After I Became Mentally Challenged Novels & Stories

So better enjoy the moment and live things as they are. I’m trying, Mr. Hauser, but understand that it’s hard for me. It is hard for me to know that I felt like an unwanted, abandoned, discarded child, although if after so many years this wound almost healed. I learned to heal myself and to answer my questions so as not to affect me and not really drive me crazy because I was really lost then. At the slightest hint of madness, you don’t even want to know what would have happened to me like my less fortunate colleagues.

But I don't want to be dragged on this kind of situation. I turned the tv Off after witnessing the news, I'm doomed. I literally don't know what to do right now. In my 16 years of existence I thought my life would be easy. But I was wrong. A woman with a mental disorder ruined everything, It's because of my freaking sympathy. My kindness will only lead me into trouble. ©WyByCa

She had had strange dreams in the past but, this one was the mother of all strange dreams to be sure. "Cara, I see what you are doing there. Let's just focus on the matter at hand. We were in an accident. We lost our leg. We almost lost our life. We did lose our best friend. Yes, Mr Lopez died too. And we were in a coma. But we came out of it. It's a lot to process, to be sure. But we survived all of that. We are going to survive this too. Cara, it's time to be strong again. We got this. We can do this. Plenty of people lose a leg and they go on and live life to the fullest. Sure it's going to be a challenge but we will figure this out. No more running or hiding from our problems."

“So I am asking you one more time and do think twice before you answer my question. How are you feeling?” This time, I chose not to lie to my best friend. We both knew the answer to that. “Not good.” I closed my eyes and lifted my hands to cover my face. “My consciousness is slipping, Dimka. It’s as you said, I’m not myself. At least not the old me.” I shook my head, taking a deep breath and letting it out. I lowered my hands and opened my eyes. Staring at the beautiful view, I wondered if I would ever see it again. If I could once again appreciate its beauty. Because during the last two years, all I could see was violence and blood. “It’s like this disease has changed me and I can never go

"So you see it wasn't my fault after she went into the state she was in everyone blamed me for it, I was taunted and called a murderer for years despite not doing anything wrong, my childhood was a nightmare and it messed with my head a bit, I visited the hospital where I was told I had schizophrenia," I paused and looked at them, I can't believe I'm lying to them but I don't have a choice.

So it isn’t helping me figure out a way out of here. In the hospital, I had this brilliant idea that I could use this time to plan a better escape attempt, but now, faced with the overwhelming defeat of my failure, I can’t seem to apply my brain to the task for longer than a few minutes at a time. I just keep getting bogged down, thinking about this shit storm that’s become my life. Honestly, sometimes, I wasn’t even sure I was acting crazy. Maybe I truly had lost touch with the serene, controlled, thoughtful girl I once was. Maybe she was gone. Forever.

“What- no!” “Then why do you wander around the woods unprotected? Why are you threatening Death? Are you reckless? Suicidal?” “No, I just...” my voice trailed off and I sighed in defeat. “You know why? It's because I'm crazy- that's the only explanation for my 'reckless' behavior and why I actually think I'm talking to the Grim Reaper. I've been hallucinating ever since I sat down in that church. I've finally lost it; the chemicals in my brain are piss-drunk and shooting dopamine like vodka. I'll wake up in the morning, moaning and clutching my head, then go home and commit myself to a mental ward.”

he muttered still not taking his jewel like eyes of the screen on which he was reading something. Why was the whole world pegging me as a mental person? “What the fuck do you want from me?” I asked embarrassed at the lack of attention he was showing me when I had in fact been thinking of the opposite, “Why did you send your people after me and why were you chasing me with your ve-”

"And I know I should have called or written to you, but I was scared and ashamed of what you might think of me and the situation I was in. You, Noah Bamford, have always made me feel free and whole." Pushing myself up, I sat on his bed, facing him directly. "Before I ran away from home, I had a mental problem. It was manageable, but after one hateful incident, I snapped. Something inside me just broke, and people got hurt. Not until I came to Paris did I understand what it was... The doctor I met called it IED," I explained, my voice carrying the weight of years of struggle. "Remember those weeks you couldn't get a hold of me? I was in therapy four times a week. That month, you couldn't reac

The recent events, the accusations, the imprisonment—it was as if his mind had shattered under the weight of it all, leaving behind a distorted semblance of the person he once was. His actions and words were incoherent, a cacophony of madness that defied reason. The depth of his suffering was etched across his face, a painful testament to the torment he was experiencing within. I couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for the person he had become, even as the shock of his transformation held me in its grip.