Insane Asylums Stories Novels & Stories

He noticed that her body was trembling, especially the hand holding the small device. She answered in a shaking voice, "My heart's been bursting with sorrow as I touch these painful memories of mine. But I know the guilt will torture me more if I don't tell you of everything you should know... Please, Meyer's boy. Hear me out. Allow me a release by sharing to you the true disaster that destroyed my 'perfect' family..." What was it that could push somebody to the brink of extreme depression and insanity? Money? Family? Love? Status? Unknown whether real or not, but statistics were telling the world at least thirty percent of its inhabitants was crazy. And since it was about insanity and not m

Being the only free public institution available to house those with special cases of mental instability, the poor maintenance was surely reflected in all aspects. “Acre Hills Asylum.” Marcel mumbled under her breath, walking along the path to the old washed out building; as she couldn’t help but feel goosebumps tingling underneath her skin from just a glance of a few nurses standing by. Somehow imagining their smiles as being sinister and twisted. They were like those creepy doctors from some terrible horror film waiting to sedate their feeble patients. The girl quickly shook her head to rid her mind of exaggeratingly over thinking things, less she be immediately confined instead of release

But that was okay, not until Danny died. Because of me. That’s what they say. Instead of reminiscing those painful memories, I decided to sleep my exhaustion away. It didn’t take me minutes to fall asleep. “You’re the reason why all of these things happened!” “You are truly bad luck!” “You don’t deserve to live!” “You’re a monster!” “She died because of you!” I woke up sweating all over and breathing heavily. Where does that came from? Why am I hearing voices? Are they real? Or it’s just a dream?

The morning and thud of my feet gave me something real to hold onto. Determination. That’s what I’d called it back then. But really, it was fear. That crazy healer had suggested a visit to the asylum for abnormal wolves. I was just nineteen, still grappling with the realization that something in me was broken. But I remembered the manic giggles of the inmates. The way their eyes glowed, sharp with lunacy. One of them told me he’d rip out my throat if the door wasn’t there. I never forgot that. I’d stood, frozen, swearing to myself I’d never end up like them.

"Blackwood CEO Damien Cuts Ties With Longtime Fiancée, Confirms Relationship With Adopted Sister Selene." "Tragedy of a Golden Girl: From Heiress to Institution." The psychiatric facility was cold and clean, but she could smell decay beneath the bleach. The nurses avoided her eyes. The doctors spoke in condescending tones. And every time she screamed, "I didn't do it! They set me up!", it only added to her chart. Delusional, paranoid and dangerous had taken the place of her name. They pumped her with sedatives when she cried too loud. Bound her wrists when she fought too hard.

Seeing the lines of comments scrolling by, I stayed calm, expression unreadable. Since I was little, I'd known the truth: everything in this world was a lie. All of us were just characters in a story, made for someone else's amusement like toys. Because of that, I'd grown up lonely and strange and ended up with selective mutism. I didn't think much of it myself. It was only my mother who suffered, always trying to make me happy. "Let go of me! That old man only broke his leg. He can still move his hands. Why can't he be our goalie? And anyway, he wanted to exercise himself—"

"He suffers from paranoia, OCD, mild mania, and various mood disorders. He's also a sociopath." Yara shivered. "In short, he's a lunatic with a whole slew of issues. I consulted Timothy today. It's not illegal for a mentally ill person to kill someone when they're not in control of themselves." There was this news story about a delusional patient with manic episodes who hacked his neighbors to death. He was shipped off to an asylum and is still alive and kicking today. They had only been diagnosed with two disorders. And yet, they were already a danger to society. With Kyros having a combination of even worse conditions, he was a walking, ticking time bomb.

“Whatever I say, you won’t give a fuck anyway. So I better save my breath.” His words felt like a slap. I stiffened, breathing heavily. He looked down at his salad and kept eating, pausing only to sip his beer. “What did you expect me to do?” I burst out. “Let those sons of bitches hurt Kujo even more and keep the little girl? Y’know they think Skippy used to be a janitor who took patients down to Quaker Hall basement and raped them.” He frowned like I’d spoken in tongues. “So what? It’s not your fucking business. The asylum staff has sensitives to deal with it. Cause in case you didn’t notice, they’re not alive. They’re spirits and shadow entities.”

How true is that statement for this damned world we live in, where nameless horrors always lurk in the dark, ready to catch us, trap us, and drag us to eternal ruin. I believe that insanity is a release from the restrictive limitations imposed on us by the expectations of our culture, our race and, above all, ourselves. The madman does not care what others think of him, because what leads a person to dementia is often the revelation that the world around him is not as safe or stable as he would like to believe, that it is a populated place by monsters that lurk just beyond the thin veil of reality, that can tear apart a man's soul as well as his body and destroy his mind.

Evgeniya’s facial expression hardened, and I braced myself mentally. “Vasilisa, listen to me. What you have, this attraction to the same gender, is a sickness. Why haven’t you gotten some help?” Unwanted memories of the therapists I started seeing after I moved in with my dad started playing in my head. How many times had they recommended shock therapy? Pills? Religious retreats? I’d gone for my depression, but only received suggested remedies for “my mental illness”- which isn’t an illness at all. I didn’t have the heart to admit to my father or Francine the reason behind being shocked at the Asylum. They treated us all unfairly, but paid especially sadistic attention to the gay residents.