Midnights (a poem about OCD)

I wrote this in freshman year...but that was the peak of my struggles with OCD. I really am dumping everything I've been through on this blog LOL, but once I get these things off my chest I think I'll be ready to write about happier things or get to other important topics aside from personal stories.
BTW, I never thought I would recover from OCD. But at some point in my sophomore year, I realized that it had gotten better to the point where I'd almost fully recovered. So to anyone who is struggling out there, please trust and know that it will get better eventually.

Midnights

Nights and nights of ceaseless
Door-shutting, faucet-closing, electronic-checking, face-
scrutinizing, bladder-squeezing
—and yesterday, laundry-prodding; getting to a point
where your mind is on the brink of destruction, collapse, internal combustion;
forced-out tears on the red edge of nerves; stalking, diluted acid
like psychotic scribbles of nearly dried-out markers
on a blank sheet of sandpaper
you just want to fall back into mama’s hold
and into slumber, on your pillow that smells like
hugs and moonlight and freshly-baked bread;
but thoughts will persist like merciless pests
pounding, sneering, expecting to be admitted, like waves of waves waiting
for you to dip your dogs into their speckled grey, masking amiability
only to drown you. you’ll repeat the same syllables over and over, pauses in-between,
dramatic, slow; one, two, three; just to make sure you know it
if one is gone, another will come
finally you’ve had enough.
even if a burglar intrudes, or the water bills stack high
or the iPad falls off the counter in the middle of the night
you are going to SLEEP,
because you’ve already checked 3x3x3 = 27 times—and even if you didn’t
those preposterous events are not going to happen.
at four in the morning you’re awoken by a nightmare you can’t recall
and the strange feeling you had as a child when you were lost in the mall
for the first time, or realized you’re going to live without your parents one day
crashes over you, and you impulsively want to run down the hall to check that they’re still there but what about the monsters behind your door?
For what seems like half the night, with soft lavender blankets cascading over marble legs
You sit here numb, immobile, until you vaguely hear robins through the window
Crikey, we’re trying to sleep here! but at least you’re no longer alone.
Jazzy orchestral chirrups crescendo and smorzando and at last, you can
Close your eyes with certainty
Dream of clouds and cotton candy
As the composition cadenzas into dawn, the rosy daylight rises behind your eyelids
Eccentric staccatos, tenutos, slurs, trills, turns, and mordents adorned remind you of
People to live for, people to die for; people who bring you hope
And today, those people include yourself.