Psychotic Stories Novels & Stories

A series of laughter that sounded like a pack of hyenas crying echoed through the crowd. I stumbled back, my back hitting the big tree. Fear spread from my spine to my whole body. I was cornered and surrounded by no other beings but rogues. Stories I have heard of them began to flash in my mind. Dangerous, and wild. They were wolves that have lost themselves and their wolves. Their humanity is long gone, and they do and behave like wild beasts. They are stories that say that they are so insane that they even eat one of their own that dies.

"He's in prison. We're in Switzerland. We're alive. We're together. Those are facts. The fear is just echoes." "Loud echoes." "Then we'll learn to live with noise until silence feels safe again." By the fourth day, I manage five paragraphs of my fantasy story. Lucian completes a full composition. We walk to the village and back without panic attacks. Small victories, but victories nonetheless. "Progress," Lucian says that evening. "Tiny progress," I correct. "All progress is tiny until you look back and realize how far you've come." I think about that. About waking up screaming in New York warehouses. About being hunted through Montana. About nearly dying more times than I can count. About b

He took a deep breath, and began to tell me the stories of the other patients in the hospital. "You see, every patient here has their own unique struggles," he said, his voice low and soothing. "There's Emma, the young woman who was laughing alone earlier. She's been struggling with schizophrenia for years, and has been in and out of hospitals for most of her life. Despite her struggles, she's one of the kindest and most gentle souls I've ever met." He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing. "And then there's Jack, the older man who seems lost and confused. He's been struggling with Alzheimer's disease, and has been slowly losing his memories and his sense of identity. It's heartb

With a stiff neck, I turn away. I focus on the dumbass ABC's strip that lines the top of the wall. I know we have some special students, but does Mr. Williams really think it's necessary? Then again, here I am talking about psychopaths. Of course he thinks we're stupid enough not to know the alphabet without having to sing the song. "It's a mental illness that not only affects the host, but also the people around them. They become victims to the rotten thoughts that plague the psycho’s mind, driving them to do insane things," I force myself to continue.

She began to recount a chilling story about a client of hers, someone who had experienced a series of fits that bore eerie similarities to my own experiences. As Coco spoke, her voice took on a measured, almost hypnotic quality, drawing me into the tale. She described her client's fits in vivid detail, painting a disturbing picture of a woman in the throes of an otherworldly torment. "In the beginning," Coco began, her voice hushed as if revealing a closely guarded secret, "she would have these fits where her body would convulse uncontrollably. It was like she was possessed by something, her limbs jerking and thrashing as if in a struggle against invisible forces."

"You see, she had a strange severe psychosis disorder which the doctor tried to explain in layman's terms." Liam sat up, listening hard now, though his head pounded. When they dated, there were the signs, the strange hypnotic looks she gave him, the superhuman ideas she voiced, the powerful intrigue she commanded. But he had waved them away. Now here was... But Packwood was done speaking. "I'll be able to retell the story when we gather again here in three days to straighten things out." ***

I didn't want to have anything to do with this bipolar, sadistic wolf man or what-so-ever. Feeling panicked inside, I had to remain composure in front of this wild beast. Who knows what the fuck he's going to do to me? Apparently, this big bad wolf changes his mood faster than he changes his girlfriend. Lucas didn't stop. He wasn't done with me. "Stop making fucking stories to make me be with you. I've heard so many fucking stories from gold diggers like you and I'm fed up with this kind of bullshit. I will fuck everyone I like for the rest of my life, and you will not be one of them. I will torture you until you understand what power and wealth can do to destroy a pathetic human being's lif

“What- no!” “Then why do you wander around the woods unprotected? Why are you threatening Death? Are you reckless? Suicidal?” “No, I just...” my voice trailed off and I sighed in defeat. “You know why? It's because I'm crazy- that's the only explanation for my 'reckless' behavior and why I actually think I'm talking to the Grim Reaper. I've been hallucinating ever since I sat down in that church. I've finally lost it; the chemicals in my brain are piss-drunk and shooting dopamine like vodka. I'll wake up in the morning, moaning and clutching my head, then go home and commit myself to a mental ward.”

And I wanted to be punished: Perhaps that, more than anything else. I began reading erotic BDSM stories. For a while this seemed to be enough. It allowed me to escape my life, if only for short periods of time. Erotic BDSM stories were challenging to find in my small town and soon found myself searching sites on the internet. This opened up a whole new world: Before I knew it, I was placing ads on personals sites, trying to make my dream a reality. Initially the responses were just crude. Even the ones I decided to contact, seemed a little beyond what I was looking for: Cruel men, perhaps dangerous too. Finally I received a response from Tony.

For Malory, other than the island, this was the only home she knew. “Daddy said we wouldn’t lose another home,” she cried on my shoulder. “After the last fire, he said it wouldn’t happen again.” The doctors say that a person in a psychotic state shouldn’t be corrected, that questioning their version of reality can lead them towards a true psychological break.