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Garima Soni

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“His first thought – what felt like his first thought ever, it formed so slowly in his brain – was that she looked like a doll. Just like a doll. Her eyes were large and bright and feline; her hair was chestnut, brushed to a hardwood shine, parted sharply and flowing to her thighs; her lips were cupid’s-bow-cute; her head was tilted to one side on a long, long neck. She had skin that had never seen sunlight, and wore no expression at all. He noticed her. And she noticed, and kept on noticing, him. Stanley looked down for a third and longer time. It wasn’t polite to stare. Not at girls. Or anyone. But especially not girls. Not even girls who looked like perfect porcelain dolls.”

LoveRomanceStaringAdmirationNoticePorcelainAsylumDollMental HospitalPorcelain DollTeenage Crush
Book:Release
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“Eventually I had gotten it together enough to call her. I did so partly to let her know where I was and partly to almost brag about where I was. Whenever I’d get morose, sulky, or stuck somewhere between crabby and suicidal, she was quick to say something disarming or indirectly tell me things weren’t that bad. Laura wasn’t exactly dismissive of my feelings, but I often left our conversations feeling like she didn’t quite get how harsh things felt for me—or at least that she wasn’t willing to acknowledge it. This frustrated and upset me. I spent so much time trying to hide the depths of my feelings and the clusterfuckedness of my life from everyone, except her. The one person I was honest with was often telling me that I was being too dramatic, or overdramatic, or overthinking things, or would I just please change the subject. It wasn’t like she didn’t believe me—it was more like she questioned why I let things bother me so much. In a small way, ending up in the mental ward was a strange kind of validation for me. Being in Timken Mercy proved that when I was insisting that things were terrible, and she kept insisting that they weren’t, they were, in fact, kind of terrible.”

Mental HealthMental Hospital
Book:Giving Up the Ghost: A Story About Friendship, 80s Rock, a Lost Scrap of Paper, and What It Means to Be Haunted
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“Randolph Maddix, a schizophrenic who lived at a private home for the mentally ill in Brooklyn, was often left alone to suffer seizures, his body crumpling to the floor of his squalid room. The home, Seaport Manor, is responsible for 325 starkly ill people, yet many of its workers could barely qualify for fast-food jobs. So it was no surprise that Mr. Maddix, 51, was dead for more than 12 hours before an aide finally checked on him. His back, curled and stiff with rigor mortis, had to be broken to fit him into a body bag.” THE NEW YORK TIMES April 28, 2002”

DeathDepressingEulogyUncaringNewspaperMental HospitalAbruptPatient Treatment
Book:The Devil in Silver
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“I was shocked and terrified to hear Dr. Summer say I had what was formerly known as multiple personality disorder. Is that like Sybil? Am I like the woman in The Three Faces of Eve? My head began to spin. What do I have inside of me? Is there a crazy person in there? What am I? I felt like a freak. I was afraid to have anyone know. I have a mental illness. People make fun of people like me. Upon hearing my diagnosis, I stopped thinking of myself as smart, creative, or clever. Even though Dr. Summer had worked hard to help me understand that I had developed an amazingly adaptive survival technique, I no longer thought of it that way at all. I was overwhelmed by fear and shame. The words multiple personality disorder echoed in my mind. I thought of all the ways people with multiple personalities were ridiculed and marginalized: They're locked away in mental institutions. They are really sick. I'm not going to be the subject of people's jokes. I am a lawyer. I work at the U.S. Department of Justice. The more I thought about it, the deeper my despair grew.”

CrazyMental IllnessRidiculeDissociative Identity DisorderStereotypesMultiple Personality DisorderMental Illness StigmaMental HospitalSybilSelf Stigma
Book:The Sum of My Parts: A Survivor's Story of Dissociative Identity Disorder
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“Ogarnęło go poczucie beznadziejności - beznadziejności oswojonej i ciepłej, przez co jeszcze bardziej beznadziejnej. Zatrzymał się przy oknie. Ścieżka ginęła w jesiennym dywanie opadłych liści i w mroku: była tak blisko i zarazem tak daleko, jak Paryż, jak Byt, jak Wolność. Wyrzekł się tych prostych życiowych ścieżek częściowo z własnej woli, częściowo wbrew niej. Natura była abstraktem, snem. Rzeczywistość natomiast zamykała się tutaj, między korytarzykiem, pielęgniarzem i salą.”

RealityDreamsMental Hospital
Book:Adam Kłakocki i jego cienie
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“For now, you will be confined to your room until you earn privileges.' 'Privileges?' He nodded. 'Once we start working together and you show a willingness to cooperate, we can add privileges to your daily program. Outside time, personal items, television, phone--those kinds of things.' He checked his watch while I stared at him in horror. Privileges? As in out-frickin'-side time? I was in prison!”

Mental Hospital
Book:Between the Lives
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