Cola Diet Other, Chapter 2: The Plot Thickens (Rough)

My twitching leg woke me up at 1:15 am. It was now November 1^st, and tomorrow would be my birthday. In less than 24 hours I’d have made history and broken world records for being the first 18-year-old straight male to have never had any contact in any way with a female. No sex was a gimme, and I had become used to the months flying by without even the glimpse of a first kiss, but not having done anything else by this point in my life was just ridiculous. Mostly I just longed to snuggle with a girl. Fully clothed, PG-13 two people hugging the shit out of each other, feeling the warmth of each other’s bodies and getting that magical fluttering sense that words couldn’t possibly describe, the one that only occurred with the uniting of two bodies.

 

 

I stretched, looked down and – dear Lord, my leg wasn’t twitching. It was Cleo going to town on my right shin, despite the fact she was a female, and fixed. Ever since she met my neighbor’s unneutered male dog she’d been humping everything in sight. I set her onto the floor and laid back down.

 

 

I couldn’t get back to sleep. I got out of bed for some Ramen noodles, and nearly tripped over my locked metal safety deposit box I got with the special edition of Grand Theft Auto IV. It contained my dad’s fancy fishing knife built to cut through anything like butter. I’d only cut a few times in my life back in middle school, but even that I managed to fuck up. Not knowing anything I used a steak knife, having to saw back and forth in agony to get anywhere. I made a vow never to do it again, but if the time ever came I was prepared to do it right.

 

 

I checked seven times to make sure it was locked and tucked it back under my bed. Looking down I noticed something absolutely horrid that sent a chill up my spine: my left sock had fallen off in the middle of in the night. Fearing for the worst, I frantically turned around, relieved to see that my TV remote, Wii remote, PS3 controller, and Xbox 360 controller were all well out of range of things my vile foot could have contaminated while I was asleep. My feet, so putrid and disgusting. I wanted to cut them off, but eventually decided against the idea after realizing I wouldn’t be able to flaunt my beautiful Air Jordans around without them.

 

 

I slowly and carefully sat down on my bed and grabbed my stray sock that was supposed to protect my beloved world’s collectibles from the devil appendage, putting it back on while trying not to touch the godforsaken wretch. I ran to the bathroom, washed my hands and grabbed a new comforter, sheets, liner, and pillowcase. I ran back to my room with the untainted bedding and swapped it with the contaminated bedding. I put it in the dirty laundry, went into the closet and grabbed Oust, Pledge, Febreeze, Windex, and Bleach Spray. I ran back and went Dirty Harry on every spot my damn rotten foot had touched until my bed and carpet were saturated and Cleo began wheezing from the fumes.

 

 

_________________________________________________

 

 

Bullshit and lies, bullshit and lies. I was sick of it, but knew I had to tone it down and spruce it up a lot from what actually happened in order to please the Doctor. I leaned back, stretched out my arms and let out a monstrous yawn. Oh God, that was more than enough writing for one night. I was only on my third journal entry and knew I’d have to write many more cushy, clean, and fictionalized accounts of “the events leading up to my admission” before I’d have any chance of getting discharged. My left hand was aching; the most work it ever had to do up until that point was pound keys down on my MacBook Pro. I was so sick of the cloth-binded notepad, sick of the cheap BIC pen I stole from art, sick of being restricted to three squirts of soap, sick of barred windows, but most of all I was so sick of the constant, never ending barrage of scratches, cries, bangs, booms, screams and pounding. I needed to get the hell out of the youth wing of Stephen’s Mental Health Facility.

 

 

I peered over my shoulder to my new roommate, Dustin who had just arrived a few hours ago. He was on his side sleeping, back facing me. How he could sleep was beyond me, I’d been there for days and had hardly slept a single solitary minute. My thoughts were drawn to my roommate back home: Cleo. My eyes started to tear up, I missed her so much. I missed my mom, I missed my video games, I missed my movies, I missed wearing shoes with shoelaces, I missed Facebook, I missed school, I missed soda. Hell, I even missed my dad. But most of all I missed going to the bathroom and showering without a chaperone.

