I’m standing in the streets. I know I’m wearing pants, but I keep checking. I’m sure I’m gonna die of cancer any second.Even though I don’t have cancer. I’m sure that I’m dying of AIDS, because I had a one night stand last weekend, even though we used a condom.
I feel scared.
I feel like my entire body is covered in germs. I think I can feel them crawling at my skins, even though I’m clean.
I feel duscusting.
I’m sure that I’ve lost something, I’m sure that I’m forgetting something.
I look down at my hands. I’m shaking. Like I’ve done a thousand times before.
I know it’s crazy. I know it’s not logical. But my heads is exploding with thoughts like these, and there are too many. I can’t let them go.
I go home. I shake. I feel sick. I’m sure I’m gonna die.
A few minutes later, I’m back to normal. Waiting for the next time, the OCD and the anxiety hits me.
I get so angry. My OCD and anxiety is always stronger, if I’m not throwing up, or cutting.
There is always something.