The gentle chirp of morning doves forced me back to my consciousness as I lay in bed, preparing myself to persevere through another day. It didn’t take long for me to recognize that I wasn’t in my bed; rather, I found myself confined in a hospital room, swallowed by the thin, blindingly white bedding. As I absorbed the appearance of this foreign environment, I concluded that the room emulated the silent judgment I’d inadvertently lived with for eighteen years. It was as if the room whispered, “There is something fundamentally wrong with you, and the time has come for everyone to find out.” Despite the supposed safety of the hospital room, I felt strangely alienated. The setting characterized an eerie resemblance to scenes from Girl, Interrupted, …show more content…
He reduced my thoroughly constructed perception of reality to a mere symptom of my supposedly disordered brain. The accuracy of his theory struck me like a bolt of lightning, reinforced by the absence of any metallic shine in his eyes. My reality crumbled before my eyes as I faced the crushing realization that I was, in fact, mentally insane. Confusion and outrage bubbled within me, the urge to verbally lash out growing stronger with each passing moment. “I-” My mouth attempted to unleash a diatribe, yet the disbelief held me captive, paralyzing my ability to articulate a coherent response; instead, I sat on my bed, dumbfounded, staring into his eyes that mirrored my own. Past memories and beliefs collided in my mind at rapid paces, blurring my thoughts and vision. My jaw hung open, darkness clouded my eyes, and my heart descended into the bottomless pit of my stomach. In the mundane of my daily existence for the past six months – school, home, sleep, repeat – I sought relief in the world of education and …show more content…
Walking through the congested hallways, I sensed the collective gaze of hundreds of identical, metallic eyes piercing into my skin. I didn’t need to lift my gaze from the poorly polished, brown tiles to know they were analyzing me, their eyes tracing every inch of my arms, legs, and face. Despite their artificiality, a strange suspicion filled me as I sensed they suspected my distinction from the rest. I pulled out my copy of Pride and Prejudice, hoping to distract my mind from my intense feelings, yet today, uneasiness gripped me too tightly to be disregarded. As usual, I gravitated towards the back corner of my chemistry classroom, seeking protection from the relentless stares that continued to pierce through me. I buried my head in my arms, desperately attempting to escape the suffocating judgment. Suddenly, it all becomes overwhelming. The desks around me, occupied by these fraudulent beings, seemed to creep closer until they surrounded me entirely. Panic coursed through my veins as I darted my eyes around, helplessly searching for a way out of this inescapable
Vollmann’s story concentrates on the private experiences of individuals in a hospital. The commonality of the setting allows the reader to make necessary assumptions about the locale, timing and purpose of these hospital visits, also permitting the author flexibility in selecting events to comprise the plot. The universality of the hospital experience (lingering in the waiting room, a doctor’s examination, and a nurse’s questioning, for example) encourages the reader to relate to these private events in a shared, public manner. In this way, Vollmann relies upon one’s knowledge of hospital procedure to make greater comments about other institutions and society in general.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey presents a situation which is a small scale and exaggerated model of modern society and its suppressive qualities. The story deals with the inmates of a psychiatric ward who are all under the control of Nurse Ratched, ‘Big Nurse’, whose name itself signifies the oppressive nature of her authority. She rules with an iron fist so that the ward can function smoothly in order to achieve the rehabilitation of patients with a variety of mental illnesses. Big Nurse is presented to the reader through the eyes of the Chief, the story’s narrator, and much of her control is represented through the Chief’s hallucinations. One of these most recurring elements is the fog, a metaphorical haze keeping the patients befuddled and controlled “The fog: then time doesn’t mean anything. It’s lost in the fog, like everyone else” (Kesey 69). Another element of her control is the wires, though the Chief only brings this u...
It is sensible that in order to be admitted into a mental institution, the patient must have a prominent mental illness, however, that is not the case in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Upon first entering the ward, the majority of the patients are ordinary people but as time progresses, the omnipotent Big Nurse slowly destroys their masculinity through forceful accusations and painful treatment. “He’s a new man. Gad, modern American science…,” (40). Big Nurse’s gains power through her ability to determine the fate of her patients. This dismal satire depicts the robotic nature of the Big Nurse as she instantly transforms a unique patient into just another fly on a wall. The concrete diction reveals the ir...
The two texts emphasized in this essay include Elyn R. Saks’ The Center Cannot Hold : My Journey Through Madness and Joseph Campbell’s The Hero With A Thousand Faces. “There were many days when I believed I was nothing more than the Lady of Charts - a crazy woman who’d faked her way into a teaching job and would soon be discovered for what she really was and put where she really belonged - in a mental hospital” (Saks 263). Saks entire life was a struggle because of the mental illness she had since a young age, schizophrenia. Most of her younger years were lived being misunderstood by her parents and peers alike. She turned to options like substance abuse and self harm to cope with her deteriorating situation in life. There came a point where she realized that she was better than her illness and was able to overcome it with the help and guidance of a few mentors. Now, Saks is a very successful assistant dean, as well as a professor of law, psychology, psychiatry, and behavioral sciences at the University of Southern California Gould Law School. Saks also went on to receive the award for MacArthur Foundation Fellowship and write her book. Joseph Campbell was also very successful in the same way because he wrote a book that is very complex and still relevant in this day and age. Campbell made the mold and Saks’ life fits it
After reading the title of the poem Sick Room, Langston Hughes, the reader immediately undergoes a feeling of suspense and seriousness. The title explains the room in which the woman is lying in and what her condition is. The reader can speculate that she is not in a room to bring her happiness or good news, but rather a dreary and disheartening environment. Perhaps, because it is being called a “Sick Room” it could be taking place in a hospital room. In this poem, Hughes describes the feeling of the woman who does not have much time to live. She is stuck knocking on death’s door and fighting for a little longer. However, either way she will feel pain which is forcing her to make the best out of either outcome.
