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Sybil’s portrait of her mother, Elizabeth Morton (née Johnson), circa 1900
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Dearest Sybil, I admit that you have proved us all wrong. You left us two weeks ago to undertake this "adventure" as you call it. It seems mere madness to me. But I admit, you have persisted longer than any of us expected. Now that you have proven yourself, why don't you come home? Surely you have the evidence you need, now, to write your story. I will be waiting for you, as ever. I feel I have been waiting for you for years! Your own, Ash
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October 7, 1901
Today I met with Dr. McMahon. He seems very keen to meet me once a week for "psychotherapy sessions."
So far, he seems preoccupied with my father. It is all he is interested in discussing. He asks innumerable questions about my father - What is his profession? What is your first memory of him? Is he a tall man? What are my overall feelings towards him?
I do base my responses in reality, as it is easier than inventing a whole fictional tale. At my every response, Dr. McMahon smirks and nods knowingly, scribbling in his notepad eagerly.
He can barely contain his excitement about my father, it seems. He has yet to ask me any questions about myself.
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Sybil’s sketches of Dr. McMahon, her psychiatrist at the Toronto Lunatic Asylum.
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Ruth Adley’ patient card. Ruth told Sybil that she had been brought there by her family, who considered her desire for a divorce to be a sign of mental illness.
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Sybil became friendly with Ruth, another patient, early in her stay. Their conversations highlight the disturbing problem faced by patients at mental asylums during that era: Saying you were not insane was viewed as “proof” of your mental illness. What, then, could a patient do to escape the asylum? What could they say to prove their sanity?
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#spooky#halloween#999 queen street#lunatic asylum#mental asylum#ghost story spirits its about to get creepy in here
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Sybil’s sketch of the sleeping quarters at 999 Queen Street West. C. September 1901
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Ruth, October 4th 1901
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October 4th, 1901
I suppose I have been here one week. I admit, I find it hard to keep track of time.
I have started to gain the trust of a few patients. Some seem to be beyond help, but others seem perfectly rational. One woman, Ruth, perhaps in her mid-40s, has been in the bed to my left since I arrived. She tells me she has been here several months – she, too, has lost track. I present here our latest conversation, as faithfully as I can reprint it from memory. I very much want to learn about these women – what brought them here and what keeps them here.
Sybil: I hope you do not mind me saying this – but you seem very calm and collected.
Ruth: You mean sane? That’s what I’ve been telling these people for months. That’s what I told my family, too, before they brought me here.
Sybil: It was them who brought you? Did you not consent?
Ruth: Are you kidding me? They dragged me kicking and screaming. And I mean it – really dragged me. Put these big chains over my hands and around my waist and threw me in the back of a truck.
Sybil: That’s awful.
Ruth: Didn’t they do the same to you?
Sybil: Well, no. I checked myself in, on the advice of my husband. I have not been well.
Ruth: Then this is the last place you should be!
Sybil: When will you be released? Is your family still in contact with you?
Ruth: I think my brother feels guilty about what they did to me. So he comes by once every few weeks, looking sheepish. He tells me I’ll be out soon, doesn’t give me any more details than that. Soon, soon.
Sybil: But was there an incident that made them bring you here? Did something happen?
Ruth: Here’s the thing. They tell me something happened, but they’re lying through their teeth. I can remember perfectly well what happened. They say I was violent and aggressive. Meanwhile all I did was announce that I was leaving Bill – he’s my husband. That put mother over the edge. She doesn’t believe in divorce, thinks it’s sinful. Before I knew it, she had rounded up the whole family with stories about me being off my rocker, told them I had set my bed on fire. All nonsense!
Sybil: So she would rather you be in here than be a divorcee?
Ruth: That’s the plainest way to say it. Yes. Or she thinks being in here will knock some sense into me.
Sybil: Can’t you tell the nurses the truth?
Ruth: That’s the funny thing. Once you’re in here, everything you say is automatically insane. I could say the sky is blue and they wouldn’t believe me because I’m a nutcase.
Sybil: I’m sorry to hear that.
Ruth: Maybe I should just tell them, “It’s all true, I’m a lunatic.” They’d probably take that to mean that I’m of sound mind. That’s just how they operate here.
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From the log of Dr. Robert McMahon, the man who admitted her into the asylum.
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Sybil was also an amateur artist. I've found dozens of her sketches in her file.
This is a sketch of the dream that started her investigation into the Toronto Lunatic Asylum.
She noted that the dream brought with it a sense of deep peace and resolve.
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In her first journal entry from inside the asylum, Sybil seems slightly shaken. Still, she is resolved to go through with her plan.
We can already see some of the maltreatment patients went through - insufficient food, zero privacy, ice-cold baths.
Sybil must have thought she was close to a big story. In spite of her fear, she must have felt hopeful.
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