Personal Narrative: The Acceptance Of Insanity

a muzzle brake, and five magazines. Also, two shorty double barrels with the quickloader”. The quickloader is a machine that attaches on the side of your hamstrings. It has two compartments in each loader, and in the compartments goes shells. You simply stick the inside latch of the double shotgun against it, and it ejects the shells into the chamber of the double barrel for a quick reload.

If you were to see me walking down the street you would never guess that I was in foster care. I dress and act like your everyday 17 year old, and in a way I am. Except I was placed in foster care when I was 15 years old. Scratch that I put myself in foster care when I was 15 years old. I bet you’re asking “why”? “Why would you do such a thing”? Well my mother was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia also known as disorganized schizophrenia. Just in case you don't know disorganized schizophrenia is characterized by incoherent and illogical thoughts and behaviors, so when you are 15 that's not a good situation to be in. My mother couldn't keep a job therefore she could not support us.

Sometimes, I feel like I am experiencing a double therapy. One that I am leading with my therapist, and another one, more passive, in class. School can inadvertently speed up a process for which you are not necessarily ready. It can stir your past and your emotions arise. In that case, there is an assignment that I am postponing and trying in every way possible to avoid or twist differently. The material evoked in class was hard to process and I did not expect it. Ironically, I now think about it all the time. I know that I need to go to the bottom of it one way or another, but homeostasis is compromised and I do not like it. I try to look at it like gym. It is not pleasant but it is good for your health. The problem with that paper is that

When I almost reached the door, I felt something at my foot, a broken hourglass, that had ran out of sand. Shaking and suddenly bursting into a cold sweat, I furiously jammed the key in. It felt like an eternity, but finally I succeeded. Pushing the door open, and wiping a faceful of sweat from my face, I felt this wave of aromas crash over me. Putting the key in my pocket(FORESHADOWING) and then entering the cellar I tried to calm down. I tried to look for the cask of Amontillado that I bought several weeks ago. There were millions of wines in that cellar (HYPERBOLE). But at last I found it. It felt, lighter, and after opening it I realised that it was empty. I wasn’t enraged, just tired. I made my way to the door, suddenly feeling drowsy. Then I became a little bit nauseous and shaky. Looking into the darkness, I saw, darkness. So I picked up my dying torch and put it up and almost yelled “Who’s there?”. There was no reply but a figure seemed to appear in the darkness. It was carrying a scythe and it started towards me. I fell back, and was caught by the wall, slamming my head against it and dropping my torch. The figure whispered in the dark, “Free the fortunate one, for be warned fate will find

Still till this day he hasn't got arrested or the detectives have not gave me updates . RIght now am doing very good i still go to therapy if didn't i think i would be a big mess.it has helped me alot i have become a better person it made see things different. I do sometimes have my bad days and weeks but i go thru them . it's hard for me to come to school every year since i told my parents . if we have a 3 day weekend it hard for me to come back to school and get used to the people .

“How can I be good again? I just lost my wife and son in a car accident. There's nothing in life that can cheer me up. I have become an alcoholic who is now jobless.” I said. My Therapist, Dr. Newman, told me “Trust me, Mr. Smith. Only time can heal your wounds if you allow it to. Well, that's the end of the session, and I want to recall the accident that occurred so we can talk about it tomorrow.”

The purpose of the insanity defense is to protect the defendants that are found to be mentally ill. Although insanity may be difficult to prove, it gives the opportunity for others to prove that they are not mentally competent to understand the severe degree of their actions. An accused that is not mentally stable, is not able to stand trial like every other criminal. They have to find a different approach during their trial. They cannot think rationally, and they are not in contact with reality so therefore, they have the chance to use the plea. The defense is idea to those who actually have a mental disorder or have a history of dealing with a mental disorder.

