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literature

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

Daily Deviation
beingabletobreathe's avatar
By beingabletobreathe   |   Watch
447 58 5K (1 Today)
Published: March 18, 2011
When I was little, it use to amaze me how colors were made. In art class I would sit and mix paint because blue and red didn't stay the same when they fell in love. Every single color found its match and danced beautifully as I swirled them together. Black and white were my favorites. I'd pour the creamy paint into a bowl and watch as black and white swirls, turned into grey swirls and owned the container holding it captive. Grey was amazing to me. Because black and white are nothing alike, and grey is in the middle. Black is dark and scary and demanding. And white is graceful, and trusting, and clean. Grey is nothing. Grey is bland. And safe. Grey is careful. And I would do anything to be grey.



Friendship is black and turns to ash in my hands. It is dust, so hard to hold. I am keeping still so none escapes, but it feels like at any moment, the wind will kick up and steal it all away. Every move I make is monitored and judged. I am wary about my words and am second guessing everything. My friends are ash and seem hard to hold even with the cleanest hands. My friends are hiding things and playing with matches and telling me tales and I am sitting on the side, scrutinizing every word. They cannot be grey. Because nothing is grey. I am careful because they are worth my exhaustion, and the thoughts that go into keeping me sane. I am what feels like no shade at all. I am never on the fence. I am never anywhere. I am living where it's safest, I am choosing nothing and siding with no one. I stay the same. I stay where it feels, but cannot be…grey.



Being alone is white and is like snow ever falling on me. It is easy. And there is nothing to it. It's untouchable because flaws and imperfections slip away like dreams and whenever I screw up, I am my only witness. I can think my way out of disaster because being alone means I'm not alive to anyone but me. Alone feels like history. I can think of people everywhere who can only hear their own heartbeat, this very instant, sometimes always. But, like history, it's something I'm only aware of, never touching. I can think them into love and warmth and Christmas all I want, but as their minutes pass, loneliness keeps falling; white and cold, like a blanket of snow.



Love is grey. And no one will let me think so. But, I am unconvinced and letting weeks slip by without absence take over. Some people love and fall apart because breathing never seems quite as satisfying when no one is waiting for your chest to rise and fall. Some people dive in, head first, and lose themselves before they even knew exactly where to find them. Most people search forever, and feel black, and empty, until they see their first snow flake fall from heaven like an accident. And after that, life is white. Because if you could choose, whatever else would it be?



But, I don't love like that. I cannot swim and I can breathe all by myself. I am not guarded. But I like logic. I like the way it looks and feels beneath my bare feet. I don't see myself as capable of letting go, and falling in. I'll probably always think in reason. I may forever set up camp on the fence post. Where the temperature is just right, all year around. This way my feet stay grounded, and my head still gets a view. This way I feel safe, but I feel wanted. It seems in a world of black and whites, that simply doesn't happen. When you find happiness, you are almost always leaving logic in the dust, and skipping towards some silver lined image that turns into ash as you approach. Well, I'm not skipping. I am walking, maybe at a mosey. I am taking my time and thinking of the future and weighing my options and playing it safe and being realistic and doing a million things that one does not do when they fall in love. I do not want to fall.



Love is grey. Everything on this planet is black and white. Nothing, ever, in any case, never is any shade different. There are things that are, and will always be awful, and tainted, and terrible and inevitable. And those things do not change. While far in the distance beauty, and perfection, and ecstasy remain unharmed by shadows. These things never touch. They never mix like paint to make a reality with survivable ups and downs. They never make love and make greyness. They never create for you a happy medium.



