Fiction Mental Illness Books Novels & Stories

The Silent Patient, The Art Of Dealing With People, Criminal Psychology, Bad Science, The Power Of Your Conscious Mind, Thinking Fast And Slow, Atomic Habits, Rationality, Talking To Strangers, Righteous Mind, The Theory Of Everything. I suddenly stopped reading the names of the books when my right knee hit the wooden shelf. I bent down and rubbed it, trying to soothe the pain. It's like a thunderbolt fell on my knee. It's a little ache but I react to it a lot for a moment. It's terrible, like a thunderbolt! Once again, I glance up at the shelf. It's filled with books which are related to psychology, human development and universe theories etc. I huff.

Since the doctor also said that I should try to entertain myself so that I won’t think much of what happened. But I don’t actually know how to do that. The only thing I could do was to overthink things, which is the opposite of what the doctor wanted me to do. And I feel like I will go crazy if I continue doing this. I need a diversion. An interesting thing that can make me stop thinking of those things and events. … Maybe I should really read that. AUTHOR’S POV If there are people who want and can stop their mental illness and can fight against it, there’s people who choose to give in and let it win over them.

I don't think that I want to be with someone who is better looking than I am. "Vina." Kyle flicks my forehead. "Concentrate." "Maybe I have ADHD." I rub the throbbing spot on my forehead. "Should I see a psychiatrist?" "You are also hallucinating about your ex's dead dog." My brother nods at me. "You should definitely see one." Since a crazy thing like transmigrating into a book is possible in the world, why can't I see dead dogs? "What if it's true that I saw a dead dog?"

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As he spoke, the imagery of everything he was describing was playing through my head like a film I didn’t want to watch. A thirteen-year-old boy carrying his little sister to a hospital, both of them terrified, him trying to explain what was wrong when he barely understood it himself. That same boy, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, learning about mental illness from medical textbooks because no one else would help. Sitting with her through the nights when she couldn’t sleep, when the mania made her talk so fast the words tumbled over each other. Finding her during the crashes, when the depression hit so hard she couldn’t get out of bed for days.

The doctor was also watching me. "Miss needs treatment." finally the doctor opened his voice. "What am I?" I asked like a fool. "You have, mental illness." I'm just crying. I'm crazy! I just shook my head, so it was stressful for my mental health. If, physical illness can be cured, but if it has attacked the psyche, one of the surefire ways is to get closer to God or die.

I was clutching the cellphone in my hand tightly, I had set Jacob's number in speed dial, in case he decides to beat the crap out of me. As if sensing my fear, his eyes softened a bit and said, "I am not mental, you know" he said. "Who said only mental people go to a psychiatrist? I had consulted a psychiatrist for over an year, that doesn't means I am mad. It can be a normal person with a haunting past, it can be a normal person with abnormal surrounding, he grew up in, it can be someone trying to be better than what he currently is." I tried to explain as politely as I can.

It was so bad, I completely lost my train of thought and had to end the meeting early. I'm being completely ridiculous and this needs to stop. That’s why as soon as I come back to my apartment, I get ready to do what I always do when I'm spiraling and I want to distract myself. I open a new book, make some tea and read about a new fictional world where everything is easy, men aren’t evil psychopaths and there are no bad consequences to pursuing love. But somewhere between chapter seven and eight, I let my mind go rogue for just a second. So it casts Bram Kent as the leading male. Protective, possessive and crazy with want.

Marcie became numb to the hurt. The bruises faded and returned in different places, blooming like cruel flowers beneath her skin. Her body carried silent evidence of a life she could not name out loud. Her reflection became something she avoided, because mirrors told the truth too plainly. But it wasn’t only her body that suffered. It was her mind. Her spirit. The woman she used to be. But other than that, Rafael grew worse. His fear that she might run only sharpened him, made him colder and relentless. He watched her constantly, as though her very existence was a threat. His affection became suffocating, his sweetness a mask that could slip at any second.

The bible didn't fail me as much as the bible was unable to stand the findings of my research. People cover themselves with the floor. Those who have next to nothing to support themselves. They, too, must live. I must live the storm if it helps fight the end somewhere. Life is hurting me at floor level. Amy is dead. I didn't kill her. She failed me in my desire to have a company in the future. The doctor says she was under considerable stress. They dug her up. But what's this? I can still talk to her. How? Whispers in my mind speak to her. That's because I am a patient with schizophrenia. How does he know for sure? It is not normal when he trusts a book without testing and confirming the con