So You Think I’m Weird…

I know that I am different, and it’s always been this way,
In the rigid, hidden structure that dictates my every day.
I feel no guilt for how I’m built, for how my mind is bound,
If you had walked the roads I’ve walked, you’d stand on similar ground.

My OCD commands me, it leaves no room to choose.
Its words are written into law, to fight it is to lose.
When rituals start at four years old, deep down within the bone,
A life without this structure is a life I’ve never known.

It threatens me with terrible things, it plants a constant doubt:
What if you fail to follow through? What if the bad breaks out?
And then it starts to tighten up—a screw inside the brain,
An endless, nagging pressure and an unrelenting strain.
A jittery, unsettled weight that insists things aren’t quite right,
Defying logic, reason, and all common sense from sight.

So here is a study of the way my life is led,
An honest view inside my OCD-rewired head—

I do not eat like other people, I follow a strict design.
One item first, and then the next, completely down the line.
Peas are stripped of skins, baked beans are shelled with care,
Every grape is peeled as well, taking ages to prepare.
Five items of food a day, the same predictable plate,
No impulse buys, no sudden snacks, no room to deviate.
I’ll look at foods I’d like to try, but looking’s where it ends,
My world is set in rigid rules that a menu never bends.

Recyclables go in one by one, never in a pair,
My steps are counted as I walk, intensely self-aware. 
The painted white and yellow lines mustn’t see a stride,
I steer clear of the metal grids by stepping to the side. 
I trace the paths of dug-up pipes paved over on the street,
And if one ends beside a lamppost, contact makes it complete.
I count the row of bollards, checking for an even sum,
Then touch each post in sequence till the urge is overcome.
Even with a car approaching, danger cannot stay my hand,
Safety yields to the compulsion, where it leads, I have to stand.

Before I enter my front door, three times it must be tapped.
My belongings must be placed just so, precise and neatly mapped.
I can ignore another’s mess, although it surely grinds,
But when it comes to what is mine, the order strictly binds.

For every task I set upon, whatever I begin,
There is a preset blueprint, printed underneath my skin. 
Randomness does not exist, there is no off-the-cuff,
The pattern needs a purpose, and no detail’s small enough.
Day in, day out, I mount the bike and clock each steady ride,
A daily, non-negotiable law imposed from deep inside.
There are no shortcuts taken, no corners cut or slipped,
No room to cheat a standard when you wrote the master script.
You cannot fool a warden that resides inside your brain,
The rule must be fulfilled in full, or do it all again.

I speak the truth without a filter, plain and sharp and clear,
No sugarcoating, no fake chat for social atmosphere.
I do not care for niceties, I only want the facts,
The motives and the meaning behind everybody's acts.
With choices polarized and stark, my mind is black or white,
Either total, absolute commitment or out of mind and sight.
There is no middle spectrum where a compromise can stay,
It’s all or nothing, every time, there is no middle way.

I can spend hours honing microscopic details,
While missing the full picture on larger, broader scales.
Hyper-aware I catch a sigh, a shift in voice or tone,
Yet miss the person talking next to me, as if I’m stood alone.
I process like a hard drive, taking everything at speed,
Choosing what I value, dropping what I do not need.

A simple phone call strikes a terror in my soul,
For what they say or do is out of my control.
To fill a paper form brings a fear of a mistake,
A single error on the page is more than I can take.

Driven by a willpower, unyielding and severe,
Demanding every movement through compulsion and through fear.
A rule once born joins all the rest, a duty to fulfil,
Compelling me to do the tasks that make my spirit chill.
Born within my own brain but a separate entity,
Exacting and commanding, with a dictator’s identity. 

And don’t forget the bedtime prayers begun at barely four,
To shield me from abuse and bring protection to my door.
Now carried on through all these years, a compulsory decree,
To ask for constant safety, an urgent, solemn plea.
Without a single night missed out, the same words must be said,
A quiet, essential ritual before I go to bed.

All this makes me unusual, a curious presence to behold,
I used to think I hid it well, invisible and cold.
Until someone remarked on it, and put my heart to shame,
Once time is spent within my space, it’s obvious I’m not the same.

So now I keep my distance. It is better on my own,
My boundaries drawn around me in a secure and guarded zone.
It’s one thing stating labels, like my BPD or OCD,
Another thing entirely to show what it takes of me.

You see the way I live my life as weird or out of line,
But a world without these constant rules is just as strange to mine.
To live without OCD seems crazy through my view—
Just as crazy to my mind, as having it is to you.

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