When I was sequestered in an inner-city dwelling where doctors censure mentally challenged individuals who can't squeeze into society's tube of ethics, I screamed uncontrollably. The irrevocable abuses inside the padded walls were endless. Inside the psychotherapists offices, where superlative lies were ethics, where under the influence of pharmaceuticals, the staffs sexual dysfunctions came to life.
Instead of drowning in Sigmund Freud's theories as explained to me by three highly-educated and equally-challenged psychotherapists, I tell this story taking liberties, observing miscreant behaviors, and analyzing deviant educated savages.
The miscreant patients and scoundrel professionals were sausages packed together like sardines in a can, pretending to act urbane and sophisticated, and yet, feeling the power of socialized insanity. I lived in a vacuum full of lust, discovery, and panic.
Life in the psycho ward was terror, like pigs trying to escape decapitation. The professionals illuminated, adding compunction to all the psychological commotion among us patients.
The following quote describes my emotion at that time: I could just kill myself and terminate all future confusion, or better yet, kissing Freud and slapping Jung would satisfy me more.
You are forewarned, sexuality and profanity are explicitly portrayed KISSINg FREUd. Dig in.