A Cry for Help - Drake, S.
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by Stephen Drake ISBN: 978 1 84747 001 0 Published: 2006 Pages: 27 Description This is the true story of a young man who suffers from obsessive compulsive disorder(OCD). This condition drives him to crime and to periods in custody. The author writes with vigour of his dealings with other people, especially in a young offender's institution. This is a raw book, and the prose style mirrors that rawness. Stephen has a terrible fear, among others, of harming an elderly lady. Having to continually check that each and every elderly woman he passed in the street or came into everyday contact had not…mehr

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by Stephen Drake ISBN: 978 1 84747 001 0 Published: 2006 Pages: 27 Description This is the true story of a young man who suffers from obsessive compulsive disorder(OCD). This condition drives him to crime and to periods in custody. The author writes with vigour of his dealings with other people, especially in a young offender's institution. This is a raw book, and the prose style mirrors that rawness. Stephen has a terrible fear, among others, of harming an elderly lady. Having to continually check that each and every elderly woman he passed in the street or came into everyday contact had not suffered at his hands. He had no urge to harm them, he just had terrible fears that he might. He was obsessed with 'not' being responsible for any harm to an elderly lady. Life, in general society, became unbearable! He decided that prison was the answer to his prayers; a safe haven. No old women in prison! A life of crime, with little regard to detection, followed. Life in British jails as a young prisoner and terms in young offenders instituitions are described. You might feel pity or, perhaps, disgust when reading his unusual, but true, story. About the Author Having written this book over a long period of time was quite satisfied wih the end result! Felt the illness was described fairly well and, hopefully, life as a young offender. Book Extract He didn't care. Maybe that wasn't true. As the words of fury passed his lips his left hand grasped his right. He knew the reason - he certainly wasn't going to strike an old woman. No chance. The road was quiet with fields on one side and trees the other. "Did you hit that woman?" Charlie asked himself yet again. "Can you remember punching her?" He replayed the moment in his mind attempting to ease his fears. "No, I can't picture myself clumping her," he answered his own question. "What if you did harm her in some way," the voice, presumably his, forced an entrance. Charlie, too concerned with his own predicament, ignored the distant sounds of laughter. He failed to notice the three youths until he walked into them. Maybe he had seen them but, being so on edge, didn't care. He wouldn't even deny walking into the group on purpose. What had he got to lose? "Watch it, mate," shouted one of the group, "why can't you look where you're going?" "Get fucked," Charlie growled, in no mood for sensible suggestions. He wasn't scared of their reaction, his mind being filled with more urgent matters. It wouldn't have bothered the young man if he finished the evening in a casualty department; all he craved was reassurance that he hadn't assaulted the elderly female. While that concern occupied his thoughts, nothing else was of importance. This single-minded approach exasperated the stocky youth - it took a great deal to infuriate Charlie but where much had failed, his deranged thought process succeeded. He attempted to push pass the gang who prevented his progress. Caution had been thrown to the wind - why should he show respect to others when his own mind was intent on destruction.
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