The Perfect Don’t Need Mercy

(A metaphor for living with OCD) In the courtroom of my mind. I am the perpetrator and the victim. I am guilty of playing the victim. And the perpetrator is the victim “That devil will not leave me alone!” And the judge tells me that the title is harsh while he himself has horns and a pitchfork in his right hand. He sides with the perpetrator. He sides with the victim. “No matter what I do that devil is never satisfied!” Before he even thinks about crossing the bridge the devil already deemed him guilty of jaywalking. “Wrong way!” No matter the trail, the verdict remains the same, “Guilty!” I try covering my ears but he strips my hands from them. I shout my case but the perpetrator yells louder.” It doesn’t matter what I do. It will always be wrong. I will always be wrong. “And I believed him.” He was convinced that his piercing tongue was a sign of truth. “And I began thinking his thoughts and speaking in his tongue.” So he began scolding himself until he was certain and crossed the correct path. He began scolding himself until it was embedded into his soul. Until then, he was worthy of punishment. And the jury remained seated and silent. Not a single heart pulsed the blood through their brains. No sympathy. No reflection. Just an echo of what was declared at the slam of the gavel. “Guilty!” But then an angel came down and struck him before he was sentenced. It showed him the path he was destined for. The path that was certain. The path he could never cross. The perfect path that was meant for the perfect version of him. One that could never truly exist. And he finally saw the truth. His tongue and thoughts begot the sin of attempting to embody his higher, impossible self. Who could save him from himself? Finding hope in that self. Finding happiness in that self. Finding relief in that self. But it cannot be reached. He knew he could never be certain. He knew he could never be perfect. But he felt redeemed. A bolt of lightning struck his soul back into place and his head back onto his shoulders. Who wouldn’t want to challenge an inherently losing case like his? “This courtroom isn’t logical.” “This courtroom is anything but fair.” “This courtroom is run by the perpetrator himself.” “Therefore, your court has no jurisdiction over my worth.” The judge was infuriated and declared him unworthy. “He is to receive the death penalty at once!” The jury was outraged and swarmed to attack him who finally let go. “This isn’t fair judgment, this is hatred!” In the courtroom of my mind For once it was silent Not the kind of silence that shouts doom The kind of silence that means relief I didn’t notice the commotion had stopped until I opened my eyes. Everyone was gone. Except the perpetrator. Except the victim. Except the devil. I saw him hiding behind the stage he sat on. But I didn’t kill him. To do so would be to achieve that same perfection impossible to reach. To do so would be to kill myself. So I left. And he followed me. Now I cross the paths despite his whispers. “You’re going to regret this.” “You aren’t good enough.” Just a reminder of the truth. The real truth. “You’re right.” I said. “Maybe I will. Maybe I am.” “Because I am not the perfect being you tell me I could be. I am not perfect before I deserve mercy. The perfect don’t need mercy.” -ShirleyCStar.