My Winning Poem about OCD

Hi everyone

I've won a prize - a book. And here is the winning poem. It is about OCD. I wrote it five years ago. If you would like to use it, please state that it came from this blog by 'Forever Learning'. Thank you

I couldn't get the formatting right in this confounded Blogger - I love it really - honest. So I have taken photos of the poem - it does not look too good, but it is a means to an end.

It is called

Tired

Well that's it!

At the moment the OCD is running my life. I'm not so much tired of it, but just resigned to it.

Dealing with Intense Feelings

Contains swearing, so please do not read if you will be offended. Thank you.

Sometimes the emotions that I feel are just so intense, and expressing my feelings on the web helps me to re-gain some kind of equilibrium. I have learnt that I get very upset and distressed over any problems and/or disappoints regarding getting help/support. This is one such example.

A few weeks ago, triggered by learning that I had a further seven weeks to wait for the assessment, I wrote the 'poem' below. I felt desparate - desparate for treatment. I posted this poem (semi) anonymously on the website of an organisation that provides me with support. And I also included it as a comment, to a post on Talking Therapies, on the Mind website.

The weekend followed, and at some stage during it, when I was calmer, I undid both of these actions. Making it public had served its purpose - I was in control of my emotions, and decided that it was better all round if it was removed.

So why am I posting this poem here on my own blog? Well I actually think that if it is going to be shared anywhere then this is the place.

Why am I sharing it at all? It communicates something of my feelings. It provides a glimpse of my world, when I'm not at my best! It reveals the extreme affect on me of the delays in treatment caused by the long NHS waiting lists. And sadly, many, many other people with mental health problems are in the same position.

At times, life is shit,
I am shit.
Sitting here,
Sitting here,
Still sitting here,

Why don’t I move?
I can’t be bothered.
I don’t like myself.
I want to hurt myself,
So that I suffer.

Still sitting here.
In seven weeks, I’ll be assessed.
When will someone help me?
I’m sitting here.
Still sitting here.

In seven weeks and one day,
I’ll have been assessed,
I’ll be sitting here.
When will someone help me.
I am shit.

I am sitting here.

Now I have died

Have you noticed that people will turn out for a funeral, making a huge effort to attend?

This 'turning out' of people can be a source of great comfort and support to the nearest and dearest of the deceased. But what about the deceased?

NOW I AM GONE

It is strange, you think of me, now I am gone.

It is stranger still, the miles you travel, to mark my passing.

It is strange, when we spoke so little, when I was here.

It is stranger still, when it was so long since you had seen me.



I wrote this poem about a year ago. If you would like to use it, please state that it came from this blog by 'Forever Learning'. Thank you

Broken communication

I wrote this poem about a year ago. I wonder if you identify with the sentiments expressed in it.

If you would like to use it, please state that it came from this blog by 'Forever Learning'. Thank you

Let’s Communicate

Why do you ask how I am?

Why do you ask if I am feeling better?

Already you have decided the answer.

For you, I must be better.

That is all you want to hear.

Why do I say I’m fine?

Why do I say everything is ok?

Well, I want to please you, to fulfil your expectations.

If I say I’m not ok, you will require an explanation.

An explanation I can not give.

So it is easier to say what you want to hear.

Let us be careful; careful how we ask.

Let’s ask, truly wanting to know.

Let’s ask without expectations.

Maybe then we will communicate.

Not just talk, but actually communicate.

Maybe we will meet each other, where we are.

_____________________