1 0 - D A Y S - I N - T H E - M A D H O U S E

I wrote this during my ten day confinement to the Luise Neumann Sanatorium, north of Berlin. It's a diary and therefore I left it as I wrote it.

DAY 1.

So it's my second night at the Luise Neumann sanatorium. Although this is considered to be my first of a ten-day stretch in which I am now enduring. The first night was just a twenty-four-hour preliminary examination. Now the real fun begins.
My main doctor suggested that I write down my experience here. The fifty-something-year-old Doctor Kinski looks like a doctor should. Short, balding, and with the appropriate German accent. All that's missing from the stereotype is the sofa in his office – that being my biggest disappointment to date. It's truly fucking sad that there's no psychologist sofa for me to lie down upon and whine on about my whatever-fucking-childhood.
Wait. Maybe I should back up and explain what brought me to Luise Neumann. Why am I here exactly.
It's been an emotional year. And things reached a peak. So I finally took some advice and sought professional help. I contacted a few people who lead me to others, and soon I was on a train into the woods just outside of Berlin. It was surprisingly easy. I had anticipated this being agonizing difficult with the language barrier. But finding a place where they speak English went remarkably smooth. So on Wednesday 16th November I checked myself into the Luise Neumann Sanatorium for a standard twenty-four-hour examination. But why did I check myself into an insane asylum? Because after thirty-three-fucking-years of being told that I'm fucking sick in the head, I snapped. I got sick of being called fucking sick! I want to clear this up once and for all. Especially after I was recently labeled as borderline, which seemed a fair comment, but I wanted a professional opinion on the matter.
So on Wednesday I admitted myself. Unfortunately no men in white coats came to collect me. My friends didn't arrange an intervention. I took the initiative and walked freely into the madhouse.
Let me set the tone: it's winter in Berlin. Cold and frosty as fuck. On Wednesday afternoon the air was still and a pale haze clung to the forest road that led around a lake to the main complex. A dark stone building that looked as if it survived both World Wars. If this was a ghost story then the only thing missing was the creepy violins building up a terrifying atmosphere. But I liked the place. I felt no sense of impending doom or dread or fear or anxiety at all. I was being rational. My only interest in being here was to find out if I truly was fucking insane.
Upon arriving, a slightly retarded looking Asian girl at the front desk asked me to sit in a waiting room. Were the lunatics running this joint?
And only four hours later, I met my first doctor. Doctor Uhl, was a young bald man, not who I would have imagined to be a head psychologist. He looked more like train driver, or someone serving me at Burger King. To my relief, he was just there to take down my details and ask a few basic questions. His office was tiny. This was my first encounter with their lack of sofas for me to lie down upon. Anyway. So I talked. Told him my reasons for being there, and he laughed. I wanted to smash my fucking chair over his think skull and burn the place to the ground!
I didn't.
Instead I just told him that was exactly what I felt like doing to him. After all, that was the reason I'm here. Here to be honest about how I fucking feel and talk about all these fucking things I think. He stopped laughing, and then left me alone in his tiny office.
Half an hour later, I was taken to meet Doctor Kinski for the first time. His office was much bigger. We talked for a couple of hours, and soon, one by one, several other doctors came in, asked a question or two, and then left. Some would just stand by the door and stare at me like I was stripper or something. They all seemed very curious about my ideas about relationships and the violence of my thoughts. It really is like those bad cop movies, where they keep asking you the same fucking questions again and again.
Eventually I stayed the night. My room was like a closet, cold with stained walls that looked like cardboard. All through the night I could hear the moans of other patients echoing throughout the building – I however, slept like a fucking baby.
The next day I was given blood tests and a physical check-up. Then I met Doctor Stegner in her office. She was a stick-figure of a vile looking creature. I could tell she had no time nor interested for me. On recollection, I'm sure she only looked up from her desk once and that was to check the clock.
So far I had done a lot of talking and heard nothing in return. It all seemed a waste of fucking time. But Kinski said there was no harm in staying for a ten day trial period. I said what the fuck.
So I went home on the train. Wrote on Facebook that was going away. No one took it seriously of course. And I didn't tell anyone face to face. Why should I.
So here I am.
And what a first day it's been. I got to meet my roommate Otto, he looks like a sixteen-year-old junky. He seemed nervous as fuck, and I didn't make him feel any better. But I'm not here to make friends with psychos. And so I had my first group-session. There are about eight of us. From twenties to fifties. All men. I can't remember where exactly everyone was from, but from right across Europe. English was the common bond, the only bond. And if you asked me, it seemed like it was just another waste of my fucking time. Small talk. That was, until the fat guy sudden jumped up and attacked the dude next to him! It was awesome! I just sat and watched this guy get his head punched in. It was just like school all over again. But then the orderlies in white burst in and dragged that fat ass the fuck away. I sat there for a moment, anticipating the Terminator to walk through the door with a shotgun saying, "Come vith me if you vant to live."
At lunch I drank some fucking awful black tea and looked over the lunch room. There must have been about forty patients. Everyone in their pajamas, white bathrobes, and slippers. I have to say it's fucking freezing in this fucking place! I swear, the cold alone is enough to drive you fucking nuts in here. Bathrobes? I don't need a fucking bathrobe, I need a goddamned sleeping bag, and one of those creatures that Han Solo cut open with a lightsaber and then shoved Luke inside.
As far as my voluntary treatment goes, I'm allowed to keep my cell phone on me and read my book, but having no music is a real cunt. I was in the middle of free-association with Doctor Kinski this evening when I got some texts. Kinski suggested I shouldn't use my phone while here. Due to the content of the text message, I reckon he might have had a point.
So yes, you guessed it, I talked about my childhood and my relationship to my family. I found it hard not to laugh. And I had to ask, how many patients actually want to fuck their parents? Kinski declined to answer.
After my one-on-one, I saw an ambulance arrive out the front. Whatever had happened it must have been fairly serious, because the police soon arrived.
At dinner, a middle-aged woman sat next to me. She looked normal. Looked like a typical mother. She was Russian or something. And seemed interested in my tattoos. I asked her how long she had been in here. She just started to cry. Not sobbing, just sat there, staring at me as tears ran down her eyes. I don't know what she was crying about, the food was pretty fucking tasty.
So back in my room, Otto seemed keen to impress me, and was talking shit at high-speed. I wasn't interested. Until the fire-alarm suddenly rang loud!
Now, hanging around inside the hospital in bathrobes is cold enough. Standing outside is not fucking funny in the slightest!
I wasn't sure what the fucking deal was, but no fire-trucks came, and so slowly we all moved back inside. I don't know if I am crazy, but I seem to fit in perfectly with these freaks. No one stares at me and no one cares. But I'm not here to fit in. I'm looking for answers. So far the only thing that I've learned is that this place is a fucking shit-hole.

