INCIDENTS OF ASYLUM LIFE.
There is little in the wards to help one pass the time.
All the asylum clothing is made by the patients, but sewing
does not employ one’s mind. After several months’
confinement the thoughts of the busy world grow faint,
and all the poor prisoners can do is to sit and ponder over
their hopeless fate. In the upper halls a good view is obtained
of the passing boats and New York. Often I tried
to picture to myself as I looked out between the bars to
the lights faintly glimmering in the city, what my
feelings would be if I had no one to obtain my release.
I have watched patients stand and gaze longingly toward
the city they in all likelihood will never enter again.
It means liberty and life; it seems so near, and yet heaven
is not further from hell.
Do the women pine for home? Excepting the most violent
cases, they are conscious that they are confined in an
asylum. An only desire that never dies is the one for
release, for home.
One poor girl used to tell me every morning, “I
dreamed of my mother last night. I think she may
come to-day and take me home.” That one thought,
that longing, is always present, yet she has been confined
some four years.
What a mysterious thing madness is. I have watched
patients whose lips are forever sealed in a perpetual silence.
They live, breathe, eat; the human form is there,
but that something, which the body can live without,
but which cannot exist without the body, was missing. I
have wondered if behind those sealed lips there were
dreams we ken not of, or if all was blank?
Still, as sad are those cases when the patients are always
conversing with invisible parties, I have seen them
89wholly unconscious of their surroundings and engrossed
with an invisible being. Yet, strange to say, that any
command issued to them is always obeyed, in about the
same manner as a dog obeys his master. One of the
most pitiful delusions of any of the patients was that of
a blue-eyed Irish girl, who believed she was forever
damned because of one act in her life. Her horrible
cry, morning and night, “I am damned for all eternity!”
would strike horror to my soul. Her agony seemed like
a glimpse of the inferno.
After being transferred to hall 7 I was locked in a
room every night with six crazy women. Two of them
seemed never to sleep, but spent the night in raving.
One would get out of her bed and creep around the room
searching for some one she wanted to kill. I could not
help but think how easy it would be for her to attack
any of the other patients confined with her. It did not
make the night more comfortable.
One middle-aged woman, who used to sit always in the
corner of the room, was very strangely affected. She
had a piece of newspaper, and from it she continually
read the most wonderful things I ever heard. I often
sat close by her and listened. History and romance fell
equally well from her lips.
I saw but one letter given a patient while I was there.
It awakened a big interest. Every patient seemed thirsty
for a word from the world, and they crowded around the
one who had been so fortunate and asked hundreds of
Visitors make but little interest and a great deal of
mirth. Miss Mattie Morgan, in hall 7, played for the
entertainment of some visitors one day. They were close
about her until one whispered that she was a patient.
“Crazy!” they whispered, audibly, as they fell back and
left her alone. She was amused as well as indignant over
the episode. Miss Mattie, assisted by several girls she has
90trained, makes the evenings pass very pleasantly in hall 7.
They sing and dance. Often the doctors come up and
dance with the patients.
One day when we went down to dinner we heard a weak
little cry in the basement. Every one seemed to notice
it, and it was not long until we knew there was a baby
down there. Yes, a baby. Think of it—a little, innocent
babe born in such a chamber of horrors! I can imagine
nothing more terrible.
A visitor who came one day brought in her arms her
babe. A mother who had been separated from her five
little children asked permission to hold it. When the
visitor wanted to leave, the woman’s grief was uncontrollable,
as she begged to keep the babe which she imagined
was her own. It excited more patients than I had ever
seen excited before at one time.
The only amusement, if so it may be called, given the
patients outside, is a ride once a week, if the weather permits,
on the “merry-go-round.” It is a change, and so
they accept it with some show of pleasure.
A scrub-brush factory, a mat factory, and the laundry
are where the mild patients work. They get no recompense
for it, but they get hungry over it.