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The Darkest Corners Of Those Committed

By Horror_Diaries All Rights Reserved ©

Thriller / Horror

The Occurrences at Humble Grove Psychiatric Hospital

“The extended, unlimited channel that held no sign of life. The shortening of breath with each suffocating thought. The consideration that he might not be alive anymore raced throughout what was left of his mentality. The slurred words that dribbled from his mouth did not seem to find any help. With each silent ring in his ears, the muffled words became distant as he fought for his life. His bright light was getting dimmer and dimmer”.

In my line of work, I can safely say I’ve seen it all. I have walked into plenty of dark places and alleys that never should exist. I’ve been a residence nurse at Humble Grove Psychiatric Hospital for a little over 20 years now. My first patient came to me when he was only 5 years old. A seemingly sweet boy, pending on the atmosphere that circulated around him.

No patient compares to Johnny with his perception of what the world was. He has made me question the sanity of myself from time to time. After every meeting with Johnny, I would find myself wondering to many dark passages I never thought I would let myself go to. It was a disease that can spread quickly if not treated correctly.

These accommodations weren’t always what they seemed to be. To be placed in such a setting at a young age can damage a child. The fact that they might not mature in such a dwelling can strip them of their adulthood. With the same notion, it can also deprive them of their childhood. Never having the freedom to run barefoot, outside on a summer day. Never feeling the scorching hot concert on their exposed skin. Never having the ecstasy of blowing bubbles and watching the soapy sphere swim through the air. He sat there in his chair, day after day, staring blankly at the window. Immune to the inhabitants that surround him. Individuals that would make way and retire from his room.

For a moment he felt alive. Seeing the man in the white lab coat taking notes, he felt like this could be over. That this was all a dream and he could go home. Sitting in the chair he demonstrated the perfect behavior of what a mental patient can look like. The blank stare, the incoherent words that don’t formulate any kind of complete sentence and the vacant mental state that held no signs of improvement. He screamed on the inside, begging for someone to hear him.

There was no way to fight off their abandoned structure of how to treat a patient with dignity. They completely fell off the hospitality wagon and began their own experiments that would give you nightmares. The kind of experiments that are frowned upon in modern medicine. I could go into detail of the experiments but they are far too grim to give you the full fable.

The experiments were less the amusing. The feeling of vulnerability each patient expressed after I interviewed them left me wanting to sign their discharge papers, but I knew I couldnt. Most of the patients at this facility were so mentally disturbed, that no amount of care could help them. Many were locked in solitude for years and wouldn’t know how to fend for themselves in the real world. While others were convicted murders that the judge proclaimed insanity instead of prison. Letting them loose on the streets would be a death wish.

As I watched my patient grow, he asked me several times if he was well enough to go home. I didn’t want to give him false pretenses but he wasn’t. Whenever he ended a question, that expressionless face would sink into another world. A world that went dark. He would divulge into a perception of what he thought the world was. He had the inspiration of a world much deeper than mankind as he uttered different versions of himself to create what he would see as the “perfect world”. His idea of a perfect world was complete chaos.

He would go on about stories that painted a picture of his “perfect world”. Imagery that illustrated who he was in this world. He was the center of all chaos. The president, the mayor, the head of department of crazy town. To govern the said “darkened town” and dispense uncertainty into each members anxiety. The versions of himself factored deeply.

In one version, he is this creature so menacing that the boogeyman doesn’t stand a chance. He would peer into your soul, find your very most terrifying fear and feed off that. He would illuminate the idea that the only chance of survival was to give in to him. Once you gave in, there was no turning back. He called himself “Black” as he interpreted that he resembles a black hole. A creature that “swallows” its prey and drops them into the world they fear most, and can never return to the “real world”.

A feeling of under constant surveillance peaks the second version. The repetitive behavior of paranoia lapsed his psyche that he lost all control of reality. With this phase, his uncontrollable fits would send nurses running home, crying along the way. The muttering words were so vile that not even the bravest person could endure him during these episodes. I remember one fit quite vividly. As he whispered to me “I can’t out run them, I’m not fast enough” I would try to make sense of his outbreak. He would ramble on saying “My thoughts don’t belong to me and I must kill you to make everything alright.” Needless to say, I never saw such horror in my life.

Another portrayal he had was that he was in a failing marriage. That his wife no longer loved him and that he must resort to execution. Even though at this stage it seemed like it was just him, there was another “person” who seemed to differ from him. He would move in and out of two different people, contemplating the performance on his wife.

These versions of himself would occur quite frequently. He would drift in and out of at least two a day. I sat and coached him through each situation until he came back to himself.

I have seen a lot in my days and Johnny has sent me on some unreal adventures. The last thing I remember him reciting was:

“The extended, unlimited channel that held no sign of life. The shortening of breath with each suffocating thought. The consideration that he might not be alive anymore raced throughout what was left of his mentality. The slurred words that dribbled from his mouth did not seem to find any help. With each silent ring in his ears, the muffled words became distant as he fought for his life. His bright light was getting dimmer and dimmer”.

It seemed as if there was one more version of himself that I may have missed. The reciting of himself in third person concluded my research that he was referring to himself dying. He concluded with:

“He has found himself in dark places before, But nothing quite compares to this. As he sat there in that white room with nothing but a desk and bed, he found himself listening to the corners of his mind. With their whispers and riddles that boggled him on a daily basis, he couldn’t help but question his sanity and wonder, is he really alive?”

Was this an indication of himself committing suicide?

I have drawn many conclusions but one sticks in my mind:

You can find yourself in many dark places, but you will never find yourself in the darkest minds of those who have been committed.

The End.

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