make hostility cease.
I’d cry with my face pressed deep in my bed,
While ghosts of the shouting still rang in my head.
Mum staged midnight exits with bags that were bare,
Walking us out into the cold evening air. 
Knowing he’d catch us and beg us to stay,
A sick, endless loop repeated day after day.
And because I was told all families were the same,
I carried the terror and swallowed the pain. 

At eighteen months old, at the child-minder's gate,
Handed right over to torment and hate. 
She broke down our safety, she fractured our soul,
Leaving me searching for some kind of control.
On the drive to her house, I would start up a prayer:
Please God, don't let her be mean to me there.
When it worked, it took root, when it failed, I’d add more,
Counting and whispering all the way to her door. 
My magical thinking began out of fear,
My OCD born out of desperation right here.
It spread to my sleep, to my steps on the ground,
Writing new rules when no safety was found.
Compulsions took over, a blueprint so tight,
Guarding by day and protecting by night.
Everything split into right or to wrong,
Building the rituals where they had to belong.

It’s an uncompromising master that lives in my brain,
A burrowing worm filling my head up with strain. 
Then BPD joined in, a partner in crime,
Rewriting the script for a whole lifetime. 
Seeing my habits and all that I do,
They ask out loud why I must follow through. 
People say "just don't do it," like it's easy to choose,
Like I want to be trapped and have everything to lose.
They think I don't logic the truth of the spell,
That rituals don't magically keep us from hell.
But what if I stopped, and the worst came to pass?
How would I live if my world shattered like glass?
I didn't ask for the rules, but they kept me alive,
A desperate design just to help me survive. 
They protected my soul when the world was unkind,
Leaving permanent scars carved into my mind.
As much as I’d love to be normal and free,
Living without them is just not meant to be. 
My BPD and my OCD, bound to one another,
Neither of us is anything without the other.