 

 

I wiped my tears away and hid the BIC pen back in the radiator slot under my desk where no one would find it. I had hardened up quite a bit since my arrival, learned a lot of things from the people I shared room and board with and I was more than ready to leave. But the Doctors and staff needed to see that change, and crying was not the way to show it.

 

 

I left the desk, laid down on the floor and scooted under my bed where I felt safe and alone. I reached over to my bottom drawer, pulling out the Polaroids of my dogs that my mom had brought me. I thought of her, probably crying her eyes out every second I was in this place, worried about me. I thought of how well she treated me, and I thought of how badly I treated her and my dad. If only she or anyone else I knew could see me now: lying on dirty floors, writing in a notebook, drinking water out of paper cups. I was a regular Grizzly Adams.

 

 

I started to think of all the kids sleeping in the rooms scattered around me, I thought of everything they’d been through, and all of their stories. Suddenly, it was impossible not to let go and I cried the hardest, truest, purest, deepest, most amazingly intense cry that I’ve ever cried in my entire life. Tears and snot were flowing down my face by the gallon, filled with millions of disgusting germs, but for the first time in my life I didn’t give a shit. How could I have been so naïve, so arrogant, so foolish, so blind, so downright stupid my entire life!?

 

 

I just sat around, living my life with the best mom ever, a loving dad, brother and sister, oodles of pets, and every fucking material thing I ever wanted. I didn’t have a clue. I didn’t have a clue that not everyone’s parents had a great marriage, not everyone had little doggies to play with, not everyone could chose who they had sex with or if they had sex, not everyone lived in the suburbs and not everyone had a great home life to go back to when they got discharged, a refuge. In fact, this very place that I so often referred to as hell was a lot of their sanctuaries.

 

 

I was a lucky, spoiled son of a bitch, and a selfish one for not seeing it. I’d seen every single one of their stories played hundreds of times in movies, but it never got through to me that it could actually happen in real life. I always knew that when the director yelled “cut” they would all wipe off the red corn syrup, shake hands and go have a few, or that there was always a pillow between the guy and little girl. I was so sheltered. Coming face to face with these people opened my eyes and changed my life forever.

 

 

I clenched both my hands into fists and said to myself, “I’ll remember you, each and every one of you. I’ll never forget the things you taught me for the rest of my entire life.”

 

 

 

I suddenly heard “Dude, you okay? I’m Dustin, what’s up?” from across the small room while I was in the middle of my epiphany. I looked in their direction of the voice but couldn’t see a thing, my eyes still clouded from the tears.

 

 

“Wha? Oh, hey. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m James. Not much, just chilling under the bed. How you like it here so far?” You see, Stephen’s and everyone within it’s wings were safe to talk to about anything, and by my third day I had went from a self-conscious quiet loner to an outgoing, friendly patron of these halls ready to make as many new friends as I could. 

 

 

“Haha. As cool as a mental asylum could be, right? But dude, did you get strip searched too? They were grabbin’ at my junk and everything.” He had to remind me of the single worst event of my life.

 

 

“Yeah, happens to everyone. They have to check your entire body and keep tabs on every one of your scars and bruises to make sure you don’t get any more while you’re here. Oh, and you have to get a key to use the bathroom too, and then someone follows you in and watches.”

 

 

“Ohhh, grody dude! Tell me about this place. Do we just chill and lay around, talking about our feelings and shit?” He wouldn’t be so cheeky after a day or two.

 

 

“Um, no. You have to get up at 7 and go to bed at 9. At night the staff checks in your room every hour. There are random room searches sometimes, and we have group two times a day, after breakfast and then after lunch. Some days we have different activities where we get to leave our ward like gym, art, team-building things, nature walks, or stuff like that.”

 

 

“Damn, that sucks. What are the other kids like, totally insane? My first day tomorrow, any advice?”

