Running Like Crazy

By Justin Davis

I was disappointed when I finished the book.
Yes, it was that good!
–Marie Jackson
Masters in Education

I read the entire book in two days.
It was one of those books you don’t want to put down.
–Diane Jacobs
Masters in Education


This is the true life story of a young man stricken with extreme mental illness. At the age of twenty and in the blink of an eye he was possessed.

The year was 1980 and mental illness was not viewed with the compassion, nor the respect that it is today. In fact it was taboo, mortifying and never a thing you’d share even with the best of friends.

An all American runner and eventual MMA athlete, two time college graduate and yet paralyzed with fear day in and day out. This is the inside story that pulls no punches of the brutality and the consequences of living with this wicked affliction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781663236357

Book preview

Chapter 1

This is the story of a man’s life. An outstanding athlete’s life. The brutal life of a man stricken with a severe mental illness. A story of an ongoing fight for survival. My name is Justin. I am 60 years old. I am a father, an athlete, a distance runner and an MMA, (Mixed Martial Arts) athlete. I am also on disability due to being mentally ill. I am deemed incapable of working despite two four year college degrees. This is a story that at times seems unbelievable. But it is an accurate, honest account of my life thus far. I believe it will touch everyone who reads it.

Why would one choose to be put in solitary confinement? Solitary confinement is known to be one of the most brutal punishments a prisoner may have to endure. Being alone with just your own thoughts. No one to speak to, no one to see, touch or interact with. You are utterly isolated with four walls to stare at.No sunshine, fresh air, blue skies, or breeze.

The severely mentally ill will actually choose to live much of their life in isolation. To be alone, locked in a house, apartment, or more often than not, a rented room. What is infuriating to our population is the lack of understanding we must endure from others. This lack of understanding can escalate. Even to the extent of verbal and physical abuse. Yes, I know we may look disheveled but for the most part we look as normal as the next person. But as we act differently, strange, bizarre even others treat us accordingly and yes we suffer at their hands even more than our minds already are. Consequently we feel so alone, misunderstood and frustrated.

As well, when people realize you have a mental illness they avoid you, disrespect you, shun you and even worse, fear you. After all, isn’t it all those mentally ill people who commit brutal crimes- twisted crimes like shooting into crowds of people? On the other hand, people may say to themselves, Hell, I deal with stress all the time and occasionally even get thoroughly depressed. I push on, so why can’t they? Isn’t it mind over matter? Some good old fashioned self-discipline? I think they are weak!

Personally I can be among many people yet feel so utterly alone. I was not embraced by the general population or at least this is what I felt. When you meet someone the first question typically out of everyone’s mouth is…What do you do for a living? Or just, What do you do? It’s an invasive question and a bit rude if you ask me. After all, we know lots of them are simply asking you how much money you make, indirectly so they think? "Well, yeah, let’s see. My name is Justin Davis. I am 61 years old, upper middle age I hope. I am unemployed and gainfully on disability due to having an extreme mental illness. Oh, I substitute teach some but not too much. Can’t lose my disability! Teach some Karate lessons, train dogs and write too, but yeah, not gainfully employed. No, not by a long shot. So how would you like to hang out, be my friend or perhaps go on a date? ______ Silence.

Oh, don’t worry. We learn to act, bullshit and not come forward as in this example, but the truth always surfaces. Sooner or later they find out.

I was born into an upper middle class family. Highly educated all of us. My father was a sales engineer and my mother, a Registered Nurse. My father was driven, extremely hard working. Yes, I would say productive obsessive compulsive disorder but, oh, he certainly had it and he certainly suffered more than anyone will know.

I remember running errands with him that could have been fun, but he took so darn long to do everything. To say he was detail-oriented would be a gross understatement. My mother was wound less tightly. She laughed easily and, hmmm, I guess they were just very different. Both could certainly be intense at times. However, my mom was more open, easy-going early on in my life, way less-detailed. However, you sure did not want to be on her shit list! And she always had a shit list.

Both mom and dad would never miss a sporting event of mine and the vacations we took on the Minnesota lakes were fantastic. I loved the wildness of it all. The forest, full of pine trees, white birch, lakes, swamps and all the wild animals and my father? He took a big interest in my athletics and worked with me on my skills at home and at the lake. This was exciting for us both as I was beyond a natural athlete. My early childhood was for the most part good.

