(un)comfortable | Teen Ink

(un)comfortable

December 26, 2022
By r4vvv3n BRONZE, Warren, Massachusetts
r4vvv3n BRONZE, Warren, Massachusetts
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
but she was burning out, while he stayed a perfect flame.


Loud music blasts from a small digital clock radio that reads 2:21. The bass becomes muffled with each song. The girl sits in a comfortable, what’s supposed to be in a living room, chair. Her legs sit under the rest of her body. Her right elbow is pressed against the crease between the arm and back of the brown pleather chair that seems to be her sanctuary for the past few months. A small reading lamp is clipped to the body of the floor lamp in the teenager’s room. In her lap rests a mostly completed sketch book. Pencil marks and eraser shavings on the pad of paper and her legs. She had been drawing a rough sketch of a dragon which is almost perfect. To any other person than herself, it would be perfect. The shading is what’s bothering her, along with the background. Blank, besides the occasional eraser shaving and smudge of the pencil.

I should have shaded the dragon in the opposite direction. I should rip this paper out and crumple it up and throw it away. Suddenly the teen becomes uncomfortable and decides to just shut the sketchbook. She doesn't know where to put it though. On the arm of the chair? No, that's not right. On her desk? Should she place it at a 45 degree angle? No, something bad will happen.

What if the house will burn down? I’ll trip and fall and make a fool of myself tomorrow at school. I'll accidentally hurt the cat. Mom and I will get into a fight. She settles on placing the crinkled binding of papers next to the pleather chair and the pencil and eraser atop. She wrings out her hands, red from gripping the pencil too harshly. The girl stands up to walk away but checks back to the pad of paper, feeling as though it's not in the right place, position, something isn’t right. Her hands go to hold her neck, thumbs on her collarbones.

If I leave it there, Mom will die. No it will be me. I'll get sick. I'll have a bad day tomorrow. Breathing is too light, air is coming in too quickly. Her airway feels as if someone had replaced it with tissue paper, but also feels like someone pushed her to the ground and sat on her back.


The author's comments:

I wrote this vignette for my creative writing class, it's special to me because it allowed me to express to others how obsessive-compulsive disorder can really make even the most tranquil moments quite difficult to handle. I hope anyone else struggling with OCD can relate to this and reach out for help.


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