 

 

“Yeah, everyone here is pretty sweet, just watch out when you’re around Jonas. He’s a crazy kid from the little people ward, so he’s not by us most of the time. But he’ll draw a cock on your forehead if you get too close. Try to eat lots of whole grain and fiber things, avoid fruits. Then you won’t have to poop as much. Don’t try telling anyone you’re not insane or that you don’t need to be here, they’ll just keep you longer. If you hear an intercom say “RED ALERT!” get into a room as fast as possible unless you want to get tackled by a parade of nurses and paramedics. Oh, and the meals are served like buffets, but don’t eat too much or too little, or else they’ll have the dietitian come and give you a lecture on eating disorders.”

 

 

“Haha, alright dude, thanks. Catch you in a few!” He rolled back over and fell asleep.

 

 

A little cheery for just being locked in a mental hospital, but he was green yet. He seemed cool. I laid my head back down and read some more of the things etched into the wooden bed support. “Trevor + Tonya 4ever”,“Dillon ‘07”,“Travis likes it up the butt”, “Courtney ‘05”,“ANARCHY LIVES”, “Andy ‘07”, and “Abby—Day 6.”

 

 

A few hours later, finally night had passed and I was one more day closer to freedom. I rolled out from under the bed and went down to the table in the main area to find Sasha, Emily, Rob, Anthony, and Collin already started on breakfast. Jordan was sitting alone quietly on one of the couches near the TV. I went to the warming tray and grabbed some scrambled eggs, hash browns, and a sausage. I sat down next to Anthony, and attempted to eat my food with two spoons. Goddamn spoons, it’s all we were allowed to use but couldn’t cut a sausage steady or hold hash browns worth a shit.

 

 

“Good morning James! How did you sleep?” Sasha greeted me with.

 

 

“Morning. I slept great.”

 

 

“Well that’s good! I hope I get to learn more about you today.” She smiled at me. Eventually Dustin came down to join us, and no one else had met him yet but me.

 

 

“Oh, hey! Are you the new guy!? I’m Collin, what’s your name? I like hotdogs. Why are you here? Did you try to kill yourself? Did you get raped?” 

 

 

“Hi, I’m Emily. I’m eighteen and I’m a lesbian. No, actually I think I’m bi. I cut myself, do you do that?”

 

 

“Heyyyyy Buuuuddddddd! How’s it going? My name is Sasha. Do you want some of my sausage?”

 

 

“She’s a whore.”

 

 

“Collin, shut it! You’re so mean.”

 

 

“Sup dude, I’m Anthony. We ever get out of here and you want some badass grass, gimme a call.”

 

 

“Badass grass, badass grass, badass grass.”

 

 

“Collin, shut the hell up. Did you sneak in a Red Bull again or what? Anyway, this here is Rob. He’s my bitch. But he’s getting out today, so I need a new bitch.”

 

 

“Anthony, I’m not your fucking bitch!”

 

 

“Woah, relax dude. It’s your last day! I was just messing around. We gonna tear this place apart to celebrate or what? Let’s run around naked in all the wards and T-bag everyone we see.”

 

 

“Dude, I’m about to get out. I ain’t doin’ shit to jeopardize that.”

 

 

“I’ll do something with you Anthony!”

 

 

“Eat a monkey dick, Collin. You don’t even have a T you could bag people with.”

 

 

“Umm, Hey guys I’m Dustin.”

 

 

“Heeeeyyyyyyyyy Dusssssttttinnnnnnn!!!”, they all chimed in.

 

 

God, where the hell was Paige? I needed another sane person to talk to about sane things with, I needed my saving grace in this hellhole.

 

 

“Alright, everyone grab something to write with, a news sheet and start to fill them out!!!” Travis shouted, battling the roar of the chaos that was unraveling at the breakfast table. I grabbed a sheet and magic marker. Every morning we were required to either watch the news on TV or read the newspaper and copy down a summary of one of the recent stories going on in the world. I grabbed a sheet and orange magic marker and sat down on the couch next to Jordan, who appeared very glum compared to his usual flamboyant self. I didn’t think much of it, as it would all inevitably come out in group. I geared my attention to the cheap TV and began watching the morning news.

