“I’m coming home”
Tears draining bloodshot eyes
Plane tickets
And a pandemic
Picked up from the airport
And sleeping in the back seat
Long hugs
And “I’m glad you’re back”
Dad’s coffee
And your teenage bedroom
The North Sea
And 4pm sunsets
Clean breaks
With soft landings
Oh how sweet it is
To be caught.
I have OCD. I do not wash my hands religiously after using the bathroom. But I do live with a constant feeling of impending doom, like a black cloud is following me wherever I go.
I have OCD. I don’t keep my flat especially tidy, and I’ve never cared for dusting. But I do frequently and vividly picture my family’s deaths to the point of tears.
I have OCD. I don’t turn the lights on again and off again. But I do count almost every action I take, and make sure it’s in 3s, 4s or 7s.
I have OCD. I can drink out of glasses at any restaurant without a second thought. But I question my sexuality almost constantly, to check I haven’t been lying to myself and everyone I love.
I have OCD.
And I do over-use alcohol hand gel. And I do line my shoes up in a funny way else something terrible will happen. And I avoid new car journeys for fear of causing a crash and hurting or killing the people I love. And I do actually knock on wood. And I salute to every magpie I see. And I do neutralize “bad” thoughts or words with “good” ones.
The “ands” and “buts” can also be true at the same time.
We are walking contradictions.
We are stereotypical and we are opposites.
We both are and are not.
And all those experiences are valid.
But it’s okay.
“Wow, have you lost weight?”
Not –
“Tell me about your family, are they well?”
“What about a childhood dream you had, did it ever come true?”
“What has brought you joy recently, and how can you look for that joy in unexpected places?”
“Are you a beach or a mountain person?”
“What scares you more – space or the deep sea?”
“In what ways do you think you’ve grown up, and it what ways haven’t you?”
“Do you believe in ‘the one’?”
“How are you, really?”
“What book has made you cry recently?”
“What is your best piece of life advice you’ve ever received?”
“Do you ever feel moved by art?”
“When was the last time you paddled in the sea?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Are tarot cards a load of nonsense?”
“What’s one thing you’re scared to do, but you know would be good for you?”
Anything but that.
She doesn’t even know what she wants.
She keeps changing tack.
Whatever she says she’s angry about, it sounds likes there’s something much bigger that she’s not saying.
Hang on.
I don’t think she’s angry at this person at all.
Listen, carefully.
Can you hear that?
I think she’s actually angry with herself.
She sounds exhausted.
Why is it always Mister Men and Little Miss?
Why little?
You
misled me, made me little miss
misery. I was
misguided and
mistook my
misfortune for good luck.
I was
miserable, under your tyranny of poorly disguised
misogyny.
I
misread the signs, and had the
misfortune to
misunderstand your indifference for love countless times.
And yet, your biggest
mistake, was to
misunderestimate
me?
Little Miss?
your heart
is a patch-work quilt
of the others you’ve stolen,
and mine
is a bucket with holes in.
Water yourself. Like a plant. Give yourself sunshine. Breathe fresh air. Touch something green. Run. Don’t run. Walk when you cross the road. Treat yourself. Wear the nice clothes you were saving for a special occasion. Do a full face of make up and take it all off again. Hug your friends. Hug your family. Hug yourself. Embrace your soft spots. Physically and mentally. Wear that expensive perfume. Take a long bath. Light a candle. Write letters. Read good books. Binge watch crap telly. Eat your vegetables. Order that take-out. Get an early night. Stay up all night with your nearest and dearest. Laugh often. Cry when you need to. Lie in. Get up early and watch the sunrise. Paint your nails for no reason. Find new music. Listen to old songs that remind you of people and places you love. Dance badly. Dance naked. Dance often. Allow yourself space. Say yes more. Say no when you want to. Speak up. Listen carefully.
Breathe deeply.
and take care.
Do you think you broke me first?
Do you not think I’ve been through this before?
At the hands of another man.
(If we can call him that)
Do you think you broke me the hardest?
Do you think this is the worst pain I’ve ever been put through?
No, I was 18 and three quarters.
Naïve heartbreak is always the worst,
the one you don’t see coming.
Do you think you cut the deepest?
Have you not seen my scars?
From those before you
who plunged the knife further than you’d ever go,
down to the bone.
Do you think you hold that badge for me?
First? Hardest? Deepest?
No.
There were others before.
And the worst thing about it? Is that you knew that already.
And you didn’t think to handle my heart more carefully?
Of course not.
But you were the one I expected more from.
That badge?
It’s always been yours.
I’m okay, really, I promise.
I promised you I’d never do anything.
And I won’t.
I don’t break promises,
especially not to you.
I’ll keep going.
No matter how much it hurts.
No matter how much I cry,
and I go to bed feeling the weight of the world on my chest.
I’ll keep going.
I’ll stay.
For us.
Because I promised us a life together.
And I’ve learnt you don’t lie about that.
I don’t. And I didn’t.
I meant it.
It’s us now.
You won’t find a note.
You won’t have unanswered messages or concerned calls from my family.
You won’t find me in the bath.
Unless it’s a bubble bath that you’ve ran me.
And you’re sat on the floor next to me
(because it’s too hot for you)
and I’m stealing chips off your plate,
and you’re blowing bubbles in my face
and we’re both laughing at where they land.
I made you a promise.
And I love you.
You know…
the night when…
that happened…
You know, the thing I don’t talk about?
When that thing that happened to me…
happened…
You know? The one with my old gym coach…
I don’t call it by it’s name.
That night when I was shaking and powerless…
That night, back in that phase of my life.
And you know it bothers me still…
because now I think he’s getting married to…
the girl he said he was over, the night that that happened.
The girl who was my best friend at the time.
I want to go up to her, ask her…
“If a woman says no
twice
and a man continues anyway…
what does that sound like to you?”
Okay, good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.
stormsinteacups 