I am writing this letter to tell you that I am no longer a burden to the people of the world. I have found the perfect compromise that would suit us all. Eight years ago, I killed my father after hearing the voices of my dead mother, who died when I was only ten. These voices would constantly keep telling me to punish my father, hurt him, just like he hurt her. I remember the feeling of being conflicted about whether or not I should listen, in the beginning. I mean he was my father, the only family I had left. l used to argue with myself everyday. My father was an alcoholic and abusive but no one believed me. He would beat me every day. Yet no one cared. Instead of listening to me, they called me insane and so here I am, desperate for my freedom. For so long I have had to endure living in the Penetanguishene Mental Health Centre and I have had enough.
Being stuck in within these quartered walls of the Penetanguishene feels as if this is where I have been all my life. I used to believe that the purpose of this place is to take care of people like me but I feel as though I am going round and round in circles and not getting better, I am tortured, beaten, and forced to do things I do not want to do.
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It has been 8 years since I have smelled the fresh clean-cut grass in the cold air breeze or even seen the rays of the sun gleaming warm light as they spread all around making everything glow as if it were under the spotlight.
Staying here feeling as if I am just a mere ghost, lifeless and invisible to the outside world. Every since I came here, this constant tug of war that I have dealt with just keeps on increasing as each day. I feel overwhelmed with the thoughts of taking drastic measures to rid myself off this place. It makes me want to free my soul and life from this stone cold prison. within myself just wants to
take I was diagnosed with schizophrenia after I killed my father and was sentenced to a living a worthless life as lifetime imprisonment at this so-called maximum security hospital where the doctors do not help the patients but rather punish us for being ‘abnormal’. A place where just the word punishment is not merely enough to describe the amount of cruelty we are forced to endure. Just two weeks ago, I was given electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) for running up and down the hallway wanting to get some fresh air. The fresh breeze of the outdoors was all I really wanted, I didn’t really even mind the food we are forced to eat. In fact, I have never even complained about anything until now when I just can no longer take this intolerable pain. So far since I have arrived here, in total I have had eighty-eight sessions of electroshock therapy. The doctors told me the that the shocks to my body will be of help with getting rid of these constantly loud voices, but they understand these shocks only make them worse. The therapy shocks are more like a torturing tool for them to use against people like me to make others like me feel as though these shocks will make us normal, and to show just how much control they truly have over us. They truly don’t care about how they are creating suffering as it is already presented that we are already out-of-place. It only frustrates and makes me angry. I remember reading about treatments for schizophrenia among other mental illnesses and how things were changing, in the newspaper. From exorcism to bloodletting to insulin shocks to hydrotherapy, lobotomy and so on. Treatments were absurd back then and are only becoming worse. When I first stepped into this building I had only heard of how patients are treated here but soon realized that many of these so-called “criminally insane” individuals are only going through this because the government does not know what to do with people like us, people who need help not torture. I am supposed to get Leucotomy as a last resort day after tomorrow because the doctors do not know what else to do. According to them, the other treatments have failed. I do not think this is true though because I have not heard any voices for the past seven months. I am not looking forward to the surgery, I do not think I need it. They say, if I do the things they tell me to, I can go outside and play hockey with the other guys. Hockey used to be my favourite pass time when I was a kid until my mother died. I only got to play hockey once when I got my fourth treatment of ECT. According to the doctor’s the ECT treatments have stopped me from hearing voices. I am not sure if that is the reason but I am sure of the pain and the torture I feel when I go through those treatments. I feel isolated in my room most of the time except for when I get to go to the dining room during meals but do not have any friends here. I do not talk to anyone, and no one talks to me. feel bored to not be able to do much except to go on doing the activities like cleaning, we are forced to do repeatedly within this concrete jail. No one even knows what I have gone through from the time of my mother’s death to now. I feel alone, something I have felt since the death of my mother. I sometimes sit here in my room and wonder what is normal? Why can I not be normal? The only answer I can come up with is that I will never know. I no longer know how to spend my life here under so many rules, being tortured with so-called treatments.
Imagine. You are alone with your thoughts. There is nothing that can separate you from their unpredictable horrors because you spend 23 hours a day completely alone. In silence you wait, desperate for a chance to leave the four-walled, concrete cell you now call home. These are the conditions of solitary confinement that are still in widespread use throughout America today. Although solitary confinement may seem like the safest way to protect other prisoners, guards and even the inmate himself, it is an inhumane and cruel punishment and it has the opposite effect of what prisons are intended for. .
