After I Became Mentally Challenged Novels & Stories

“More empty promises. Maybe I’ll just send you back to that hole where no one will ever see you.” My body went cold, and I fell to my knees, clutching her legs. “I promise I won’t fail again,” I pleaded, shaking her leg. “Mom, I’m your only daughter. You’re not going to throw me into that hell.” My eyes widened. At sixteen, despite having no mental illness, my mother had me locked up in a mental hospital because I was rebellious. My life was never the same after that—I developed an insatiable itch that never went away, no matter how hard I scratched.

Defeated, I turned to face the others in the room, sliding to the floor and leaning against the door in despair. It had been three days since I was wrongly accused of being mentally ill and thrown into this mental hospital. My life had changed completely since I arrived here. Being in a mental hospital was not something I ever expected, especially not after giving birth to my two adorable babies. It was the least of my worries. But here I was, sleeping and eating with crazy people, sometimes doubting my own sanity. Did I really give birth recently, or was I indeed sick in the head? Was I imagining things? Hell no! How could I forget the fact that I struggled alone, doing hard labour just to

“I don’t know exactly what you are going through, but I was in the hospital for months after I tripped into a pool at my father’s charity event. I didn’t have anyone except assistants who were paid to give a shit. I had lost eighty percent of my cognitive ability. I practically had the mind of a child. I was terrified and alone and I thought I’d never recover. I would never abandon you. My interest in you hasn’t changed. If anything, I feel closer to you, because I was once in your position. I didn’t think it would be possible to come out of it and once again be myself, be as smart as I was, have my life back. But I got it back. And you will, too. That’s why I don’t want you to worry. I want

I desperately needed to get paid, especially with the hospital bills piling up. But when I tried to hold my laptop, my hands trembled, and I couldn’t maintain my grip for long. Even when I managed to prop it up on my lap, the words on the screen swam in front of my eyes. My brain just wouldn’t cooperate. It was like trying to grab hold of smoke—everything I reached for slipped through my fingers. With a huff, I snapped the laptop shut. It was useless. I was useless. Dr. Chandler walked in, “Hey. I saw you struggling with your laptop. Did you want to watch a movie?”

… When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back in my bedroom during my second year of high school. I knew it without a doubt because the certificates on the wall were still there, untouched. This was the year I had been diagnosed with a severe mental illness. Whenever my condition flared up, my grades plummeted. Those certificates that had once filled me with pride became a constant source of frustration that year. Every time I had an episode, I'd tear another one from the wall: First Prize, Grand Prize, National Math Olympiad Award, and so on. The wall that had once been covered with certificates was eventually stripped bare by my own hands. I went from being one of the top students in

In fact , it was going to take a long time before they would be able to understand where another was coming from and I got that into my mind. I didn't think that there was anything wrong with whatever had been done or said but if I wanted to stake my claim, I could go ahead and do it and everything would have been finished but right now it was all a waste of time and energy and I didn't think that I could get into that phase without doing something crazy. My mentality was of a different one and I figured out that it was the only way that I could be able to stay away from The trap that was about to swallow both of us in

Five minutes later, he stopped moving. At three in the morning, Damian pushed open the door. I was already back in bed sleeping, and the boy was lying on the floor, not breathing. Watching the video again made my whole body shake. That killer on the screen was me? "I killed someone?" Damian sighed. "Yes. But you were diagnosed with a mental illness, so you weren't convicted." "None of that matters. We'd do anything to make you better, but it's been ten years and nothing's worked. You've only gotten worse."

You can guess where I was when I realized, right? Well, when my eyes opened, The first thing I saw was the hospital ceiling. My mother screamed hysterically, calling the doctor when I was out of my coma for two weeks. They tell me everything. The guy who hit me has been caught. He has mental disorders and is also addicted to drugs. I also chose not to complicate matters.

Gillian became hysterical as the night approached midnight. Genova had no choice but call the asylum. Gillian needed mental professionals. She stayed at the mental institution for three years. Gillian thrived when she begun studying. The white beaches faded and the goal to train as physical therapist started to take into shape. She had a favorite quote that she memorized because it pushed her to become well and ready to live in the outside world again. 'Mental health problems don't define who you are. They are something you experience. You walk in the rain and you feel the rain, but, importantly, you are not the rain,' by Matt Haig, a writer who had many quotes about mental health. He motiva

I was at fault. “That night, you didn’t just mess up his leg. You messed up his mental health. He had to sit on a wheelchair from that night on and he had been acting like a psychopath. He was so humiliated by his fall that he refused to talk to anyone. He was mute because of you, you fucking bitch!”