A History of Madness

“★★★★★ “Every time you think you’ve got it figured out the book throws you a curve ball and keeps you guessing.””

— Amazon review

A History of Madness

When Didion Dumont wakes up after a failed suicide attempt, she believes her story has ended. Instead, it has only begun. Sent to Riverside Rehabilitation—a secluded psychiatric hospital in rural Iowa—Didion expects more of the same: observation, medication, and disbelief. But the other patients in Riverside’s Green Ward share the same kind of impossible experiences she’s had all her life.

As Didion uncovers the strange history that binds them together, she begins to question everything she knows about her mind, her past, and the nature of reality itself. What if her “hallucinations” aren’t symptoms of madness, but glimpses into something far more extraordinary?

Discover the haunting, thought-provoking world of A History of Madness—a story of survival, self-trust, and the thin line between illness and revelation.

Excerpt from the book

First, it was bright, which was alarming. Then it struck Didion as cliché. She was on her back. The light was so overwhelming that she shut her eyes before she could make out any real images. It was more comfortable in the dark anyway. But then she heard beeping and suspected something was very wrong. She recognized those beeps. The sensation of texture came back, and she could feel dry, rough cotton cloth under her hands. No, no, no—but then smell finally reignited, and she couldn’t deny it anymore. There was only one place in the world with that scent: the hospital. How was she in the hospital? It couldn’t be possible.

She should be dead.

Didion took a deep breath, the oxygen tube tickling her nose, and let it back out. Definitely alive. At this final confirmation, a familiar feeling overtook her, like lead in her veins, pulling her down. Her self-loathing often manifested itself like that. How had she fucked this up? She’d even done the goddamn math. She couldn’t have missed. Maybe this was just confirmation that she had always been right: hell didn’t exist. There was no afterlife. So, her punishment was to linger here.

She opened her eyes again.

“Oh! Welcome back!” A shape emerged from the brightness. “Here, let me get that sun out of your face.” As the flood of light ebbed, other shapes and colors appeared.

“Here’s your glasses. Well, an older pair, but still better than nothing.” The colors and shapes organized themselves into recognizable objects, if still a bit blurry. A hospital bed, monitors, gray walls, a window, a white woman with blonde-going-gray hair and teal scrubs leaning over her, who was checking different cords, including something that gave Didion a weird sensation at the top of her head.

“Didion?”

Oh god.

“Oh, honey! You’re awake!”

The poor nurse was unceremoniously shoved aside, and Didion’s mother came into view. The nurse, unflustered, came around to the other side.

Didion just blinked.

“She’s not talking!” her mother cried at the nurse. “What’s wrong? Why isn’t she talking?”

Didion closed her eyes and started to roll away when the nurse asked her to stay still.

“She just woke up,” the nurse went on. “She may be confused, disoriented. Her mouth is probably dry. This is good news, Ms. Dumont, I promise. Just be patient.”

Didion looked back at her mother to see her frowning but restrained. Her eyes were tired, but that was it. She settled into an orange chair that was partially covered with a blanket. Two large bags sat on the floor next to it. How long had she made her mother live in a crappy hospital chair?

“I’ll bring you some water,” the nurse said, apparently content with all of the beeps and numbers.

As she left, Didion closed her eyes again. Maybe her mother would think she fell asleep.

“Oh, Didion.” Her mother’s voice was thick with tears.