It is torture pure and simple." “Some researchers estimate more than 80,000 prisoners are held in social isolation” (Lisee, Chris). At any given time, eighty thousand inmates are being stripped of humanity, not including those who may have already spent time in and been released from these torture chambers. Government Accountability also reported that as of May 2013, “. the population of solitary confinement increased faster than the general prison population between 2008 and 2013” (Rhodan, Maya).
Imagine sitting in a tiny cell for the years at a time slowly but surely losing your mind. This is what many prisoners in the American prison system face today. Solitary confinement is when an inmate is isolated from any human contact, often with the exception of members of prison staff, for 22–24 hours a day, with a sentence ranging from days to decades. This cruel and unusual punishment is used by prisons daily throughout the country. Atul Gawande, a surgeon, public health researcher, and author for The New Yorker writes the article ¨Is Long-Term Solitary Confinement Torture?¨, successfully convincing the reader that solitary confinement is nothing less than unreasonable torture.
Writing can be a very difficult process for those who do not know how to go about constructing
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
I would like this letter to be published in your great newspaper to bring to
Benjamin Franklin’s quote, “Honesty is the best policy”, raises many questions and challenges for us in daily life. Simply asking what is honesty, what is the best and what does policy mean with an examination of these three terms will give clarity of Benjamin Franklin ’s quote. Honesty is a lot of things like telling the truth. Telling the truth means telling the person what really happened, not lieing.
It had been a succesfull raid to be sure and Booth was more than happy with his share of the spoils. He had just overseen the sale of the stolen goods and had devided the money, so that every man got an equal share. Well of course not every man. He was the Captain and it was his ship. So of course he got more than the others. It was only fair, since he endured most of the risks.
Habits of the Creative Minds is a simple textbook with a particular twist. I began reading the book thinking it was going to be a basic textbook, but the author,Richard E. Miller and Ann Jurecic, changed the tone of the book and put it into a metaphor. This metaphor was about the reader in your writing, or for anyone reading should feel like Alice in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. The reader should be reading, and figuratively fall into the reading, by this the authors means the reader should not want to put that book down. They should be engulfed in the book and read from cover to cover. The attention must be maintained and the best way to do this is by making the writing unique. The authors of this book puts
Stumbling down the she landed at the doorstep of a rustic, old and wet house. Her suitcase lay on the ground and her clothes were scattered on the cold and damp floor. Rain fell as she clumsily picked up her belongings while twisting the doorknob. She gently closed the door, dragging her bag into the house.
For once he listened to me and went off to get it. People were gathering around again. Watching everything unfold. I was next to the boy, crouched down on the ground to reach eye level with him. His eyes were a dark shade of red. The need to feed was killing him, literally. His eyes were full of shear terror. He hadn't the slightest clue what was going on.
Vince finally lost his patience and his anger radiated heat like a wild fire in the bond. Gripping her jaw tightly his fingers dug into her skin hard, the nails on his hands elongating into claws that threatened to break the skin. A threatening growl sounded from his chest and his lip drew back in a snarl revealing a mouthful of inhumanly sharp teeth. "ENOUGH!" He snarled out in a low growl. His dark eyes burning coals in their sockets as he moved to mount her, sitting on her hips holding her down under his bulk.
My dearest love, I am writing this letter to you at this grave hour, moments before I am to partake in the hardest decision of my life. I was captured by the British army during the war on the battlefield. I was taken as a prisoner and am now residing in the Prisoner of War Camp here in Australia. The army did not kill me because they referred to killing captured troops as manslaughter and thought it would be best to put us in a POW camp until the war is over. A lot of the men in the Japanese army are upset and shamed It is quiet and peaceful, with lots of land and blue skies.
I woke up in the morning and started picking feathers out of my hair and then out of their hair. The entire room was bathed in feathers. I couldn’t imagine, how one would even begin, to clean this up.
I was lying in my own filth, being tied up for several days, without being able to go to the toilet; it's not a pretty sight. My body was slowly wasting away, no food, and only drops of water I couldn't cope. I could see my team-mates, my friends, slowly going insane. They were talking in there sleep, screaming for freedom, but what was the point. The guards treated us like filth, something they'd stepped on and couldn't get rid of. I could see their point though, we killed their friends, and so they determined to kill ours. But I had to escape, I was the only sane one in there, my mind was at ease. You see, everyone else was going crazy wondering about their loved ones, but I had no one.