state mental hospital

One woman tells of how her parents, upon discovering her crush on a physical education teacher when she was fourteen years old, first sent her to a psychologist “to find out if I was crazy.” When her parents’ persistent rejection of her sexual identification during her teen years caused her to be so depressed that she attempted suicide, they committed her to a hospital psychiatric ward where the nurses “tried to fix me up with boys” and the psychiatrists “made me feel I was the only one who ever felt love for someone of the same sex.” When her depression continued after her release, her parents again had her hospitalized, this time in a state mental hospital. She was not alone there, she says. She met a thirty-year-old lesbian who claimed “she had been in and out of institutions all her life for being a lesbian. I thought she was the sanest person there.” Similar stories were not uncommon during the mid-twentieth-century.
—  Lillian Faderman, Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers: A History of Lesbian Life in Twentieth-Century America

state art gallery in sopot, poland

the palindrome exhibition (19th june - 16th august 2015)

set of works by both renowned artists, artists at the begging of their career path as well as persons with permanent mental disorders, often living in isolation rooms of psychiatric hospitals

(it’s so beautiful that i didn’t want to leave the museum)


Once used as storage for the Northern State Mental Hospital, these barns are reportedly haunted by the spirits of patients who still reside there. The abandoned hospital now belongs to the government so it is open to the public, and many brave explorers have reported seeing ghosts, hearing disembodied wailing and feeling like they are being watched when they enter the barns.

Cause drama and try to ruin my reputation over Facebook? Now everyone knows your secret.

This is going to be long, but I’ve been dying to tell this story. It’s about how I put a narcissistic woman in her place after being accused of stealing on Facebook.

A few years ago, I was involved in one of those “swap and sell” groups on Facebook. It was specifically for stay-at-home moms, and mostly centered around trading and selling clothing, toys, etc. It was an awesome resource, because you could get things for your children at a very low price, and often make new friends in the process.

There was one woman, however, that made the swap and sell group an unpleasant place. We’ll call her Kathy. In person, all she ever talked about was herself, specifically about how great she was. She did the same for her kids. She would also slip little hints in about how you or your children were inferior in some way. For example, she would say things like “Oh, your child’s soccer team came in third place last season? My son’s team came first, but that’s not very surprising considering how good he is. I must have done a great job raising him and it’s a shame that others can’t do the same with their children.” She really would say things like that.

In hindsight, she was a narcissist. I’m not just saying that, I’m pretty sure she could be diagnosed. I just did the best I could to avoid her if I saw her in the next aisle of a store.

One day she saw me with my infant son. He was crying, so she came over and said, “Oh, let me hold him. I can get him to calm down.” It was infuriating. Almost everyone hated her.

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Richard Ramirez was born in El Paso, Texas, on February 29, 1960, the youngest of Julian and Mercedes Ramirez’s five children.His father, a Mexican national and former Juarez policeman who later became a laborer on the Santa Fe railroad, was a hard-working man prone to fits of anger that often resulted in physical abuse. As a child, Ramirez sustained two serious head injuries. When he was two years old a dresser fell on top of him, causing a forehead laceration requiring thirty stitches to close.When he was five years old he was knocked unconscious by a swing at a park, after which he experienced frequent epileptic seizures that persisted into his early teens. As a twelve-year-old he was strongly influenced by his older cousin, Miguel (“Mike”) Ramirez, a decorated U.S. Army Green Beret combat veteran who often boasted of his gruesome exploits during the Vietnam War. He shared Polaroid photos of his victims, including Vietnamese women he had raped. In some of the photos Mike posed with the severed head of a woman he had abused. Ramirez, who had smoked marijuana since the age of ten, bonded with Mike over many joints and gory war stories. Mike taught his young cousin some of his military skills, such as killing with stealth and surety. Around this time, Ramirez began to seek escape from his father’s violent temper by sleeping in a local cemetery.

“Richie”, as he was known to his family, was present when Mike shot his wife, Jessie, in the face with a .38 caliber revolver during a domestic argument on May 4, 1973, killing her. After the shooting Richie became sullen and withdrawn from his family and peers. Later that year, he moved in with his older sister Ruth and her husband, Roberto, an obsessive “peeping Tom” who took Richie along on his nocturnal exploits.He began using LSD and cultivated an interest in Satanism. Mike Ramirez was found not guilty of Jessie’s murder by reason of insanity (with his combat record as a mitigating factor), and was released in 1977 after four years of incarceration at the Texas State Mental Hospital. His influence over Richard continued.

