Closet Crazy

*** Fictional Story***

Tick… Tick… Tick… Tick.

Only about thirty more ticks to go from my authentic grandfather clock that sits gallantly in the corner before I can slowly end this session.

Everyday I sit in this blue chair, with my freshly ironed dry cleaned clothes, polished loafers, and perfectly combed hair. I face my client while holding my notepad and pen and jot down anything I feel like I should be jotting down. It’s more for show actually. I scribble down things like their posture, words or phrases I notice them subconsciously using, ticks they may have, even when they’re lying to me. I always know when they’re lying to me. When you’ve studied people for as long as I have, it becomes second nature to spot a lie.

Most of my clients are good people. Their lives are usually quite boring which leads them to deal with their boring lives in a destructive manner. Each case different in the manner they go about getting rid of the monotony their lives have become. All similarly ending in destruction. This is why they come looking for me.

I listen to their pitiful stories. All complain, some of them while yelling. Others spend their entire session crying out without even saying an understandable word. Most of the time I just sit there and listen. I listen without having to really listen to them. During most of my sessions my brain runs on complete autopilot. I tune into the “important” parts and tune out the fillers with important thoughts of my own.

Today has been a busier day than usual. I started off my morning with a 22 year old girl who has sexual fantasies of being with an older man, a man who much resembles to that of her father. That session was followed by a husband who’s wife recently uncovered his severe gambling and cocaine addiction and gave the the ultimatum to seek help or leave. After him followed a 5th grade English teacher who absolutely hated his job and who’s never experienced a romantic relationship in his entire life. He’s 53 years old and since our last session has secretly begun diving into the depths of the deep dark web in search of deep dark fantasies. Their issues are typical for their individual circumstances. With each case I end our sessions with prescribing them drugs to help them “cope” with their issues but to be honest, they were all much more sane before they started to come to see me. Before the drugs.

Western medicine has never been my thing. When I say “my thing” I mean you will never catch me taking any type of Western medication. Garbage is the word that comes to mind when thinking about man made medicine. I am more of a meditation and homeopathic remedies man myself, yet I cannot deny the amount of money one can make by pumping patients with garbage. When done right, one can keep sick people sick, and make a killing doing so. No pun intended. So I prescribe them this, then I’ll mix it up and tell them to take that. Never once do they debate the advice given to them. As long as I listen and prescribe, that’s all they care about. I give them exactly what they want. I dope them up to help them better deal with the harsh realities of life. Realities that for the most part were self inflicted. They never question the possible side effects of what has been prescribed to them neither the long term nor short. They don’t ever question the motives one may have when prescribing such garbage, neither big nor small. No explanations are ever needed. Just a piece of paper with a solution to a symptom and a signature and off they go.

I run a very small and very private practice so there is really no one I have to answer to other than the board. Not once have I ever had to answer to the board. In fact, in order for a patient to be even seen by me you first have to be referred by someone on the “inside”, then verified by me personally. This means full background check. I look into their old medical files, their criminal record if they have one, and dive deep into their most personal affairs. Finding out a patient’s deep and darkest secrets is key to having complete dominance over them. I makes it easier to keep them eating out of your hand.

Funny, I wonder how quickly things would change if any one of my clients found out the truth of the deep dark secret I, myself, hide. A lie that stares them in the face session after session. A sick truth that patients are too blinded by their own issues to see. I thrive over that advantage I have over them. The advantage of being able to see what lies before me because unlike them, I have no issues of my own to deal with. My issues aren’t “issues” instead they are a beautiful way of life.

I am not here to help my patients. I am not here to make them feel better.  To keep my small practice small but yet thriving I make sure to keep the minds of my patients sick. I keep them coming back for more. Their repeat illness allows for my small business to make money. A visibly thriving practice and a polished look  helps disguise the truth that lies within my mind, soul, and basement. How else would I keep my secret a secret? A handsome family man, who is financially well off, and never tires to try to “better” society through is profession. There is no better cover than that.

“It amazes me how day after day you deal with the crazies, only to try to better their lives and make the world an easier place to live in. For them and us. That’s so honorable of you…” is what friends and family say.  I can only imagine the look on their faces if I told them the truth. That no, I could care less about bettering humanity. The simple truth was that dealing with the “crazies” made me appear to be normal.

I wrap up the second half of my day with two more appointments. I close up shop as the sun begins to set, and head straight home to my wife. I find her in the kitchen, happily awaiting my arrival, plating my homemade dinner that was still nice and warm.

