O.C.D.

Yes, Master? I hear you calling me again. I was on my way upstairs, but you stopped me.

I’m busy. You don’t need me right now. I will ignore you. What you want me to do is wrong – I know that – and so this time I will resist. I remind myself that I am strong, but you call again and my steps turn.

I rationalize: it will only take a second…

Master, why do you do this to me? You harm me, you shame me, and I hate you for it. Yet you satisfy me in the strange, incomprehensible way known only to your slaves.

We are the nail-biters (lucky are they), the scab-pickers, the hair-pullers, the hand-washers, the counters and so many others. Like a master puppeteer, you manage us, you direct our movements, you interrupt our lives.

Yes, Master, I will do your bidding again – but just this time. When it is done I will feel shame and anger, and I will vow that it is the last time I will bow to your demand.

Master, will you ever let me go?

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