drop_cap he Athens Lunatic Asylum, currently known as The Ridges, permeates the history of Athens, Ohio. Opened in 1874, it greatly impacted the local economy, served as a social recreation site for the community and influenced politics at every level. More than a century of psychiatric care is reflected in the architecture, landscape, and local lore of the facilities. The stories and experiences have become interwoven with the history of Southeastern Ohio and its approach to treating mental illness.

According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, one in five Americans currently lives with a mental health condition. Though the original institution closed its doors in 1993 and moved across the river to a more modern location, people in the region continue to be impacted by mental illness. Strong mental health support remains a necessity in the Athens area. Though the people and place have changed, the story continues to be written.



The video below is a poetic adaptation of an anonymously written letter by a former patient of the Athens State Hospital. The letter is believed to be written by a female after 1950.

chapter_one_header

drop_capwo institutions made Athens a landmark town at the turn of the century: its university (the oldest in the state) and its asylum. Two decades after the establishment of the public mental health facility, the population of Athens almost doubled from 1,696 people to 3,066 people. At one point, it became the town’s largest employer. It brought life back to the town after many of its inhabitants were killed during the American Civil War. The steady influx of university students and asylum patients made Athens a booming town in the 1900s. Athens became a city in 1912 following the 1910 census showing the population had passed 5,000 residents.

The Athens Lunatic Asylum was built according to the highest standards of the time on a peaceful hill a mile south of the town center. The floor plan and architectural features of the building followed the radical Kirkbride plan designed by Thomas Story Kirkbride. It had distinctive long corridors that were open to sunlight and air ventilation to provide a naturally curative and restful environment.

Patients admitted during the height of its operations were local farmers and laborers, women suffering from postpartum and hormonal-related issues as well as Civil War veterans struggling with post-war stress. Epilepsy treatment was not widely understood in the late 1800s, and some early patients were admitted to the hospital with this condition. According to early intake papers, some male patients were admitted to the facility due to “masturbation,” which was reflective of the conservative conscience of the day and its understanding of mental health.

Lunatic Asylum Grounds: Then and Now

As the stigma and nuances attached to mental illnesses changed, so did the facility’s name. It was changed ten times during the 119 years it was in operation. The names weren’t the only changes present at the hospital. As the study of psychiatric health advanced, it also saw the introduction of new modes of treatment. For a period of time a common treatment was the lobotomy, a radical and invasive physical therapy originating in Europe in the early 20th century that surgically disconnects several of the nerve pathways between parts of the brain. The procedure’s practice at the asylum helped seal its reputation as one of the most haunted places on the planet.

The implementation of Community the Mental Health Act of 1963 pushed for deinstitutionalization and more community-based care. The once booming asylum (then Athens Mental Health Center) saw a dramatic drop in admittance, from 1800 patients in 1966 to 200 in 1985. The remaining patients were moved nearby to a new facility in 1993, and the building officially closed its doors as a hospital. The property, now known as the Ridges, was later transferred to Ohio University, uniting the two institutions that put Athens, Ohio on the map.

chapter_2_header

drop_capor the most part, Adam Nilson wants to avoid the stigma that comes with being a United States military veteran living with post-traumatic stress disorder and deployment-related injuries. “You feel like no one understands you; you don’t feel close to anybody, and then there are all these misconceptions about what you are and what you aren’t,” says Adam. “So, I really don’t talk about military service to people.”

Click here
for audio:

In 2010, three years after joining the Ohio National Guard, Adam was officially deployed with an Operational Mentor and Liaison Team, also known as an OMLT. It was a North Atlantic Treaty Organization-run mission that worked with the Partnership for Peace, and teamed up with European militia. While in Afghanistan, their mission was to mentor Afghan soldiers by observing operations during combat missions and then improving their skills.

Adam Nilson over in Afghan

“From my perspective, I was ready for whatever happened to me over there,” he says. “I never felt like I was going to die, I guess I don’t think anyone really does. I knew it could happen and I was okay with it. That was part of the deal.” Photo provided by Adam Nilson.

