Ice and OCD

The ice is building on my windows… yes, on the INSIDE of my windows. Doesn’t matter that it’s warm inside. It’s colder outside. But I’m looking at it. Staring into the beauty of ice. Looking out the window to the moon and the twinkling stars, thousands upon thousands of them. If only I could count them. Some order in chaos. They are spread out, no rhyme or reason, at least knowing their number would bring some level of peace.

Anything to calm the upwelling of emotion. Emotion. Another thing with no rhyme or reason. Just chaos. My thoughts need order because I’m in turmoil right now. I am in turmoil because I was put in an uncomfortable position, made to think about uncomfortable things outside of my self-made box which keeps me safe and comfortable.

And now my mind, in a flurry, seeks order as I retreat inside myself. I retreat because outside is cold and there’s ice growing on the windows and the stars have no number and I’m made to think about things that make me uncomfortable while inside is me gently rocking back and forth (I don’t bang my head on the window anymore because apparently that’s frowned on and is considered “abnormal”). I’m rocking back and forth, cradling myself, and there are numbers and words dripping from my lips and I’m pretty sure I need to clean something because everything is so dirty out there but I’m inside, remember? And the rocking is swaying and comfort and calming and the numbers and words are meditation and relaxing. And the cleaning can wait – the cleaning can wait – the cleaning can wait.

I don’t want to think about uncomfortable things. They make me cry. I cry because I can picture imagery so very easily in my mind and I see it and smell it and taste it and hear it and it’s sometimes more real than the ice on the window. And when you make me visualize uncomfortable things, it makes me cry sometimes because then maybe that means I’m not good enough. There’s obviously some faulty wiring in my head because my fingers are itching and my feet are twitching to move to take me into the other room and clean. I’ve got boxes of q-tips and they’re perfect to get every little spot. If I get real close, I can see the dirt and filth and it makes it easier to clean – to clean – easier to clean the filth.

I’m crying. Yes of course I’m crying. What did you expect? I mean really expect? It’s an emotional thing, being out under the twinkling uncountable haphazard stars and being made to think about things that make me uncomfortable. But that’s not right either, is it? It’s not all about me – about me – about me. You factor in too, of course you do. You’re wonderful and perfect for me and more important to me than anyone else ever and your needs matter too. They really do. To me.

So I let myself get uncomfortable thinking about things that make me cry and which make me want to vomit and I’m not going to tell you that’s what it does because faulty wiring is unattractive and not very sexy. And I want you to believe I’m attractive and sexy. I want you to want me (not the person who rocks back and forth and glares at the stars and cleans minutiae because it just feels right) but the woman who knows how to cook Indian food and who loves sex and only brushes her hair because you told her once to do a little reading on why that’s important and she did read for hours and hours about it and now she does…. and the woman who loves you with everything she is because she doesn’t know how to love any other way.

That same woman who can barely see the screen through her tears and keeps making errors from rocking and typing too fast and whose heart doesn’t stay with her anymore because it feels like its home is not here with her.

The ice is growing on the window and the stars can’t be counted and I really need to clean. And there are tears everywhere. But. I love you. I love you – I love you – I love you.


tara caribou | ©️2019

40 thoughts on “Ice and OCD

    1. Part of OCD is repetitive thoughts. I was overwhelmed with images in my mind that make me uncomfortable and I spiraled into repetitive, obsessive thoughts. I sometimes rock, repeat, compulsively clean. Last night I decided to write instead. I actually didn’t remember what I wrote until I woke back up and read it. I decided in the interest of self-flagellation that I was going to just post it.

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        1. Oh you’re welcome. I’m starting to enjoy wordpress. Sometimes its cool to see other peoples blogs and what they’re writing about.

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  1. Thank you for setting this straight. I will travel to the ends of the earth to help you through the pain. You will do what you can to get me to give up, but I will stand my ground for your happiness. Such is the life of a window with ice accumulating on the inside. Even your thought would not stay too long and make sense. In the end, you made it all make sense. Really Beautiful.

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        1. mmmm depends on what it is. A few things were real events for the most part. Some I have a specific person in mind (not always the same person, honesty). Some I just let them write themselves. I have a very fertile imagination and it’s easy for me to “get into the moment” as I’m writing and it becomes real to me. A couple were dreams I had. (I am a vivid dreamer.) There have been a few that I was inspired reading someone else’s work. And a few that were special requests (like I was given a title). Pound Me is an example of that. I choose to not tell people what’s real and what is fantasy. That helps, I think.

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        2. Yeah I don’t think its a good idea to tell what’s real and what isn’t. Especially with fantasy. I really enjoy the fantasy stuff but part of what makes it so exciting is the chance that it could be real. 😄

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    1. Indeed I do. I write about it every once in a while. I also write about self-harm and abuse occasionally. But not as often. Generally I write sensual poetry and short stories. I don’t write erotica quite as often. But if you haven’t already, I can direct you to an erotic short story which was a very vivid dream I had while in the midst of a high fever in which I was hallucinating. It was a great dream, though 😉

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  2. I love the structure of this piece. It gives people a glimpse into this debilitating condition. I struggle from an extreme form of it too and I know what it’s like. But the ending is simply beautiful. This is a masterpiece Tara.

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