Unless it's love. Love is grey. Love is dark and light and black and white and holds everything awful and everything beautiful in it's hands. Nothing, ever, is everywhere all at once. Nothing is both colors, in harmony, at last. Nothing is ever black and white. Nothing is ever a perfect shade of grey. Nothing but love.
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Everyone’s been there. As a child, your mom would take you to Wal-Mart, Target, or, if you lived near rich people as a kid, Toys-R-Us. Anywhere with toys. And being a child, you wanted to pick them up, play with them, put them in the buggy in hopes that your mom would buy them. Heck, at that age, you didn’t get the concept of money or buying things with money. You just wanted to play with it. And you wanted Mom to let you take it out of the store. If she said no, some of the braver ones among you would sneak it in the buggy anyway. Maybe mom didn’t notice. Maybe she did and bought it anyway. But typically, what would happen
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the 'd' word
when i was seven years old, my mother, tear-streaks drying on her cheeks, fingered her wedding band and told me, “love hurts, sweetie, that’s how you know it’s a good love.” two days later, my father came back home. he was missing his wedding ring and when he left again, he left a handprint on my mother’s cheek that she carried with her even after the bruise was gone. i grew up without a father influence in my mother’s world and without a mother influence in my dad’s. neither of them got remarried. they had found each other and that was enough. they had found each other and that was too much. i gre
I
I do not like you poets
I do not like you poets breathing into my sorry head like the air hasn't been wasted a half-a-million times folding up my lungs to place them neatly into a wastebasket how can you make me stop hurting & then just leave me a limp lettuce leaf on the backside of some dirty napkin verse I am not the jealous type but I'm going to call up Melpomene & ask her where she's been send her drunk texts all night because I'm too tired of filling up my skull with cicada skins instead of led while you make it all too easy to sleep through a heartattack or two my pygmalion, my god, my thing of legends tell me when you were being taught the siren's son
© 2011 - 2019 beingabletobreathe
I'm so sleepy.
Recommended Literature
L
Looking With Your Hands
Everyone’s been there. As a child, your mom would take you to Wal-Mart, Target, or, if you lived near rich people as a kid, Toys-R-Us. Anywhere with toys. And being a child, you wanted to pick them up, play with them, put them in the buggy in hopes that your mom would buy them. Heck, at that age, you didn’t get the concept of money or buying things with money. You just wanted to play with it. And you wanted Mom to let you take it out of the store. If she said no, some of the braver ones among you would sneak it in the buggy anyway. Maybe mom didn’t notice. Maybe she did and bought it anyway. But typically, what would happen
t
the 'd' word
when i was seven years old, my mother, tear-streaks drying on her cheeks, fingered her wedding band and told me, “love hurts, sweetie, that’s how you know it’s a good love.” two days later, my father came back home. he was missing his wedding ring and when he left again, he left a handprint on my mother’s cheek that she carried with her even after the bruise was gone. i grew up without a father influence in my mother’s world and without a mother influence in my dad’s. neither of them got remarried. they had found each other and that was enough. they had found each other and that was too much. i gre
I
I do not like you poets
I do not like you poets breathing into my sorry head like the air hasn't been wasted a half-a-million times folding up my lungs to place them neatly into a wastebasket how can you make me stop hurting & then just leave me a limp lettuce leaf on the backside of some dirty napkin verse I am not the jealous type but I'm going to call up Melpomene & ask her where she's been send her drunk texts all night because I'm too tired of filling up my skull with cicada skins instead of led while you make it all too easy to sleep through a heartattack or two my pygmalion, my god, my thing of legends tell me when you were being taught the siren's son
Comments58
anonymous's avatar
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moonshadowxxx's avatar
Sorry… I felt lost and bored after few words… isn't it possible to make a resume? :/
mojo213's avatar
You did an amazing job writing this. I really like your word choice.
TheArcticHuntress's avatar
TheArcticHuntressHobbyist Writer
This is a very beautiful and thoughtful piece. I love the poetry in every line. I can't say I agree with everything in here, but the beauty of great writing means that I can still enjoy it and love this piece despite whether or not I agree with it. Though don't worry, my disagreements are only on a few of the minor details as I myself live my world in shades of grey.
beingabletobreathe's avatar
Thanks for taking the time to read this! I'm glad you enjoyed it! 
YogaTeacher's avatar
YogaTeacherHobbyist Writer
Grey is my favourite colour. I find it beautiful. What you said about love being grey- your description of love as a grey in a black and white world- was beautiful.
towertramp's avatar
"Some people love and fall apart because breathing never seems quite as satisfying when no one is waiting for your chest to rise and fall. "
This line is incredible! I really enjoyed reading this. Wonderful work!
WritingxSQUIRRELxFTW's avatar
WritingxSQUIRRELxFTWHobbyist Writer
This was my favorite piece of this as well - absolutely beautiful writing. 😁
teabutton's avatar
teabuttonStudent General Artist
I seriously love this. Thank you.
WildBeastTamerdoesMC's avatar
I kept reading this over and over. I love it! 
chompies's avatar
i don't even know which words to use to describe how wonderful this is! you are an amazing writer! :heart:
breerothman's avatar
breerothmanProfessional Digital Artist
Congrats on your DD! :pumpkin:
Okitakehyate's avatar
Very interesting. I can relate on so many levels! Things have always been the same with me when it comes to friends... "Friendship is black and turns to ash in my hands. It is dust, so hard to hold. I am keeping still so none escapes, but it feels like at any moment, the wind will kick up and steal it all away" describes my life perfectly... My friends would always leave me no matter how hard I tried to hold them.. I wasted many years "playing it safe" before I finally gave up all hope & let go of nearly every friend I ever had... my heart aches to think about it.. but I realized with time that if they couldn't except me as I am they weren't "worth the exhaustion" or even "the thoughts that were keeping me sane"... I eventually let go of them and my sanity & let my mind be devoured by insanity... Unfortunately it was then that I found love & fell in... into that perfect shade of gray.. The most beautiful shade that I had ever laid eyes upon... When I am with my love he & I are gray together always... but unfortunately his mother is the kind whom when I'm around I must fit the mindset of "I am wary about my words and am second guessing everything." which is a mind set I have long since forgotten.. because she wants me to be "graceful, trusting & clean white", but I am only white when I am alone... because "Being alone is white and is like snow ever falling on me. It is easy. And there is nothing to it. It's untouchable because flaws and imperfections slip away like dreams and whenever I screw up, I am my only witness. I can think my way out of disaster because being alone means I'm not alive to anyone but me." that was how I grew up... but when I'm not alone the whole world can see that really truly at my core I am... "dark, scary, and demanding black"... Only when I am with my love can I truly be gray... For he is my white. I constantly skip tword that silver lined image though... even though his mother constantly tries her best to turn it into ashes... Right now at best my life is a midnight snow in the cold dark north... the sky is always black as far as the eye can see & the white snow never stops falling.... I stand & wait for that day when he can leave his mom behind & we can marry & be gray together forever...
TheGalleryOfEve's avatar
TheGalleryOfEveProfessional Digital Artist
Congratulations on your well-deserved DD!!! :iconflyingheartsplz::iconlainloveplz::iconflyingheartsplz: :clap::clap::clap:
SwimmingSiren's avatar
Beautiful. I have struggled with OCD and depression for a long time and this describes it well.
LunarSpoon's avatar
LunarSpoonHobbyist Traditional Artist
Interesting philosophies! :heart: It sounds more like Asperger's syndrome.
I-is-smart's avatar
I-is-smartHobbyist General Artist
possible, its not uncommon to have both OCD and Aspergers I have both I think... I know I am an Aspie but I have strong suspicions that I also have OCD