DAY 2.

I woke up this morning with the lights automatically bursting on at 7am. I hate early mornings, especially on a fucking Saturday!
After taking a good hot shower, I stepped out into the bathroom and found a frail old man standing naked, pointing a crooked finger right at me. I stood still in just my towel, then he started screaming! Screaming like a woman. I ignored the demented fuck, and walked out topless back to my room. I guess that's when some other patients first saw the rest of tattoos, 'cause the whole corridor suddenly went deathly silent.
I am a freak amongst freaks.
For breakfast I had two cups of that shit black tea, while counting the number of eyes staring at me. sixteen pairs.
Being Saturday we had art class before lunch. But I just stood by the window and looked out at the iron front gates, the overcast sky, and all those surrounding dark trees. I don't know if I'm getting paranoid or just finding it funny how this entire scene sounds like it's directly out of another Rain-Man-like movie. Crazed idiot stares out window believing he's a philosopher while the orderlies laugh their tits off at him. But to be honest, it was the warmest place in the fucking room, there next to the radiator. The warm after-glow from my boiling hot shower was fading, and the cold was sinking its teeth in again.
Then in came Doctor Bitch. Doctor Stegner. I watched her move from patient to patient criticizing everything that they did. I find it interesting how I refer to people here as 'patients' and 'doctors'. The line between who is in charge and who is less than human is clear, and I'm one of them. At least here they don't pretend to be your friend. So Doctor Bitch marched up to me and demanded to know why I wasn't finger painting with the rest of the fuck-tards? I said I don't paint. She then held up a tiny plastic cup with several pale pills inside. Medication? I didn't agree to take drugs during my stay. She then said, either I take the pills or I paint. I'm a teenager all over again.
Fine. I sat down next to a couple of dim-witted looking fools, picked up a crayon, and grabbed some of that cheap-ass newsprint paper. Flashbacks to high school life-drawing. I'm having serious doubts that this co-called therapy is anything but a bad joke. But after a few minutes of drawing, I found myself sitting alone in the room. Looking up, I spotted all the patients crowded next to the double doors. I didn't even notice them move there. Doctor Bitch soon returned. She wasn't impressed by my picture, but clearly the patients had an emotional reaction to it. I had intended to avoid talking about my art while I was here. Guess I can't now.
So I'm typing this at lunch. I will soon have a one-on-one with my weekend doc. Let's see if I failed art class like I did at school. (If you are wondering, I have a locker where I can store my laptop and shit. Apparently I'm the only voluntary patient here with such perks.)
Okay, so it's now nearly midnight. After lunch I had my appointment with the weekend intern, the mid-twenties Helm. You got to be kidding me. They send a kid in here to deal with me. Well, fine. Fuck him. I spent the next five hours endlessly spewing onto this kid with my attitude toward popular art in general before I went on about the fucking shit art that I make. Let's just say he didn't cure me, but I think I have a new fan. Fuck! So what was the point?!
My mood was not exactly upbeat when I made my way to dinner, and then I saw another police van out in the drive way. Curious, I went and asked the retarded Asian girl at the front desk what was going on. She told me that in another building they kept the real psycho/violent offenders while they waited for trail. The plot thickens.
At dinner everyone moved away from me. Until one of the orderly then handed me a pill and said it was from Doctor Bitch. I didn't take it.
After dinner, I read my book in the lounge near a radiator. About an hour later, I saw someone naked limping outside. I watched on as a car soon arrived. A man stepped out of the vehicle, yelling furiously at the woman like she was dog in his headlights. The naked thing slowly turned around and limped up the front stairs without a word. Then someone started crying on the other side of the room. Madhouses are definitely not fun-houses.
I couldn't sleep. So got up about an hour after the lights went out. This isn't a prison, the doors aren't looked. So I took a walk through the dark, echoing corridors. Went up to the fourth floor. Found a window with a view to the lake. Then went down to the ground floor and found an old indoor swimming pool. Well, it wasn't a pool for swimming. Too small. My mind wondered to evil Nazi experiments. And then I laughed at the effect Hollywood films have had on my stay in here. There are no ghosts, no serial killers, and no Nazi doctors conducting Satanic experiments. This place is cold, dead, and ugly. And it smells worse than most hospitals. I feel nothing for this place. No fear, no comfort, no attachment. It's the doctors that disappoint me with their lack of dedication. No it's not disappointing. I know this isn't a fucking American movie where people actually give a fuck about each other. This is reality. These doctors are just doing their fucking job. I am just another patient. In a few days they will forget I ever existed.

DAY 3.