 

 

Their mentality was that they didn’t want anyone to get cabin fever locked away in an isolated asylum in the middle of a massive forest, so they made us keep track of the news thinking that it’d make us happy and tame, knowing that there was still a world out there beyond the miles of forest. I turned on the TV, hoping to find a story about a dog being rescued from a river, a little kid finding his long-lost mother, or I’d even take a sports story.

 

 

But instead I heard: “With obesity and high school drop-outs in the highest percentages ever, four out of five civilians against the two wars we’re spending billions on daily adding to the already staggering hundreds of trillions the country is in debt and virtually nothing being done about the escalating problems in North Korea, China, or the global warming issue, is it too late to save the United States? That’s up next, but first your local news and weather: Police on the look out today in Brookfield for a man suspected of raping a pregnant woman and then shooting her in the stomach. The woman is in critical condition, but should survive. The man will be charged with assault with a deadly weapon, and the prosecution is expected to try to get the charge of manslaughter as well, arguing that the four-month-old fetus inside the woman’s womb was not developed enough to constitute being viewed as a human life.”

 

 

God damn it. I hated the news. I crumpled the paper up and threw it across the room. I knew they were watching, but it was my third day there and I was starting to get unhinged. I tried to instill happy thoughts into my head until Paige walked up behind me.

 

 

“Hey James, what’s going on today? Haha, I slept in. They kept pushing me and yelling but I just stayed in bed.”

 

 

She was so pretty. Kind of emo-punk with short black hair, she reminded me a bit of Britt. She was always wearing numerous branded sweatbands covering the entirety pf both of her forearms. They were ugly and ruined her overall style a bit, but were a necessity as I had seen what lie beneath them: Literally hundreds of cuts from every possible variety of depth, width and length, along with many dots where she had put out cigarettes against her skin. I opened my mouth to respond to her, but was interrupted by Travis before I could say anything. Just fucking wonderful. Travis, my least favorite staff member was our assigned baby sitter for the day. He was an asshole fitness whore man boy metro-sexual trying to be punk. Always wearing shirts 3 sizes too small so his arms and chest looked like they were about to burst it open at any second, waxed eyebrows, hair spiked and died pitch, unnatural black, he was the definition of a prick. For some reason he always reminded me of Ben Stiller in the Disney classic Heavyweights (1995).

 

 

“Alright gang, everyone gather around this main area here for group.” He turned off the TV, Paige sat down next to me, and the rest funneled into the room slowly until we filled a large circle shape.

 

 

“Okay everyone, we’re going to do what we usually do, but I see we have a new face today, so let’s all tell a little bit about ourselves and why we’re here. Alright, who would like to start out?”

 

 

“Ohh, I will!” Sasha volunteered; she was 13 and couldn’t have weighed more than 90 pounds. She was so extremely insecure, and always tried to do whatever the older girls were doing, trying her best to fit in.

 

 

“Thank you Sasha, whenever you’re ready.”

 

 

“Um, Hi everybody! I’m Sasha, hehe, and ummm I’m here because I cut and make myself puke.”

 

 

“People, I’ve told you all a million times, you can’t just throw out the name of a disorder and something you do and then say you’re done. Give the reasoning.”

 

 

“Okay, well, ummm. I make myself puke because I’m so fat.”

 

 

“Oh my god! You’re not fat, I’m fat. Are you even kidding me?”

 

 

“Emily, shut up! Only the person talking is allowed to talk, you know that!”

 

 

“Well, I think I am anyways… and I cut myself because I’m depressed…… because my step dad touches me, and I get made fun of at school. Okay, PHEW! Collin, you next?”

 

 

“Yes, Collin is next. Thank you Sasha, good job. Collin?”

