Love

A few weeks ago my boss was explaining to me how she had gotten married at 18, to a man she's no longer with. They weren't married for very long but that was due to outside forces. My first thought was "whoa that's too young, how could she be so stupid?" That is what most people say when you hear about young marriage, or that is at least what society has lead us to think. I stopped for a second to change my thought, and to really think about how wonderful that might be. Marriage is a huge commitment and some are stupid and rush into a thing like that so, i'm not saying go marry the first nice guy you fall in love with. But to think you could be so in love with someone at a young age, to be so intertwined with them that you can think of yourself with them "forever" is crazy. I am almost eighteen and i have yet to find really anyone to make me feel even a little bit more extraodinary. This also led me to think why is most of society against love? I am constantly hearing "You're too young to know what love is". Some people are born as old souls. Why does the number we put on our lives determine what we feel or what we know? Instead of saying that they are stupid for wanting to commit their love we should celebrate the possibility of someone being so content and happy and in love with another soul.  

~Tuesday thoughts

OCD

The first time I saw her

everything in my head went quiet.

All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared.

When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments.

Even in bed, I’m thinking:

Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.

But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips

or the eyelash on her cheek—
the eyelash on her cheek—
the eyelash on her cheek.

I knew I had to talk to her.

I asked her out six times in thirty seconds.

She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going.

On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating, or fucking talking to her

But she loved it.

She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times if it was Wednesday.

She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk!

When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely locked the door eighteen times.

I’d always watch her mouth when she talked—
when she talked—
when she talked—
when she talked

when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges.

At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off.

She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were just passing in front of her.

But some morning, I started kissing her goodbye but then she’d just leave because I was making her late for work.

When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking

When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line

She told me I was taking up too much of her time

Last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place.

She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but,

How can it be a mistake when I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her?

Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t.

I can’t go out and find someone new

Because I always think of her.

Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin.

I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars

And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.

I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel

How she turns shower knobs like she opening a safe.

How she blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out—

Now, I just think about who else is kissing her.

I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once—he doesn’t care if it’s perfect!

I want her back so bad,

I leave the door unlocked –

I leave the lights on.

-Neil Hilborn 

This one of my favorite poems. Since the first time I read it, something stuck with me. I fell in love with it at first because it was romantic. After reading it over and over, I fell in love with it because there's so much truth about what its like living with ocd. I hope you guys love it as much as I do.

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