Power Couple: OCD & Anxiety

I live my life in twos.

My hand brushes against the brick wall. Without a moment's hesitation, I spin and brush the other. It's even, and I relax.

I tread lightly on a loose stone laying on the path. I stop in my tracks and position the other foot over the rock, pressing down until the feeling is mirrored. It's even, and I keep walking.

My bag weighs down my right shoulder. My mum always tells me to use both straps; "You're straining your back." I never used to care.

Now I feel the pressure, and switch from right shoulder to left. I want to make it even.

The way the bag dug into my right side isn't the same on my left - a binder inside is askew, and no matter how much I twist and turn, it won't fit.

It's not right. It's not the same.

The binder is pressing into my lower spine, and my twisting has made the strap rub my shoulder. The skin is burning from the friction, but it doesn't compare to the fire I feel in my now too empty right shoulder. There's a feeling missing. It's wrong.

The strap feels red-hot, burning the skin on my shoulder. I snap and slide the other strap on.

The binder presses on my right hip and my spine, but my left side is empty.

The strap on the left side is tighter than the right, like a hand gripping my shoulder. I'm still walking, but the hand seems to be pulling me the way I came.

I become aware of my breath, burning in my throat with each inhale. Each one comes faster than the last.

The bag is wrong. My shoulders are wrong.

I can feel the binder on one hip and not the other.

It's off.

It's wrong.

"Fix it."

Shut up.

"It's wrong. It's off."

I know. There's nothing I can do about it.

"Fix it now."

I'm trying. 

My skin is burning. The pressure spreads from my shoulders to my spine and shoots down my legs.

My foot scuffs the ground, the sole of my shoe catching a crack in the concrete.

"It's not even."

I know. I can fix it.

I drag the other foot across the ground.

"Too much. Too much. It's off. You're off."

I can't think.

I don't know if I'm still walking. 

My shoulder burns.

My hip is empty.

There's a hole where the feeling should be.

Five toes are jammed into the front of my shoe and five aren't.

Five are off.

Half are off.

It's not even.

There's pressure where there shouldn't be and emptiness where I need feeling. I'm off.

"You're off."

I can't breathe.

"Fix it."

I can't.

"It's not even."

I'm not even.

"It's wrong."

It's all wrong. I'm burning.

"Fix it."

I can't.