The adolescent Ramirez began to meld his burgeoning sexual fantasies with violence, including forced bondage and rape. While still in school, he took a job at a local Holiday Inn, where he used his passkey to rob sleeping patrons. His employment ended abruptly after a hotel guest returned to his room to find Ramirez attempting to rape his wife.Though the husband beat Ramirez senseless at the scene, criminal charges were dropped when the couple, who lived out of state, declined to return to testify against him.

Ramirez dropped out of Jefferson High School in the ninth grade.

He spent the summer of 1980 in the San Francisco Bay Area 

and three years later moved to Los Angeles, where he began injecting cocaine and became more involved in Satanism, Earl Gregg Jr., who briefly lived with Ramirez in the Bay Area, told The Times in 1985.

from June 1984 until August 1985.
His highly publicized home invasion crime spree terrorized the residents of the greater Los Angeles area, and later the residents of the San Francisco area.

Prior to his capture, Ramirez was dubbed the “Night Stalker” by the news media. He used a wide variety of weapons, including handguns, knives, a machete, a tire iron, and a hammer. Ramirez, who was an avowed Satanist, never expressed any remorse for his crimes. The judge who upheld his thirteen death sentences remarked that Ramirez’s deeds exhibited “cruelty, callousness, and viciousness beyond any human understanding”.

Ramirez died of complications secondary to B-cell lymphoma at Marin General Hospital in Greenbrae, California, on June 7, 2013. He had also been affected by “chronic substance abuse and chronic hepatitis C viral infection”.
At 53 years old, he had been on death row for more than 23 years.

anonymous asked:

Companions react to Sole finding out that they were a synth the hole time. Created by the institute and plugged with artificial memory's of Nate who never truly existed?

*bites fist* *clenches table* *shakes violently.* I hope you know that I have not been able to stop thinking about this request since you first submitted it. I was so blown away. I bet you write some stellar fanfiction anon. 10/10 plot twist. Warning: This will get dark.

Ada: She didn’t say anything when Sole told her at first. Lights blinked on her automatron head indicating she was thinking. “I think that sometimes life takes us all in unexpected directions that make you question your existence. Just because you are operating on someone else’s consciousness does not negate the permanence of your life in this very moment. The present belongs to you. That’s what I’d like to think.” Then she turned her head and started clunking away as Sole watched. Ada struggled with grasping her own consciousness too and whether her self-awareness meant she was a being or not. Sole’s story stuck with her for many many days later as she pondered the perplexity of the very concept of consciousness and its implications.

Cait: She folded her arms. “Bullshit. I saw the human popsicle you took me too back in yer vault. You’re trying to pull the wool over me eyes.” It seemed too crazy to be real. She’d been around tons of people to tried to pull their tricks on her and this story just sounded to unbelievable. There wasn’t even any damn logic behind it! At least not that Sole knew. But Sole seemed utterly convinced of what this ‘Father’ had told her so Cait just rolled her eyes and went with it. “Yeah yeah, and you just full on believed this Father fellow didn’t you? He was probably all pissy you didn’t come get his arse immediately for all you know and pulled a mean practical joke on ya. But anyway, if you’re so damn hellbent on believing this crap then who the hell cares if it was implanted or not? Who cares if that guy really was yer husband or not? If it felt real, it was real. Simple as that.”

Codsworth: “Wait, then… then who am I?” Sole and Codsworth had been searching for a back way into the Institute through some old laboratories. They stumbled upon a dusty old terminal in a room full of dissected gen-3 synth parts. In no time Sole hacked it and found out much more than they ever intended. This was the first laboratory where the Institute perfected the gen-3 synths. The first gen-3 was designed as an experimental model transplanted with fake memories and no knowledge about the Institute, just to see how they fared on the surface. Sole stared wide eyed at a picture of themselves as Codsworth gasped horrified. That still didn’t answer why he had false memories too. Who was he? He and Sole scrounged the lab for any hint of Codsworth’s origins but all they found was a brittle signed piece of paper detailing a financial partnership between the Commonwealth Institute of Technology and General Atomics.

