child: people don’t bother to read things on the internet anymore. you seem to neglect this.
me: and yet, I write.
child: why?
me: i write because I cannot not write. i have ocd.
child: …i don’t understand
me: imagine if every thought that went through your mind solidified like a piece of hail.
imagine if it stubbornly instantiated itself — no longer ephemeral but physical and permanent.
before each next thought, you would need to either deal with the hail or wait, painfully, for it to melt.
child: that happens to me, too. we cling to thoughts and grapple with our emotions all the time.
me: you are correct. but for me, it is every thought. every frame on the roll. ocd rarely discriminates.
child: i see.
me: the one benefit? I gain a neat source of truth.
creating a resting ground for my thoughts gives me space to rest.
child: …this place is a mess. where should I start?