OCD’s Got This, by Cy Anne
I often deal with problems
by saying “I got this.”
This is a lie. I do not got this. I’ve got
an apartment and a bank account
and some living plants, but whatever
“This” is, I do not got. But what I do got
is OCD and OCD has got this. It has got
more things than I ever have, in fact
it owns every object in my house.
Every skin cell on my body, and it will
make sure that it’s got everything perfect.
OCD makes everything perfect. It’s got this
perfectly lined up row of dental floss.
It’s got every earring in the right drawer. Every
spiderweb in every corner,
the remotes for every electronic level
with each other on the table.
You need a weird assortment of emergency kits?
OCD made 7 yesterday. It’s got this
hypothetical situation under control,
even when my responsibilities fade into the ether
because I spent four hours alphabetizing.
OCD promises it will produce functionality.
Socks and a shirt the exact same pantone
shade of blue and I hope that if my boss
tells me again that I struggle with change
OCD can present labeled drawers of paper,
french fries from my dinner organized by size
because how can I struggle to deal with change
when all of it is inside the piggy bank
on the bottom shelf of the right bookshelf
unless it’s a quarter and then it’s in the
right pocket of the big pocket in my wallet
or if it’s European money it’s in the red cup
on the second shelf of the left bookshelf
or if it’s that one Roman coin it has to be
on the altar next to the wax candle lion.
And if it’s not, the world will surely end.
And no, Kathleen, I can’t deal with change,
but my OCD can deal with the anxiety
of being hit by a tsunami-height wall of change
every other day by focusing on everything
that isn’t changing unless I make it change,
and I wonder if there is a place I could admit,
I don’t got this.
Then my OCD would stop taking over
everything so I can say at least I’ve got
control over something. Even when it’s
digging into my nailbeds because they
stick up and so do all my scabs
and how can I be perfect if I have
such a human form? If I have such human
reactions to having zero control over anything
except making placemats symmetrical?
Or whether or not everything is a set of four?
So maybe if they forgive my student loans,
I’ll stop picking at myself until I bleed
or maybe if my mom had a retirement
I wouldn’t have to make a wish when
all the numbers in the time are the same.
But the reality is that this life is all disorder.
So I’ve got that. Dear god, do I have that.
But at least I’ve got something, because
I swear I’m not high strung for fun. I swear
I don’t enjoy being late for appointments
Because I can’t leave the house until
every object inside of it sits at right angles
But let me tell you how much better it feels
to step on every crack in the sidewalk
when the world is crumbling beneath you.
And if you think this is crazy, let me tell you
about how it is a superpower to put reason
into the unreasonable. To make cacophony
Music, because the truth is, none of us
have got this; this has gotten so out of hand,
but watch how I catch every piece of dust
from the funeral pyre. Watch how I line up
bodies and hopes and dreams like look,
it is Art now. I’ve got this art I made out of
what was once just disorder. It makes
sense now. I don’t got this, but at least
I’ve got… this.
Cy Anne is a queer writer and educator who is a lifelong Bay Area dweller. Their work, which increasingly critiques inhumane societal structures, has appeared in Sweet Wolverine, We’ve Been Too Patient, and the 16th & Mission 20th Anniversary Anthology.
