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Saturday, December 26th, 2020
| Time | Event |
| 6:51p | Ten Days in a Mad-House “Where are we?” “At the Blackwell’s Island Lunatic Asylum,” she answered, sadly. “Are you crazy?” I asked. “No,” she replied; “but as we have been sent here we will have to be quiet until we find some means of escape. They will be few, though, if all the doctors, as Dr. Field, refuse to listen to me or give me a chance to prove my sanity.” We were ushered into a narrow vestibule, and the door was locked behind us. In spite of the knowledge of my sanity and the assurance that I would be released in a few days, my heart gave a sharp twinge. Pronounced insane by four expert doctors and shut up behind the unmerciful bolts and bars of a mad-house! Not to be confined alone, but to be a companion, day and night, of senseless, chattering lunatics; to sleep with them, to eat with them, to be considered one of them, was an uncomfortable position. Timidly we followed the nurse up the long uncarpeted hall to a room filled by so-called crazy women. We were told to sit down, and some of the patients kindly made room for us. They looked at us curiously, and one came up to me and asked: “Who sent you here?” “The doctors,” I answered. “What for?” she persisted. “Well, they say I am insane,” I admitted. “Insane!” she repeated, incredulously. “It cannot be seen in your face.” https://copperkettle78.livejournal.c Current Mood:  sleepyCurrent Music: Burial, Chemz |
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