Tonight our daughter is working her part-time shift at the mall and won’t be home for hours. I choose to dedicate this time to my wife because meeting her needs keeps her off my back.  “Happy wife, Happy life” isn’t that how the saying goes? So I ask her about her day and although I could give a shit about what this stay at home housewife has done with it, I pretend to listen. Again, mind on autopilot. Throughout our one way conversation, I make sure to interrupt her and compliment her on her cooking skills, calling her below average meal, delectable. With a final wipe of my napkin, I stare her deep into her eyes, and tell her how ravishing she looks, even after a long day like she’s had today. I then reach across the table and kiss her almost animalistically and with one quick swoop, I pick her up and take her to the bedroom where I make love to her passionately. I make sure she is exhaustedly pleased, and soon enough we both are. After much unwanted pillow talk, I get up and make her a nice cup of her favorite bedtime tea. Only  after she drinks the cup in its entirety, and her snores begin to fill the air around me, am I free to become the rawest version of myself.

I wait a few beats before I make my way out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind me. I don’t worry about my wife waking up. Not after grinding up three melatonin pills and slipping them into her already potent tea. Guiltlessly I make my way through our rustically decorated home, and shut off all the lights, only leaving the driveway light and hallway light on. A guide for when my daughter arrives. With the house dark and quiet my daughter never assumes I’m still awake. She believes I am in the room with her beloved mother, gaily spooning each other until morning. She has no idea that night time is my time.

I make my way past the kitchen and towards the door that leads down into the basement. I open it and instantly am hit with the cold that creeps up from the darkness below. I quickly find myself reaching into my pocket for my penlight. I descend the stairs quickly and point the light towards the bookcase that is randomly placed against the wall. As I reach the bookcase, I place the penlight back into my pocket. I push the heavy bookcase to the side and lift the old, dusty rug it stood on, exposing the trap door that it hid beneath it. Just simply seeing the trap door and knowing the secret that it held inside made my heart race and my dick hard.

With a strong tug I lift the trap door and once I find the proper footing on the thin iron steps, I allow for the door to come back down, lowering it gently back into place. I am again engulfed by darkness. It swallows me whole, heightening all of my senses, including that of smell. I have grown accustomed to the musky smell that this place gives off. The smell is now one that soothes me. It makes me feel at home. I slowly climb down the stairs waiting for my foot to hit the ground and once it does, I take my penlight from my pocket and point it towards the door that stands at the very end of the hall. I quickly cut down the hall, anticipation rising deep within my chest, reaching the door in seconds. I grab the door knob and twist to open. No lock needs to be undone for although what lies on the other side of this door is locked in, the side I stand on is always free, allowing me to come and go without having to fumble with a lock and key.

I open the door slowly and as I step in, I admire what lies in front of me…..



We all feel a little mischievous at one point or another. You could be having a dull day, for instance. To spice things up a bit an idea might hit you, that normally on any other day you may be opposed to it, but on a dull day like today you’re all about it and the randomness that it could bring you.

Life has recently left me with quite a few dull days. Not a lick of adventure, not even a spark of inspiration. My creativity has been halted a bit considering if you don’t live fiercely your inspiration for creation will also suffer.

It wasn’t even 6 months ago when I decided to cut my days at the restaurant so I would have more time to do what I loved and that was to write, paint, and to actually enjoy my limited life here in Florida.  It wasn’t long after when I found myself in trouble with the law halting any future adventures I was to have for about the next year.

So here I am, bored, and what do I do?? Well, you know what they say about idle hands right? Idle hands, devil’s workshop?

I one day, out of sheer boredom, came up with a way to spark that literary fire. I wanted to write and instead of using those cheesy, uncreative writing prompt apps, I decided to go fishing for stories instead, anonymously. What better way to get a good story and keep your identity hidden than to search the classifieds, no?

Ah Craigslist. A place to find used furniture, volunteer opportunities, employment, and even love?Yes. that’s right. Love.

The personals section on CL has the most interesting characters on the net that are in search of that filthy yet blessed feeling. The emotion that makes this world livable. Love. One of the biggest questions I ask myself while reading these online posts is “Does one seriously think that by posting on CL one will find true love?” Can one be so hopeful, yet desperate? I go from reading the men seeking women’s section to the women seeking men’s. I read the casual encounters then tread on over to missed connections. The stories of those who have seemed to have fallen in love at first sight yet had no chance but now to do anything about their missed encounters. Do they ever get a response?? Does anything ever come from their missed connections post? Do they get to kindle that flame they once only dreamed of experiencing?

