Hi all this a blog from my new book Man, Interrupted out in UK and
Ireland. I hope you get a little laughter out of it. Best James


The taxi pulled in front of the sign that read Within Reach Hospital.
It suddenly began to rain. Was that an omen? It dawned on me why you
always see a cab pulling up in front of a hospital in those movies
about people with emotional problems. The director wanted to
symbolize that this was just the beginning of the journey, not the
end. When did my problems really begin? I have thought about that
question for years and years. I guess my first anxiety attack came
when I was five. Of course back then they didn't call it that. At
that time my Father and Mother had just gotten a divorce in Kansas
and the court awarded custody of me, my brother and sister, to my
Mother.That would have been great, but unfortunately my mother said
she wasn't getting enough child support for all of us and kept only
my sister. I still remember vividly them dragging me out of her car
as I clung to the seat. I stared at my sister as they drove away
toward Minnesota, my mom's home state. A couple years later, living
with my dad and step mom number two, I ended up being taken to the
emergency room for some imaginary pain in my back. In retrospect that
was the beginning of the end that led me here. Why couldn't it have
been me instead of my sister? The vision of them driving away haunts
me even to this day. Why did it affect me and not my brother? My
mind was always working. I couldn't stop it. Its weird that I'd even
made it this far. Just three days ago I was sitting on my butt
wondering if I had the nerve to come to Berkeley and the famous
Within Reach Psychiatric Hospital. In the movies they called the
hospital something else. I guess for legal reasons. But just look at
all the books and good ole Within Reach was the hospital. The cab
pulled up to the house in front Within Reach where I would be
staying. Somehow it looked better in the brochure they sent me. Hell,
I had to wait almost a year to get in. I guess after suffering for
twenty-five years, what's another year, right? The cabbie got out and
pulled my suitcase out of the trunk. He looked like a cabbie. The
look of a guy who never slept and whos diet consisted of endless cups
of coffee and unfiltered cigarettes. Whose idea of a healthy diet was
an occasional fish sandwich at McDonalds. I got out and was debating
what kind of tip I should give him, since I'd already given him the
fare in advance at the airport. As I turned to look at him, he darted
into his cab and drove off. I knew what he was thinking. He was
afraid I was a wacko and feared I might do something to him. No
wonder he hadn't said a word all the way here. I would be thinking
about this way into the night. What can I say? This is the life of a
guy with OCD. I grabbed my luggage and opened the front door. "Are
you James the new patient?" A tall skinny guy said this to me as he
blocked my pathway. I nodded yes. "James you are not allowed to use
this door, it's only for staff." He told me to go back around to the
front of the house. Of course that was not the greeting I was
expecting but at least it took my mind off the cabbie. I stumbled
around to the front looking for the entrance when I was pleasantly
surprised by this cute blond who popped out of nowhere. "You must be
James O'Bailey. We've been expecting you. Take your luggage and
follow me to your room." I grabbed my luggage and walked in, but
somehow the blond disappeared. I looked around until I spotted
blondie talking to the dude who gave me that great welcoming party. I
started to yell out to her but she ran off into another room. I
figured this was a good time to go use the bathroom since I'd been
holding it in during the cab ride. I walked up to a crew cut guy and
asked him where the head was. "Number one or number two?" He
asked. "I got to take a crap." "We don't talk that way around here,
James. It's number one or number two." I knew this guy was going to
be a problem. "Well sir, when I go do to number two, I usually have a
little number one going on, too. So what would that be?" He hesitated
a moment. I knew exactly what he was thinking: I can't let this
patient get to me. I'm the educated professional here. He handed me a
key and a small role of toilet paper with just a few sheets and
started to shut the door, you know, one of those types of doors that
are cut in half so you can open and shut the top to dispense medicine
without the patient actually getting inside the office. I stuck my
hand in to prevent him from closing it. "Hey, buddy, I'll need a
little more than that!" He gave me a funny look. "That's how we cure
your OCD." "I don't have a problem with that!" He told me that
later when he had a chance to check the files if that wasn't a
problem of mine that I would be allowed to take a roll in with me. I
started mouthing off and before I could finish, the cubicle was shut.