 

 

“Okay, I’m Collin but you all know that. I’m seventeen. No just kidding, I’m twelve but I will be seventeen in five years! And umm I’m here because I tried to kill myself 5 times. This last time I tried to hang myself but the stupid rope got untied. Interesting fact: this is my third time here. Oooh! And I’m a cutter too! Cutters rule, CUTTERS UNITE!”

 

 

“Collin! That’s enough! Okay, let’s see. Emily?”

 

 

“I’m Emily, I’m eighteen. This is my second time here. I think I left too soon last time, that’s why my plan for recovery didn’t work out and I relapsed. This time I just got sent back for cutting but in the past I’ve tried to kill myself and stuff like that. I cut because I was still sad about my parents splitting, and tried to kill myself because my mom hated me for failing a class and I was fighting with my friends and other stuff like that.”

 

 

“Yeah baby, high five for cutting!!!”

 

 

“Collin! Do you want to get kicked out of group? Come see me when we’re done, I’m sick of your crap, we need to have a little chat. Okay, sorry guys. Who’s next? Ah, the new guy, Dustin!”

 

 

“Um, well, Hey guys I’m Dustin. I’m seventeen and I don’t need to be here. But the cops told my grandparents to send me here because I was really depressed when I broke up with my girlfriend who I met over the Internet in South Carolina. Ughhhh, and then yesterday I stole my grandparents’ car and drove twenty-one hours straight to her house. It’s love, I swear.”

 

 

“Dude, did she ever show you her boobies or snatch over webcam!?”

 

 

“Alright, it looks like Anthony just volunteered to go next! Anthony?”

 

 

“God damn it. I’m Anthony, I’m 18 and I’m here because of depression and PTSD. Next?”

 

 

“Anthony, no one can help you if you don’t talk.” He was right; talking to people really did help. I missed Britt so badly, I’d have given anything to see again. But did she miss me, did she even realize I was gone? 

 

 

“Yeah, well maybe I want to help the other people.”

 

 

“They don’t matter right now. Everyone has their time, this is your time. Everyone here is only worried about you right now.”

 

 

“Fuckin’ A. Fine. My mom and step-dad always beat me but my real dad was always my buddy.  But he just sold some heroine to some asshole who didn’t know what he was doing and OD’d on it. He can’t afford a good lawyer and now they’re talking about giving him forty to life on manslaughter charges. They’re going to make me live with my mom and step-dad where they’ll beat the shit out of me everyday, not let me have any food, and never let me visit or write to my real dad.”

 

 

By now the six and a half foot tall husky towering giant had given up his tough guy gangster, druggie front and was hanging his head in the pitch silence, staring at his shoes. Throughout that single confession his tone had dropped seven levels from stern, hardcore with an “I’m going to rip you a new asshole!!!” type of attitude behind it, to a voice as somber and mellow as a songbird.

 

 

“Alright, that was really good Austin. Now we know why you’re depressed. Now, tell us a bit about your post-traumatic stress disorder.” He thought his execution was over. He lifted his body up and gave Travis a piercing stare of rage and hatred.

 

 

“You fucking bastard. Nobody else talked this much. Ughhhh… Last year me and my best friend were getting some weed. Just some stupid fucking thing where we just wanted to get a good high, you know?. The guy dealing started going apeshit, screaming somethin’ about my buddy shorting him for an eight-ball and a couple other things the week before. We told him that was bullshit. We didn’t realize—”

 

 

He slammed his palms into his eye sockets but even he was unable stop it. He managed to hold it back a few seconds until there was an explosion of tears and whaling from the deepest part of Anthony’s soul. He still had his eyes covered, tears flowing from between his knuckles, and went on.

 

 

“And, oh God. – We didn’t realize that the dealer was on a totally different level than us and was packing. He pulled out a 9mm and—oh my God—I can’t do this. And he tried to shoot him in the leg, just to teach him a lesson but then…fuck man, but then my buddy tried to tackle the dealer and the guy shot him in the head; he fucking shot my best friend in the head. His brains and blood got all over me and everything. In my hair, on my face, everywhere. Oh, shit, no.” He got up and ran back to his room, nearly taking a couch and three patients with him.

