OCD  

1, 2, 3
21, 22
I touch the spine of each notebook as I count
It’s the fourth time tonight
And I should be asleep
My very soul exhausted
From the constant stress
My mind won’t let me rest
I’m tired
Because it’s 3 am and I should be asleep but instead I am rooting through my hamper, ———-desperate to find that one shirt, to make sure it’s still there
My mind plays games with me
I thought we would both outgrow them: we haven’t
Tickles in the back of my mind turn into obsessions, into compulsions
A descent into irrational behavior
And with it comes the darkness
The darkness
Makes it hard to remember
That light exists at all
1, 2, 3
I wish I could count myself into reassurance, into relief
But I don’t think I can count that high

Catherine Moscatt is a 22-year-old counseling and human services major. Besides poetry, she enjoys playing basketball, listening to loud music, and watching terrible horror movies. Her poetry has been published in several magazines, including Sick Lit Magazine, Phree Write Magazine, and Muse–An International Poetry Journal.