Curie: “Zat seems very bizarre zat they would not tell you. Doesn’t ze Institute pride themselves on keeping their synths under control? Why would they voluntarily give you your own autonomy? Zis does not make sense to Curie.” Sole was so caught up with their whole life being a lie that they were overwhelmed. Curie however made very valid points about the whole situation that really didn’t seem to add up. She grounded Sole, she always did. Curie’s ability to remain calm and logical in all situations is why she is the only person Sole trusts to go to for sensitive issues. She was their voice of reason. Sole and Curie went into a room with some large paper and pencils and drafted a hypothetical timeline of the events that Father had told Sole in sequential order. They plotted everything they could, dates, places, people, etc as they could. Curie was right. Something didn’t add up… Curie had them analyze their past few interactions with Father to see if there might be some reason for him to have told them this. Well Sole had knowingly continued to help the Railroad despite being advised against it. Wait… Did Father tell them that to make them more obedient? To make them believe that they were servants of the Institute to dissuade them from independent thought?

Danse: [Reversal of Blind Betrayal] Elder Maxson called him to the command deck, informing him that Proctor Quinlan had recovered the data retrieved from the Institute. Sole was a synth. Danse’s blood ran cold. How? How could he have not noticed he had been travelling with a synth the whole time? And he was the one that brought them on board. The implications of his wrongdoing weight heavily on his conscience. His mind raced with what they might have done. Had they stolen classified information? Were they a seed from the Institute? No matter. They were on the run now and Danse was mandated to kill them. He ended up cornering them at Listening Post Bravo. They were done running. Danse was so ready to kill the dirty synth that lied straight to his face but the second he saw their familiar eyes looking back so sadly at him, all of his bravado fell. They accepted their death, told him it was okay. Danse raised the gun to their head and they thanked him. Sole’s eyes never left his. He couldn’t. He was weak. Sole made him feel ways he never felt before and even though everything he had ever learned was screaming at him to kill them, his arms hung limply at his side. He couldn’t pull the trigger. He was in love with this synth.

Deacon: “What?” was all he said when Sole approached him saying “I won.” He could instantly tell something was wrong. Every semblance of their body language basically screamed they was upset. They had this game, kind of like comparing scars. Neither one took offense, but rather found it fun. They both had seen some pretty fucked up things. Sole explained how they had the biggest lie of all: their whole life. Deacon’s heart fell as they failed to fight back the tears that were streaming down their face. “Geez, Boss it never was a competition. I mean to me, you… aww shit what am I saying? Get over here.” He couldn’t take just standing there like a douchebag as the one person that ever truly made him feel like himself desperately needed someone. He fit their head into the crook of his neck and rubbed their back. He told people he wasn’t a hugger because he wasn’t comfortable with people being close to him. But now, he was more at home than he ever had been before. What they had; that was real. No Institute could have implanted that.

Dogmeat: *whine* Sole stared off into space in a catatonic state in their wheelchair. The intern at the State Mental Health Hospital wheeled them around the skilled nursing facility grounds away from the other patients. The residing psychiatrist approached her “How are they doing?” he said with his clipboard out, ready to take notes. The intern gave a weary smile, remembering the eventful past few minutes. “They’re doing much better now. Sorry the alarms called you on your day off doc. I don’t know what happened. They were fine one minute, and the next they were acting all paranoid saying something like we implanted memories in them or something and we faked their husband too. Then they started throwing things and it was really upsetting the other patients.” The doctor nodded knowingly, pushing his glasses an inch up his crooked nose. “Did you use operation Dogmeat?” he asked. Again the intern nodded. “Yeah. 5mg of Haldol. The nurses did it. Calmed ‘em right down.” The doctor nodded once more before clicking his pen shut. “Good. Sole’s been having increasingly severe episodes. Perhaps we’ll try another medication. Thank you for your help.” With that the psychiatrist walked off and the intern kept wheeling Sole’s chair as they stared off in an immobile state thinking about the comforting glow of the irradiated wasteland.