Although Adam has been home from Afghanistan for over seven years, he mentally returns overseas daily and doesn’t think he’ll ever feel like a civilian again. “Once you go through that, there’s no going back,” he says. “Once you’ve been in combat, for good or bad it changes you.” Adam makes comments about the complicated experience of being a soldier in Afghanistan. He says one paradox was the beautiful mountainous landscape in the desert of a war-torn country. Another is the feeling of combat. “Combat is one of those things that you love and hate at the same time,” he explains. “In one aspect, it’s kind of a rush, but it’s absolutely terrifying in another aspect… then you get these weird feelings of, I shouldn’t enjoy this. This is war and people are getting killed. But I do, strangely, enjoy this. And you’ll never feel that alive again, ever, no matter what you do. I’ll never let go of that excitement. I’ll probably never let go of the guilt of being excited by it.”

Adam holds his favorite photograph from his time in Afghanistan. In the photograph Adam is surrounded by local children, who he really felt connected to during his deployment.

Adam holds his favorite photograph from his time in Afghanistan. In the photograph Adam is surrounded by local children, who he really felt connected to during his deployment.

During Adam’s first combat experience, the Taliban ambushed his unit. They killed all of the aggressors in less than a minute. “That was my introduction to Afghanistan,” Adam recalls. “That first one was really exciting. The first time you get shot at and survive, you’re just on cloud nine. It’s a huge adrenaline rush.” He explains that the second ambush wasn’t as exhilarating, but felt more real. “They told me before I got there that you’re going to know where every rock is,” Adam remembers. “I was like, ‘That’s stupid. We’re in the mountains, there are rocks all over the place.’ But it’s true. You learned on the road you traveled where all the boulders and rocks were and if something was out of place it was probably because an IED was under it or nearby. It was amazing just how detail-oriented you could become.”

 American flags sit next to the front door of Adam Nilson's mom's house.

American flags sit next to the front door of Adam's mom's house.

 A folded American flag hangs on the wall in the living room of Adam Nilson.

A folded American flag hangs on the wall in the living room of Adam's.

Shortly before Christmas in 2010, Adam and his unit returned to the United States. He says that’s when his PTSD really started to manifest. He was jumpy; his sleep was filled with nightmares and he had a heightened startle response. Adam assumed that this was normal and that eventually he would readjust to civilian life. However, he is still living with PTSD and is experiencing more severe issues. “I think I must have had some of the symptoms the whole time I was there and didn’t notice it,” says Adam. “But we were just always on edge. Even back where we were kind of safe, we weren’t really safe, so you’re just always alert.”

   Adam sits on the couch with his mom's dog, Sunny. Adam finds comfort in her presence and when he was first back from deployment found it difficult to connect with people, but easier to connect with dogs.

Adam sits on the couch with his mom's dog, Sunny. Adam finds comfort in her presence and when he was first back from deployment found it difficult to connect with people, but easier to connect with dogs.

His time in war also started affecting his relationships with his friends and family. Adam withdrew from loved ones almost as soon as he returned to Ohio. He found it easier to spend days alone with his dogs or reaching out to other veterans. He found comfort in a Combat Veterans Motorcycle Association group where he feels safe in shared humor and understanding. It was during a conversation with two Vietnam veterans from his veteran motorcycle group, Cool Hand and Boze, that Adam divulged his feelings and experiences since returning from deployment.

 Adam drives his car near his hometown in Ohio. During his time in Afghanistan, the Taliban would hide IEDs on the road to blow up the passing soldiers often using potholes and then covering them with asphalt or under boulders.

Adam drives his car near his hometown in Ohio. During his time in Afghanistan, the Taliban would hide IEDs on the road to blow up the passing soldiers often using
potholes and then covering them with asphalt or under boulders.

 Adam walks through the Ohio Western Reserve National Cemetery in Seville, Ohio looking for his friend Coolhand's grave marker.

