Institutionalized

A/N:: To all my readers: This story is officially under construction! I have a lot of editing to do in order to get this up to par, I'm updating w/ chapter 19 now but I may do some rewrites before updating a new chapter. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers, you rock! And thanks to new readers for taking the time to view my story. Lovely, thanks.
Also! I've changed my s/n pen name w/e, so that its the same as my fictionpress one.


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I woke with a throbbing headache; feeling as though my temples were going to burst. The lingering memories of a nightmare flashed before my closed eyes. White. Needles. Pain. Humiliation...the feeling of cold steel on my back and rough cloth chafing my wrists made me let out a groan. It was no dream, only recent memories of this place, and I didn’t need to open my eyes to know how real this was. I shifted, hearing someone unlocking the door. Footsteps...

“Mr. Cryztol, you’re awake...” that familiar voiced droned, “We don’t want that now, do we?” he asked, not expecting an answer. I moved against my restraints but the more I moved the tighter they got. My limbs felt heavy and foreign to me.

“W-why,” I cleared my throat, my voice sounding hoarse, “Why put me to sleep?” I managed, my throat feeling scratchy and dry now. I struggled slightly against my restraints again, not having any energy to make a real go of it. I opened my eyes slowly, waiting for them to adjust to the blinding white-ness of the room. It was so white that the walls appeared to go on forever, like I was caught in this terrifying endless sea of white; and every time I woke from my drug-induced unconsciousness I was overcome with the feeling of falling. I squinted, watery eyes finally adjusting. I didn’t think he was going to answer me.

“It is easier this way, I promise you.” Pause... “This is for your own good, you're confused. Let the doctors handle things,” he finally answered. I agree; confused is exactly how I felt. I didn’t see how putting me under made it easier, considering I didn’t know what they were doing to me.

I had to crane my head to see the ‘doctor’...just in time to see him flick his needle, already headed my way. When he touched my arm where an IV was sticking out of I tried to jerk away from him. My body felt weaker and I felt more delirious than I ever had before.

“Hold still now boy,” I heard the doctor’s strange accent but not his words and I closed my eyes once again. I could see splotches of white, even with my eyes shut. It just wouldn’t leave me alone. I was falling...falling....I gasped, trying to expel the feeling.

I still struggled slightly as I watched the doctor administer the drugs through the IV. The doctor watched me expressionlessly as my head began to feel cloudy, and the whiteness started to turn black.

“Fuck you,” I muttered as the doctor smirked and headed away. I faintly heard the door click shut as the doctor left, and then as suddenly as I’d woken, I was out again


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The next time I woke up, I had my familiar headache but it was accompanied by a strange nauseating feeling that I wasn’t used to. I wasn’t used to feeling much of anything since being here, besides tired...and maybe a little scared.

I abruptly turned on my side and vomited, or tried to at least, I was mostly dry heaving. When I finally got a hold of myself, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, not appreciating the sour taste and stabbing pain in my throat.

Only then did it hit me. I wasn’t strapped to the table. In fact, I wasn’t in the white room at all anymore. This room was plain brick, slate grey. It was smaller than the white room, but had a small cot with a mattress, and a toilet in the corner like a jail cell. Except there were no bars; only the metal door with a small window, letting in a square of fluorescent lighting.

I examined my wrists and ankles, which were red and bleeding in spots from rubbing at the too tight restraints. My whole body was stiff and ached uncomfortably. I noticed I had no clothes on and suddenly became cold. I touched my head, feeling wet hair. They must have bathed me or something. I guess I needed it, those fuckers just left me there to soil myself and starve, occasionally coming back to drug me…I barely remember.

I pulled myself onto the cot, wrapping myself in the only sheet and curling up into a fetal position. I was shivering uncontrollably and cursed these people for making me like this. They had done something to me, and I barely knew myself anymore. The me I remember wouldn’t be cowering and licking his wounds...I’d be, well I don’t know, but I’d do something besides wait for them to come back and mess with me some more. Mess with my head.

I wasn’t crazy when my parents insisted I be institutionalized without even telling me, but I think I might be crazy now. The white room is enough to make anyone crazy. I was feeling bitter, and hating myself, but I mostly hated my family. I still couldn’t believe they’d sent me here, thinking there really was something wrong with me. I think there’s something wrong with them; they’ve always had it out for me.

All this mess is my brother Kieran’s fault but my parents would never think to get him “help.” They think the easiest solution is to send me to a fucking mental institution of all places. Maybe they just hated me, so they got rid of me altogether? Kieran’s always been their golden boy anyways, acting like their little lap dog.

They probably just got rid of me so they could appear to be the perfect family. It wasn’t hard to believe, the way they treated me compared to Kieran. My brothers adopted. My parents tried for years to get pregnant and finally they were told they were unable to conceive, and so they adopted Kieran at birth. They were, of course, thrilled to finally have a child. That is...until a year later my mom got pregnant with me, and for some reason they’ve always resented me, favoring Kieran.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother. We’re unalike but very much on the same level; we understand each other. That’s why I’m so confused. Why didn’t Kieran tell me that our parents were going to send me here? Why had he acted so fucking normal the days leading up to my...incarceration?

I didn’t have a problem. I wasn’t depressed...really. Not the way they made it seem. When my mom first saw the cuts on my arm she nearly fainted, grabbing at me, ripping at my clothes and looking at my self-inflicted wounds. She slapped me weakly, crying and asking why over and over again. It was also one of the few times that she ever showed any real concern for me.

Personally, I didn’t think there was anything weird about cutting myself, it made me feel better when I’m upset (at first anyways, after a while I started doing it out of habit.) And because I found nothing wrong with it, I refused to talk to any of the shrinks my parents took me too, and now I’ve somehow ended up here.

At the West Wood Sanatorium of Mental Health. Insert creepy music and loud crack of thunder.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I almost didn’t hear someone unlocking the door. As soon as I heard the metal door scrape along the concrete floor, I was on my feet, clinging to the sheet wrapped around me but still ready to put up a fight. I wasn’t restrained anymore, and I promised myself I wouldn’t let them put me to out again – regardless of how weak I felt.

I was surprised when a petite blond nurse, in her thirties, with a smile on her face no less, stepped into my room. I stared at her, not knowing how to react. Besides, I couldn’t fight a woman. She stepped closer, still smiling.

“Salem Cryztol?” she asked her voice quiet and high at the same time. I nodded to her, unconsciously taking a step back. “Follow me please,” she said, and abruptly turned around, leaving me to gape after her.

I quickly found my senses and followed after her, into the blinding white hallway. She led me through a maze of passages, which I tried to remember, but couldn’t. Although it was obvious we were in a basement or sub-level of some kind. Finally we came to a large wooden door with ‘Dr. Don Savage’ on it in nice gold lettering right in the center.

I felt nervous all of a sudden; which used to be a foreign emotion to me. The nurse must have noticed because she gave me a reassuring smile. Then she knocked on the door, turned around and winked at me, then walked away, down another hallway. She left me? Bitch. I was shocked.

I was left alone, and I didn’t like it. Who was this Don Savage anyways? I held my sheet around myself as tight as possible and waited for the door to click open...

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