It's been a long Sunday. Probably due to that fact that I hardly slept, and was then woken up at 7am again! Everyday is exactly the same in here. No sleep-ins on Sunday for this miserable motherfucker.
I've been thinking about how a lot of things at this insane asylum make little sense.
First, I must be insane to have voluntarily put myself through this fucking shit! Case closed! I'm simply fucked in the head for staying here!
Second, why are there no locks on the doors?
Third, why am I even given a choice to take my meds?
Fourth, why am I allowed to use my cell phone and laptop when no one else can?
Fifth, why am I given options at all?
Is it just because I'm not yet diagnosed as insane? 'Cause I'm really innocent until proven guilty? Or because this is all a test?
Makes me start to worry what will happen if I fail this test. Seriously, being stuck in this place without the possibility of just walking out, truly disturbs me more than that old guy who was pissing blood over my bedroom door this morning. Yet, if the other patients aren't allowed outside, how come I see people wondering about aimlessly? Is the security here just shit?
Anyway. To recap over today's retarded events.
After I snapped and yelled at the cunt to piss off literally from my door, I skipped the showers and went straight to breakfast. Had my two cups of vile tea, and then went and asked the dude at the supply room if I could please get a second fucking bathrobe 'cause I'm sick of freezing in here! He laughed like it was the funniest joke he'd already heard a thousand time before, before handing me two more bathrobes and some wooly socks. Thanks, cunt! You could have just given this shit to me when I first fucking arrived!
So feeling a lot warmer in three robes now.
Today I had the option of Sunday church services or watching Forest Gump in the lounge. I decided however, to take a walk outside in my new gear. Surprisingly though, it wasn't even that cold today.
So I took a stroll around the hospital. Basically it's like a big 'U'. But once I got around the back, I found a path that led through the trees to a second facility. The holding cells for the real nutters, I assumed. So I casually wandered up there. It's closer to the lake and about half the size of the main building. The windows are all barred, and I saw no one inside. I walked right around it, and came to the edge of the lake where a small jetty extended out into the murky waters. I stepped out and stood at the end looking around the quiet view. No other buildings anywhere. Just leafless trees. It would have been rather peaceful if not for the screaming that suddenly erupted from this new building. I looked down and noticed what could have been blood stains on the cracked wood of the wharf. Old dried blood. This whole place just oozes with those warm fuzzy feelings of a chainsaw murder.
By the time I slowly walked back to my building, I found all hell had broken loose. There was vomit everywhere! Turns out there was something wrong with the breakfast this morning, and everyone had been indiscriminately handed a plate of yummy food-poisoning. God bless my disgusting black tea diet. But then up came some righteous old trout hissing at me! I'm not kidding, she hissed like a psychotic cat, but then in her Eastern European accent she stated, "The mark of Cain!" She then spat at my feet before shuffling off to puke her own ring out too.
I'd be lying if I didn't get some sense of delight in seeing all these motherfuckers hurling their guts out. Reminded me of a Family Guy episode where they all start puking over each other in the living room. Except the smell here was something to make even a white man's eyes water.
In my attempt to avoid the sickly, I went exploring again. And I found a library. It was clear that it didn't get a lot of use. The insane have the voices in their heads to inform them about anything they will never need to know. I stayed in there for some hours reading my book. And let me say it now, the book I'm reading, Language, Truth & Logic by Alfred Jules Ayer, has been one of the most painful books I've ever read, yet at the same time it has some of the most incredible passages I have ever come across. If every kid studied this book at school, the world would be a better fucking place, but vastly more boring.
So lunch came. No doctor appointments today. I went for some more tea, and found the mess-hall nearly empty. No surprise. But then I noticed this girl sitting at the far corner. Call it my 'biological interest' that drove me to check her out. I walked up near the radiator and glanced down at the Bible on the table in front of her. Then I walked away. Fucking bible-bashers.
As I went through the hospital I found orderlies cleaning up pools of vomit, and I didn't envy them in the slightest. I found Otto sleeping with a bucket on the floor of our room, so I continued walking. Until I glanced into the room of some other patient and saw the walls covered in the most amazing drawings. Drawings of cathedrals and old cities. Fucking excellent work. I was about to walk on my way, except I noticed my own sketch from yesterday's class lying on the floor. Son of a bitch! But fuck it. He can have the piece of shit.
I was in the lounge, as Forest Gump played for the second time, when an ambulance arrived with a new patient. Just another old woman who had lost her marbles.
The afternoon was slow. By dinner time, I saw the bible girl sitting alone.
It was about eight at night when I heard someone crying in the chapel room. I found that same chick sitting on the floor, hugging her knees. She looked up with big black eyes staring straight at me. I sneered and left her to her fucking misery.
So, after three days in this fucking place what have I learned about myself?
That my opinion is only getting confirmed. The only thing insane about me is my tolerance for this dump! Another seven days here are going to drive me worse than fucking crazy!
Unless... I entertain myself.

DAY 4.

Monday was shit. Same fucking psychos as every other day.
This place is only worsening my mood.
My one-on-one with the doctor was only a twenty minutes session.
The group therapy is chaos and ultimately a waste of time.
I have begun distracting myself by fucking with the patients. But is it really possible to mess with someone who is already fucked?
Let's find out.
Fucking hate this fucking place.
Started reading Richard Dawkins' new book, The Magic Of Reality.
There is nothing to look forward to in this place. And that reminds me, as above so below!

DAY 5.

In today's one-on-one session, the doctor said I have a warped view of women. I have sadistic tendencies. I need anger management. I should start taking medication to balance my emotional mood swings. But the icing on the cake was being told to join a 12 Step Program. I couldn't help but laugh in his fucking face.
This fucking place is getting me nowhere! It isn't telling me anything I didn't already fucking know! They're not offering solutions, they are just pigeon-holing me and sweeping me under a carpet of bureaucratic bullshit!
I don't know if this place is beginning to affect me or if I'm really slipping off the edge, but I found myself walking around outside naked this evening. When the orderlies asked what I was doing, I didn't know what to say. I still don't.
My beard is growing.
I can hear them talking about me behind the walls. Fucking cunts! You think that just because you're not speaking English that I don't know what's fucking going on here! Motherfuckers! I'll fucking teach them a thing or two! Later, when they're all asleep. When the drugs kick in. I know where they keep the fucking scissors.

DAY 6.