Adam walks through the Ohio Western Reserve National Cemetery in Seville, Ohio looking for his friend Coolhand's grave marker.

Adam says the two “wizened warriors” shared a quiet, knowing look and said, “Wolfman, we love you brother, but you’re fucked up. Don’t wait 40 years like we did. Go see somebody.” Wolfman is Adam’s military nickname, which he attributes to his ability to grow a beard overnight and his overall hairiness. With his friends’ encouragement, Adam began seeking help from the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs. According to the VA, between 11 and 20 out of every 100 veterans that served in Operation Enduring Freedom, like Adam, are living with PTSD.

rAdam shares a moment with his mom's 4-year-old Labrador, Sunny.

Adam shares a moment with his mom's 4-year-old Labrador, Sunny.

As early as the American Civil War, soldiers returning from combat displayed PTSD symptoms. The Victorian era thinking often attributed the bizarre behavior to the physical rigors of combat, rather than the mental strain. The Athens Lunatic Asylum was originally built in part to accommodate the high number of soldiers returning from war with “acute mania.” However, for soldiers like Adam, there may not be a place like the old Asylum for them to seek proper treatment.

Although the VA recognizes that PTSD is a mental health problem that many veterans face after combat, Adam has had an incredibly tumultuous relationship with their health care system. “It was an eye-opener that once you’re hurt in the service, they really don’t care about you anymore,” Adam says about his experience with them. From the moment he first sought help, he came across issues and obstacles that he never expected from an organization designed to assist veterans.

 Adam lays on an acupuncture office. Adam doesn't take medication for his physical injuries or his PTSD. Instead, he finds acupuncture to be helpful in his pain management.

Adam lays on an acupuncture table. Adam doesn't take medication for his physical injuries or his PTSD. Instead, he finds acupuncture to be helpful in his pain management.

Adam Nilson lays on the acupuncture table after his therapist inserted the needles.

Adam Nilson lays on the acupuncture table after his therapist inserted the needles.

Adam feels that mental illness has a negative connotation and that PTSD is misunderstood. He explains that it can come in many forms, such as nightmares, but that doesn’t mean it would make someone lose control. With the negative connotation, Adam explains that he’s had trouble getting some jobs and knows friends that have gone through similar situations because of the negative stigmas. Although society views PTSD as a mental illness, Adam finds this label inaccurate. “For me, it’s a normal reaction to an extraordinary circumstance,” Adam says. “I don’t feel sick, I don’t feel ill. I just went through some bad times, and I’m having trouble readjusting.”

Black and White photo of Adam over in Afghan

“Over there, life and death is very black and white. Either you’re going to live or you’re going to die. And what we learned was that when your ticket gets punched, that’s it."

“Combat is one of those things that you love and hate at the same time,” says Adam. “In one aspect, it’s kind of a rush, but it’s absolutely terrifying in another aspect...then you get these weird feelings of, I shouldn’t enjoy this, this is war and people are getting killed, but I do, strangely, enjoy this. The biggest satisfaction comes at the end when you’re alive and your buddies are alive...And you’ll never feel that alive again, ever, no matter what you do. I’ll never let go of that excitement. I’ll probably never let go of the guilt of being excited by it.”

chapter_3_header

drop-cap hristi Hysell grew up in Meigs County, Ohio. Her home sat on the side of a sloping ridge between the gravel road that ran to the highway and a hilltop where she would sit under her favorite tree to read. She had her ears pierced like other girls, but she was more interested in playing with Tonka Trucks than with dolls and only wore skirts when it was a part of her Girl Scout uniform.

Click here
for audio:

 Christi sits at home where she mostly passes the time reading, watching tv, knitting, practicing calligraphy, or listening to the radio.

Christi sits at home where she mostly passes the time reading, watching tv, knitting, practicing calligraphy, or listening to the radio.

Christi didn’t have any friends her age in her neighborhood and liked playing with her younger brother’s friends when they came around. At the age of 12 Christi says she was raped by a neighborhood boy. “That was the price I had to pay to play with the guys,” Christi said, “Something was taken from me.” Christi felt like she had to choose between isolation and giving up a piece of herself to be accepted.