Hancock: “Wow. That’s some heavy stuff right there sister/brother.” Hancock looked down in pensive thought as Sole explained to him everything they had learned at the Institute. He knew something was wrong when they came to him, legs and hands trembling so badly they couldn’t keep still. So he brought them up to the roof of his state house. No one had ever been up there before besides him. Not even Fahrenheit. It was his place to go to when he needed time to think, to calm down, to cool off. But now, Sole needed time to think. That was the most important thing right now. He placed a gentle arm around Sole. “Hey, I know this isn’t exactly comparable, but I understand the feeling of never being able to return to the life you once had before. Believe me. But that’s what this place is y’know? This whole city collects all the misfits that don’t fit in anywhere else. Now me? I don’t give a damn what you are. You’ll always be my sunshine.”

MacCready: “Woah boss… okay.” He rose his hands up and started backing away. Sole had their back turned to him as they spoke calmly and softly. Somewhere deep down MacCready knew they didn’t look back on purpose because they knew what he was going to do. A synth? Are you freaking kidding me? He slung his sniper over his back and took off down the road without looking back. Boss had lied to him the whole time. He hated being lied to. He-he had traveled with that synth. He had laughed with that synth. He had kissed that synth. He had made love to that synth. Days passed as he almost made it to the border of the Commonwealth. The nights seemed colder. He became more irritable. More anxious. He missed that synth. Loneliness turned into sadness and as the decrepit signpost with ‘Welcome to the Capital Wasteland,’ came into view and he stopped. What was he doing? After a few moments he let out an irritated sigh and turned around to make his way all the way back to Sanctuary because he loved that synth.

Nick Valentine: They had tailed a courser to a military compound. Nick and Sole did a good job of tailing him stealthily until the courser stopped at a far room only visible though a small window. He held out a holotape to someone and a man i a lab coat grabbed it. Nick felt Sole stand up beside him, their face as white as a sheet. “Nate” they whispered. “Kid don’t!” He hissed, but it was too late. They’d already stepped out into the clearing. Sole took both the men by surprise, the courser immediately taking up arms but Sole only looked at Nate in a way that made Nick feel uncomfortable. He didn’t trust this man. Nate started smooth talking Sole who seemed to be sucking it all up like a dream. That was until he started saying a designation number. Nick shot him with a tranquilizer dart before he could finish and he and Sole finished off the courser for the sake of their own survival. Sole was all forms of confused and so Nick felt like he had to stay strong for them. He grabbed the holotape out of their not-so-dead spouse’s hand. Nick snatched away their hand that was smoothing down the collapsed Nate’s hair and popped the holotape in their pipboy, muttering something incoherent. What they saw was a report on the synth…Sole. That tape detailed everything. About their implanted memories and the fake body they implanted. Sole ran out of the building so quickly that Nick was stumbling to keep up with them. “Kid! Hold up…” He wheezed. When he caught up with them he saw tears where threatening to fall from their frightened eyes. “Having a life that doesn’t belong to you, not knowing where the fake ends and the real begins, that’s something I can empathize with more than you know.”

Piper: “H-hey Blue, calm down-” *crash!* “JESUS! Put that down you’re going to hurt yourself! And destroy my house!” Sole was never meant to find out they were a synth. Father went to great lengths to hide it. However a comment a scientist made in Robotics rubbed Sole the wrong way. How dare they implicate them as a synth? They were obviously Father’s parent. Sole was a truth-seeker, just like Piper, which is why she loved them. That night, Sole snuck into Robotics and hacked into their terminals, searching for what that could have meant. That’s when Sole found out. The first place they went to was Piper’s house. They quickly drank themselves into an angry stupor, throwing things and yelling about the life they never had and the person who they weren’t. Piper propped her hands on her hips, looking at her big baby Blue. “Look! I love the person I see here right before my very eyes. I don’t care if your past was fake, I know the you right now isn’t fake and that’s all that matters.”

