Journal Entry 0736

Date Journal Confiscated: May 17th, 1952

Patient: Thomas Jensen

Date of Birth: October 26th, 1929

Admittance Date: February 17th, 1952

Date of Death: May 17th, 1952

Reason for Admittance: Criminally and mentally insane. Found at home with his long-term dead mother.

February 18th, 1952

I don’t know why I’m here. I was awakened by Momma saying we had visitors, but they weren’t visitors. They were mean. When I was in the car I tried my hardest to get out. I gave them a real good fight. Momma told me I just had to go to the clinic. But this isn’t like the clinic we have at home. At home it has bright colors and lollipops. They’re nice to me there. I got a sticker once. This clinic isn’t like that. All I see is bricks. I have a bed. It’s not a soft bed. This is the only thing they gave me. A book and pencil. I want to go home to Momma.

February 25th, 1952

My back has a real bad ache from that bed. I don’t see many people here. When I do they’re in white and blue. Blue pants. Blue shirt. White jacket. White shoes. They all look the same. They want me to talk about my feelings. I feel that I want to go home. So I say that every time they ask. They say that’s wrong. But it’s not wrong. This place is scary. Home isn’t. I hear screaming an awful lot. It’s very loud. The people that yell back are even louder. I sometimes hear crashing and banging too. I never see it though. I can only see the white bricks. And the white door. I only hear the sounds from the other side of the wall. At home that never happened. Momma always talked nice and soft to me. Momma isn’t scary like these people. Momma kept me safe.

March 14th, 1952

They’re taking me to a new room tomorrow. I haven’t left this room since I got here. That’s a very long time. In the new room they said all I had to do was sit down. But they also said it would hurt a little. I said I didn’t want to go if it was gonna hurt. I said I wanted to go home. They just kept repeating, only a little pain, only a little. But I don’t want any pain. Momma never hurt me. Momma took care of me. Momma took care of me right.

April 2nd, 1952

Blisters. Blisters everywhere. They said it would only hurt a little. It was way more than a little. They took me to a room with a chair. I sat there for a long time. Then a guy came in. His name was Dr. Rowan. I don’t like Dr. Rowan. He hurt me. He said it was a form of therapy. It was sharp and it stung. A lot. It went all through my body. I felt it everywhere. Everything went dark. I woke up in a different room. Chained to the bed. I screamed. Loud. No one came. My skin was burning. Bleeding. They only brought food twice a day. It didn’t taste like food. Today I was returned to the room with bricks. I’m covered in dried blood. Momma would never leave me like this.

May 16th, 1952

It hurts to move. I haven’t left my bed in three weeks. They don’t interact with me anymore. The only time I see other people is when they bring food. I used to get food twice a day. Now I only get it once. But for the last two days I haven’t gotten anything. They said it’s a punishment. I don’t have any energy. I can feel myself shutting down. Momma would never punish me like this. Momma loves me.