I decided to make a post myself and see what ended up coming from that. Again, what is it that they say about idle hands??

I picked the genre of Missed Connections. I felt like that would have been the best place to post that would give me the least amount of perverted responses. My message went something like this:

So this probably won’t be seen by the person it is intended for BUT I decided I would go for it anyways…
I just saw you 20mins ago..
You were wearing a maroonish colored t-shirt, with shorts and flip flops. You had a tattoo on the back of your left calf and you have the cutest hair ever. Curly, shoulder length, light brown? You had almonds, kale, and other healthy yummies in your cart.
We first bumped into one another while we were looking for cell phone cases. I was wearing a bright yellow work shirt and was totally in your way and didn’t notice. When I said sorry you said, “Don’t be sorry!”
We later ran into one another in the produce section. The way you slid around with your cart was kinda cute.
If the genders were reversed I would have totally asked you out… the fact that I didn’t strike up conversation is now bumming me out.
Anyways, if you read this, e-mail me 🙂 I don’t know many people out here and not many catch my eye so I’m taking a chance here, haha!
I truly hope to hear back from you…


Keep in mind, THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED. I made this entire scenario up. Every bit of it was a detailed LIE. A rouse I had come up with off of the top of my creative little (big) head and within minuets I was getting responses.

Some of you out there are thinking, “She is so mean, toying with people’s hearts like this!!” And I say onto you dudes … “Are you kidding me?”  You must be..

My first response was literally 4 mins after my post. It read,

“You sound like you have a good head on your shoulders. Would you mind moving down south and giving me some of that good brain?”  Mmmmm, yeaa noooo.

The second one came in just a few short seconds after and read,

“Got any pics? I sent you one..” I open the attachment and low and behold what is starting back at me?? A chode.

The responses were pouring in and all of them were sexual in nature. I began to slowly understand the true meaning of the personals section on CL and shuddered with the thought. Who actually meets up with these people??? I’ve often seen on talk shows people addicted to sex discreetly meeting up with randoms off of CL but I never really believed it. Could it actually be so common?? Reply after reply, all I was getting were gross messages of men and their inner most sexual desires. That I will leave for another blog post, maybe even a book. All I knew is that I had read enough and just when I was to take my fake post down I got a message that genuinely freaked me out.

It started off very normal. If I hadn’t made up the post I would have been ecstatic reading it. This is what it said,

“Hey You, I’m glad you wrote. I was thinking of doing the same but didn’t know how to even start off. When I saw you today it was way before your first time mentioned. You had walked in pushing your shopping cart and all I saw was your beautiful smile. I came up with a way to say Hi and that was by making my way over to the cell phone cases. You were so sweet and from that point on I just haven’t been able to really shake you from my thoughts. Shoot me a message back. Let’s talk.”

I was freaked out. The message was cute if only what I had initially written would have been true but it wasn’t. Why would someone reply as though it had really happened? Let’s say my scenario had really gone down the way I said it did. Let’s say I posted this on CL in hopes to really find this person. This person has replied in a way to make me believe it was them when it all actuality it was a complete stranger fucking with me.

I sat there for a while not knowing what to do. Should I go on with this and see how far it could go? But I was upset. How dare this person lead me on. Even if this wasn’t real life, it could have been. They just toyed with my emotions.

And then BAM…

It hit me.

What was so different from what I was doing by posting a fake post on CL?? Was I too not toying with people’s emotions?? Even if the story wasn’t real, for a split second as they read my post in its entirety, they believed it was. There was no difference between this person and myself. I was bored and made up a post. They were bored and decided to respond to it.

I got it. I really did. Yet there was just one more thing that was bothering me. This person could have been anyone. A bored group of kids scanning the classifieds for a good laugh. A writer like myself looking for some inspiration. A lonely old man who believed maybe this could lead into something more. Or even a serial killer hoping to set up his next victim.

The last thought really disturbed me. It was a total possibility. How many times have you read a news headline about an unsuspecting victim falling prey to a killer met online? One too many times that’s for sure. In this case, Florida being a state known for it’s weirdos this could be more certain than false.

I logged into my CL account and deleted the post. I delete the emails. I quickly shut off my computer and went for a walk. I had freaked myself out. I had gone looking for what was essentially trouble and I no longer cared for it. Then I decided to come back home and write. I accomplished my goal of killing boredom and in doing so found a bit of inspiration for a couple new projects while at the same time realizing how thin a line it is that separates sheer boredom from malicious insanity.

11247633_829717257119500_379354940_n Photo Credit: Natal Galvan