Bile

This is a small writing about OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) and a man in a relationship with a woman with OCD. It is a small story/poem thing. Feedback welcomed!

 

Hearing the door slam 6 times was the hello I got every evening when you arrived home from work. You’d wipe your

 feet 8 or 10 times before entering the living room and flickering on the lamp another 4 times. I knew that it wasn't

your fault when you accidentally knocked over the vase and said “s**t” 16 times before you finally could breathe

 again. In bed I could feel you counting sheep in even intervals, 20, 40, 60, 80, 100. Sometimes I would reach over and pull you closer and you’d recount my fingers on your ribcage and get anxious when it wasn’t an even number. I’d plant small kisses on your cheek and make sure to number them. One morning, I leave for work and within 4 hours exactly, you call me. You are calm as you rasp out that you took 26 pills because you couldn’t take it anymore. I feel myself falling, as you say “I love you” 8 times before hanging up. Now my greeting when I get home is silence and I spend my time counting the days I live without you.

-          I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Chris]

MethandCats, this is wonderfully written.
The story sent a knife right through me.
Every adorable scene became mere borders
To frame the deepest void.

[MethandCats]

Thank you so much.