OCD, Anxiety, Depression, and other reasons I am not an Astronaut: Part III


In no particular order:

I remember at a young age my need for routine was ingrained, part of my fibre and core. My Mum tells me she recalls an incident at pre school where my classroom had been moved to a different part of the school and I completely flipped. In a way I am still the same now.

Today for example, my fiancé moved a shoe rack and put it under the stairs instead of downstairs in its home, where it lived and by being downstairs kept the universe in perfect sync. Ok, I didn’t flip out, but I was very concerned for a good half an hour. ‘What if I can’t access my shoes as easy as I could before?’ and other questions of a similar nature circulated my mind until the next thing to be concerned about came into play.

I think that’s how mental health issues can be, in my case I am fuelled by anxiety, which stokes the flames of my OCD which once burnt out makes me depressed, and I am left as just some pile of smoking ash, just about warm but nearly dead (cheery).

I need to get back into my training properly, I enjoyed boxing, I enjoyed running, and I enjoyed the gym. But that is what mental health problems do, take away what you love. I feel in some senses I am still a bit broken, a bit beaten. Since my breakdown in 2017 I feel like a veil has been lifted and I see through different eyes but at the same time the ball and chain weighs just as heavy. I am just very tired all the time.  I need to admit the problem is still there and not see it as failure.


(image sourced from Google)


The Ring Walk

All quiet now against the roaring crowd,

Head down through the taunts and cheers.

Focus is what grips

Not nerves

Nor fears.

A numb feeling of purpose and pride,

All doubt is cast, all cares aside.

It is now when the sprinting red eyed mornings will show their worth,

Pounding those weary feet,

Against the always awake and woken earth.

Skipping echo’s and razors the cracked dust ground,

While agile feet keep their beat and mirrors,

The guiding tone.

Rounds upon rounds sharpen the blade and arrow tip,

Burning the arms and fatten the lip.

Weeks of repetition ground down into a powder and paste,

While in the present is always bitter and venom the taste,

But sweeter,

Is a future risen arm.



Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.