A friend once confided that she wanted the love described in Neil Hilborn’s “OCD,” and I wondered if she knew what she was saying. If she understood the gravity of that came with such a love. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder isn’t a quirk. It’s not the cute trope popular culture has painted it. And it’s not romantic. Not in the sense that she heard the poem anyway. “She was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on,” Hilborn writes, after listing the terrible things that has occupied his mind. The germs invading his skin, being crushed by cars. To be stuck on someone is to obsess over someone. To be obsessed over someone is poison your own well. To consume fetid waters until your…