The Asylum Confessions (The Asylum Confession Files, #1)

by Jack Steen

Dark, narrow hallways with half-burnt-out light bulbs? Blood-smeared walls, staff who don’t care how their crazy patients are doing? Do you imagine rooms covered in padding, with only a mattress on the floor and a straight-jacket, diaper-wearing, drugged-out criminal lying curled up in the corner, softly weeping an indecipherable name? You would only be half wrong.

We all have our reasons why we force ourselves to walk through the gates of whatever hell we think we deserve. I’ve got my own reasons why I stay here. Just like you’ve got your reasons for living the life you do - even if it's without passion, without purpose. We’ve all got our ghosts. Our own crosses to bear.

I won’t say people like you or me because, well…let’s be honest…if we look deep in our hearts, are we really good? Are we really kind and guided by that still small voice preachers tell us is the voice of God?

The last time to tuck me in, to say goodnight, and kiss me goodbye. I’ve never told anyone her final words. Not Preacher. Not Father. Not the pastor who came to visit us the next day.

I’m more than what everyone thinks I am. That’s what my story is about.

Death isn't the end. It’s only the beginning. A new beginning for both the soul that passed on and for those left behind.

Death can stop you from living, but it shouldn't. Death should be the catalyst for you to yearn more from life.

Death Eaters are those who live among the dead, who help prepare others for what life entails following death.

In order to live, one must first die…wasn’t that a saying some famous psychiatrist once said? No? Hmm…someone should have.

Jail isn’t four walls. Prison isn’t a sentence handed down. No, the life I’ve been living … is torture. To be denied my cravings. To be forced to wear a mask of civility and indifference. To have my calling ripped from me…that’s my hell.

The smell…I got an erection the moment that smell blanketed me. It was heady, clean with a hint of mint.

No, we never ate my mother’s organs. It was her one request to my father before she took her own life. He burned her body as requested and buried her in our garden, untouched, untasted, undefiled.

I describe him as a sociopath with the looks of a god but the spirit of the devil.

An alcoholic never starts with the intention of being addicted. They took one sip. Go through one crisis. Realize things didn’t hurt as much when they drank. All it takes is one step. One step to destroy the perfect life or to create it.

“If we get caught, I will never forgive you for this. Any other day is fine. But not today.” She’d said. “I’ll be waiting for you in hell, and I’ll make you wish you’d never see me again.”

In those days, the shit they used to do to inmates made Hitler look like a fucking tooth fairy.

And be prepared for the ass-kicking of your life. Got it?

I killed him. I killed my father, the father of my children and I had no regrets.

It's amazing what someone can get away with when all they do is smile, look you straight in the eye, and make you believe every single lie they tell. Not everyone can do that.

From what I’ve read so far, no one wants to believe she’s guilty. Everyone has a hard time imagining such a sweet innocent woman to be so despicable inside.

Full disclosure - I'm prepared to like the woman. I think Full warning - I think you're going to like her too. If that's the case, by the end of this confession, we’re both a little fucked in the head.

We are who we need to be to fit or fulfill a role others have placed upon us.

all the things we could have done mean nothing because what we do is what we will always do if given the chance to redo our mistakes.

my parents' blood, his face solemn, his eyes sad, never

What most people don't understand, though, is that being personable isn't being personal.

That's all people really want anyway, to be seen, to know they're worthy and it doesn’t matter if they are children or adults.

I chose to allow my regrets to mold me.