Mental Institutions Stories Novels & Stories

So I began to adjust my position calmly: first relax my shoulder and back muscles, tuck my arms to my chest to reduce the space my body took up, then slowly support the floor with my elbows and shift my center of gravity back little by little. The whole process lasted nearly ten minutes. My face flushed with effort, and my arms and knees were dusted, but I never gave up. Finally, with one slow push, my shoulder broke free from the bed frame, and I pulled myself completely out from under the bed. I sat on the floor, gasping, holding the recovered flannel box, both amused and exasperated. It was just a small household accident—no thrill, no inappropriate subtext, only embarrassment and the sat

Steven cast the metal bar aside and said, "Send this mad woman to the asylum and lock her up. Make sure to never give her treatment! I want her to spend the rest of her life in there!" Soon, Deborah was sent to the asylum. She begged the nurses, claiming she was Steven Cook's wife, only to fall on deaf ears. They all thought it was impossible for a disfigured woman to be Mrs. Cook. It seemed that her mental illness had taken over her completely. The doctors and nurses all looked at her with disgust and contempt, and that caused her to be sent to the intensive care ward, which was reserved to those who had the most serious illnesses. The nurses threw her onto a bed located at the deepest part

“Oh, you do know what that is. But let me just refresh your memory. That place is one of the worst mental asylums in the world. Impossible to escape from. Patients there are mistreated daily—filthy conditions, electroshock therapy, and let’s not forget the torture. So much torture.” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “And there's sexual abuse too. Rape. And from what I've heard, it isn’t limited to the women there, so you’ll be sure to get a taste of everything you put Millie through.” Francis's arrogant grin was gone, his eyes widening with a flicker of genuine fear as Zeke’s words sank in. “And that,” Zeke continued, his voice hard, “is where you’re going to spend the rest of your life

“Yes. I do not care how much it costs as long as she’s kept locked somewhere and receiving the needed treatment to screw the loose bolts back in her head.” I am past caring about why she has been on drugs for ten years or why she came into my life again five months ago. What I do know is that she has disrupted my life and will keep doing so unless I do something about it. I have to get her out of my life, make sure she never returns and I do not care about the measures I need to take to achieve that. She could rot in here for all I care. I won’t deal with her mess again. “I’m sorry, Mr Winston but it seems as though you have the wrong idea about mental institutions which is fine, most people

“I don’t know what I did to offend Maia. She had always made me sleep in the basement. It was cold and moist there. There wasn’t even an air conditioner installed in there. That was how I got my rheumatism.” “Also, Maia would feed me with a dog’s bowl and make me fight the dog for the food. I-I was treated worse than a dog! Who would’ve thought that something like this could’ve happened in this day and age?” “I was sent to the mental hospital and locked in that depressing place. I was beaten up on a daily basis. It wasn’t easy for me to make an escape. You have to speak up for me, everyone! I’m not sick. My mind is fine!”

"I just needed to drive the goods from one place to another. I thought that was going to be fairly easy. I did that like twice before I got arrested for possession of cocaine. They found it stashed in a hidden compartment of my car." "It's at the same time that I began seeing things that didn't exist. An influence of the drug abuse." He laughed. "I was a lost case. Brady got me admitted into a psychiatric institution. Only, it wasn't private. This was the worst kind and I was probably one of the sanest people living there. The patients were neglected, treated badly and not provided with proper food. I don't think the doctors were even qualified to do what they were doing." I touched his face

Coco asked curiously. "Yes," Lucas replied. "I once helped Serenity with something and had to stay in Lanford for a while." "With what?" Coco was curious. Lucas then told Coco about Summer’s story as it was a well-known incident in Lanford. Anyone could find out what had happened with a bit of research. Coco listened with a face full of shock. She couldn't believe that a mentally healthy woman had been sent to a psychiatric hospital by her family and had to endure so much suffering but still survived it all.

Ethan had a word or two with the local DA, which assured them a strict trial and no press involvement. Henry also donated a hefty amount of cash to a local mental institution that will grant special treatment for those involved. Psychiatrists will help those that can be saved; they’ll try to ‘persuade’ them that their fixations and beliefs are not real, that supernatural creatures don’t exist, so they might continue to live their lives normally. As for those that refuse to give up on their ideas, well, they will have to stay locked up for good. Their ‘teachings’ cannot see the light of the day, cannot be recognized by the masses as the world was not ready to know the truth.

And so, I dove into the past of the asylum. The library was a musty, dimly lit room, shelves towering like ancient sentinels, filled with volumes that whispered secrets long forgotten. I pulled down dusty tomes, flipping through pages stained with age and neglect. My fingers trembled with a mix of excitement and dread. Each word I read felt like a thread pulling me deeper into the darkness surrounding Nina. The asylum had been founded over a century ago, built on the outskirts of town, far away from prying eyes. The records described it as a sanctuary for the mentally ill—a haven where they could find peace and healing.

The behavioral correction facility in the western suburbs was a living hell wrapped in a veneer of legality. Most of the people locked up here were unwanted heirs from wealthy families who didn't know how to "behave". On my very first day, I was strapped to a freezing cold operating table because I refused to admit I was mentally ill and wouldn't take the mystery pills they tried to force on me. A doctor in a white coat stared down at me, his expression blank, as he ordered the attendants to move. A thick tube was shoved up my nostril and rammed all the way down into my stomach.