I need it off. I need to be clean. I can feel the oil and the dust against my skin. I need my skin off. It feels tight. Coated. Heavy. Sickly. Mucky.

I quickly get in the shower, and turn it on burning hot. I can barely stand the heat. But I can’t stand the dirt more.

I grab a rag and start dragging it and grating it against my skin. Quickly. And hard. I can feel my skin coming off as red marks are left behind. It almost makes me want to cry. But the dirt makes me want to cry more.

I was going to say i just scrubbed my body but it was so much more than that. I scraped it. Every imperfection. Every dirty part. Every bump. My dead skin rolls down my legs with the water, and The burn sets in. It burns like nothing else ever has. But at least im clean, right?

Every day i have to cleanse myself of the disgusting punishments of this world. The dust, the oils, and the smog.

It feels like a thick later against my body. Like im trapped.

Every single day, at the end, I have to cleanse myself, to restart my body.

Some days, It isn’t enough. The scraping. Some days I have to do it multiple times. This leaves raw skin patches along my arms and legs. I can feel them burn under my clothing. They barely heal for the next time i have to scrap myself. That’s when it really burns. I don’t know why I am the way am. All i know, is that i need to be clean.

For those who read this, this is a short story based on how my fiancé feels most days due to OCD.