Preston: He passed Sole the bottle of whiskey as they were explaining their story in front of the campfire they had made. He tried to imagine what it was like having your whole life all of a sudden be fake like that and he shivered at the idea. Sole downed the rest of the bottle in one go (which was ¾ths full!). Preston grimaced knowing that couldn’t have been tasty never mind healthy. He scooted closer to them, rubbing their back in small circles as they leaned up against him. Sole threw their hands up in frustration. “Hey General, your place if right here so don’t you ever feel like you don’t belong somewhere because you got me and all of us at Sanctuary to help you.” He placed tender kisses along their cheek but then abruptly stopped. “Wait… If Nate never existed then… does that make me your first love? That makes me kind of happy.” Sole didn’t look as happy as they play socked him in the arm. Preston stood up, taking their hands in his. He raised them up until they were at eye level and rubbed noses with them. “Babe, I’m really sorry your life was fake and all. But I promise, I am going to give you something real that only the person standing here before me could experience.”

Strong: “WHA… HUMAN NOT HUMAN? HUMAN IS METAL MAN? STRONG NO UNDERSTAND!” Sole grew red in the face trying to explain every little detail to Strong who seemed to kind of get it but not really. Venting at him actually helped them calm down a lot as they eventually adopted a ‘fuck it’ attitude and continued to do what they did. Strong now refers to Sole as ‘robot’ instead of ‘human.’

X6-88: He knew. X6′s boots slammed on the floor as rain pelted his shades. Who knows how long he had been running. The whole time, he knew about Sole. Sole was an experiment designed by Shaun to see how receptive an unsuspecting gen-3 model was when their origins were revealed. It was a test of internal fortitude. X6 knew they weren’t ready. He’d been assigned to protect them, to watch over them. He knew them. When they went AWOL, he was the first to volunteer for their reclamation. There was no way he was ever going to let any of the other coursers near them. He was going to do it. So now he ran. The Institute could track your locations of teleportation so he had to lay low. This was what he was trained for: hunting down synths that disobey. Sole was just another one. But as he searched every place that ever meant something to them, his convictions started to sound superficial to him. The more he thought of these troubling thoughts the more he began to think that he might become the very first courser in history that went rogue.


Maxson: Sole took him aside privately, hoping to confide in the leader of the Brotherhood. Big mistake. “Synth!” He yelled, smacking them across the face, knocking them out. When they came to, they were in a cage, the molerats having been moved, and surrounded by all the heads of the Brotherhood staring at them with cold eyes. Maxson stepped forward and Sole glared as he began a grandiose speech of how they were an Institute spy and synth filth that was sent to infiltrate them. After all they’d been through they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. When he finally turned to address them, Sole spit on him. The air filled with roars as Maxson stripped off his jacket and entered the cage. Sole did their best to put up a fight but he still beat them. He always won. This sick ritual of torture and humiliation continued for days. What the other heads didn’t know what that Maxson came back to their cage in the middle of the night and fucked them like they were going to ‘fuck the Brotherhood.’ They had known Maxson once had feelings for them and so Sole decided to take advantage of that. One night they kissed him hard, which stunned him enough for them to escape. They didn’t make it very far though before Maxson caught them by the hair and threw them forward into the sharp metal corner of a table, splitting their leg open. Sole yelped in pain, clutching their synthetic bleeding leg. Two large arms draped around them. All they heard was the faint whisper of “I’m sorry” as they tried to grasp the situation. What the fuck?

Father: “Take them away” he sighed with a wave of his hand, motioning to the door. He rose his cup of tea to his lips as two gen-2 synths came and dragged away Sole’s lifeless body off the floor. Both of his parents died that fateful day he was plucked out of Vault 111. Ever since rising into power of the most technologically advanced faction in the Commonwealth, Shaun sought to restore what he had lost: his family. With every prototype, each approximation got closer and closer to a real human. Unfortunately, this one was unable to handle the intense emotional stimuli of such a revelation. Shame. Perhaps the next one will do better.

Desdemona: She held Sole’s head to her chest comfortingly when they started to hyperventilate while talking about it. “Shh, hey there. Sorry this happened to you agent. The Institute likes to play all these kinds of cruel jokes on their synths just to see what happens sometimes. Can’t say it’s the first time I’ve seen something like this but I’m sorry it had to happen to you.” Des opened her arm to motion to the rest of HQ. When Sole finally looked up she saw everyone: Deacon, Glory, Drummer Boy, Tinker Tom, PAM, even Carrington surrounding them with sympathetic looks in their eyes. They were silent but united. Desdemona squeezed Sole’s shoulder. “You see? We are all here for you. We are your family now.”

