Mental Institutions Stories Novels & Stories

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.

This incident was just an insignificant episode in life, and I did not pay it any mind at all. Just as I finished tidying up, there was a knock at the door. It was the community courier delivering a package. Through the door, I told him to leave the package in the entrance. He replied politely and left quickly. We never opened the door to meet, let alone had any physical contact or extra conversation. After signing for the package, I continued with my housework. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and everything was calm and normal. I had no idea that this trivial accident under the bed would trigger a family trouble completely unrelated to romance a few days later.

“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 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.

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.

And for that, I will always be thankful. As I continued to share my story, I couldn't help but think about the other patients I had met during my time in the mental hospital. There was Sarah, a young woman who had been diagnosed with schizophrenia. She would often hear voices and see things that weren't there, and it was heartbreaking to see her struggle to distinguish reality from her delusions.

It breaks my heart to know how mistreated and abused they were. The institution is far too big of a place for how little it is used and the now limited number of patients, only those who are truly mentally ill are kept there now. It’s practically an empty space, and the pack Hospital is abysmal, a tiny unit attached to the packhouse. We decide to renovate the institution into a state-of-the-art Hospital, with a secure psychiatric mental health wing attached to it.

I checked on her constantly, deleted every man from her contacts, and called her relentlessly whenever she came home late. But when I finally did act like I had a truly possessive streak—when I tried to stop her from going to pick up Ian—she shoved me away without hesitation. "You disgust me, Steven. If you're sick in the head, you should go where you belong." She personally had me institutionalized in a psychiatric hospital. I was locked up in a windowless room, surrounded by white walls and metal bars. I tried to explain that I didn't have a mental disorder, but the attendants pinned me down and forced the medication down my throat. When I vomited it out, they stuffed it back in, choking m