March 26, 2017
By Jacob_Sherman BRONZE, Papillion, Nebraska
Jacob_Sherman BRONZE, Papillion, Nebraska
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

 “How bad is it Doctor?”

“I’m sorry to say Mr. and Mrs. Mayer, but it isn’t looking good. It has become clear during his time under my care that your son is definitely suffering from the severe mental illness, Writing Disorder.”

The Mayer’s nervously glanced at each other and asked in a concerned tone, “What has he been doing?”
The physiatrist tried to be as gentle as she could. “Your son has written 50,000 pages in the past month. If he continues at this rate, his mental condition will be too far gone to save. His insistence on writing is severely damaging to his social, mental, and physical health. If we can’t help him, he will be unable to live a normal, healthy life.

“Well what should we do?”

“Well, if we had noticed the early warning signs first, we could have stopped his writing before it had gotten out of hand, but at this point all we can do is prevent him from being exposed to others with writing disorder.”
“We could like to see him if that’s ok.”

The Doctor led the Mayer’s away from the mental hospital’s lobby, an down a hallway into a tiny room, they entered. Giles Mayer was sitting at a computer desk, a small laptop sitting on it. A cup of coffee say besides the laptop.

Giles did not look up to notice them but continued typing. His parents looked on in horror as he typed a paragraph, read it, then shook his head, muttered something to himself, and clicked in the middle of it, using the backspace button to erase part of a sentence. They could not believe he would willingly partake in such a self-harming and torturous activity. What could drive their normal 20-year-old son to do such a thing?

“Honey, it’s us? Don’t you want to talk? Mrs. Mayer pleaded.

“He doesn’t like being distracted while he writes.” The Psychiatrist chipped in.”

“Giles, when’s the last time you have eaten?”

“Unfortunately, he won’t eat anything but the occasional pastry from Starbucks, and drinks several cups of coffee a day to get through his writing sessions.”

“Doesn’t he ever do anything else?”

“Well he would but we lock him in a tiny room all day every day remember?"

“I thought it was just a passing phase, and when it became clear we had to send him here, I was sure you could get him to stop.” Mr. Mayer said.

“Even are strongest medication only has the effect to slow down his writing and change his subject.”
“Doctor, what should we do if he finishes a novel?”

“That would be catastrophic to his health. I would recommend that if worst comes to worst, it may be in his own best interest if he required him to wear a strait jacket.”

“Well, we hope it won’t come to that, but if you think it is for his best interest, then go ahead. Mrs. Meyer stated with a sense of finality in her voice.

The author's comments:

My intention was to write a self decrapitating story that makes fun of writers such as myself.

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