On my way to the showers this morning, I came across a little girl. She must have been seven or eight-years-old. She was standing in the middle of the corridor, staring into another room. I continued toward the bathroom, when she turned and looked up at me. Then in a perfect British accent, she asked, "Are you the devil?" Kids do take tattoos literally, don't they. But the next thing I knew I was attacked from behind and slammed into a wall! Some tiny American dude with an Elvis-wannabe-hairdo swung wild punches while yelling at me! You could say it was too fucking early in the morning for this crap as I snapped and lashing out. Shoved that little prick back with one giant push until I was on top of him, thumping his fucking skull against the cold floor – when suddenly I was the one getting dragged away by three fucking orderlies.
You fucking visitors. Can't you leave us sickfucks alone?
In the infirmary, Kinski apologized terribly for the incident while a dragon-lady of a nurse bandaged my bloody face. Kinski said the American's wife (a patient here), had killed herself last night, and prick had been drinking heavily since he had heard the news. I thought I could smell it on his rancid breath as he'd whined like a faggot.
At breakfast I sat looking at my slightly bruised knuckles. They didn't even hurt. It was a good pain. A spider then crawled across the table. I used my empty cup to break its legs, four with one chop, and then I watched as it limped in circles.
My one-on-one today with Kinski was longer than normal. He wanted to talk about family, specifically why I didn't have kids of my own. I never wanted children, even as a kid an early cognition was that I never wanted to have any. I disliked myself at an early age. I was always the runt of the litter. The weaker brother. That and other medical problems at an early age. One of the first lessons I learned at school was that I definitely wasn't one of the smartest cookies in the cookie jar. So even as a child the logic of the situation seemed fucking blatant. If I was flawed biologically and I blamed my parents for creating me, then why would I do the same thing to another person? Why make someone who'd be just as fucked as I am? Sure as I got older I adapted to my body and got smarter, but only smart enough to trick people into thinking I was smarter than I actually was. Street-smarts. But that's not enough! Never was and never will be! But sure, there have been a couple of occasions during my life when I reconsidered my conviction against having children. When I got engaged, was one. Hell, I never thought I'd get married when I was younger. But turns out I was right anyway. I didn't! And then in my last relationship, we even talked about names for a kid. Had a good one too. But that's all over now! And like layers of sedimentary soil, I know my underlining conviction against fathering anyone is absolutely fucking right! I hate people and hate myself! Why create another worthless disappointment that would hate me too! Fuck that shit! The day I'm finally happy with myself, then, just maybe then, I might consider ruining it all again.
But Kinski kept pushing. Why don't I want to be a father and pass on my knowledge to someone who will love me unconditionally?
Okay, listen up. I rejected my own family, so 'unconditional love' is dead to me! Proven fact! As for passing on my 'knowledge'. Has this fucking doctor been listening to a single motherfucking word I've been saying? Why do I read books about science and philosophy, 'cause I don't know this basic shit! I'm a fucking idiot! I don't have any fucking knowledge! When I can remember the periodic table, when I can get a total understanding of how global economics work, and when I can fucking spell the entire English language correctly; at that point that still doesn't mean of have a goddamned thing worth sharing beyond grade school intelligence! I do not want and never wish to be a father to a shell of a fucking worm!
So Kinski then asked if I'm afraid of the responsibility?
Fuck you, cunt! These fucking teenage whores spewing out more of these fucking retarded brats take on no responsibility! Useless fucks spawning like the diseased fucking virus we ultimately are! Yeah, I see a lot of love in this fucking world! Child-rapists, wife-beaters, adult males playing computer games next to their deformed inbred offspring! How am I supposed to respect the sanctity of marriage or the family-unit when it is based on immature, short-sighted indulgence! And when I see these fat cows lining up at Burger King to shove more oily shit into their swollen litter of pigs, I can't help but smile in disgust at their constant mundane drudgery! Call me a sadist, call me selfish, call me irresponsible; but don't call those hideous slobs and their incestuous lust anything but the same! Fuck the family-unit! Fuck kids! And fuck this therapy!
I then got up and walked out of my one-on-one for an early lunchtime cup of tea. I hope I find another fucking spider.
I remember hearing that saying, "Gathering atheists together is like rounding up cats." Well, I think it should be changed from atheists to lunatics.
And what's with this fucking fog? Is this shit real? Another movie reference, The Others. A film about a house surrounded by an endless dense fog. It seemed like the house was haunted, but the twist turns out to be that the family we're watching are in fact all dead and they're the ghosts. So I can't help wondering if I actually died, and if I try and leave this place the fog will just get thicker and thicker, preventing me from ever escaping this hell. Is there anything out there but this life I live?
In group today, I realized, these are my people! As revolting and disfigured as they are, I am one of them. So why not become the king of fools. Still makes me a fool, but I'd rather be the 1% asshole to their deranged 99%. Better to reign in hell than serve in wherever the fuck is supposed to be better than this.
At dinner I sat and scratched my unshaven face as I looked to my left, and then to my right. Glaring at all the demented fucks, I couldn't help but smirk as I said to myself, "Jesus had days like this."
Later, I found that Otto had asked to be removed from my room. I tend to have this effect on people.

DAY 7.