the parts about preferring logic to all out emotion, friendships being fragile (I.E. social awkwardness causing friends to misunderstand or outright ditch you) and the enjoyment of spending time alone where she won't be judged on mistakes and can think more clearly sound somewhat like aspergers but I am no psychologist so I can't diagnose it.

I can relate to her thought processes in some ways though not on all parts but thats natural because even if she is an aspie she has different life experiences and ideas then me. also she seems better with words then me, making somewhat beautiful poetry where as I give a technical analysis of everything XD
LunarSpoon's avatar
LunarSpoonHobbyist Traditional Artist
I know, I also have both. xD 
The writing felt more relatable to Asperger's, although many other conditions are associated with AS like OCD or ADD. It just feels like people throw around "OCD" a lot so it's getting harder for people to take it seriously. 

Really, this art is so descriptive and filled with imagery, that I think it could relate to anything.
skythekid1's avatar
skythekid1Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Amazing...and so true :D
IfYouSayYouLoveMe's avatar
IfYouSayYouLoveMeHobbyist Writer
This gave me chills... It's amazingly written!
kmills95's avatar
kmills95Hobbyist Writer
Wow, I love this take on the colour grey... So different than the way I view it. This is an extraordinary piece of literature. Thank you :)
Arthur55623's avatar
Arthur55623Hobbyist Writer
Wow, great job!
PrincessRosalina100's avatar
PrincessRosalina100Hobbyist General Artist

:iconcongratsdd1plz::iconcongratsdd2plz::iconcongratsdd3plz:

you're a good writer btw

anonymous's avatar
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