Institutionalized

Patient: Lady Eloise
Age: 20
Sex: female
Religion: orthodox, we suppose
Form of insanity: depression

This form of madness is a pretty simple one, and I will do the honor of explaining it in a few words.
Depression, otherwise known as melancholia. The patient is a 20 year old female.In this case, the cause of this affliction is unknown, but the patient was telling us something about the sad stories, sights and words that have haunted her since childhood.
Is she dangerous to others? Of course yes, what person stricken by dementia isn't?
Harmful behavior? She went out in the middle of the might inappropriately dressed, attempting to commit suicide. She might also be a cleptomaniac, or in other words, a thief.
Her ideas of beauty are completely deranged, almost grotesque. Patient seems fascinated by silver, black clothing and excentric hair colors.
We suppose that this affection is due to the fact that she did not accept the reality as it is, her idealism pushed her towards depression and suicidal behavior.
Highly intelligent, ability to improvise, we advise the personnel to manage her with great care and attention.
Probe A: suicide note
"I won't say I am sorry for what I am about to do, for there is nothing for you to gain when I lose it.
To my friends, that I did not manage to keep for I have slayed them all when they fell, I say only this : I love the part of you that hates me, and you may also go to bloody hell!
In my dreams, my lover loves me, but you all wanted to open my eyes to your miserable reality, maybe because you couldn't stand to see my happiness and lay still in your pot of boiling feces and blood.
So you dragged me in with you and now I must ask myself, are you really my friends? I know, I myself judge your every mistake, but I am the one that loves you most and I know your humanity therefore, I will not offer you my love, for you will destroy it, as you destroyed me.
Was my mother a lady or a whore? Well, I suppose the difference is barely noticeable. A lady is, I suppose, a woman that doesn't sell herself as cheap as a whore. A lady must be provided with jewelery, beautiful clothing, care, and maids. A whore is selling herself only to provide for her family. Also, with exclusivity comes class and thus a higher price for your beautiful rose.
Was my father a good man? well, that depends. One may be good to some, and cruel to others. But when I was gone, father was merely evil, not cruel, for he had no one to pour his poison upon, or spread her young legs and then locking her in an empty room.
As my faith ceased to exist, I started wondering, what would be the use of carrying on with  this mascarade? Well, it would be none. Except I forgot one huge aspect: I might be considered insane.
Therefore, my decision has been made. Death is only a dream, and life just an illusion, and a terribly good one. We could not find the meaning of it living it but by observing others living it, that is how we could determine - in a non subjective way - what the meaning would be. The essence however, we could not discover it by pealing off the layers of what is real just as we were to peel an onion. Or could we? Why can't there be a little seed at the core of life, just as we find  these seeds at the core of cherries, or peaches, or apples?
Since all of you left me, I made my own friends, and their voices never leave me, and they cry me to sleep, every night. I wasn't able to find a way of shutting them up, and in any case, they are so damn stubborn that even when I will be dead they won't be silent.
All this being said, to bloody hell with all of you."

In that very night, she was caught by authorities and handed in to the asylum. It seems that this spoiled child is the one who will benefit from the latest treatments for insanity. And if they won't work, we will defeat the child's stubbornness with the classic treatments: leaches, electroshock, nails in the skull before going to bed - to prevent nightmares - lobotomy in the worst of cases will make the patient docile and easier to work with.

"They won't come for you, child. They are the ones who brought you here, you are a menace to society therefore your place is in this cell. As you can see, we actually made the effort to provide you with a bed and a room that you are not to split with anyone else. More than that, you should be grateful to be the first one to be the subject of the new treatment! Do you have any idea what an honor you have been given, only god knows why?"
"Ma'am, I came with you silently with the hope that.."
"That what? that you will be let go? Oh, child...you won't go anywhere. Not until you are better, and we both know that won't be soon, not with that attitude"

Rats...subject to experiments...the ones who get away are eaten by cats. Same for the inmates, subject to experiments, but eaten by their own madness at the same time. It's not as harmful for one's mind to be subject to disease, as it is for him to know he is living in a dream world. Think of it as if you were to have a leach on your skin: if you don't know you have it, you don't feel anything, but as soon as you see it, pain will settle in quickly. All sensation is in the brain, but if you dare to feel differently, we will institutionalize you and torture you 'till the break of day.

Eloise- (cap1) Intro

Multe povesti au fost spuse inca de cand primul om a cunoscut meleagurile acestei realitati. Povesti de dragoste, de durere, povesti cu mame ce nasc fii atotputernici, cu demoni si orci ce ne n-venineaza pamanturile cu dureri, cu ingeri ce cad prada arogantei si lacomiei, pierzandu-si nemurirea. Dar aceasta, aceasta nu este una dintre acele povesti. Aceasta este istoria unei fetite.

