When you try to write before your battery on five percent dwindles down and you think.. okay, so I’m not thinking. This is good, it’s great. This ocd thing, a totally effed-up disorder of the brain and I am fighting it still, amidst being caught within surely one of the weirdest, oddest, strangest, most tiring and painful mental existences imaginable. I am doing what all of the doctors and books, etc. have told me to do. Have done this for decades, actually. Silence is the key, but silence for an ocd sufferer is… arguably the most difficult thing to obtain. Imagine for a moment, if you will, that a speeding train with no brakes is flying along the tracks and it is about to be derailed and it will end up killing fifty-five people. You have to try and stop it with your hands and standing immediately in-front of it: that’s ocd at its most chronic with regards the utter derailment of brain. The utter almost impossibility of stopping it. Turning it off – the imbalanced and utterly illogical intrusive thoughts are, in this instance, the train’s engine. Until, that is, it becomes possible. We are all trying for the ultimately impossible