 

 

“Alright, wow. That’s how all you guys need to open up. Paige?”

 

 

“Hi, I’m Paige. I’m 16 and I’m here because I drink and party way too much. I only weight 112 pounds but I swear to God I could probably out-drink everyone in this building. I’ve only ever done weed like regularly, but if I was at a party having a good time and it was free, I wouldn’t mind trying coke, meth, X, PCP, or anything else. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, and then two months ago I got real shitfaced at a party, I went to the bathroom to puke and some guys followed me in and raped me. Both up the ass and the other way. Then I got depressed, now I’m here.” Her bluntness stung like a razor. After having to re-state their reason for admission with every new face at the breakfast club, after a while all of our confessions got a bit mechanical and rehearsed.

 

 

“Okay, thank you Paige. Who do we have left? Jordan, why do you look so down-in-the-dumps today?”Ummm, hi. My name’s Jordan and I’m 18…””It’s okay Jordan, go on.” He wiped his eyes with his Aeropostle sweatshirt sleeve, crossed his legs and continued.”Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd my parents kicked me out when I was sixteen because I was gay. I was supposed to have a family session with them last night but they didn’t show.” Tears began working their way out. Okay, thank you very much Jordan, we’ll talk more about this this evening. Let’s see, Rob’s busy working on his release contract with his doctor, so….. ah, James!”

 

 

“Hi, I’m James. I’m here because I swallowed a ton of Prozacs and Lithium tablets. I did it because I’m very lonely.”

 

 

“Okay, good. But James, I’m looking over your file and it talks here about something else. Let’s hear about it.”

 

 

Fucking prick. Fucking place. Just because they could get my entire extensive mental health history didn’t mean they could mosey through it and try to do anything they wanted to with me. I was there for attempted suicide and attempted suicide alone. It had nothing to do with why I was there.

 

 

“Oh yeah, I forgot. I have OCD too. I’m like a germaphobe and stuff. I wash my hands a lot.”

 

 

“Okay, thanks Tyler. And thanks to everyone else too. I had a game and a few other things planned for today, but today was a pretty heated and intense session so I think I’ll end it here and pick up where we left off next time. You’ve got like twenty-five minutes before lunch to cool down and do whatever.”

 

 

Thank God, I immediately got up, went into the long hall containing all our rooms and did one of my favorite pastimes: I sat down on the hallway floor, back against the wall, and thought about stuff. It wasn’t long before Angela; my favorite nurse came and joined my hallway pow-wow. She was twenty-three and stunning, but unfortunately sporting a stone on the left ring finger as well. I often thought of her, going home after all this Stephen’s mess back into the real world, her loving fiance eagerly awaiting her arrival. I’d sit back and just imagine them talking, snuggling, kissing, fighting. I wondered if I would ever experience such a thing.

 

 

“Hey James! Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

 

 

I tried to forget the fact that just yesterday she had watched me shower. I had to keep reminding myself “She’s not looking at my bits, she’s just doing her job. She’s not looking at my bits, she’s just doing her job.” I knew it was just standard procedure so I wouldn’t try to drown myself in the toilet, strangle myself with a towel or try to poison myself by swallowing a bottle of shampoo but even still, sometimes I just wanted to grab a bucket of popcorn, follow the staff into the loo, and see how much they liked dropping a deuce with an audience.

 

 

“Oh, hi Angela. I don’t know, not much…”

 

 

“Oh come on, I know you better than that. What’s eating at you?” She was too good. 

 

 

“It just seems like all these other people have it off so much worse than me. They all have such epic backgrounds and stories to tell of suffering. Nobody beats or rapes me; I don’t know any dead people. It’s like… I haven’t earned the right to be suicidal. I don’t know, I just feel bad.”

 

 

“James, don’t. Don’t say that and don’t do that to yourself. We all have our own problems. Everyone, James, everyone has a story to tell.” I looked at her and smiled, pondering the thought, when suddenly a wooden desk chair came flying out of the room we were sitting next to, nearly hitting my face. It was Anthony’s room.

