Schizophrenia Books Fiction Novels & Stories

Her eyes were going through the lines of the book she was reading but every now and then she has to focus on words to grasp the meaning. Continuously, her mind was being shifted to somewhere else instead of thr story which those lines entailed. The book, titled, 'Zaryaab' was about an underworld mafia guy who was not just a businessman but also a prominent politician of the country. A dark and quiet aura had succumbed him always on the streets he walk and within his heart, he carried a deep and intense fire that had been burning him for years.

She found the section on history books first, she reached for an old book that caught her eyes, with a thick brown, worn cover and a picture of a wolf on it, one that looked quite similar to the painting of the wolf on the wall in the living room. How strange? She took it immediately, having found her next read, she skipped out of the library and back to her room. She sat curled up in bed by the window, lunch was served by a servant as promised, she ate and stuck to get book. This book, titled, 'The Wolf Within' she had never really read anything like it. It seemed more like a fictional write up, than a history book. It talked about a wolf that was embedded into the souls of 'special people'

Sometimes, I wonder if she’s the one I am feeling in this room. I don’t believe in ghosts or that shit. I grab a blue hardcover, with the name, ‘Herbs for healing sleeping sickness’. I flip the pages, leaning on the bookshelves, as the pages flip, a paper falls out. I grip it, the paper is nearly old, the edges almost torn off. The writing is legible.

On the other hand the incidents where I came across the different stories in delusional world was also connected to my real world which consisted of multiple events whenever I came across different fantasy stories in my life and hence all these stories were pasted in my mind with the alterations in it as I was huge fan of fantasy books And that's how I finally got everything cleared that all the incidents which I came across in my delusional world was all and totally connected to my real life and most probably it was kind of carbon copy of my real life with some alterations in it which seemed me like an experiment where I was kept in the center whereas rest of the incidents were changed

he tried explaining but I still can’t understand. Staring at him, I can see he is genuine about his words. There is no hint of fakeness and anything on him. “If I am sick, what sickness?” “Schizophrenia.” I laughed nervously shaking my head. I’m seeing real things. They aren’t my imaginations. Angelo and Hailey are real. How dare them think I am crazy? “That’s crazy!” I exclaimed in disbelief.

I brushed off the feeling of disappointment before looking at the professor once again and he nodded at me, as if telling me to go on. "It's schizophrenia, Sir." I said and the professor looked at me intently as I wait for him to tell me whether my answer is correct or not. But then I decided to add more. "I've come up with my diagnosis because of the mere fact that the client is experiencing delusions. It's true that mental disorders and illnesses often has the same signs and symptoms but the one with the most similarities for me is depression and schizophrenia. And since you've already said that depression is a wrong answer, that leaves me with only one choice which is schizophrenia." The

The Silent Patient, The Art Of Dealing With People, Criminal Psychology, Bad Science, The Power Of Your Conscious Mind, Thinking Fast And Slow, Atomic Habits, Rationality, Talking To Strangers, Righteous Mind, The Theory Of Everything. I suddenly stopped reading the names of the books when my right knee hit the wooden shelf. I bent down and rubbed it, trying to soothe the pain. It's like a thunderbolt fell on my knee. It's a little ache but I react to it a lot for a moment. It's terrible, like a thunderbolt! Once again, I glance up at the shelf. It's filled with books which are related to psychology, human development and universe theories etc. I huff.

Sleep refused to come. My mind felt restless. Maybe there was something in this room that could help me remember. Slowly, I stood up. I began looking around. The bookshelf immediately caught my attention. Dozens of books filled the shelves. I pulled several out. There were history books, pack law books and training manuals. Then I noticed something else. There were fiction novels; thrillers, mysteries and crime novels. I blinked. Apparently, I enjoyed those. "I don't remember reading any of these."

It was like a shadow we couldn’t shake, no matter how far we ran. Kaiser was seeing a therapist he met in london, online. I had one too. We didn’t see the same one, and she’s a wolf. She’s amazing. He got tested by several doctors for his schizophrenia. He’s journalling evrything so if something turns out to be real or fake, he writes down at the end of it that this either happened or didn’t.

Halverson had prescribed it, convinced it was the key to controlling whatever madness had a grip on me. He called it "schizophrenia" at first. Told me it was a chemical imbalance, that the voices, the visions, the unbearable sensation of Cassian’s presence—it was all in my mind. But it didn’t work. The pills weren’t stopping him. They weren’t stopping any of it. Cassian—I could feel him now, just beneath my skin, coiling tighter, his whispers slithering through my thoughts like a poison. His voice was a constant hum at the edge of my awareness, a low murmur that made my chest tighten and my breath catch.