Dear Diary,                                                         July 6th, 1868
      It has been four days, six hours, and three minutes since I was put in solitary confinement. Strange people come in my room at times to hold an interrogation, asking me questions about instances previous to this moment. At about eight in the morning nurses come into my room to regulate the rules to me and take me to the doctor for my daily session. The session usually starts with a monologue from the doctor himself, scolding me for resisting the nurses. The doctor whose name  has slipped from my mind tells me every day I will eventually will be able to interact with other patients. He always says that and I frankly believe that there will never be a time I will see other patients. I am far too dangerous for interaction with other people. After a prolix discussion about my court trial approaching on July 27th the doctor states that I will take a plea for insanity. I tell him I did not do it, as usual he booms at me with a voice like a bassoon that I will get the electric chair if I do not take this plea. I eventually renounce my argument against the doctor simply because I will not win. The doctor states that I may send a telegram to my great-aunt Rosa but I refuse, She is the one who put me in here and I will never forgive her. I go into a fit of screaming that I hate her and eventually the doctor puts me in a straitjacket that make me immobile for several hours. Now that I am released from the straitjacket I can write. This concludes today’s entry for my diary.
   Sincerely,
   Cecilia Grey

Dear Diary,          July 7th 1868
      After the accident I am permanently stuck in a fog, Thick like molasses. The Overbrook Asylum is complete and utterly awful. The ultramarine walls are supposed to calm me, They just aggravate me more. I have received more and more anonymous hate notes, trying to turn the accident to make it seem like I was responsible. All I recall from that fateful night is her screams from the torture, and the smell of petroleum. Aunt Rosa told me I was covered in her blood and the walls of her house were scrawled with illegible writings in her blood. My metabolism has slowed because of the seven different medications I am on. The doctor manipulates me saying that I was the one who killed her. No, I did not. The doctor has assigned me for electroshock therapy. My temples are sensitive and very inflamed because of the shock. I just want everything to be right. 
  Sincerely,
   Cecelia Grey