Mental Institutions Stories Novels & Stories

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.

She just chuckles without saying anything else. The rest of the ride was silent. I watched and took note of the turns and landmarks so I could get my bearings. I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to escape again, but I'd be sure to check on Jess and Leo if I do. We pull into the parking lot of Sjoblom Research Institute of Mental Health. A seemingly innocuous facility for the research of treating mental disorders. But we've been to the basement. We've been in that basement for the last year and a half. We've been treating for general psychosis, schizophrenia, and multiple personality disorder. It's owned by a human doctor who's dedicated his life to "curing" the supernatural. Dr. Randal

Feigning insanity would not make the guards relax their vigilance as I had hoped. I hadn't expected Ethan to maintain such close surveillance over me even in the psychiatric facility. His security team watched my every move. Being locked up in Moonstone Psychiatric Facility made me understand the truth. The Alpha King truly had no intention of ever letting me go free. This place was even more unbearable than Shadowfall Detention Center had been. The genuinely mentally ill patients were unpredictable and violent. After a week of agonizing torment among them, I feared I would actually lose my sanity permanently. The irony was not lost on me.

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

So I waited until she was safely in the car and Victor had pulled away before I moved to my other vehicle, where Edwards was already waiting in the driver's seat. "Let's go." Edwards pulled out of the garage, and thirty minutes later, we were in lower Manhattan. The buildings here were older, most of them converted into luxury lofts or artisan shops. Edwards pulled up in front of a low but wide-sprawling building. It was a psychiatric facility that had been renovated to look more like a private hospital than an asylum. "What are they processing him for?" I asked. "Acute psychotic episodes with violent tendencies," Edwards replied.

"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.

The room darkened. Neither of them turned on the light. "When I was a boy," Lucien said, "my mother used to tell me stories about people who escaped from prisons. Not the ones with bars and guards. The ones inside their own heads." "What kind of stories?" "Stories about women who had been told their whole lives that they weren't good enough, smart enough, strong enough. Women who believed the lies until one day they didn't." "Did any of them escape?" "They all escaped." He turned from the window. "Eventually."

Three years ago, if it hadn't been for her assertive intervention, I would have probably ended up in prison. The rehab center here was externally known as an "educational institution." Only those who had been inside knew what it was really like: a fate worse than death.

He scoffs, “You know what he did to me?!” I don't answer but watch him as he rants, He has this craze look in his eyes, and I'm beginning to wonder, just how long he's been waiting to tell this story “He locked me up, that's right. Kept me in the basement without food or water for not taking on the responsibility of a big brother and just when I thought nothing else could be that, he sent me away. Sent me to an asylum, told them I was crazy, and I got locked up. Had to live like a crazy man, on a Schedule, eat when I'm told to, sleep when I'm told to, and I couldn't even have privacy. But you know what kept me going? The idea that one day, One fine day. I'll be out, and I'll go back where th