ABC OCD - Finally Some Good News
Many of you will be already be familiar with the subject matter of this, my third chapter about the crippling disease that has now reached epidemic proportions. Namely ABC OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). My diagnosis and suggested treatments have won acclaim from just about everyone in the world.
The first two of my works were best-sellers*. People were astounded that no-one had exposed this horrifying plight before. A block-busting mini-series is under discussion, and Angelina Jolie is keen to play me, though Renee Zeilwieger is said to be stuffing her face in preparation for her most demanding role to date.
However, if you are new to the site, or just have a really crap memory due to your ABC OCD, I will get my secretary to rake up all the symptoms, which I will list again. I can’t actually remember them myself, due to my hectic schedule. It is not a symptom of ABC OCD because, as I have previously recounted, I have healed myself of this plague-like illness through extensive self-analysis (even though the editors hate my poetry. Infamy. Infamy. They've all got it in for me). Sorry. Minor flashback.
Symptoms may include the following:
Mood swings, severe anxiety lasting around four days (peaking two hours after posting), rapid heartbeat, insomnia, uncontrollable crying (particularly when you haven’t got a cherry), dry mouth, trembling, nausea, diarrhoea, depression, loss of appetite, bingeing on crisps (that’s probably just me),addiction to prescription, legal and illegal drugs, itching (due to not washing for days), gritty eyes, overwhelming surges of creativity, underwhelming surges of non creativity, memory loss.
I am inundated daily with new symptoms that are being experienced. These are so numerous that it would be impossible to list them all. But a few are so appalling and seemingly prevalent that they are worth highlighting.
Multiple user names
This is particularly pernicious, and appears to be contagious. Some of you have been driven to write under different names. This is because you think everyone hates you, but might like you if your work appears under a different persona. You may find yourself taking on different characteristics whilst using this new identity. If you find yourself doing this you are possibly insane. Don’t contact me - ring for an ambulance.
These seem to be becoming more frequent. There is evidence emerging that would suggest that they are addictive. I do not attend these myself, as my Harley St clinic is full of people who have been pressured into reading their work. I have to enable them to confront their fears, and reassure them until they are no longer the mute, twitching beings I saw some hours ago.
However, reports have reached me suggesting that these evenings are hotbeds of iniquity and revolutionary fervour. Initially things are seemingly calm. However, as the readings progress and the drinks flow, the crowd becomes polarised. In one corner the traditionalists sip their mineral water and bemoan the decline of standards on the site. Too much swearing, politics and blasphemy is their general theme, and they are perplexed by people’s inability to write about nature and love. These are permissible subjects, providing there is no hint of erotica. They also deplore anyone who fails to punctuate correctly.
The atmosphere is becoming more volatile. This is because, standing just a small distance away are the radicals. They are necking the pints and excitedly discussing ways to push the boundaries of the site. The consensus is that there is not enough swearing or blasphemy and some even drunkenly decry the need for any punctuation at all. They also think the editors are all tossers (though some of them actually are editors). The lack of writing about anything contentious is viewed as not only cowardly, but treacherous. As the evening wears on, the militants decide that the only solution is to storm the barricades and replace the incumbent old guard. The moderates opine that the bloodshed that will ensue is a tad harsh, and feel a gradual infiltration of their goals will accomplish the same ends more peaceably.
The liberals typically dither on the sidelines, wondering which side to join for the sake of expediency. Also floating about are the those who have serenely accomplished their reading, and are euphoric with success, alcohol, and the hefty dose of valium I prescribed them. They are too stoned to know what the hell anyone is talking about. There are also a few bewildered types who have just turned up because, unusually, the X-Factor is not on the telly that night. The divergent beliefs voiced at these evenings, together with the mixture of alcohol and alleged drug taking, can only end in tragedy.
Some of you are not beyond promoting your own work on someone else’s space. People even blatantly refer to specific pieces of their work, in an attempt to up their read counts and to reiterate their own superiority. This is form of self-delusion.
This is an excellent point to let you know, that my incredible work is now available in one volume, including this latest edition. You can buy this gripping trilogy at a bargain price of £100.10. It would make an excellent gift for someone you like on this site, or someone you don’t like. It’s all the same to me. I would like to make it clear that £10 of this is going to be donated to charity. My very own charity.
At last, due to some desperate pleading by some of you, I am setting up For an Unknown Common but Extreme Disease. FUCED is going to be crucial to some of our colleagues who have this highly prevalent disease. FUCED will provide practical and emotional support for all sufferers. It may be a lifeline for some of you.
Wonderful news I know. But some of you may be cynical because you think you do not have this problem. You are in denial, which is one of the ways in which this insidious disorder exhibits itself. Four out of five people repressing their symptoms will develop ABC OCD. The incubation period is variable. Share a thought for those who are firmly in the grip of ABC OCD (excluding me naturally).
