Nikita - The Pit

My name is Nikita and I live in a small seaside town with my incredible mum and two doggies. It seems quite sad to say, but I cannot remember a time in my life in which OCD wasn't present. It's always been around and it upsets me to think that I haven't really lived a "normal" day in my life. Despite the poison I feel from OCD it does not stop me from doing creative things. I guess for me being creative in any way I can is a good type of therapy for me! I started a blog when I was 18 and I try input a lot of my creativity there as it gives me a feel good boost.

My blog can be found here… www.thegirlwithocd.com

The Pit
This poem started to form and piece together in my head when I was driving home from work. Certain snippets of the poem would swirl around my head gradually on those lonely drives home. I didn't want to tell anyone how I was feeling at that time but it wasn't a nice place to be. The Pit represented my mind. The torture OCD was causing me and how I felt as though I was slipping away from all help, I started to feel like I had zero control over it and I was unfixable. The only way out of "this pit" was to grasp hold of any kind of help and drag myself back up into the bright daylight. Life. I'm working on it slowly, but at least I'm not near to the bottom of it as I was originally!

The Pit

by Nikita

She’s smiling but she’s falling.
She skipped along the path, smiling at everyone she passed.
Her foot slipped. As did her smile.
She realised she was falling.
Falling down such a narrow, dark cramped pit.
She could barely see any light. How far will she falls before it is “the end”?

She slipped so slowly but fell so rapidly.
Nobody else seems to have fallen down with her.
She can’t see anyone.
It’s just her, alone.

She has no idea how deep this pit is.
Is it a well? Because if so she’s desperate to wish her way out.
In the distance she sees water and it’s rising.
The more she falls the more the water rises.
She is scared she is going to drown.

She needs to scream. Alert somebody.
But not a sound comes out her mouth.
There’s nobody around to hear her anyway.
She accepts self destruct, what else has she got left?

A hand grabs hers, she’s clinging on for dear life.
If she lets go that is it.
She’s clutching on to the last bit of hope that remains to pull her out.
Pull her out of this deep, dark pit.

The pit is her mind.