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The World Of The East Coast Of Massachusetts

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The rooms were confined to themselves by a large metal door with a small slot about 5 feet from the floor that could only be opened from the outside. The walls were once a brilliant white, but now filled with the scratch marks and blood stains from the ones before me. The room stench of urine, most likely from the other patients. All there was in the room was a small cot with a mattress so thin, it almost looked as if it was a thin piece of plywood. As I laid there strapped to my bed by leather restraints that were made to “protect” me from myself, I kept pondering on the question “what did I do to deserve to be locked up in a place like this?” Then I remember my crime, and smile. This perdition of a world I was living in was the Brookside…show more content…
They think that pills and shock therapy can cure the sickness inside my head, but one thing is for sure; I will never modificate. I like the way I am too much to be changed. I am a monster and I adore it. Not much happened the first month happened the first month inside the asylum, just the periodic routine I followed: Eat breakfast with the other patients, take my morning pills, be given an hour of electroconvulsive therapy, swig down more pills, then listen to music for an hour or two and finally be tested by the nurses there. A very basic routine, one that I very easily got in the habit of following. Being a young man, the age of 24 at the time, I tried to keep to myself most of the time and did not associate with the other patients for they were too decrepitated and insane for my likings. On the fiftieth day I was at the mental institution, my usual routine abruptly was broken. I was listening to my favorite song, Heureux Tous Les Deux by Frank Alamo, three of the health care workers walked into my room with the director of the hospital, Dr. James Roxton. Dr. Roxton, a very serious man, was in a furious manner and screamed at me “In all this time since you’ve been in my care, you have not improved! Not even the slightest! It is time to escalate your therapy.” “What are you going to do…” I was saying as they ripped me away from the old cassette player in my room. They threw me onto the metal table they brought with them into the room and restrained me down
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