To illustrate the necessity of FUCED I will give you an example of a particularly harrowing case. There is a (very) senior citizen, who was so ill with ABC OCD he lost his family, friends, home, and finally his laptop. The secure ward he resides in is suffering from government cutbacks, and his sickness benefit has been outlawed. Prior to this, his supply of tobacco for his pipe, and books about rabbits (with lots of pictures) seemed to calm him. He can no longer even watch Come Dine With Me, as the television is broken, and a new one is beyond the hospital’s budget. Currently all he is capable of is replaying Celtic/Rangers games, which make him more agitated. Try to imagine his piteous life and donate generously.
The consequences of this last symptom can lead to devastated lives. I refer to:
Making friends on the site.
It’s fine to leave friendly comments to each other. However, when it strays into private emailing, alarm bells ring. Your so-called new friend is probably not what they seem. They may sense your vulnerabilities and exploit them ruthlessly. They may be wildly jealous. However comradely a person seems, their sole aim is for them to get the cherries, not you. They are capable of anything to achieve this
I am going to share with you my personal experience of this symptom, which left me very traumatised, though of course, through extensive self-analysis, I no longer feel any concern or worry over what happened that day, that terrible, terrible, black day…
When I first joined the site, I was young and naïve. I failed to get cherries and became very unwell. I had developed all the symptoms of ABC OCD. I was determined to recover, and decided to share my problems with others. Then of course, I healed myself with my incredible aptitude for self-enlightenment. However one old bloke who contacted me was a source or enormous concern. He had the severest form of the disorder I had ever confronted. He begged me for help. I was determined to find a way of alleviating his torment. Initially there was some progress, which, I now realise, was my greatest mistake. I had raised his hopes, and he now saw me as his saviour. I finally had to admit that he was treatment-resistant. I tried to gently extricate myself from this patient, and suggested that he seek additional help. He was unable to do so, because in psycho-analytical terms, transference had occurred. Oh read your Freud.
So it began. The endless phone calls at all times of day and night, turning up at my clinic without an appointment, refusing to pay my very reasonable fees. Finally he started appearing at my home in a shocking state of distress, clutching a carrier bag of cans of special brew. All the methods available to me for calming down a difficult patient failed. The final straw was the day of my Hello photo-shoot. My maid had been cleaning my Essex faux country mansion since dawn. I had discarded my customary white coat for a glamorous designer evening gown. And who turned up? Soon my pristine home was covered in fag ash and pools of what I hoped was special brew. I was left with no alternative. I had to cancel the photo-shoot. This was tricky, as the human bundle of rags kept a firm grip on my ankle, whilst howling in a disconcerting fashion. Hello was understanding, and luckily Kerry Katona was on stand-by. But something that day shattered inside. So did the heavy vase that I coshed the old bloke’s head with. This finally quietened him. I wondered if I had killed him. But his pulse was beating erratically but strongly, which was normal for him.
That was when I collapsed with nervous exhaustion. But this was no over reaction. Imagine how you would feel if someone turned up at your front door, dishevelled, unkempt, with stained clothes, smelling of rotting cabbages and special brew.
Mummy was horrified to see me reduced to this state. She ran a bath for me, lent me her dressing gown, and administered a stiff scotch with a sedative I was unaware she possessed. For the first time in weeks, I slept peacefully, dreaming of cherries tumbling into my lap, and a spot on Oprah Winfrey. I poured out the sorry tale to Mummy the next morning. She advised an injunction, and although I feared the consequences for the old chap, I began to consider this as a viable option. My own mental health was threatened, which could have meant a potential loss to mankind.
Thankfully this wasn’t necessary. When the geriatric arrived home he, according to the police investigation and subsequent psychiatric report, drunk three bottles of buckfast, because I had drunk all his special brew. He then bought a spray can of red paint, and attempted to daub the whole of Ibrox with wildly distorted cherries, and obscene anti-Rangers graffiti. He was laughing in a shrill, disturbing fashion.
He was arrested and spent a couple of nights in a cell, which was guarded by a Rangers fan. After his cuts and bruises were treated, he was then sectioned, and assessed. His consultant concurred with my initial diagnosis. He was incurable. It transpired that he had never been entirely the full shilling. This enabled ABC OCD to become so catastrophic for an already weakened psyche. Early diagnosis back in 1977, when he began to display symptoms of ABC OCD, could have made all the difference.
This was upsetting for me. Despite the difficulties he had caused I had become strangely fond of him, nor could I forget that he was a truly innovative writer in his day, even winning Story of the Week in 1976. Please remember him as he once was.**
To conclude: I am working night and day on a cure on your behalf. But I need laboratory assistants, researchers, and two crates of the finest bred guinea pigs. I also need to look good to boost my popularity, I mean scientific credibility. So I have arranged to have some very small cosmetic procedures, and hired a personal trainer.
There are further cases out there who won’t even manage to stay off their laptops over Christmas. They need your help. So does my lavish lifestyle. Please donate as much as you can afford. Or buy my books. Signed copies will of course cost extra. Thank you.