I've been clean from self harm for quite a few months now and I'm not sure how I feel anymore

I woke up in my bed at the Stephens Adult Psychiatric Unit in Joplin, Missouri. I had dreamt of being back home the previous night, so it was crushing to wake up and realize where I was. It was my 2nd day there, but it felt like much longer. Most psychiatric units have a similar structure. During the week, there are group activities that preoccupy you enough to make the day somewhat bearable. The weekends are worse, because there is nothing. You can either sleep or watch television in the day room with the other patients. The lack of activity constantly reminds you that you’re trapped. That all of your belongings have been taken away. That you are not allowed to go outside at all during the duration of your stay. That you are virtually entirely isolated from the outside world. The only thing I had to look forward to during those days was the hour of visitation with my parents twice a day. You’d think a psychiatric unit would be the one place on

When it comes to my mental health, I can honestly say so far in my personal life, I have never experienced with any mental health issues. I think that I am very unaware what people go through when they have a mental health issue and I would really like to know more about the different mental health problems. People whom I am close with that have experience with mental health. My sister suffers from anxiety, but not severely. I have a few cousins whom I am close to that have experienced with mental health problems. One of my cousins suffers from the mental illness, anorexia. My sisters and I were very close to her when we were younger, but when her mental illness took over her life, she became a different person.

No one considered that Schizophrenia was the ailment that tormented my brother. We assumed it was just stress and anxiety that stole his nights, his sanity, and his joy. We all believed that it was just a phase my happy, go-lucky, comic brother would get over. After all, doesn't everybody go through these rough patches of their life, and like a phoenix tried through a fire, rise triumphantly? That was my hope for my brother. But as the days progressed, fatigue mixed with delusions consumed my brother’s thoughts and disrupted his ability to function. As a sister, I felt helpless watching my big brother, my hero, and my confidant going through the greatest battle of his life - mental illness. Episodes and psychiatric breakdowns were constant,

“Junior! stop laughing”,” Junior walk normal”, “junior eat”, “Junior did you wash your clothes?”, “JUNIOR! Don't smoke in the house!” These were many phrases that I heard in my life when my schizophrenic cousin came to live with us. To this day were not entirely sure if he only heard voices, sometimes we think he saw things too. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia in his early twenties and I was around seven years old, I honestly don't remember him ever being sane, but you could see the change in the people around us. His parents wouldn't accept it and refused to buy him medicine because “God had his reasons”, and my cousins (they're quite a bit older than me) never really accepted it and neither did my grandpa but he just shook his head and continued what he was doing. But my mother, she understood, she was a nurse who worked at Life care for a while so she knew how to deal with people who are “different”. So we took him in.

It’s a struggle to get out of bed sometimes, I often just sit there struggling to comprehend the sequence of events which have taken place over the past year. I mean, I’m used to this now, its normal to me, but the fact that this has happened and that I am now ‘disabled’ as people would put it is hard to get my head around. And every time I look down I’m reminded of the pain and the struggle I faced, it’s a physical scar which links me to my grueling past, a physical and emotional journey.

The late 50’s were a time of hysteria for the baby boomer generation. The source of hysteria was a hip thrusting, heartthrob by the name of Elvis Presley. He captivated audiences and women and would hold their attention for decades more. One of the many girls he charmed went by the name Sheila Cassidy. A girl who went on to marry a man, solely on a resemblance to her teenage dream. This girl turned into a woman and went on to become a mother and later a grandmother. Grandmother to me. She went on to do things in her life, but never forgot her first love, and his death brought a new kind of hysteria upon her. Elvis became immortal to her. She continued on in her life, but her one regret was never taking the time to go to Elvis’ home Graceland in Memphis, Tennessee. His home, forever protected by a thick layer of nostalgia.

I was only twenty-five years old when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Twenty-five. While the most important dilemma that weighed on the minds of most girls that age was probably what centerpiece to choose for their wedding tables, I was running around, desperately trying to find a surgeon who would take two ticking time bombs off my chest. It is truly hilarious how simple life was before my diagnosis; back to when I did not know what BRCA, mastectomy, and chemotherapy meant. Back to when the biggest worry on my mind was planning for my wedding and planning for my future children. Ignorance is truly bliss.