Stress dreams and endless checking of locks: What a day with obsessive compulsive disorder is like

A hymnary recitation of barking imps stretched out the listless medication night. Barely visible, the twisted horrors chatter before a turkey vulture who holds a tormented man, hung exhausted, in its crumpled, clacking beak.

A 7 a.m. shaking alarm kicks me from this stress-dream, the day breaking out of the loosening jaws of sleep. Symphonic music crackles 100 instruments deep, blaring in my cerebral dawn. A racket cacophony of obsession.

The mad tuning of a hundred instruments demanding perfect pitch by a honed ear, led by a tyrannical conductor measuring out each and every sound and movement in an endless loop.

At this point each day, a prison of forced routine begins leading me about like a wild dog on a chain, to visit the same torments until the end of my time. Anxiety builds by the panic-architect wringing out my lungs. A mock amphetamine belly at terror's evil dawn.

Then, I wipe away the soft rampage of collected dust from the caves of my face.

True obsessive compulsive disorder is a highly debilitating ordeal that controls the lives and actions of the afflicted.

I have, reluctantly, come to understand that I am somewhat haunted with this disorder. It has been confirmed by a psychiatrist and I have added medication to my already hearty regimen.