Write a poem about ocd or anxiety under this

I'm sry if this may make people worry or feel uncomfortable in advance! Hello everyone as u can see I struggle with ocd and I HATE IT WITH MY LIFE , it started in 2020 covid obv contamination ocd started here , I used to carry alcohol everywhere and used to wash my hands so much that it bled ( had to wear gloves to cover it so friends or family won't see it ) and everything else started since then , harm ocd with myself or friends I couldn't hold a knife..it was really hard..and I have unwanted sexual thoughts ocd , I have panic attacks bc of this..I sometimes cannot look people into their eyes and its so random and so scary..thoughts about.. 🍇..whether it's me or I'm gonna harm someone else uk..I sometimes cannot function properly.. unfortunately friends don't understand it rather think it's about " perfectionism "..I wrote those thoughts and stuff in a journal in more details ofc and doodle ( I'm scared someone will find it ) I hate myself tbh and I don't think someone will read this... I suspect I have ADHD with all this but ocd is " ur faking it " even though lots of people have hinted about it , I thought I actually killed someone for 2 years a girl..until I realized what HOCD is , I thought I faked my ocd too in fact , I have perfectionism ocd too it's bad and I HATE PURE O it's so DRAINING uk.. also idk if this has caused a problem for anyone but if y'all know the Truman show ( basically if u don't know the main character is being filmed and his life is fake and he doesn't know it ) THAT MOVIE HAS HARMED ME SO BADLY FOR YEARS that until today I have to check in the bathroom if there are cameras cuz like ocd makes me think I'm living in a fake world , I used to think people around me , everyone was like a Ai model or smth.. everytime until today I have to clean the toilet seat bc it may be dirty..I have been taking up to 5 showers a day cuz maybe I'm dirty..that's it for today tysm if u read this till the end I'd like to know ur thoughts if u got tips or have similar experiences ! 🤗 U get a chocolate bar 🍫 bc u earned it bc ik how ocd is so frustrating ( I also noticed everyone who has ocd is so nice right 😆! )

I don't really know if these will count as ocd 'proof' and I'm almost trying to prove to myself that I have ocd at this point. I really don't know. And these don't even mention my current themes (pocd, soocd) and rocd but its kind of stopping idk. So here's what I wrote do you think it's worth mentioning or it even counts as ocd idk? -Blinking in a certain way, breathing in a certain manner till it feels right, making sure that im breathing right, holding my breath for a bit again and again, made sounds that disturbed others (my mom) because of that. -Focusing too much on my eyesight and what i see to make sure I don't have symptoms of an Illness in the eye, checking my body reactions a lot and getting scared. Checking my pulse regularly for a heart attack. Fear of dying, researching random illnesses of symptoms I have -When i was a child I pictured my family dying a lot and got intrusive thoughts about their heads being cut off, especially in Eid El adha (where we basically sacrifice cows and sheep) I couldn't handle being there because I was scared that the guy killing the cow will accidentally cut my mom's head instead and I'd picture it so graphically. random intrusive thoughts about me doing harm to others but they didn't make me anxious just disturbed, fear that someone will get in the house and kill my whole family since I was a child that I have a slight fear of doorbells. Can be sensitive to gorey images but not always a persistent fear unless I'm focused on it. In the streets I get stressed out by cars around me because I get thoughts that someone will shoot me and kill me from the car. Fear of dying in general as a kid I saw a video that talked about if you see fish in your dream it means you'll die soon and I wasn't able to sleep for a long time without literally collapsing out of tiredness because I was scared of sleeping and dying in my sleep. -Irrational fears when I hear really loud sounds, as a kid I'd hear sounds of parties or so and it stresses me out because I got intrusive thoughts about someone playing party songs but killing everyone in the enjoyment of the killing. Doorbell sounds stress me out and I keep hearing the doorbell ringing in my ears a lot that I check the door randomly sometimes. -When I play games I have to do things a certain way and I can click on a button multiple times in a different pattern until it feels right, repeating prayers constantly until they feel right. Same with the breathing from before idk if these count -I question morals a lot, I'm not sure If it's in an ocd manner but I am really scared of being a bad person with bad morals, I get scared I'm racist and sometimes I see someone from a different race and I get racist thoughts like racial slurs or so get in my head, I question morals in general a lot and the idea of them and why they exist. And that makes me scared that I'm just a terrible person and I don't want to be. I can fixate on "trying to do what's right" too much that I end up messing up more -Immense guilt on things from a long time ago that I already dealt with. -what I'd say my worst compulsions are (pure o I think) : Checking constantly, feelings or thoughts or reactions. Sneaky reassurance seeking from friends and confessing my thoughts. Excessive ruminating trying to find an answer, can take so long out of my life that I can't eat or drink. Researching my thoughts and asking people. Repeating prayers in my head constantly even though I'm not religious anymore but I get so disturbed by my thoughts.

I wrote these two poems for an open mike poetry night at my college a few years ago. Freshman year of college my anxiety ate me alive. I chickened out last minute and never performed, but I recently found the notebook I wrote these in and thought I’d share. i’m sO sCareD You say, "Oh my god, I’m so OCD about my notes," while I am drowning in the undertow of thoughts that refuse to let me go. You say, "I just like things neat, you know?" while I check the lock again and again, wondering if this time will be the time my brain believes me— but it never does. It's the monster under the bed except it lives in my head, whispers masquerading as instincts, warnings dressed as logic, fear that wears me like a second skin. And oh, how easy it is to laugh it off, call it a quirk, a habit, a punchline, while I stand at the brink of a thought so loud I can feel it crack my ribs. You say, "I’m so OCD about my computer icons." I say, I can’t hold my mother’s hand without tracing the veins, make sure she’s alive, still beating and bleeding, rewinding, replaying, repeating, repeating, until I become the pattern itself. I say, I live on a hill. And if the picture frames aren’t straight, the ground will shift, the walls will give way, my home will collapse beneath me. And I can’t let it go? I say, I step in threes, three, three, three, reset, three, three— reset. Because if I do it wrong, something worse will happen, though I don’t know what, only that the terror knows it for me. I am not particular. I am prisoner. So when you say OCD, I hope you mean the way it steals— the way it clings, the way it suffocates, because it is not about preference. It is about survival. hallway girl. Why can’t I have the helpful OCD? The organized one, the productive one, the one people praise instead of whisper about? Why can’t my compulsions make me a genius instead of a joke? Why do they make me the hallway girl— “she’s still walking the hallway” as if it’s a comedy show. As if it’s funny to be trapped in my own head. You see it in sitcoms— the guy who can’t handle an uneven stack of papers, the woman who scrubs the counters too much, laugh track ringing loud— but no one laughs at the panic that coils in my lungs no one sees the terror when the stairs don’t add up and suddenly the earth is shaking and I can’t move No one shows the moments I cry over a step miscounted, staring at the hallway, knowing I have to start over, but already too exhausted to move. No one shows the shame, the whispered apologies, the effort of convincing myself this time, maybe, I’ll be strong enough to resist— but I never am. And no one shows the shoes. How I would run, sprint, chase time through our fifteen-minute break, Back to my room, because if they moved— if they weren’t exactly right— my dad would have a heart attack. And it would be my fault. So I checked. And checked. And checked again. Until I was breathless, But still had to sprint back to class and pretend I didn’t leave my mind behind with my shoes. So when they call me hallway girl, I bite my tongue so they don’t see how hard it takes Because if OCD is a joke, why am I the only one who isn’t laughing?