When I think back or forward it can be fascinating. However, I know I must live in the present moment for my mental health and to preserve my sanity. However, I am telling my story so back in time I travel, thankful for an excellent memory, in fact, photographic at times, but not perfect. At least I am thankful as I write this book as an excellent memory can be a curse...if you dwell there.

Chapter 2

I was walking up the sidewalk that led to the college library. The year was 1981 and I was twenty one years old. It was fall and the air was brisk, trees full of color as the leaves began to drop. My books were tucked under my arm like a football. I passed other students but hardly noticed as I was inside my head tangled up in all kinds of thoughts that mostly revolved around one person.

I was aware of the season, but people? Well again there was only one person I was fixated on and she had just left on a plane for South America. Her name was Sarah. Both of us were twenty one and I had just a few weeks ago asked her to marry me. She said Yes but her plans to study in South America were long since set and Oh my gosh, hell, I begged her not to go, Please Sarah don’t leave me, we’re getting married and we just got engaged, please don’t go. She told me, Justin, these are my studies and if I don’t go I would always feel I missed a great opportunity. I would always hold it against you. I crumbled, I gave in and she was there and I was here facing another cold winter in Aurora, Illinois.

I entered the library, well lit, quiet and pretty much empty other than a girl behind the front desk. I sat down on the wooden chair, propped up my textbook on the wooden table and began to read and then I was hit. What the hell? Stop it, push it out! Brush it off! Oh, for God’s sake get rid of it! Now read read read! I could not, I could not do anything as I was suddenly paralyzed in the wooden chair.

It was a thought, shit just a thought is all. But one bizarre and twisted thought it was! Everyone has them now and then right? No, no, just no. I had never thought anything this scary and here I was hearing it over and over repeating inside my head. I could not change my focus. I could not shake it to anything else, something normal, please something normal! It would not stop repeating in my mind. I screamed at myself internally, Justin, get it out of your head, it’s not right! Why, it’s asinine and is making you a nervous wreck!

Oh, my God! Now my emotions caught up to my thinking. Fear took over my body. My breathing sped up. My face flushed and my body began to sweat. My eyes darted, taking in the surroundings, scanning the library and aside from the girl at the desk, it was empty. Normally a peaceful quiet setting now became terrifying. Oh, my God, no. Please let it go, make it leave me God. The thought burrowed in my brain like a tick and suddenly I no longer had control of my thoughts, I no longer had control of my mind.

Chapter 3

The thought was this…I had gone into the bathroom in the Clark Arts building, threw away my paper towel after washing my hands. It was a metal can with a swivel top shaped like a pup tent, that swung back and forth after you pushed your garbage through one side. I somehow thought my throw away action beat some impossible odds. I imagined the metal clipping the metal as the top swung back and forth and I know that two stones can be struck together to create a spark so I thought metal could do the same thing. Utterly bizarre! Horrendously out of the realm of ordinary. You know, normal.

Then of course, the spark would fall back into the garbage full of papers and, yeah, start a fire. Now this fire would spread as fires will, burn down the building, kill students and staff as well! I returned home on this bleak overcast day and began pacing my bedroom. I racked my brain over and over trying to get this thought to leave but it wouldn’t, just plain wouldn’t and outside my window the overcast fall day droned on and on with no notice of me.

I was terrified. The demon spoke, But Justin, really, stones throw sparks when struck together so why not metal? Oh, it’s a long shot but it’s possible, right? Then I screamed from within, No! No! No! Leave me alone! Get the fuck outa here, leave me alone! Oh my Lord Jesus, what could have prepared me for this? It kept repeating in my brain over and over. I could not get it to leave my head. I was responsible to make right this dreadful situation!

I refused to give in and go check for smoke, flames, whatever. So the thought remained whispering in my ear,This whole thing could turn tragic Justin... and it’s on you so go! Check it out. I would not give in. I was beside myself with terror. One, that the thought was so bizarre. Two, that it had a hold on me and three, that it kept whispering in my mind, in my head. Shut up, go away. I kept pacing and pacing, thinking and thinking but I could not divert my thoughts.

The next morning incessant thoughts continued one right after another. I’d hit a bump in the car, Oh shit, Were my eyes on the road or was I not paying attention? Did I just hit a squirrel, a cat, dog or child? Oh, my God, I was distracted. Look in your rearview mirror …look! Bang, I hit another bump and now I know I was not looking at the road.

I have to go back, check the road, roadside, among the trees and bushes. Perhaps the victim crawled...check it, check it some more. I’d check it for a good half hour then realize I was late for class so now I must hurry. I burst into class, no eye contact with anybody. I thought and thought, Did I check the road well enough?

I must return, check it some more. Oh shit, this was torture. On the one hand I knew the thought was crazy but another part of my brain, a demon, was screaming harder, Check it! Check it out! After all, a chance is still a chance as improbable as it may be. It could happen. Yes, it could! Yes, it could!

What about the bathroom I used before class? Did I turn the faucet off or would it flood? Perhaps I didn’t turn the lights off? Would the custodian check these before he left? If not, perhaps there would be a fire. It was conceivable…possible, right? Over there…there is a black spot on the floor. What is it? The letter I just wrote in my notes is not entirely legible. Rewrite it now! I must be able to read my notes! I looked up. The light on the ceiling in the classroom looks off. Off kilter that is. Are they going to fall? Here I am right in the middle of a fucking college class staring up at the ceiling!

What’s wrong with me? People started staring or quickly looked the other way. Classmates avoided me. The professors knew there was something wrong and here I was majoring in Psychology. No one intervened. No one took me aside or tried to help. Utterly alone. That’s where I was and I sure as shit wasn’t going to tell someone I was going nuts.

I paced the bedroom in the folks’ house body reacting to my mind, pacing constantly like a caged animal. I was sweating, heart rate quickening. Something had control of my mind and it wasn’t me. Think Justin, Think! There must be a way to think my way out of this dreadful affliction. But I could not use my sick mind to cure my sick mind!

My breathing sped up, my heart rate climbed even more. My mind, so full of thoughts and worries it kinda went numb. Everything got blurry and I was gone. There was no use thinking at this point. My head... felt like I’d been punched more than once. I was in a fog, pretty much brain dead. I prayed all the time calling out to God, The Holy Spirit, Jesus, please, please!

I could not tell anyone. It was 1981. Nobody knew about mental illness and again I didn’t want to admit to these strange, creepy, scary thoughts. Well perhaps I could admit to some with a chuckle, but what about the part where it would not stop repeating. I was embarrassed, scared, terrified even and confused. Every day was a bad dream. I’d wake up in the morning with my heart in my throat filled with fear and dread of the day looming in front of me. Morning was the worst part and the best part of the day was returning to bed. Shutting my eyes as my mind would turn temporarily off.

What I did not know in the year of 1981 at the age of 21 was that I had O.C.D. (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) and not just a mild case check the door three times funny funny ha ha. I had an extremely torturing illness.

Now O.C.D. can be a mild annoying part of one’s life or it can possess you and destroy you. I would never be the same again. I cried myself to sleep routinely. I cried out and sobbed to God, Please free me. Please free me.

Eventually I was ostracized by people, disowned by family, fired from numerous jobs, kicked out of bars, libraries, restaurants and got into numerous fights, most verbal but some physical. I was arrested over and over, put in prison, obtained a criminal record, had an officer of the law draw and point his gun at me while crouching behind his car, put diamonds on two girls’ fingers and a cubic zirconium on the third, fourth, fifth and sixth. I lived in motels, apartments, rooms, on people’s couches, one shit hole after another, one creepy landlord after another and I became angry, beaten up, sad and all alone.

This illness wanted to kill me. It wanted me dead. In fact without youth, running and beer I self medicated with, I would be dead and many times over. Darn, it’s a good thing I ran hard today, spent myself even as I ran in and through the forest trails and alongside me...my faithful Australian Cattle Dog Sonney.

Chapter 4

The onset of my illness was definitely brought on by traumatic events however genetics and upbringing contributed as well. After all, I noticed my father’s peculiar behavior. He would come home from work and here we go again, business, business, and more business. He was so serious entering the house with this big presence, six feet tall and about 220, briefcase in hand as he headed up the stairs to his desk located in my parents’ bedroom. He would do paperwork, make phone calls one after another, non stop, always the schmoozer, a true salesman, a good salesman but he’d occasionally hang up only to swear like a sailor. Well, not that bad but he swore.

My older brother and sister would shuffle in after me, always immersed in school activities. Then in time mom would call us down the stairs to sit around the kitchen table for dinner. Five years younger than my sister, and seven behind my brother I was the baby of the family, speaking very little, feeling small and even invisible at times. But this was me, not them as I was a thinker, withdrawn and melancholy even as a kid.

Now as a child I was spoiled, not put to work and consequently as an adolescent when I was called upon to do a task, chore, whatever, I was in uncharted territory. I can remember my chemistry class, shop class, and even home economics being nightmares. Anything that was hands on, actually doing something... I was clueless?

Everyone from a young age needs balance in their life, however I played basketball and ran around all the time and loved it, but it was out of whack and in time I was out of whack.

A job well done gives confidence and a feeling of accomplishment. Work makes play better. Everyone knows this. I, however, was just told to be a good boy when the tasks were called out, a family joke but not any good for me. Not in the least. Afterall balance is huge.

As well, my brother and sister teased me consistently which I know is part of being the youngest. I laughed along mostly, but some did sink in. They occasionally called me HEAD because of my huge head. I can still recall my kindergarten school picture and my head was enormous. Thank goodness my body finally caught up to my head. Kind of funny looking back. Yeah, looking back ...

We lived in an affluent area and when compared to the other kids scholastically I was eventually above average, but this came hard. I was a slow developer. In fact, I was taken to reading tutors and The Reading Clinic.

Now the Reading Clinic took place in an old house, on the scary side of town and I swear it looked haunted. Really creeped me out. I walked up the rickety old steps to the room then took a seat. Sat there and watched the screen on the wall as the words whipped by at a speed we were supposed to be keeping up with… I couldn’t read this fast! Not even close. Here I was with other problem readers. I could figure that out and when we were called upon to regurgitate what we’d read, I couldn’t.

I was scared! Knowing how important reading was, and getting good grades was, and being socially involved was and I was none of these! Not yet anyways. And really? I was not sure they would ever come! And these were all very essential to getting that good job, position, career blah blah blah; the ever important future everyone seemed so keyed into.

Was I destined for failure? What the heck would I do when I became an adult? I could not stay a kid forever. I’d sit on the dirt piles around where we lived, a new and growing area watching construction workers constantly building houses working for a living.

Once while running for the track team in high school I stepped in a builder’s wet cement and he yelled at me. I was humiliated. Here I was doing what was thought to be a crazy sport, long distance running, cross country, yes just a trivial high school sport and this guy is making a living! Those were the kind of thoughts I had as a kid. As a kid!

In terms of my future, the all important future which adults seem to talk about so frequently? I hoped I could be a professional basketball player. I was the best on the playground and eventually the best player in my middle school, 7th grade, voted M.V.P. by my teammates and these were the biggest of schools. But here my mom was 5 feet 2 and my father 6 feet. I only ended up growing to 5’9" and this was with tennis shoes on. But I loved watching Walt, the Lakers and Dr. K who to this day just can’t be imitated. I practiced around the clock but knew our eventual height is genetic and here my folks are pretty much average?

Us kids sized each other up and down based on the size of our yards, cars and houses we lived in? Whose dad made the most money? Who’s drove the sharpest car. Looking back I do believe one way or another us kids were brainwashed into believing our very worth was directly related to the amount of money our family had, our grades in school, our ability to converse about the world around us, our ambition. Were we going places? And the whole situation was compounded by the fact that as I did get older, I had no interest in politics, business, money management, taxes and the economy…hell, I liked being a kid.

I never mowed the lawn, cleared the table, emptied the trash or did the dishes. Anything that resembled work. And as I grew older I was never exposed to the business world. Kind of sheltered really. My dad just took over when those things came up. I can remember sweating bullets the first time I wrote a check for a sizable amount during my freshman year in college at Auburn University down in Alabama.

It was such serious business. I was on unfamiliar ground. I recollect paying attention to every minute detail as the check was for a sizable amount. I didn’t want to make a mistake! I was mortified as I was slow and people were behind me in line watching me, waiting, but I kept thinking what would happen? What would happen if I made a mistake? I had no idea how check payments worked. I didn’t have a clue, didn’t know my ass from first base when it came to so many facets of life and now, right now, I was being discovered for the dip shit I was. I sensed it, I knew it. Growing up a country club kid I was surrounded by the rich snobby kids, big houses and rode in the sharpest cars. These little people would spend the entire day at the beautiful country club pool running around insanely, jumping off the high dive, laying in the sun eating a shitload of french fries with ketchup. Eventually it would be a question of where you were going to college, not if you were going to college. Everything was handed to me. I wish I was raised on a farm. I always loved the country, animals and hard work would have made me different…who knows?

Chapter 5

Now after that terrifying experience in the college library at the age of 21, the Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (O.C.D.) kept hitting me all day every day. Oh, there’d be ocasional let ups here and there, but the demon was always lurking around the corner. Ready to manipulate my mind in the cruelest of ways and more than not pummeling me into a state of sheer exhaustion and when darkness came, I’d lay my head down on my pillow, my ears ringing and at this point. I was out, numb, utterly gone.

Always stare, Justin right in front of the hood of your car so you don’t miss a thing! What if you hit something? But this was tedious, painful, torture…please! I hated to drive. I hated to be awake. Light switches, water spickets, germs, black spots, periods, pregnancy tests, bumps on my skin, inappropriate behavior and the list does continue as far as your imagination can go…yes, infinity. I had to think so many things through just perfectly so I could end on the perfect note of comprehension. Then and only then could I let it go.

Did I speak to someone inappropriately? Did I need to apologize? Did I make any eye contact? Yeah, just now Justin? When you talked to her ? No! I was looking down when I talked to her! Oh shit, was I inadvertently looking at her chest? Damn, I must have been! You’re an Ass Justin You were staring at her tits the whole time you talked to her cause you didn’t have the sack to look her in the eyes!

Chapter 6

I told my parents finally and so much hoping for some love, compassion but shockingly enough they began yelling at me, occasionally calling me strange, crazy and even destined to be a bum. Oh my Lord.

However, they were both born in 1930, saw the depression, raised hard in many ways hearing those sayings such as, It’s mind over matter, Pull yourself up by your bootstraps Use common sense! Get with it!’’Get the lead out,``’’Kick yourself in the ass, and on they go. So, yeah, they were shocked when I told them and even my abbreviated version. So they hit me with tough love" hoping to shock me out of it evidently? Because well, weren’t people like me back in their day placed in sanitariums, given shock treatments, ended up homeless or at best lived in squalor?

My father and I never missed a heavyweight fight. I loved to watch Aki, Fraza, Sugar Roy Leenard, George Forearm and my two favorites Roberto Durorn and Ken Nelton. Roberto Durorn came right at his opponents. Hands Of Rock ‘’ they called him, the Badass from Malaysia. It was the 60s and 70s, they were on regular T.V. No pay per view! I saw all the legends and live" too!

I shadow boxed all the time, did Judo throwing one kid after another but in time found it a bit boring so never returned. Now I do wish my Dad would have lowered the boom here however and said, You are going. I want you to learn this. Believe me son it’s going to come in handy. If not to use it, well just knowing you can is crucial!

My interest was piqued even more through my favorite T.V. series, Kempo Lives where the half Chinese half White man trained in the Shodan Temple, Japan then fled the country on account of killing a man. Revenge for his Master. He then found himself in the U.S... Specifically the Wild West drifting from town to town looking for his half brother and avoiding the Law. He was humble, wise, a Kung Fu Master that was strong yet silent. Yes, a man of few words.

The role was played by David Coradine. He was mysterious, quiet, and thoughtful. He was Qui Chang Su and when the obnoxious cowboys, oftentimes drunk, stood in his way he would turn to his Karate training, whip some ass. I loved it. Would never miss an episode, Thursday night at 7p.m.. I was captivated for the entire hour-long show. A black and white T.V. ? Might have been? I didn’t know any better.

Chapter 7

So here I was in my sophomore year in high school and I met a brown eyed pretty gal at an after game dance. She was plenty cute, half Italian with a nice face and, yes, I noticed her curves as well.

However, I was raised in the strict Conservative Baptist Church going to church and Sunday school nearly every Sunday from...well from as far back as I can remember and this didn’t do me any favors when it came to winning the affections of a young girl. So here I was with my first girlfriend or so I thought, finishing up with our 2nd date. We had finished dinner, talked and laughed. I was happy, pumped up even, 16 years old and driving my parents car.

In conclusion, I walked her up to the front door amongst the trees, the breeze blowing its cool fall air. The little brown house, little porch with the warm single lit yellow bulb next to the door. Scared like crazy but going forth anyway, I leaned in to give her a kiss goodnight. And there under that single yellow bulb I kissed her, yes I did...but did I really…?

No! Just No! I kissed her like I was kissing my mom! My cousin! Or my sister for crying out loud! Then she somehow got her tongue in my mouth and what the hell...not positive how I reacted but more than likely looked at her like I was seeing an alien. I can only imagine what was going through her mind? She was like 16 going on 26 and I was like 16 going on 8. A beautiful romantic evening and opportunity shot to shit with no do overs.

She closed the door behind her as I walked down the cement steps. Once down I looked over my shoulder to make sure she wasn’t looking out the window then began spitting like crazy. I mean hell’s bells...that was gross! It was disgusting to have a girl stick her tongue in my mouth. Then I reported to the car like a good little soldier and drove back home sensing something was off. Something about that kiss maybe? Hmmm?

I had no inkling that this was the way two people kissed romantically. Oh wow, but I thought the date went great and, yeah, I thought another date was a given! But I sensed deep inside me that something was off but quickly ignored that creepy little voice, then called her nervous as all get out. I asked her out for another splendid date on the edge of my seat. She said, No. Well of course she said no numb nuts... I was crushed thinking over and over, Why did she say no?

Quite funny looking back but I felt broken at the time, dwelled on her for a long time after this comedy of errors and even drove by her house hoping to see her out and about in her yard. But she was a sophomore in high school. For crying out loud, what did I expect? To see her out on the sidewalk skipping rope or playing hopscotch with pigtails!?

My junior year I dated another pretty gal, a cheerleader with brown eyes. She was a bigger girl in stature but wore it well, and I liked her. Her face was pretty and eventually she would cheer at my cross country meets. It was at an after game dance when I met her. Now this was my territory because I was not much of a talker but I could say, Would you like to dance?

She said, Yes. We began dancing, her getting right close to me and wow. Everything seemed so right. The girls as always knew more than us boys and to know more than me was not a push. We seemed to click, began dating and before I knew it I was nuts about her and best of all the feelings seemed reciprocal. Now this was my first official girlfriend!

However, I gotta say she did give me the impression on one occasion of having a thing for this so-called friend of hers. He was your typical pretty boy with his blond hair feathered back as was the style of the day. It bothered me cause he was an athlete too and a darn good one. He was good looking, a fast runner so was I the better guy? Really? It haunted me some because...second place? Yeah, that’s not an option.

We continued our dating for a good amount of time, weeks on end concluding our dates smooching in the car in some remote parking lot. I can’t remember but I imagine I knew how to kiss by now. Maybe not? I sure hope so. Justin, we always find ourselves all tangled up in the back seat, like pretzels, she said with a big smile on her face. I smiled and nodded along; however I was a good Baptist boy and never let it go past kissing. Never and I mean date in and date out.

I would not even touch her breasts despite her occasional low cut tops and in the midst of all this kissing she would maneuver her leg between mine, lift it up between my legs pushing her thigh or knee, I’m not sure right into my crotch. Yeah, she was evidently trying to get me started. Like pulling the cord trying to start up the old lawn mower but the darn thing would never start. I recall hurting from all the knees to my balls.

Funny now that I look back...hilarious, in fact but by golly Miss Molly I was clueless. I could not even put together that she wanted me to take things further, like a lot further. I do believe I knew it on some level but refused to go there as I was taught this was strictly off limits.

Eventually there was a girl ask a guy dance at our school. I was excited, quite looking forward to it and had absolutely no doubt she would ask me. I remember waiting for the stinking phone to ring. Waiting and waiting getting more jumpy with each passing day. What the hell? I was shocked? It never did ring from her end. What