This morning, after breakfast, I was taken into an office and interviewed by two police men.
Now I know that sitting in front of two cops is a serious thing, but my mind was elsewhere. I was thinking about what I had been reading last night in Dawkins' book. Everything is about procreation. All I am is a survival-machine for the genes. So 'love' and all ideas of other importance are mere delusions. It reminded me of something my old business partner, AJ, once said, "Never give a girl an orgasm or you'll never get rid of her." Which reminded me of past fuck-buddies, and how they start out all care-free, but after a certain amount of time, emotions get involved. And what did they say in that film The Devil's Advocate, that love is bio-chemically no different to consuming large quantities of chocolate. But I'm allergic to chocolate. So let's connect all these dots. Love is nothing more than sexual-addiction wrapped up in fancy Christmas paper. It's all about sex – the mind and soul be damned!
And then one of the cops whacked me in the side of my head! Police brutality! What the fuck is going on?! So then I started to listen to them. Apparently everyday since I arrived here there has been a suicide. So? So fucking what?! Is that the extent of their police work? You looked at the records and saw that I happened to arrive the day these morons decide to call it quits? Get the fuck out of here! If they're saying that I'm that influential on the minds of retards, that I can convince these dipshits to off themselves just by looking at them, then I must be possessed by the fucking devil! Get me to a nunnery! Get me to the exorcist! Get me a fucking medal for my black magick powers of fucking awesomeness!
So when I put it to the cops like that, the sour faced pigs let me return to the rest of the sheep without another question. Seriously, is this what you call a police investigation? Fuck the TV and its CSI horseshit! Cops are no more intelligent than the vegetables crawling down these very fucking corridors! For fuck's sake, I've been called a manipulative prick, but where is the evidence that I've got some Mongols to slit their own fucking wrists? Were my fingerprints, hair, or semen samples found on the dead's eyelids? Get the fuck out of here and go arrest the cunting drug-dealers at all those clubs that party the whole weekend long back in Berlin! No one, and I mean absolutely no human-fucking-being can dance, or even listen, to techno fucking music for seventy-two-motherfucking-hours straight, without the direct assistance of some pretty hefty class-A substances! Enough fucking said on this facade that's the so-called war on drugs. What did Bill Hicks say, "It's a war on personal freedom, keep that in mind at all times, okay."
But then I found out from the Asian mule at the front desk that it was Otto who killed himself last night. Well, shit. No loss there.
I removed the plasters from my face this afternoon, then I started picking the fresh scabs. Jesus, am I a child? Maybe I should join a Fight Club. Maybe I need to get my ass kicked again. Put me in my place. Remind me of where I stand in the universe, and then laugh about it. You got to laugh about getting your ass whipped. It's like shitting your pants. Sure, it's not funny at all when it happens to you, but the next day, fuck, it's hilarious! I haven't shit myself in a while. I might be due for an accident sometime soon. Let's say at dinner! I wonder if I could deliberately shit my pants in a crowded room?
In group today, they wanted to talk about fear, and what we are afraid of. Jesus fucking Christ, is there a hidden camera in here? Is this an American soap-opera? For the love of fuck, what the fuck?! Let's all cry, hug, and confess our childhood underlying fucking fear of the dark. Fuck! Is this what therapy is all about with all those cliched fucking one-liners. This whole place is trite with bullshit like this! And I'm reminded of yet another film, K-Pax. When Jeff Bridges says it's his job to cure the patients in the asylum, but then Kevin Spacey asks why he hasn't done it already?
Why does this whole situation keep bringing up memories of movies I've seen? Because I watch too many films? Or is it because this place is as original as a bad fucking chick flick?!
But back to fear. So one by fucking one the guest-doctor-of-the-day asked what each patient was frightened of. You then got one of two replies: 1, they would talk nonsense that had nothing to do with anything. Or 2, they would start admitting all this heartfelt terror toward the whole wide world like they had just learned to talk. You know, I can't recall exactly how many girls have told me their rape stories. I must have had the only un-raped childhood in the last hundred years. Is that why I can't relate to these fucking assholes?
And then it was my turn. "Bruce, what are you afraid of?"
I was eleven when it happened. It was late one night. I can't remember where my brother or sister were, but to be honest, it wasn't the first time. This time however, was the one I remember the most vividly, when I was eleven. When I first saw the movie Jaws! I was so terrified I literally crawled up the sofa trying to get away from the TV! It left permanent psychological scars. And I swear to god, that is the honest reason why, to this day, I still cannot swim.
The doctor just nodded his head as if I had just told him I had once witnessed my sister jerking off our pet dog. These fucking doctors are like rag dolls, totally desensitized. I could say I murdered his mother five minutes ago, and he'd probably just murmur some deeply thoughtful noise, nod his head, and make a note to buy some more yellow post-its.
And then I couldn't believe the subject of the next topic. That we are all special... Oh my fucking god! I spoke up before anyone else could, "If we're all equally special then that defeats the very fucking definition!" And I got up and walked out, yelling, "Yeah, special, like retarded fucking special!"
I went to take a piss, and came across some guy crying his guts out in one of the stalls. I did my best to ignore that sorry sack of shit, but the cunt noticed me. He was American and started going on about it being Thanks Giving in the States right now. Oh, yeah. I forgot that was coming up. Like I give a shit! Americans and their universal belief that the world revolves around their egocentric fucking culture! I finished taking a leak and was well on my way out of the bathroom when the suddenly-sobered-up Yank came hurrying after me. Like a stray dog, he was yapping on about his mother and wherever the fuck he was from on whatever fucking coast. I did everything in my power to lose the fucker and avoid talking to him. But he wouldn't fuck off. So he sat across the table from me in the art room, only to start crying again. Gritting my teeth, I asked what he was doing here? He cleared his eyes, saying he'd married a German girl and now she's pregnant, but he doesn't even love her. Before he could say another word I stood up and whispered in his ear, "Ain't you just another real American hero! You're mommy must be so fucking proud!" And then I walked off. I heard him start to weep again like a fucking baby. This place is full of faggots! And if these fucking doctors think they're going to get me to breakdown and repent; well, shit, I'll dress like a chicken and deep-fry myself long before that fucking happens! And if I really am just like all of these fucking people, at least I have some semblance of fucking self-dignity!
After dinner that girl I saw the other day in the chapel took me by the hand and led me outside. I would have shaken the bitch loose, but it's been over a week since I got laid. She took me down the driveway, away from the light of the building, when I finally stopped her. Looking me straight in the eyes with those bloodshot holes of hers, she then lifted her gown. I found it a fascinating sight. I have never seen a circumcised vagina firsthand before. All her other self-inflicted cuts and scratches spread out from her inner thighs down to her knees. I've seen things like this plenty of times before. But I still don't know why people insist of sharing their self-humiliation with me. To make me feel better about myself? Am I supposed to do something for them? Or should I start making a record of all these atrocities I am blessed with the presence of? She seemed shocked by my lack of shock at her naked sight. I then told her, "I'd fuck you in the ass if I had a condom. But I don't, so I won't." I went to walk back inside, until she grabbed my arm, tugging my wrist for me to wait. She then stepped back, bent over, and showed me her sweet little booty. Oh, the frustration of this place just gets worse! Her pussy may been a hacked-up piece of mince, but her rump was some fine fucking tail! But I'm not totally stupid as to sodomize some fucked-up slag without a jimmy. No, sir. I don't think so.

DAY 8.

