Kasher in the Rye: The True Tale of a White Boy from Oakland Who Became a Drug Addict, Criminal, Mental Patient, and Then Turned 16

by Moshe Kasher

I stepped out into the hallway in my foam “safe slippers” and smelled the fetid, chemical custard stink that wafts in every hospital and institution. I can never wash that stench memory out of my nose. To this day, every time I go to the doctor’s for an appointment, my nose sends me back to that hallway, staring down at my feet, wondering how it all happened. I shuffled to the showers and was handed a measly towel and a hotel bar of soap. “Five minutes,” the orderly barked. You know the feeling of tranquility and cleansing a nice long shower gives you? Yeah, that’s not available during the five-minute mental hospital shower. Even in there you feel institutionalized. I scrubbed myself and dreaded the rest of the day. First up was some kind of group ball game led by the most chipper counselor you could ever hope to vomit directly in the face of. “This is FEELING BALL!” Her gross shimmering teeth gleamed bright white in juxtaposition to the blackness emanating from my heart. “Emphasis on feeling! When I bounce the ball to you, you tell me how you are feeling about your new journey into mental health!” The chipper little thing bounced the ball toward me with a huge smile. “Your turn!” “What?” I couldn’t believe I was doing this. “A feeling!” She grinned and I wanted to rip her face off with my mind. “I feel like you are bad at your job.” I bounced the ball to someone else as my therapist’s electric grin went dim.