Hating OCD: and it’s not a diagnosed problem for me

I really feel for those of you with OCD as a diagnosed condition. Mine is a by-product of other difficulties, but it sucks. At the moment I’m so tired of having to retrace my steps to give the very centre of my door knobs a final push. And touching the edge of the lever handles.…

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Do number patterns regulate your day?

Just like the rhyme3 – 6 – 9work for me every time. Actually, any multiple of 3 is good. I feel more settled in a café when my table number, or the food order number, has a root of 3. When setting the cooker timer I choose the closest 3-root number to that required for…

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Surviving a Literary Festival

I have been very quiet for a week now. For the last three years I have come to the Hay Literary and Arts Festival and it is always a roller-coaster week. The difference this year is that I know why. The reasons are the usual suspects: noise overload, people overload, changing routine, uncertainty over what…

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Daily habits to get me through

Routines – knowing what’s happening, what’s going to happen, what’s expected of me – are all vital to keep me on kilter. It’s often quite difficult to keep others on side with this need. Things happen. Some are vaguely expected, some are totally unexpected, and others fall somewhere in between. So I benefit from having…

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Triggers: a poem about sudden changes

What pulls the trigger, flicks the switch?

Turns me into devil or witch?

All that’s positive, all that’s good

banished to hell and bathed in blood.

Search for balance, search for worth,

ways to banish the inner curse,

seek the good of self before birth.

Before rejection – before the pain

before abuse and negative gain.

When evil rears its ugly head

all positive thoughts remain unsaid:

no happy heart, no peaceful soul

no reasoned mind to deflect its goal;

darkest thoughts in darkest cell

no glimmer of light within the hell;

no breath of air just stifled heart

no wings of hope for new-born start.

All efforts now to begin anew

wearying, crushing, exhausting to do.

Tears come far easier than resolve ever does

cutting or overdose a much better option;

so lonely inside myself, hating what I find,

inadequacies of body, inadequacies of mind

can’t look forward, don’t want to look back

don’t want to face all the things that I lack.

Where is the me that sees what is good?

Will it come back before blood is spilled?

Why just the me that knows all the ills?

When can I banish the me that kills?