Glory: She found out the hard way. One day the classical radio station had been jacked by the Brotherhood but when they all tuned in to listen to the strange broadcast, the sound of Sole screaming filled the room. The chilling discord of Sole’s voice turned her blood to ice. The Brotherhood said they found their little “synth agent” spying on them and that if the Railroad didn’t cease and desist, then they were going to kill her. Glory wanted to riddle every single one of them with bullets from her minigun but Des convinced her to wait for more information instead of running into a trap. A few days later, Tom’s terminal wigged out and a message slowly appeared on the screen: ‘Escaped. Help - Sole.’ That was enough sign for Glory. She grabbed her gun and ran to the only place she knew Sole would go: The Randolph Safehouse. Sole’s messy hair came into view as Glory called out to them as she approached but what she saw when Sole turned around twisted her stomach into knots. Sole had a gaping hole shot in their stomach which revealed a gory mix of blood, sparks, and protruding wire. Those motherfuckers. Glory ran to Sole’s side and took their shaky body in her arms. She was going to make the Brotherhood pay for what they did to Sole.


@sixpenceee I went up to Burlington, Washington to see family for thanksgiving and while I was up there my cousin took me to go take pictures of the sky. So we drove out to this place and he told me about it. It’s called Northern State Mental Hospital, or the “bug-house” as some call it for all the mosquitos in the summer. There’s a cemetery nearby and after some research, I found out the deaths of the patients were never recorded, and part of the cemetery was unmarked.  The speculation is that, because the boss of the place knew the inventor of the lobotomy, the asylum patients were used as test dummies for the early procedures. It’s quite creepy if you ask me.

anonymous asked:

Could you upload some photos of Donald Rudolph please? And could you explain his case I looked it up but I didn't find much, it mainly talking about some older gentleman. Thank you 😘

You can learn about his entire situation here.  His case was never a big media thing, so there isn’t much on him out there.  He’s been found unfit to stand trial. There are some articles claiming he’s faking mental illness.  They state that he’s interested in Game of Thrones and sports…which is hilarious to me.  That’s basically saying that you can’t possibly have interests or follow something closely if you’re mentally ill which is offensive to say the least.

Oregon mom threw autistic 6-year-old son from bridge

A woman who threw her autistic 6-year-old son off a bridge on the Oregon coast has pleaded guilty to murder and was sentenced to life in prison with the possibility of parole in 25 years.

Jillian McCabe, 36, of Newport, called 911 in 2014 to report she had thrown her son from the Yaquina Bay Bridge, an arch bridge that rises 40 metres above the water.

Emergency crews searched for hours before the body of London McCabe was found about a mile from the span. Hundreds of people attended a candlelight vigil for the child.

“The fall did not kill London,” said Lincoln County District Attorney Michelle Branam said Tuesday. “He suffered broken bones from the impact of the fall and ultimately drowned.”

Researched stabbing, drowning

Relatives said after McCabe’s arrest that she struggled with mental illness while trying to care for London and for her husband, Matt McCabe, who was ailing from multiple sclerosis.   

But Branam said the killing was done with much calculation, and prosecutors believe she faked symptoms of mental illness when it suited her purpose.

“Everyone hopes it can be explained by way of mental illness so we don’t have to leave open the possibility that a mother could plan to so horrifically murder her child,” Branam said.

In the weeks before killing her son, McCabe did extensive internet research on ways to murder the child, and how to get away with it by using an insanity defense.

“She searched stabbing, drowning and dropping from a 133-foot [40-metre] fall, the exact height of the Yaquina Bay Bridge” Branam said.

‘He was my pride and joy’

She also searched “Andrea Yates” more than 60 times on her phone. Yates is the Houston woman who was committed to a state mental hospital after drowning her five children in a bathtub in 2001.  

McCabe’s attorney, Deborah Burdzik, did not return a phone message seeking comment.

Matt McCabe filed for divorce after the crime, and court records show the 10-year marriage officially ended in December.

“I can’t say enough about this boy,” the ex-husband said Tuesday. “He was my pride and joy. He was the centre of my attention; his loss leaves a black hole in the centre of my life.

"If you know an autistic individual, he needs love, too — maybe more than you and I,” he added.