Ridges_Hysell_Still_Kirsch_180401_02

Christi gets ready before Easter Sunday Worship. Christi stopped wearing earrings when her abuse started, and started wearing them again a couple years ago.

In 2005, Christi was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Christi’s disease is with her constantly, and can cause dramatic mood swings.

In 2005, Christi was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Christi’s disease is with her constantly, and can cause dramatic mood swings.

According to Christi, the neighbor continued to rape her until his family moved away two years later. She assumed this would be the end of her assaults –but she was wrong. Christi recalls that it was at this time that someone close to her began sneaking into her room at night to molest her. The abuse would continue for another five years. No one was ever charged.

 Christi fights off a panic attack at home. Christi's mood can change dramatically from one moment to the next, and can overcome her at any time or place. According to Christi the only thing she can do is work through them.

Christi fights off a panic attack at home. Christi's mood can change dramatically from one moment to the next, and can overcome her at any time or place. According to Christi the only thing she can do is work through them.

At this point, Christi no longer wanted to display the feminine side of herself. She quit wearing skirts and dresses all together and opted for pants. She decided to take out her earrings and let the holes close up. “I didn’t want any part of being a female anymore,” Christi said. She hid herself as a woman to avoid the attention of her assaulter and any other man. For years Christi was prone to extreme mood swings and self-mutilation by picking at her fingernails whenever she was reminded of the abuse. She also experienced suicidal thoughts.

“I was in pain, so much confusion that I didn’t know what to do, and I thought if I wasn’t here that pain wouldn’t be here either,” Christi said. “I know it was a coward’s way out, but what else was I supposed to do?” She worked through her suicidal thoughts through her faith, but still tries to hide some of her medications from herself as a last line of defense when those thoughts return.

  Rollers in Christi's hair before Easter Sunday worship.

Rollers in Christi's hair before Easter Sunday worship.

 Christi at the Rutland Church of Christ that she first attended when she was 8 years old.

Christi at the Rutland Church of Christ that she first attended when she was 8 years old.

In 2005, Christi was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, possibly resulting from her childhood abuse. After years of bouncing between jobs, homes, and small cities around Southeastern Ohio, her diagnosis came as a relief. “When I got diagnosed it was like, ‘Yes, finally I know what's going on’ and I’m just really thankful that I got that diagnosis,” Christi recalled.

  Christi is dependent on Athens Public Transit to run errands and attend frequent appointments for her mental and physical health.

Christi is dependent on Athens Public Transit to run errands and attend frequent appointments for her mental and physical health.

It felt like a weight had fallen from her shoulders and she understood what was wrong with her. After the diagnosis, she was able to recognize that she had been living with these illnesses since she was a teenager. She had been sick for close to half her life; now she could be treated.

  Christi sits with Wendy Goble, center, and Jim Goble at an adult Sunday School session before Easter Sunday Worship at Albany Baptist Church.

Christi sits with Wendy Goble, center, and Jim Goble at an adult Sunday School session before Easter Sunday Worship at Albany Baptist Church.

Christi now has a combination of art therapy and medicines that help her to manage her symptoms, but she is still afraid she could lose this stability. Her greatest fear is to be admitted to a state hospital for long term treatment. That fear is reinforced by the presence of what used to be the Athens Lunatic Asylum that sits on a high hill across from Hopewell Health Center where Christi currently receives treatment.

“Having a mental illness is a very lonely thing,” Christi said. “People come up here (The Ridges) and they're pretty much left alone… You're going to have to hogtie me to get me in there (The State Hospital), because that's how scared I am of it.”

The house where Christi grew up was knocked down by her brother who now lives nearby, but the barn and garage still remain. Christi still carries many painful memories of her abuse which sometimes happened in the garage.

The house where Christi grew up was knocked down by her brother who now lives nearby, but the barn and garage still remain. Christi still carries many painful memories of her abuse which sometimes happened in the garage.