 

 

“Men don’t cry. Only pussies and women cry! Shit ass fuck, I got a vagina! Fuck. I hate this place. Men don’t cry. Pussies and women cry, that’s it. GOD DAMN IT!” You could hear him screaming at the top of his lungs while punching the walls, rearranging furniture, head-butting walls, kicking books, rattling his window and throwing every item of clothing he had all around his room. Angela rushed in and closed the door, and Travis ran around frantically gathering the patients.

 

 

“Alright guys, change of plans, we’re going to lunch a little early. Come on, gather up, quickly, quickly.” We all followed him through the first locked door as he scanned his ID to allow access, and stopped in the tiny hallway leading to the second locked door to run through the usual routine.

 

 

“Alright, stay together, no wandering off, don’t talk to anyone you may see from other programs, don’t yell, don’t curse, now let me check all your wristbands. Good, good, good, good, good, good, aaand…Collin, what the hell?

 

 

He shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know, I got bored so I gave myself some paper cuts.”

 

 

“That’s it, I’m moving you back down to red status, now get out of here. Go straight to your room and close the door, and don’t leave. I’ll have Angela bring you a peanut butter and jelly. Alright everyone, let’s go.”

 

 

We headed down while Collin headed back to his room. Sasha pulled him to the side and said, “You dumbass! You gotta do it like this.” She winked at him, and then pulled down the right half of her pants, exposing her thigh, tattered throughout with fresh wounds. We all went down an elevator that opened right into the cafeteria. Having seen people with burgers every day, I thought I’d try one. I grabbed a tray, went up to the window and asked the lunch lady for a cheeseburger.

 

 

“We don’t got cheeseburgers, just hamburgers. You want a hamburger?”

 

 

“Uh, no thanks.”

 

 

At five hundred a day, you’d think they could afford some fucking cheese for cheeseburgers. I was pissed and decided to just grab a salad from the salad bar. I sat by myself and ate the salad, rejoicing when Travis said that it was time to head back up for the second group session. I wanted to sit by Paige, the only person there I truly connected to on a personal level, but she was always busy talking with someone else. Right as I walked through the doorway back into our wing there was a tall, scrawny man in a white coat with white hair, no doubt a PHD.

 

 

“Hi James, my name is Dr. Morrison, and I run Stephen’s Adult OCD treatment facility just up the hill a ways there. I’ve come down to the adolescent building because I’d like to handle your case for the rest of your stay. I will get all of your files transferred to me from Dr. Jenson. You’d be in the same program, you’ll just have a different psychologist, an OCD specialist who would understand your needs better. Would you like to do that?”

 

 

Hell yes I would, Dr. Jenson was an arrogant douche bag who didn’t listen to anything I said, didn’t let me catch any breaks and would never let me out of there. I followed the new guy down to a generic, empty office and we both sat down.

 

 

“Well James, I’ve read a lot about you. I know of all your obsessions and everything else, so let’s just start with you telling me how you’re liking your stay with us so far. This is just a generalized mental health building, which often unintentionally discriminates OCD sufferers such as yourself. Is there anything I could try to do or change to help you along in your process here?”

 

 

“Oh God yes. Have them let me get an infinite number of squirts of soap, let me use Gold Dial liquid hand soap that my mom brought in, and I can only drink out of water bottles but nobody here cares.”

 

 

“Alright, mmkay. Let me see. I may allow you to use your mom’s soap, but you wouldn’t be allowed to have it in your possession, you’d have to get it from the staff. I’ll let the staff know that if you ask for it you can have a water bottle from the staff refrigerator. I’ll see what I can do about letting you have more soap. I could possibly raise the number of squirts you’re allowed, but I’m not promising anything.”

 

 

“Thank you very much.” This guy was my savior.

