I was a child,
Not superstitious,
but stitious.
That’s what my parents said.
Even numbers only.
Only even numbers for the channel
and volume.
I wouldn’t touch the garbage
and yelled at my family when they did.
The upstairs door had to always be shut.
I could go on and on.
I am now in my thirties.
I impulsively wash my eyes out.
I avoid certain numbers.
My schizoaffective voices have a field day.
Intrusive thoughts.
My psychiatrist finally gave me a new diagnosis.
I’m not just superstitious.
I’m not even stitious.
I’m OCD.
Validation!
Finally.
One day no number will end me.