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Kari Allen I know but this shouldnt be called poetry. Call aggressive talking. There are slam poets that I've seen preform that are poetic in there words. I will say that some of Neil Hilborns poems are poetic in the traditional sense.
I watched this video years ago. It was when I was much younger, when my obsessions hadn't snowballed into the abomination they've become, when I still didn't have a name for what was already starting to destroy my life, when the symptoms he described were alien, and most of all when I hadn't yet lost a relationship with someone I loved because of OCD. (I would learn later that the last item on that list wasn't even true, but in that case it still wasn't my own OCD)
I watch this video now, and it has such a different context; the beauty is eclipsed by a personal bitterness that's similarly impressive for him to have evoked. I fell in love with a girl, flew across the country to live with her, and I got worse. I got much worse, though by the time I was there I'd already been getting worse for quite a long while, but regardless I got worse. She made me feel safe, and she made it all easier to deal with, but it still only ever got worse. When I had nothing to say in a moment, I had to tell her I loved her, I had to tell her she was beautiful, I had to tell her that she was the sweetest human being I ever met. I had to. She appreciated that. But when I broke down and was slamming on the floor with my vocabulary reduced to a single word that'd become my response to everything she'd say, that killed her inside to watch. I could see that killed her; I could read it so clearly on her face, and it made me spiral further.
I left her. I left her because she couldn't bring herself to leave me, and because I was never going to get better where I was. She loved me, and she still loves me. I loved her, and I still love her. Not a single day goes by where I don't regret that decision, but I regret daily just about everything I've ever done; that's simply how my brain operates. The pain of losing that anchor, that escape, that perfect person who my brain couldn't convince me didn't want me around... Of course I'll regret that every day. I regretted most the moment when my brain could finally convince me that she wouldn't want to talk to me, and that she didn't care for me. So I talk to her even when my brain tells me she doesn't want to listen, and I cry about her to people I'd never feel safe crying to before. I'm not comfortable calling those victories.
That's what watching this means to me today.
This entire piece of poetry is so beautifully painful to hear.. but i understand how he feels. Not exactly, but in a sense. My ex used to crawl through my window at night to greet me and now that hes gone i legitimately leave the window unlocked and when i saw this video i realized that this is the exact pain i feel without the mental illness of OCD. It sucks and im probably making no sense but man, this slam poetry speaks fucking volumes man.
Maybe this doesn't mean the same amount to everyone else as it does to me, but I found this not long after my dog Jake passed away.
He used to try to get into my room all the time but he'd steal things from it like a shoe or something so I'd just leave the door closed even when I was in it. I'd open it at night so he could sleep on my bed.
The line "I want her back so bad I leave the door unlocked" hit me so hard because even though it's been nearly two years, I haven't closed my door once. I've been hoping that I'd see it get shoved open all the way without an explanation and know he was still there.
This is by far my favorite poem. Anyone interested in poetry should definitely check out my most recent video. I am new to this but I would really appreciate the view and please comment your feelings. I hope whoever reads this checks it out. Please do and thank you.
I get that. My ex made me and my illness seem like a perfect piece of our puzzle... and every time since she left I compare everyone to her and think they aren't good enough because she was what made me whole more than my rituals and breath exercises ever could.
This poem inspired a book entitled "Some Sort of Happy". I don't have, nor do I know anyone with OCD, but the poem and the book gave me a greater understanding of the condition. My heart goes out to those people and those who love them!
It has been a few years since I first saw this and this was the first time that I didn’t cry and ball my eyes out for this... I’ve come a long way haha! Honestly I just really love this poem. I can’t describe how amazing it is.
OCD is so much more than ‘having things neat’. It’s so upsetting when someone asks me about it and that’s all they believe it is. It’s awful but it’s irreparable; no amount of medicine will fix it permanently. It makes me more comfortable with myself to see a poem that voices the true effects and gives examples as to how OCD really is. I love it.
"When you have obsessive compulsive disorder you don't really ever get quite moments"...that part...why don't you want to go out, why don't you have energy, you slept enough...there's no way to tell people there's times you feel prisoner in your own bathroom because you're stuck trying to wash your hands, and how absolutely over you are because you know this behavior makes no sense but you've done it this way and nothing terrible has happened so you can't stop doing it this way...I quit drinking over four years ago...for me Alcoholism didn't have shit on OCD...everyone talks about how drugs and alcohol effect the families of loved ones who suffer from the disease, no one really ever talks about the stress OCD puts on it, it astounds me that with all of our technology, all the resources, and all that science has taught us, how archaic the general view of mental health in the USA is...it may not be the lobatomies, shock treatments, and insainasylums of the past, but definitely not where it should be, I think the suicide and crime starts are plenty evident of that. Thank you to people like Neil for helping to dispel the stigma, we need more like him if we are to move forward in this arena.
As someone who is in a relationship with someone who suffers from OCD I sympathize with “her.” Being with someone with OCD comes a long with a lot of heartache and yet that pain is never really acknowledged because the other person is mentally il and can’t help it. The guilt she must felt making that final decision to leave must have been crippling.
Damn it, I should be asleep right now. But no, I heard segments of this when I was listening to a chillstep track. So I had to find it. Then I had to read a few comments, but after nearly 50, I was finally able to stop and move on to writing my own. Seeing him perform it was powerful. But listening to him with this kind of music...it digs deeply into my soul, then tries to rip it out.
I did this as a monologue for my last semester at college. I had gone through a breakup several months prior. I have complex-PTSD and hearing how other people with mental illnesses struggle with these kinds of things makes me feel like I’m not alone.
when i was 13, i went to a mental hospital, one of the biggest issues i had going on mentally at that time being ocd, but i hadnt been diagnosed yet. while i was waiting for a spot to open up in the ward, i was on a different floor of the hospital and my nurse that stayed with me at all times gave me his book with this poem in it because it reminded her of me and how i handled things. i completely forgot i had it and that that happened until i came across this video