 

 

“You’re welcome. I’m glad to help, but this is going to be the part that you don’t like. And that’s fine, but I want you to pay attention and think about what I am saying when you have a sound and collected mind. Your discharge is set for in a few weeks, where you will then return home. However, since you’re 18, I would like to see you transferred to my residential OCD exposure center for adults after you get discharged from the adolescent program. You would live with a group of people, similar to this setting, but it would be for two or three months and they would all have OCD, and OCD is all you would focus on. You would do activities with groups, see me regularly, but mainly do what is called “Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Exposure Treatment Therapy.” It’s a great program, we have an extremely high rate of nearly 100% recovery with no relapse, and we are rated the best in the state, and top in the country for it. People come from all over the world to get OCD treatment here, it’s really quite fortunate we’re right in your backyard.” God damn. Another asshat. “In these therapy sessions you will gradually be exposed to your fears. They’d start easy, and get very difficult, but would all be for your benefit in the end. For example, with you they might have you give someone a foot massage, we may throw you into a crowd of attractive girls, or make you go to the bathroom without any soap.”

 

 

I wanted to vomit. I wanted get in his face and go apeshit. I wasn’t about to be taken in, tortured and transformed, just so he could keep his ratings high. But all I could manage to do was stand up, say “no thanks” and walk out the door. I got back to the ward and everyone was down at dinner already. I was relieved, I hated dinner. High schools were out and they hired teenagers to work the cafeteria at night. They were required to be nice, but always gave nasty looks. I felt like a damn baboon in a zoo, the cafeteria glass separating the eager and curious consumer from me, the entertainment and spectacle to behold. I went to Angela as soon as possible, I needed to call in a favor from the inside. After five minutes she came out of the staff quarters with a little slip of paper, handing it to me.

 

 

“Hope it helps.” Angela, sweet sweet Angela. Dr. Green’s home number, my regular psychologist. I ignored all rules and grabbed the landline from under the reception counter; I didn’t give a shit anymore.

 

 

“What? James? How did you get this number, how are you even calling me in there? This breaks so many rules, James. Both of mine and Stephen’s.”

 

 

“Listen Doctor, I’m in hell and I’m sorry but I don’t give two flying fucks about interrupting you at your quiet household with your wife and cat, eating your cheeseburgers with cheese on it with your knife and fork. I agreed to a week at the most just so the principle would let me back into school so I can graduate, but today… Today the doctor said I’d be here for at least a few more weeks, and then he wants to stick me in some OCD place for months where he won’t let me clean my poopy hands. I miss my family, man, I miss school. I’ve learned my lesson, I’m done cutting, I’m never going to attempt suicide again, and I’m done with all my self pity, I get it now. Trust me, I get it. Now get me out of here!” Damn, only three days in and I was starting to grow some moxy.

 

 

“Listen, just calm down James. They’re obviously not going by the terms that were agreed upon, and I’ll make some calls in the morning and see what I can do. Meanwhile, it’s great to hear you learned some things over there, just try to learn as many more as you can until I bust you out of there, okay? I’m sorry about this, but they are just trying to help.”

 

 

“Dr. Green, I owe you my life. Thank you sooo much. I’m sorry I had to call you at home, goodnight.” I hung up and it was 6:53. He was a truly great man and I hoped he would forgive me in light of the circumstances. I was done for the day. I went to my room, plopped onto my bed, and stared at the ceiling for a half hour thinking over everything that had transpired throughout the day.

 

 

“We all have a story to tell”, she said. She was right. My life may not have been plagued by poverty or violence, and my parents loved me very much. But I still had a story to tell, and there was no way in hell that the only depiction of it would be in that God-forsaken journal of bullshit tailored and censored to fit the Doctor’s requirements to earn freedom. I needed to write something raw, real and true. A completely uncensored telling of these events exactly as they had occurred until they eventually built up to form my life, my story. Holding back was not an option, I couldn’t leave anything out, portray anyone as anything other than themselves, and I could not tone down any language or thoughts no matter how bad they may make me or anyone else look. Conventional literature could kiss my ass.

 

 

I got up with my newfound motivation, grabbed my pen, notebook, sat down at my desk, and began to write my memoir: