Digging graves

Damn, I gotta write a description, like a synopsis or some shit? Really? This is supposed to be therapy; who comes up with these rules? I'm still trying to figure it out in my own head- I don't know where to start.
OK look, you know how everyone has heard a "No shit, there I was..." story from a buddy, or some loudmouth at a bar, or maybe from some uncle at reunion? This one's mine.

"So, 'no shit there I was', all duct taped up in the corner of a truck. Pins and needles coursed electric up my legs, but no way was I going to settle into a more comfortably sitting position. Not and risk touching the awful thing that kept me company.
It was like, near total darkness, but pinhole cracks in the trailer had shown me enough to make out what the god-awful smell was coming from. It was hard to ignore Ol' Bob. The big ol' meat bag jostled my legs every time we took a right. That was at least as bad as the smell, and Bob reeked to make my eyes water. Throwing up wasn't an option with my mouth taped shut.
I had dubbed my horrible companion Bob, for Bloated Obese Body. I didn't know him, had never met him except in this decomposing state- but it had been a person two or three days ago. I think I would of been screaming, if I hadn't been gagged.
I could hear the driver singing along with the radio. It was soft as an echo over the sound of the engine, and the creak of boxes straining against bungee cords but I swear I could hear it anyway. I wasn't just imagining the fact that my kidnapper was singing Cat Steven's "Peace Train". It struck me as mildly obscene. The whole damn situation was obscene, insane, and I didn't know how I was getting out of it.

Will that do? It doesn't explain anything, but I can't get you to understand from a synopsis. If it was that simple, I'm sure five minutes of your time is all I 'd need. And I want to get better, but you gotta let me tell my story my way, from beginning to end. Then maybe you can tell me if I am crazy or not.