Every Last Word

by Tamara Ireland Stone

a fear of not belonging that runs so deep it changes you into someone you don’t want to be.

But now, everything is so quiet. Not just the pool, but my mind, too. I don’t even feel the urge to swim to the beat of a song. I’m mentally spent. Out of words. Out of thoughts. It feels so good to be this empty. It’s so peaceful.

I feel that familiar swirling in my mind, starting like a whirlpool, spinning slowly, steadily, but preparing to build and speed, fed by information and the need for more information, until it’s a full-on maelstrom.

I’ve been manically opening window after window, clicking on link after link, scanning site after site, but I’m still following this white rabbit down the hole, trying to feed my brain enough information to reach my own personal wonderland.

It’s my OCD, this inexplicable, uncontrollable need to know one thing, and then one more thing, and then yet another thing, until my brain is exhausted.

I was tired all the time, because trying to function while you’re trying to ignore all those swirling thoughts is physically and mentally draining.

And I want to stop, but I can’t, because telling someone with OCD to stop obsessing about something is like telling someone who’s having an asthma attack to just breathe normally. My mind needs more information. The rabbit hole still hasn’t come to an end.