Last night I came as close as I have to leaving this place. Not 'cause of the fuckwit patients, the lame-ass doctors, or how fucking freezing it is in here; but because I want to fuck an ex-girlfriend till she screams. However, I managed to restrain my urges and shake some sense into myself. My weakness for pussy is one of the main reasons I'm here in the first fucking place. Control your DSB (dangerous sperm build-up), damn it!
But I woke up today with that frustrating tremor in my chest. You know guys, when you haven't 'released the pressure' in a while. I have this pet-theory about sperm, that it's like urine, not literally piss, but like when you got to go, you got to go! If you just hold on it doesn't just go away, it gets worse! Cold sweaty palms, racing heart, grinding jaw. I know this might sound like withdrawals from a drug addiction, but it's worse! I'm going cold-pussy-turkey. And I know I'm only going to get more hostile. What I always found funny, is when I was younger people used to say, "You just need to get laid." Saying that just pissed me off even more. But now most people who know me, call me a fucking whore, and yet I'm still this pissed off! So therefore does that mean my anger has just been getting more intense as I get older, and even with pussy I'm still an cunt, so if I stop my addiction now, how colossal will my hatred become? Let's find out – or I might snap and rape that bitch from last night! And would that prove me insane? Is that the paradigm-shift I was looking for here? That sex keeps you sane. And if sex is an addiction, and if I've become a whore, then it should be understandable that infidelity is absolutely justified for the benefit of my mental health.
In one-on-one with Doctor Kinski, he talked about how I need routine to help me get through my days. Baby-steps. Yeah, but in this fucking place there aren't any priority in any-fucking-thing. It's like being a cow herded from room to room, and therapy is like getting milked. I only wish my doctor was like that bitch from Transformers 3, the Victoria Secret's model, and then she could milk the shit out of me all day long! But sadly my doc is an indifferent old gnome. Maybe he has a granddaughter who will just happen to visit him during our session today. Maybe. But probably not. Fuck, I need to get laid! Routine would be fine with me, if once a day we got a Thai massage with complimentary happy-endings. Hell, I would live here full-time if that was part of the deal. I bet this place is the shit in summer. Why the fuck did I have to test my sanity during a German winter?! Wait, what was the doc saying? I'm finding it hard to concentrate. Routine, repeat, rehearse, copy and paste. But how will that improve anything? I understand that practice makes perfect, but there is no evolutionary trajectory in here. It's just an abnormal constant. There is no climax, no peak to climb, no conflict to overcome. This place doesn't challenge you. It makes you complacent and content to repeat the same old routine. This place is not interested in curing me. It just wants me to stay the same and stay quiet!
That reminded me of an ex-friend I once knew a few years ago. She was depressive (like most of the world's population), and her therapist told her to check into a place kind of like this. But when she had her initial examination they decided that she was an alcoholic, so she had to check into rehab first in order to sort out her substance-abuse before checking into the madhouse where she could deal with her depression. Well, six-months later and she was still in rehab. So I decided to visit her. You could say because I was a caring friend, or you could say, more accurately, because I was curious to see why anyone would happily spend six-long-fucking-months locked-up? The place she was in was the polar-opposite to this fucking dump. It was summertime, in the south of Berlin. A small house where everyone there seemed pretty content. After I arrived, I could definitely see why she was still there, and planning to stay another three months. Wow, a nine month holiday, she was onto a winner there! She was smart, because I know she wasn't a fucking alcoholic or a drug addict, in fact, compared to most Germans she was a fucking virgin! But she was excited about going straight to a clinic to deal with her depression. Yeah, she had a plan, and it was great. Laziness is the greatest achievement most humans strive for, and therefore at rehab she was a total winner. I call her an ex-friend 'cause for the next year she would only come up with excuses not to do anything. If she wanted to see me, I always had to visit her, and even then she canceled our dates most of the time. These people are not friends, these fucking people are scum! Sucking on daddies cock into her mid-twenties! Spoiled fucking brats! This world is full of these cunts! Whining about how tragic their fucking shit little lives are, while clinging to titles like fucking 'depression' like it's something to be fucking proud of. It's not! You're goddamn fucking right I'm pissed off! You can call it fucking 'hubris'! But fuck all these little self-pitying bitches! And while I'm at it, fuck all the genuine retards in this fucking shit-hole! Good for nothing! Yes, I condone killing babies with Down syndrome! A worthless waste of DNA that will never achieve Jack shit! A dog is higher on the fucking food chain!
At this point Kinski said I needed to stop, he didn't like the direction my monolog was going. Maybe he thought I might mention the taboo here in Germany and say something rash like: Hitler was right after all – but I'm not dumb enough to assume that anyone here would find that sarcastic joke funny.
I left one-on-one only to get grabbed by some old woman in the hallway! I thrashed out and shoved the old cunt into the fucking wall with my elbow! She collapsed like a bag of broken bones, where I was about to kick her in the guts, when I remember suddenly that I wasn't wearing my steel caps.
Wait a second... Did I just freak out and find the limits of my psychologist? Jackpot!
I was in the lunch room cooling off with a cup of tea, when Doctor Bitch marched over and slammed down a tiny plastic cup packed to the brim with pills. She then stomped off without a word. What a cunt! I ground the pills up into powder and dumped them in the giant pot of today's soup behind the sneeze-guards. The security here really is shit. God knows what the other patients have put in the food for others to consume?
One of the orderlies found me on the front steps, and said Kinski wanted another session this afternoon. I said with half a grin, "Bring it on, brother!"
After lunch, Kinski and three other people sat in his office. They looked like students, interns, tourists, his kids? The only female was fat and not even slightly fuckable. Kinski got the ball rolling with the topic of jealousy. Bravo! Excellent choice! If subjects were like wine, this would be a superb year! So jealousy, my ex had a big problem with it, but she seemed to think I did too. Let me give you an example of what pisses me off. Vultures! I can say I know what vultures are cause I use to be one. Yeah, when I was a teenager. When I was a fucking insecure little worm! A vulture is an incestuous thing that either tries to fuck his friends or waits till they break-up and then swoops in and tries to be a revenge fuck. Spineless fucking scum! But can I blame them, I date hot bitches! But what really annoys me is when they tell my girl how bad I am for her, and yet how much better they are. Yeah, their moral-core is pure as shit! Cowards who are too fucking lazy to go find someone outside of their one and only social-circle. Now this alone is not enough to make me jealous. Like I said, my girls are all alpha-females, and I sleep like a baby, because I'm a man and I know my strengths and I don't act like a faggot and compare my weaknesses to other fucking assholes. I focus on me, and women are attracted to men, not little boys! But when my girl tells me about these so-called friends of mine trying to sleaze into her pants behind my back, that bothers me. Yes, she should be proud that guys are still after her ass, but when it's my friends, that shows where their fucking loyalty lies. Fucking inbreeding pricks! But ultimately, I think it's my girl who pisses me off more than the vultures. Most girls are well aware that all guys just want to fuck them; and so girls tease them along, treating dudes like a dumpsters to tell all her problems to. The very act of her doing so, turns my friends against me. Fucking women!
And it was about here that the fire-alarm went off!
So we all poured outside into the driveway where we found the building was actually on fire this time! Smoke was gushing from the back somewhere.
It wasn't long before the fire-trucks arrived. However, whatever was burning must have been pretty small and contained, 'cause it didn't take long before those in charge gave the place the all clear.
Kinski said we would talk on Monday, and then he'd give his final report on my condition. I can't wait. It's just a shame I couldn't finish on my opinion on women and jealousy.
Later, I had gone to take a piss, and when I was walking back down that empty second level corridor, I heard something smash at the other end. Then something heavy struck a wall! My first thought was that the fire had somehow spread (I don't know why), so I went to check it out. I found a broom lying on the floor sticking halfway out of a distant door to my left. And then I heard voices. Coming up to the door frame, I turned around, spotting one of the patients hunched naked on top of Doctor Bitch (seriously I can't remember her fucking name). She saw me and cried out, "Hilfe!" The slob of a man attacking her, then spun like an ape: wild and furious! I didn't even think about it, the only weapon was on the floor in front of me. I grabbed it just as that giant lunged at me! The broom swung up right between his legs with all my fucking strength! He instantly folded in half, but my inertia upward drove my skull right into that fucker's nose! We both fell away from each other. I wasted no time grabbing the now broken broom handle while the rapist moaned, grabbing this face and balls in a fetal position. But he suddenly lashed out, so I beat the fuck out of his head with the broom until I was abruptly tackled by two orderlies from out of nowhere!
I was immediately thrown in a confinement room that was about the size of no more than a roomy coffin. My mood was worse than hateful.
Shortly though, Kinski opened the door and took me to the infirmary. Again he apologized. Doctor Bitch had explained that I'd stopped her attacker. Funny, that's not exactly how I would put it. I stopped 'my' attacker.
I spent the rest of the evening crafting a splinter of wood into a shank.

