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PLOT: A MAN WITH o.c.d. GOES TO A THERAPIST FOR A CURE AND TAKES AN OVERDOSE SO HE BECOMES A HOARDER! THANK YOU!
My name is Garrett Thompson. I am fifty-four years old and have hair as white as snow. I was born on July seventeenth, nineteen fifty-seven in Trenton, New Jersey and have always been a neat-freak. My brother was horrible. He bought ninety-nine objects at a time and when he wasn't using them, he would throw them on the floor. Everyday, I stormed into his room and cleaned until my brother's room was shinier than a gold nugget. I was happy with my work, but so was my brother. I liked being tidy, but I wasn't fond of my brother's satisfaction of someone else doing his work. I tried to stop myself from completing his chores, but I had to pass his room to get to mine. I just couldn't stand seeing it so messy, so I gave him what he wanted: a maid. I have always wanted to break free of my habit, but I just can't. I have seen several doctors and they have told me that there is no cure for my O.C.D. (obsessive-compulsive disorder). I went to a therapist last Thursday and he said, "It appears that your case of O.C.D. IS curable. All you have to do is take a few pill over the next few weeks, okay? You are going to take two everyday. Promise me you won't do more than that. Good." I said my thanks and left the building. I took one pill every hour because I wasn't listening to what he had said. After four days, I started to feel a little queasy. I dropped the bottle of pills, grabbed my jacket off the floor, and started out the door. I went to the therapists office and said, "Why do I feel all funny inside my face?? Wow! Is that a cat? Hi, Mr. Kitterytonfatcat-McFuzzywuzzyhatandpants! How are you? Seriously, Doc, what is WRONG WITH MY HEAD!!! Sorry, Mr. What's-his-tail. I don't usually yell at FREAKING IDIOT-PEOPLE WHO CAN'T GIVE ME THE RIGHT MEDICINE! Oooooooohhhh! I feel SO much better now!""Calm down! How many pills did you take, Garrett?" Mr. Therapist asked. I answered... 48. "Oh my goodness. Well, Mr. Thompson, where are your clothes for tonight?" He wondered. I didn't think it mattered, but i told him that they were on the counter in the office under a bunch of papers...no, that was my toothbrush. Oh, it was on top of the fan... wait, that was my cheeseburger. I finally replied that I was not aware of the whereabouts of my night-clothes. "It appears, Garrett, that your condition has been switched. You have gone from being super clean to being super messy. At least your case was cured! But when was the last time you threw something away?" Therapist-man questioned. I responded, "That would be the night you gave me the pills. I think the garbage that I used to throw away just has so many memories in them. For instance, I was going to discard the cardboard box of the Eggo Waffles that I had this morning, but then I would have forgotten what I had for breakfast!" "It also appears that you are a hoarder!" Mr. Kitterytonfatcat-McFuzzywuzzyhatandpants exclaimed.
THE THERAPIST AND I LOOKED AT EACH OTHER AND GASPED!
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