Se nascu intr-o noapte lunga si obositoare cand cerul abia ploua. Vantul sufla mistic printre crengile dezgolite ale copacilor ce zgariau geamurile in leganarea lor.

La lumina slaba a unei lumanari ce nu cuprindea nici macar jumatate din camera si printre tipetele infioratoare ale mamei, Eloise s-a nascut. Botezata in sangele celei ce i-a dat viata si a purtat-o in pantecele-i timp de noua luni. Eloise se nascu cu gheare si plete lungi iar Moasele, Mrs. Thomas si Mrs. Pompychrist, au crezut ca ar fi fiica Diavolului. Au gandit ca ar fi intelept sa o ocida pe micuta si sa ii spuna mamei ca defapt copilul se nascu mort, dar numai ce acest gand le trecu prin minte, micuta Eloise tipa si ca trasnite de fulger, moasele isi pierdura mintile in ghearele dementei. Si abia dupa tipatul ei mama afla ca fiica ei traieste. Si ploaia incepu.

Cat despre moase, sunt mai multe povesti care circula. Una dintre ele ar fi ca cele doua ar fi fost internate la azilul de boli mintale, ori s-ar fi sinucis, ori ar fi parasit orasul. Cert este ca din acea noapte nimeni nu le-a mai vazut vreodata si nici nu s-a mai auzit de ele. Totusi din cand in cand cineva mai intreaba de doamnele Thomas si Pompychrist, iar celui ce intreaba si se face semn sa taca si i se spune ca nu se vorbeste de asa ceva. Dar din cand in cand, la un ceai negru in fata semineului, cate-o batrana indrazneste sa sopteasca nepotilor povestea nasterii micutei Eloise.

Nu era mai in varsta de sase anisori. Era draguta foc, blonduta la par , cu ochii de chihlimbar, cu pielea alba si obrajii cam des udati de lacrimi. Era cumite de obicei sivai, ce pacat ca va trebui sa moara.

Micuta noastra isi plangea suferinta neauzita si nevazuta. Nu avea multi prieteni micuta Eloise, dar avea un companion ce nu o parasea niciodata la greu : un motan pe nume Byron.

Byron era mereu alaturi de ea si o ajuta atunci cand gresea la pian. Profesoara era foarte severa, dar din fericire era oarba asa ca nu stia ca motanul o ajuta din cand in cand. Le placea sa se uite la flori impreuna si sa prinda fluturi, iar la sfarsitul zilei, Byron se urca inpat cu micuta Eloise si torcea la pieptul ei pana aceasta adormea. Iar daca Byron era somnoros in timpul zilei_ca orice pisica dealtfel_ aceasta era doar pentru ca in timpul noptii, cand fetita dormea, el trebuia sa tina la o parte toate umbrele ce vroiau sa o raneasca. Desigur, Eloise nu stia acest lucru, si nimeni din familia. Nici macar celelalte pisici.

Byron era un motan de talie medie, negru si cu ochii verzi si impunatori. Atat de impunatori incat nici nu era nevoie sa cerseasca dupa mancare. Aceasta ii era oferita imediat, iar el nu se obosea sa multumeasca, sa toarca sau sa se alinte de picioarele celui ce ii oferea hrana. Singura persoana care de bucura de respectul si iubirea sa era Eloise. Iar ea ii piptana blanita neagra si il imbratisa mereu. Cu alte cuvinte, erau de nedespartit. Toate acestea pana intr-o zi ce va schimbatotul... atat pentru Eloise cat si pentru restul omenirii.

Era o minunata zi de toamna, flamboyanta prin cercuri aramii incandescente in aerul racoros. Frunzele cadeau in grupuri mari, iar daca ar fi putul, Eloise ar fi incetinit timpul ca sa le observe pe fiecare in caderea lor. Dar cum acest lucru nu este posibil pentru micuta noastra, cel mai bun lucru pe care il putea face era sa aplice un "stop cadru" si un prim-plan asupra unei frunze in caderea sa.

Superba imagine isi crea Eloise in mintea ei inocenta: o frunza aramie ce si-a oprit caderea doar pentru ea. O frunza aramie scaldata intr-o eterna lumina ruginie de dupa amiaza.

Avea un leagan in copac, micuta Eloise. Un leagan facul de bunicul ei. Si ii placea mult sa se dea in leagan, mai ales ca acum toamna fiind, poate in avantul ei sa loveasca frunzele cazute cu picioarele. Ii placea sa isi simta buclele mangaiate de vant, si ii mai placea sa le simta mangaindu-i fata. De multe ori isiflutura parul cand se legana: isi lasa capul in fata cand leaganul se ducea in spate, apoi si-l ridica brusc cand leaganul se ducea in fata. Aceasta ii placea in mod deosebit Eloisei cand se dacea in leagan. Si uneori, Byron i se aseza in poala ,iar atunci Eloise se legana mai incet, ca sa nu cada pisoiul.