Now I was getting upset! The cute blond walked up. "I heard you say
you have to use the bathroom." "I did but now after all this, I lost
that feeling." "Then you won't be needing this." She grabbed the key
and the toilet paper roll from my hands. "Why did you do that?" I
said. "We can't have you hoarding toilet paper." "Listen a mosquito
couldn't wipe his butt with that!" I guess I wasn't surprised when
she didn't respond. I couldn't say I blamed her. A moment later she
spoke. "You ready to go to your room?" "Sure." I followed the
little blond up the staircase as she told me her name was Mary and
that the guy with the crew cut was Harry. "I think that guy has an
attitude," I said to her. She didn't respond. She showed me my
room. "Oh, James, the maid must have forgotten to clean and sanitize
the mattress." I looked on a little shell-shocked. The mattress was
one of those prison types: hard as rock, with a big slit in it. Plus,
you don't mention the word "sanitize" around a person with OCD! Our
brains all kick in with, "Why does it need sanitizing?" "I will
just take that bed over there, Sherry." I pointed to an already made
up bed on the other side of the room. "My name is Mary and, no, that
bed is for Raymond, your roommate." "Who slept on it before miss and
why does it need sanitizing?" I said. "You're asking for reassurance
James and we don't allow that here. Be it from staff or fellow
patients." "Thanks Mary because now I'm having a full blown anxiety
attack!" "Don't worry James, I'll go ask Harry what to do." "Was the
last patient a drug addict, is that why there are slits in the
mattress?" "Reassurance again, James." I tried not to ask her again
but the anxiety running through me was too much to ignore. "Come on,
you're the one who started it with that, "it needs sanitizing
remark." Mary just stared at me. "Yes I need fricking
reassurance!" Mary just shook her head no and ran down the stairs.
It dawned on me that the only way I was going to get reassurance
around this place was to check the bed myself. It also dawned on me
why I was causing such a commotion since I only arrived a few minutes
earlier? After all I had been on the waiting list for over a year
and I make an entrance like that? I quickly dismissed it to "self-
sabotage," but more about that later. My mind was on the mattress. I
slowly made my way to the bed making sure I wasn't getting too close.
I tried to imagine some positive reason why there would be slits in
the mattress. Maybe the guy was hiding soap in the mattress because
he had such a fear of germs. Maybe he farted so hard he blew holes
in it. Maybe he made the slits to hide his porno magazines. Of
course he was depressed, but he was totally against drugs, right? I
knew I was in the middle of an obsession and my compulsion, getting
reassurance, was not going to happen from Mary. I also knew I had to
do something before it went to a full blown anxiety attack! I looked
to the other side of the room and tried to focus on my roommates well
made bed. They told me in the email I would be living with twenty
other "freaks" like myself. My "words" not theirs. That scared the
hell out of me. I couldn't even be in the same room with one person
for longer than ten minutes without having an anxiety attack. Just
then Mary reentered the room. "Harry says you can change rooms. You
get to have two room mates now. Isn't that great?" Just then a
flamboyant looking guy yelled out from the next room. "Hi, I'm Adam.
You can be our roommate!" Oh Lord. Now, I had nothing against gays,
but I didn't want to room with one either. "Listen, can't we just
change mattresses, Miss?" She hesitated for a moment then said, "Let
me go ask Harry." I sat around on the floor for what seemed like a
half hour waiting for the girl. It finally dawned on me that she
wasn't coming back. During her absence I wondered why I was such a
homophobe. I quickly thought about a thought I had locked away in my
mind many moons ago... Maybe I was gay? Finally I got up and walked
downstairs. As I was about to hit the last step a big fat guy popped
out of nowhere and stuck out his hand. "I'm Tim. Glad to meet you." I
didn't want to shake his hand, but it was too late. His big paw
engulfed my hand. How was I going to wash my hands? Harry had the
only key to the rest room. I looked up at the fat guy. He was
sweating like a pig and his face was covered with zits. Oh man, my
hands and fingers had to be crawling with germs now! What if he'd
just taken a number two and wiped his big butt with that little sheet
of paper? Oh God, I had to get in the bathroom and fast. I ran over
to the cubicle and knocked on the door! Harry answered. "Uh, Harry
can I change the mattress and I, uh, got to get the key to the
restroom?" "Another patient has the key so you'll have to wait and I
already changed the mattress!" The door was quickly closed. How in
the hell did he change__