Christi says she never leaves the house without her watch. She occasionally goes into dissociative states because of her past trauma, and will experience periods of time that she can’t remember anything that’s happened.

Christi says she never leaves the house without her watch. She occasionally goes into dissociative states because of her past trauma, and will experience periods of time that she can’t remember anything that’s happened.

This year she turns 50 and is still coming to terms with her femininity. “At forty-nine and a half, I’m learning what it’s like to be a lady,” Christi said. She describes a time when a friend asked her what part of herself she would change if she could, and she told them her female parts that defined her as a woman. “For us girls, when something that’s so special has been taken from you, it doesn’t serve a purpose anymore,” Christi explained.

Christi at Easter Sunday worship at the Albany Baptist Church in Albany, Ohio. Christi started attending Albany Baptist Church in 1997.

Christi at Easter Sunday worship at the Albany Baptist Church in Albany, Ohio. Christi started attending Albany Baptist Church in 1997.

Borderline Personality Disorder is also characterized by a poor self-image that has fed Christi’s lack of confidence over the years. Now she is working to change that. Two or three years ago she pierced her ears again. She frequently hides herself under a cowboy hat or a baseball cap but takes the time to do her hair for special occasions. Her wardrobe was once dominated by jeans, pants, and flannel shirts.

Now Christi occasionally mixes in a dress or skirt inherited from her late grandmother whom was a “fashionista in her time”, Christi said. Her pain and her symptoms still persist, but today she finds the patience to endure.

 Christi often takes long walks by herself to work through her panic attacks.

Christi often takes long walks by herself to work through her panic attacks.

chapter_4_header

drop_capiagnosed with schizophrenia in the late 1980s, Pete Wuscher is no stranger to the mental health system in Athens, Ohio. A self-described “product of the 60s and 70s,” Pete experimented with drugs as a teenager and got into increasingly severe trouble with law enforcement.

Click here
for audio:

Drone Video: Nick Bolin

 Pete Wuscher works on an art project in his trailer in The Plains, OH, outside of Athens, OH.

Pete Wuscher works on an art project in his trailer in The Plains, OH, outside of Athens, OH.

In 1986, after yet another arrest from the Athens Police Department, Pete requested to be taken to the Athens Mental Health Center. “I was in jail and thought I could get out. I thought they would discover I was a great intellect, discover I was not crazy and let me go free. It didn’t work out the way I planned. They immediately decided I was a schizophrenic and I was going to stay a while,” Pete said. His first stay at the mental hospital lasted over a year.

Pete Wuscher stands outside the Athens County Courthouse.

Pete stands outside the Athens County Courthouse.

Pete Wuscher takes photos at The Ridges. The part of the building he is photographing is where he spent some time as a patient in the 1980's.

Pete takes photos at The Ridges. The part of the building he is photographing is where he spent some time as a patient
in the 1980's.

   Pete Wuscher hands a copy of his medication dependency and human rights Manifesto to Ohio University student Myriah Smedley outside of the Athens County Courthouse.

Pete hands a copy of his medication dependency and human rights "Manifesto" to Ohio University student Myriah Smedley outside of the Athens County Courthouse.

Medications, in particular antipsychotic drugs, are the primary treatment for people with schizophrenia and Pete’s case is no exception. He says he felt coerced to take the medication during his first stay at the mental hospital. Still struggling with his illness, he was hospitalized at The Athens Mental Health Center again in 1989. After having previous negative side effects from his antipsychotics he was skeptical of taking more medications. After resisting, he said he was injected by force by the hospital staff. “What I wanted was control of my life and what I got was injected in the seclusion room.


    <

Pete inspects his pills at home in The Plains, OH.

One of Pete's most recent pieces of artwork, depicting his drug dependency to the antipsychotic Clozapine, sits at The Athens Photographic Project.

One of Pete's most recent pieces of artwork, depicting his drug dependency to the antipsychotic Clozapine, sits at The Athens Photographic Project.

