This book makes me so, so angry. As both a psych student and someone who was diagnosed with depression, I dived into this book expecting a riveting tale, an account of what goes on into a mental institution. But what I found was a story riddled with misinformation, exaggeration, and all round pretentiousness. But then why is it labeled as such, even by the author herself?

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This book makes me so, so angry. As both a psych student and someone who was diagnosed with depression, I dived into this book expecting a riveting tale, an account of what goes on into a mental institution. But what I found was a story riddled with misinformation, exaggeration, and all round pretentiousness.

But then why is it labeled as such, even by the author herself? To grab attention, something EA seems to love to eat up by the spoonful. The start was actually sort of interesting. The relevance of her forever mentioned stockings? With herself. Why do I say this? Let me counts thy ways: - She mentions her goddamn stockings almost every chapter.

She can hang herself with them any yet the nurses let her wear them? Surely the nurses who made sure to take everything potentially harmful from her would know better than to leave her those stockings. I smell a lie. Narcissistic much? The reason she fails to report him? I have no goddamn idea. Because why else would she purposefully engage him in conversation instead of ignore or report him? Again, what a way to milk a mental disease. People pay for this book. They spend money on this thing, and they expected writing, not wannabe artsy pictures.

Jesus, is she 12 years old? She considers the people working in the institution as, and I quote directly from the book, "captors". Jesus Christ.

She also says this: "as an asexual" Ummm She admitted plenty of times in the book that she had lovers and had sex, and that makes an asexual not. Not even close. Who told her this absolute stupidly? ECT is relatively painless they numb you up before the procedure and has helped countless of people who suffer from depression or bipolar disorder. This whole book is full of rambles, paragraphs that are big as half the page that go absolutely nowhere. Predatory doctors are real.

The rate of sexual violations in our field is the number one malpractice issue. This review is terrible. I feel embarrassed for the field. The victim-blaming is rife in here.

You have NO idea how psychiatric treatment works, clearly. It is also worth doing some research on your claims, such as that ECT is painless and helpful? There are multitudes of its victims out there who will tell you otherwise, who call it violence against women, who call it torture.

She takes Lithium. So many likes for this hateful review. I would like to say that I never thought of killing myself. I would like to say that I never attempted to kill myself before. On most days I forget that the event ever happened. I have masterfully convinced myself that every moment of that summer was a dream, and that I am not that girl and I was never that girl and that it was just another story in my mind that felt real.

Real and painful but in the end, just make believe. Like magic. Like faeries. Just another thing I made up but then began to believe in. But I cannot make Drew forget about it. I cannot make my parents forget about it. That summer was more real to them then it was to me.

I spent it in a drugged sleep. They spent it in a nightmare reality. There are emotions they felt they I have never witnessed. I heard that when I was in the emergency room my father had a crazed temper tantrum in the waiting room.

I have never once seen my father lose his temper. But Drew was forced to see it. It brings it friends: Despair, Self-Injury and Suicide.

Depression is the invisible plague. I swallowed a jar of Ibuprofen and was sent to a psychiatrist who I was able to convince of my sanity so quickly that after a half hour long session he did not ask to see me again. After a life as a child of divorced parents, a victim of abuse, and a troubled teen I once wrote a death note to one of my classmates, I got into numerous fist fights in high school, and I have violently kicked in lockers and thrown desks I have only seen a psychiatrist twice.

Does that make me angry? Do I wish I had received more attention? I had severe depression for two years--years where I would sleep for eighteen hours a day and cry at every waking second, and I had no one to talk to. No one wanted to talk to me. No one thought I needed help. They just considered my behavior as a sign of lazy rebelliousness. I was "acting out". In a drunken speech a few months ago, I brought up my suicide attempt to my mother and she began to cry.

I am not mad that I did not receive more attention because that would mean that I had only ever cut myself or tried to kill myself to GAIN attention. And I did not. The Cure. That invisible spectrum that haunts the dreams of every poor soul that ever once thought of inflicting damage upon themselves in order to drown the voices in their head--to be normal.

Just once. I cured myself. Or at least, was able to help myself forget, through my writing. I wrote the demons and I told my story and I vomited worlds of darkness and suffering onto paper and onto computer screens. Some of these worlds I shared with others while others I kept locked away. If I have to go through this, I will glean from it any small benefit I can receive.

I will not fight this. Bring it on. Bring on the cure. Bring on the fucking happy. It is a hard book to read. But I can sympathize with her desire to make the parallel, fictional story as bloody as possible--because that is what your mind sees when you are plummeting through despair: just endless grotesque scenes that would shake the heart of any sane person, but for you is as normal as the sun rising.

I know that my mind was and is still plagued by the most horrible thoughts. But what is even worse is that I cannot actually see why they are horrifying. I have had people read my stories only for them to freak out.

Reading The Asylum for Wayward Victorian girls has caused all these old memories and thoughts to surface, and no, that is not exactly a good thing. Many people are writing about how hard it was for them to read some of the scenes in the book, and how it made them cry. I did not cry once.

I did not even think of crying. I know that facing the demons is a good, positive thing. And that is what Emilie did. With this book she faced her demons. It may be a hard read for some people who do not like to read about suffering and pain. If you like to keep your library filled with positive, happy literature than do not even attempt to open this book. It does contain within it endless sources of truth--the truth of what it means to love, to hate, to suffer, and to believe in the power of your own creation to lead you out of the darkness.

The human mind is an abandoned house that must be filled with your own riches--whether that house be a place of love and warmth, or whether it is an asylum.


[PDF] The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls Book by Emilie Autumn Free Download (264 pages)

Emilie never saw her again. Kara: Recovering drug addict. Violet: Fellow inmate who has been the victim of abuse. Sharpe: Doctor at the mental ward who shows an interest in Emilie. Victorian[ edit ] Emily: Heroine of The Asylum She has red hair.


The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls




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