DAY 9.

You know I'm glad I wrote this diary while whittling my time in this fucking shit-ball. I got kicked out of India in 2007 'cause I wrote a two page e-mail about that fucking land of backwards inequality. If I had kept a diary then, and it might have gotten me publicly executed. I had been told that my coworkers tended to go nuts after three months in India. I snapped within the first twenty-four hours. Maybe the same happened here. The bad influence of this asylum has made me become what I was surrounded by. After all, aren't we just products of our environment? Social-conditioning made me this way. The cycle of abuse. Have I come full circle? The circle of life. Can you hear the Disney music chiming in somewhere in the background? That would make this experience perfect, if everyone suddenly jumped up and burst into spontaneous song and dance! Maybe a track from The Sound Of Music, or Reefer Madness. I can see Jesus in golden cowboy boots thrusting his pelvis on the lunch room tables while tilting his Elvis-sunglasses down as he winked at the old hag behind the kitchen counter. Fuck it, we're all mad in here, let's go fucking bananas! Literally!
So another early morning for a Saturday makes me want to kill puppy dogs. Both the patients and orderlies must be able to see it on my face as I went to art class. I sat down and drew a picture of a dog crawling through the guts of another dead dog, just because I can.
At lunch I went for a walk. The fog had finally fucked off, and everything was damp, but rather warm for winter. I went down past the second building just as a whole series of police vans drove up. I counted six vans packed full of cops. I continued on my merry way to the old jetty – when a helicopter flew around and over the lake. I was just standing on the jetty, watching the chopper, when several cops came yelling at me. Angry German cops sound just like Nazi soldiers in old war films. They came charging down the thin wharf demanding something I didn't understand – when goddamn it, the whole fucking wood framing collapsed! Now you know in the film, The Titanic, when what's-her-name was about to jump off and kill herself at the start of the film, but Leonardo says she shouldn't do it 'cause when you fall in frozen water it's like a thousand knives stabbing you all at once. Well, he wasn't fucking joking! I would have started to panic, as I can't swim, but the pain was mind-motherfucking-numbing! Thankfully, I was grabbed and dragged out by another fucking cop 'cause I was about two seconds from blacking out.
I was rushed about and somehow ended up in an infirmary, but not from my building. Soon, I found myself in a bed next to a couple of the cops who fell in with me. My head felt like I had a fucking sandblaster pounding away at my brains. But I have to say, it the warmest I had been since arriving at this clusterfuck. Snug as a bug in a rug in a atrocious mental asylum. How much trouble can I get into while I'm at this place? I then got a harsh talking to from some seriously uptight cops. Though ultimately, they said I really didn't do anything wrong. But I should watch my ass. Danke, motherfuckers!
I had to spend the rest of the evening in this infirmary. This place was a lot cleaner, if smaller than the medical center in my building. However there were a lot more screaming fucks in here. Loud barking motherfuckers. This place reminds me of the one and only time I went to the Berlin Olympic Stadium to see the one and only football I will ever watch. The game sucked cock, no one got a single goal, but what was impressive was the crowd's screaming! Germans have some motherfucking powerful lungs. I guess the psychos in this place are all football fans.
While listening to the endless shrieks of the truly demented, I got to dwelling on my ex. Why would howling madmen remind me of my ex-girlfriend? Good question. Thinking of sex. Of good times. Thinking of all the things I wanted to do to her again. It was all that usual post-break-up shit. Had a realization earlier this year: the end of a long term relationship is like a death. All the plans you make together for one possible future are all over, like they died.
But hey, the post-break-up revenge-sex and then the get-back-together-sex are fun. Things get nasty. Nasty but I do believe totally necessary. You're forced to say something or do something that suddenly pushes your perception over the point of no return. And then you can disconnect. Usually accompanied with a bitter pang not-again. But at least you no longer regret that it's fucking over. That nasty but necessary moment happened on the first day I arrived here. Those text messages last Friday. So maybe this whole asylum experience has been an appropriate place to direct my reaction to the end of a relationship. She took enough of my dignity, that being locked in this pit has seemed like a fucking mental vacation.
So with all my time in bed, I got plenty of reading done. I was on the chapter about the Sun and stars. The bit where it says in two-billion years the Sun will become a red giant and fry Earth, but not to worry, 'cause humans will be extinct long before then. It was one of those moments like when you look up at the sky at night and see how vast the universe is and then feel how small we really are. But then you see the flip-side, that if the universe is so enormous, then we really are unique within it. Until I hear people who talk about being grateful of every moment alive. Which is all nice and dandy, unless you're living from day to tedious fucking day in this fucking place. Appreciating the same old shit day in, day out gets fucking agonizing! And in two-billion fucking years, none of this will fucking matter any-fucking-way! So sure, let's just enjoy the here and now. But the here and now is cold and isolated and completely fucking shit! Fuck being grateful! The universe doesn't give a shit about you!
I got to get the fuck out of this fucking place.

DAY 10.

