Personal Narrative: Overbrook Asylum

It was a gray day. The sun did not shine; it could not pierce the layers of powdery black skies along with the fog. The thick mist that was not really rain, or fog covered the southeastern corner of New Jersey. It was depressing, just like most days in the area surrounding the Overbrook Asylum. On the outside, Overbrook was a welcoming place where patients were treated with care along with respect; the inside was very different. I entered the asylum as a nurse in May of 1910, I was excited to be able to lend a helping hand to the people in need. I always had an interest in what made people tick or to what made people think the way they did. The hospital had provided me a living area for the time I was there. The hospital wanted nurses who were

For as long as I worked here I never had a good feeling about the doctor as he would smile at me creepily then inevitably brush my shoulder each time we passed. But, to be a physiatrist in an insane asylum you would almost have to be insane, yourself. As a nurse this is what I thought to myself on the days I had seen Richard and Philippe next to each other. Three months after the men had become acquaintances, Richard along with Philippe went missing one night in the beginning of April, murders across the northeast in Connecticut, New York, including Massachusetts had begun, the next month over one hundred killings had been reported all butchered and dissected. Almost three people a day for over the course of a month, died. All killings suspected the two men of these heinous

He simply had depression, along with his depression came his suicidal thoughts. I watched his personal nurse grow depression, along with the man she couldn’t take the constant doubt along with the misery. I began checking on the man on my own time just to keep an eye out. One day I decided to ask him how his day was going. The man looked up from his slouched stance, looking around as if he didn’t know what was happening or who was talking to him. I said hello? In question to see if he was alright, he started shaking at the end of his bed. I approached the man then bent down to look him in the eyes. I noticed one of his hands were shaking, unusually more than the other. I gestured to grab his hand at that moment he flinched moving his hand to his throat. I noticed he had a barber’s razor in his hand, I rapidly grabbed his arm no to mention started to wrestle the man. He slipped causing the man to cut my throat, as I fell to the floor seeing nothing but black and red dots trying to talk, making nothing but gurgling sounds. The man looked to the floor not knowing what he had done. He fell to the floor telling my body to “Wake up! It was an accident, I swear!” He was crying hysterically looking at the razor in his hand. He lifted the razor in the air, blood ran down the length of the razor onto his arm dripping from his elbow; he let his arm fall, as he did, the