Behind the door of delusion by Marle Woodson

By Marle Woodson

At the back of the Door of myth is the memoir of a journalist whose neighbors dedicated him to an Oklahoma psychological clinic within the early Nineteen Thirties in a determined try to treatment him of alcoholism. it's a strong and unusual social statement on Depression-era the US that offers perception into political and financial forces affecting a ignored underclass.

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During all that day no attendant came near me. Neither of the two on duty spoke to me or asked if there was anything I desired. Apparently they left this to the older patients. But several times, during the day, I caught the attendant who was in charge gazing at me in dispassionate mental appraisal. Evening came. A new inmate arrived. A patient told me that they were coming in at a rate of more than fifty each month. The new man strenuously objected to taking a bathbut he had to take one, nevertheless.

That means you must show us the stuff you are made of; prove to us you are all right. "The first night or two here you may not sleep much. About forty men sleep in this room. It's a bedlam sometimes. " That was my initiation as a patient in an asylum. It gave me another impression to add to those which I had already acquired. I was weak physically; my nerves were unstrung and my mind was deadly weary. But this impression sank in. " The attendant went about his duties. I lay in bed, more than wide awake, my mind whirling under a tumbling wave of thoughts.

Immediately I realized that I had done something wrong. The look which the doctor gave me simply set me back on my heels. My hand remained untaken. Then I realized with a shock that this was not a meeting of two gentlemen on a plane of equality. In the eyes of the man before me I was just another insane patient, duly committed and now awaiting his orders. I had stepped far off my own plane when I expected him to acknowledge my introduction of myself. I know that my face flushed hotly as my mind assimilated the fact that I was no longer a widely known citizen of my own home city, a welcomed speaker at luncheon clubs and an active figure in civic affairs; I now was only one of the patients in a state hospital for the insane, just one of the submerged two thousand, and I had had my first lesson in institutional discipline.

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