So what kind of madness went down today in the fucking madhouse? Where do I begin?
I woke up to someone screaming at me from my door! Some wretched old cunt just shrieking. I jumped straight out of bed, slapped her across the face, and then slammed the fucking door shut! She continued screeching for no apparent reason, so I was forced to get up a whole two minutes before the lights automatically burst on at 7am.
I had a shower, then stepped out, bare foot directly onto someone's fresh vomit upon the bathroom floor. You can't imagine how infuriating the day was already becoming. I then discovered, who I assume was the puker, in a stall with another deranged fuck eating the very shit out of the toilet.
Making my way down stairs, I couldn't believe my luck when another woman came screaming as she ran my way! But she tripped and fell dramatically down the huge staircase, nearly taking me with her. She landed flat on her face where blood exploded across the marble floor. She didn't move again. I walked right past and continued toward the kitchen for my two cups of shit tea.
So at breakfast I sat there thinking about the fucking dream I had last night, which reminded me why I will never return home. Then someone dropped a tray on the floor – and then another asshole started going ape-shit at a third smaller motherfucker! The shouting prick going on and fucking on at this little dude who clearly wanted nothing more than to simply disappear.
I went to get away from these fucking clowns, and finished my tea on the front steps of the main entrance. It was actually a rather nice morning outside. Until a police car drove up – here to see me. I swear, I have never been so popular.
The cops escorted me to that other secure hospital where I was sat down in front of an angry looking senior officer. There I was asked to recall what I'd seen yesterday. Which was easy, 'cause I didn't see diddly-squat, apart from the chopper. But that was exactly what they were interest in hear about. Apparently whoever was on the chopper was some serious piece of shit. But I wouldn't know, as I was taking swimming lessons thanks to those other gung-ho fucking cops.
An hour more of that bullshit bad-cop-routine where they tried to intimidation tactic, only left me bored. Dude, I've been eating, sleeping, and shitting with these fucking lunatics for a week now, your tough-guy act ain't impressing no one.
So I was free to go back to my building and read my book in the lounge. But there's no rest for the wicked around here. That same asshole was still ripping on the skinny old dude for knocking over some other guy's breakfast tray, and now they had followed me into the lounge. The son of bitch just wouldn't shut up. He then cornered the little chap behind a table that he kept pounding with both his fists. The little chap looked like a starving dog that's been kicked everyday of his pathetic fucking life. I just moved into another room full of sickly fucks all coughing their lungs out.
An hour later, I took a leak, and then went back to find that cunt still screaming at the little fuck. Do the doctors and orderlies actually want the patients to kill each other? Seriously, where the fuck is the peaceful environment needed in order to nurture a healthy rehabilitation? I moved into the lunch room and had a cup of tea while I read.
Soon in came a new girl. I think she's new. Five-foot-tall, long black hair, big tits. She walked straight up to me and asked if I have any cigarettes. Typical women. Get the fuck out of here! Sneering, she marched away, when that yelling bastard came stomping after the skinny dude again. Jesus fuck! Are they deliberately trying to fuck with me?! The big guy then started smacking the little guy on the side of his head, whacking his glasses off constantly. Until he managed to put a table between him and the big guy yelling in Russian or something. I however, was trapped on the side of that little shit, so I stood up. And finally that ranting cunt shut his fucking mouth. But I didn't do anything. I just stood next to the trembling runt and glared back at the bigger prick. He started laughing and backed away, muttering to himself while playing with his own hands. Finally I could read my fucking book in silence. The little dude sat quietly nearby, like a dog on a porch.
Before lunch I went to take another piss (I drink a lot of tea, so I make a lot of pee), and I hear some woman shrieking in the female toilets. I took my piss without a care in the world. On my way out of the bathroom, I found some chick crawling along the corridor floor, a trail of blood smeared behind her, coming from between her legs. Casually pushing open the door to the female bathroom, I glared at a twisted piece of wire lying in a large pool of blood. Nothing like a home abortion to make a mess of things. I stepped over the moaning women and made damned sure I didn't get any of her fucking fluids on my slippers.
More tea for lunch, and the crazy guy next to me ate the hair that he pucked from his head.
I took a walk outside. There Mr. Loud-mouth from earlier, suddenly crashed into me and threw me to the ground! He pulled me away, tearing my bathrobes half off as I spun across the car park. At this point I'm seeing more than red. Ripping my three bathrobes off, I grabbed the sharpened wooden shank from the back of my PJ pants as yell at the fucking piece of shit to bring it on, you fuck! I was wanting to fucking kill this waste of fucking meat! I wanted to bury this wooden blade into his fucking throat, and then stab my thumbs into his ugly fucking eyeballs! I stood my fucking ground, but that cunt just grunts. I started punching my chest like a actual fucking caveman, and I was so fucking mad that I was actually sweating despite how fucking freezing it was out there. Then he threw himself at me – so I kick toward the cunt – but that was when the fucking orderlies miraculously decide to step in!
It took three men to carry me away from that other fuck. I was then locked in my room for an hour while I cooled off – by punching the shit out of the door. As it turns out, these doors can be locked when required.
I later had a one-on-one with yet another new young doctor. He asked what had happened today outside. I told him the nut-job jumped me. But don't worry, I'm okay, thanks, asshole.
Five minutes later, I was free and sharpening a new shank.
Dinner came and it was like every other evening. Until screaming came from outside. Nothing new. But it was more than a couple of people yelling. Everyone crowded around the big windows. I went into the lounge next door for a better view. Some old woman was in the front garden wailing at the surrounding orderlies. And then she lit herself on fire! Wow. And I thought she had been screaming loud before. By the time someone thought to get a fire-extinguisher, I'm pretty sure she was toast, mind the pun!
Sunday? You mean fun-day!
For my last night in this hell-hole, it sure has been entertaining. I'd like to know if the drugs they hand out so freely in this place are in fact making these idiots worse. Because after the fire they all went wild! Everyone ran about the building trashing everything! It was a party like it's 1999 all over again, but with actual anarchy this time. Humans in a primitive state of degeneration. Fuck Occupy Wall Street, these cats knew how to riot. Overturning tables, smashing windows, throwing chairs, and the whole mob screaming like scrapping cats! It was a simple case of numbers: the 99% psychos were all going berserk at once, and that was frankly too much for the 1% in charge to handle. The illusion of control had finally broke down. And I walked through the chaos and let it wash over me like pure bliss.
I had my share of mischief before the cops arrived and rounded everybody up like cattle and locked us in our rooms. Oh, the fun I had. Let's just say, I left my mark on the building with sharp scratchy instruments and staining liquids...
And all during that last violent night, horrible sounds echoed throughout those small hours. Things were just seeming to get interesting. But tomorrow I'd blow this Popsicle-stand and be loosed upon the greater asylum of the insane human species. This is my fucking time.


I woke up feeling refreshed and with a mouth full of dried blood. At breakfast, apart from the broken shit, everyone acted as if nothing remarkable had happened last night. Just like they do in the rest of world. No one remembers.
So I asked Doctor Kinski what the verdict was? He looked blankly back at me as if I had told him his breath smelled like a fifteen-year-old's pussy. I put it another way and asked if I was insane?
He said morbidly, "You're not insane."
I smirked and slapped my thigh (literally), "That's what I've been saying for fucking years! I'm perfectly sane!"
Kinski cocked an eyebrow, "I didn't say that. I didn't say you're sane."
I was not amused.
He continued, "You're just not in-sane, but that's not the same as being sane."
And I thought this guy didn't have a sense of fucking humor! So I was free to go. He then reminded me of the suggestions he had about anger management and a 12 Step Program. And then on my way out of his office, he added that Doctor Bitch wanted to thank me for helping on Friday, I closed his door behind me softly singing, "This is my United States of WHATEVER!"
So on Monday morning I can walked away from this test of character as a free man. But no freer than I was when I first arrived ten long fucking days ago.
And right now as I type this on the train back to dirty old Berlin, for some reason I am reminded of that saying, "In the end you don't remember the words of your enemies, but the silence of your friends."
I need a shave!