The narrator and her physician husband, John, rented out a majestic, colonial mansion for the summer. The narrator is in love with the house and cannot wait to spend her summer here. Her husband John has high hopes that a change of scenery will help her recover from a recent phase of depression. He results in a treatment called the “Rest Cure,” a treatment discovered by S. Weir Mitchell. The narrator finds the house queer, but gives it a chance. She becomes upset with John due to his choice of a bedroom for her. Once she had a look around the house she desired the downstairs room with a window overlooking the gardens. However, John argues that the room is too small and places her in the nursery room. It is a large room with barred windows that allow plenty of sunshine through. The narrator finds the room appalling due to the chaotic, yellow wallpaper on the walls. The narrator is imprisoned, unable to have control over her own mind. "...t...
Happiness is fake, like something forced upon me; something not real, fabricated and I don’t like it. I’m supposed to like it though. I’m supposed to like everything the government forces on me. I feel like I’m the only person who doesn’t feel content with my life, everyone else seems to be perfect while I’m falling apart at the seams.
Maybe it’s the fact that I tend to stay in my room all weekend, which leads to people thinking I’m studying when in reality I am probably binge watching a TV show or maybe it’s my glasses, but most people who don’t know me too well assume that I am smart. Now that is a great thing for me because I don’t have to try as hard to impress them, but I end up finding myself in a bit of a problem. The problem is that everyone thinks I enjoy admiring school textbooks. But the truth is I’m usually admiring my Justin Bieber poster on my bedroom wall. Ever since I was in sixth grade I’ve been a huge fan of Bieber. His music always brought a feeling of calmness and back in the day his “never say never” motto, was what I lived by. I might still be living by that motto because I’ve decided to write this essay
As I walked down the corridor I noticed a man lying in a hospital bed with only a television, two dressers, and a single window looking out at nothing cluttering his room. Depression overwhelmed me as I stared at the man laying on his bed, wearing a hospital gown stained by failed attempts to feed himself and watching a television that was not on. The fragments of an existence of a life once active and full of conviction and youth, now laid immovable in a state of unconsciousness. He was unaffected by my presence and remained in his stupor, despondently watching the blank screen. The solitude I felt by merely observing the occupants of the home forced me to recognize the mentality of our culture, out with the old and in with the new.
As I walked up the short, stoned stairs attached to the side of the hospital I saw tobacco splits on the walls and I could feel the horrifying smell of the hospital outside. When I entered the door, I saw a man sleeping on the ground with his duffle bag as a pillow. As I walk down the hallway I could see rooms on each side of me. Patients were lying in metal beds with a thin mattress. There was a tiny metal table next to each patient with their medicine and water. There were two to three patients in a single room. As I approached to reception, a long line was formed with sick patients waiting to be treated. I couldn’t see what was happening in front. These people were lacking a basic necessity we all need. I asked myself what I could do to
Many girls of different ages fantasize about the perfect wedding, perfect husband, a gorgeous dress, and the happiness to come after the wedding. At one point I was just like these girls. I saw marriage as a paradise that everybody should experience. Around tenth- grade, my rose tinted glasses were removed and I witnessed just how bad a marriage could get to the point of divorce. The divorce my parents went through, changed my entire view on monogamy. I now see marriage in a more realistic point of view and that it is not an easy journey as I once had thought it was.
I woke up to the sound of footsteps and voices pacing back and forth. From what I could establish I was in an industrialized room, which consisted only of a small bed and bathroom. I moved my eyes down and found myself wrapped in blankets. I yanked the blanket off only to discover bandages covering my arms and legs. Where am I? I asked myself. I began to hear keys rattling I shifted my head towards the steel door, as it suddenly opened. A broad, muscular man dressed in a navy officer uniform abruptly said “You’re Ralph, yes?” I instantly felt a strange sense of security hearing a mature voice.
Forever has insanity plagued our lives. From the beginning, those who were not what society considered normal were labeled out of their minds. We look back at the old medicine men, and what do we see? Men, who themselves, were insane enough to think of crazy ways to heal our headaches and everything that ailed us, yet we’d hate to be one of them. None of us want to be labeled crazy, out of our minds, or insane. It is the one constant fear in humans, it’s what is hiding under our beds and in our closest, at ages so young we still have night lights. It causes us to scream, hide, and call for someone else to help. Just one person to tell us that we didn’t imagine things and we are not indeed losing our minds. But the truth is the real meaning of insanity is being lost.
It’s September of 2009, the semi-truck is sitting outside with all of our belongings in it, like an airplane waiting to take us away. Today is gloomy and raining as usual, but I know I’m going to miss it. The sun has started going down; we all get into the vehicles we’re designated. Me, my Dad, and Jade our Boxer into the truck, Mom Jaycee and the other animals into the car, and my Aunt Tina and Grandma into their suburban. It’s bitter sweet, I am so excited to go to a new city, new state, new everything, but I’m leaving behind everyone I grew up with. My closest friends who thought I was funny, not weird. Who I consider my brother, Daniel, and my mom’s side of the family all left behind. We begin driving, the truck brakes releasing
I awake to lukewarm water dripping down my forehead from a damp towel. I feel a thick liquid against my back. I scan the area, Unfamiliar. I find myself lying in a cot in a filthy room. The sight room itself was depressing, not that it was in extremely bad conditions but it was all…brown, the kind of brown that makes you feel depressed. It reeked of fish and motor oil, one of the queerest combinations of scents I have encountered. My ears start to pick up the deep monotones of a man speaking in other room. In my drowsy state I couldn’t make out exactly what he said but I did manage to g...