I think there was part of me they were trying to kill that day,” Pete said. He says the overwhelming feeling from this part of his life is one of emptiness. In denial about his diagnosis for years and abusing recreational drugs, it became increasingly difficult for Pete to deny something was wrong with him. He discovered services in Athens such as the Gathering Place, a community program in Athens that supports individuals with mental illness, and finally started to come to terms with his diagnosis.

Around this time, he made a third visit to the mental hospital, now at the new facility down the hill. “In 1995, when I went to the new hospital,” Pete recalled, “what I wanted was a new life, clean and sober and the first thing they did was put me on Clozapine, which I just found out less than a week ago is what it is, a highly addictive drug.” He had trusted the doctors to provide him with medication that would give him control of his illness. Instead, he was giving up control to the drugs.

Pete shares a tender moment with his cat Disco at home in The Plains, OH.

Pete shares a tender moment with his cat Disco at home in The Plains, OH.

Clozapine, the antipsychotic Pete has been taking for the past 23 years to manage his schizophrenia, is closely monitored in patients because of potentially life-threatening side effects that cause a severe decrease in white blood cells. Pete has monthly lab work to ensure he can safely take the medication, but various laboratory delays have postponed him from getting his prescription forcing him into withdrawal.

Pete and Chris Plumley practice with their band, The Gatherers, at The Gathering Place in Athens, Ohio.

Pete and Chris Plumley practice with their band, The Gatherers, at The Gathering Place in Athens, Ohio.

“It is difficult to describe the grief this drug has caused me,” Pete said. He describes the withdrawal from Clozapine as severe, rapid, excruciatingly painful, and potentially fatal. He is hoping to bring attention to his situation and help other people that have similar prescription drug dependency issues. “I am physically dependent on Clozapine. So, if I am refused this drug, for any reason, it is a violation of my right to live, a violation of the most fundamental human right there is. I am a citizen of the United States, regardless of whether I am sick or well, mentally ill or not,” Pete said.

Pete has long been involved in mental health advocacy work in the Athens area. He has worked to bring together the police and mental health community with Crisis Intervention Training and serves as a mentor to other people living with mental illness. He is an artist involved with the Athens Photographic Project, where he has chosen to confront his empty days at the old mental hospital by documenting it with his camera. He plays the drums and guitar in ‘The Gatherers,’ the house band at The Gathering Place.

Pete eats pizza outside his trailer in The Plains, OH.

Pete eats pizza outside his trailer in The Plains, OH.

One of Pete's pieces of art, Go Fish is on display at The Gathering Place.

One of Pete's pieces of art, "Go Fish" is on display at The Gathering Place.

Pete keeps a positive outlook on his life and experiences. “I don’t feel like I’ve had a bad life. I’ve had a lot of bad things happen. It’s not going to be the end of me. I’m going to go on and do photography, artwork, music, and live my life.” He continues to bring mental health awareness to the community and is not hiding from his past and experiences. “At the end of the day, we’re all people. All from the same vine, the same branch,” Pete said.

Pete inspects a vine in his garden outside of his trailer in The Plains, OH.

Pete inspects a vine in his garden outside of his trailer in The Plains, OH.

Empty Days Illuminated:
A Transformation from Patient to Photographer

chapter_5_header

drop_caphe act of deinstitutionalization “simply just switched the post office address from the mental hospital to the local jail prisons and jails,” according to Tom Walker, an Ohio affiliate member of the National Alliance of Mental Illness. Over the past three decades, the number of individuals with severe mental illness in prisons and jails now exceeds the number in state psychiatric hospitals exponentially. In the 1970s, state hospitals began to close, shuffling patients into the community with little to no resources. The idea was that the mentally ill would do better with community-based mental health care rather than institutionalized care. But adequate funding and organization did not follow this change, and the lack of resources and commitment to a community-based system of care continues to be detrimental to a large portion of communities today.

The Ridges began the process of deinstitutionalization in 1993, closing their doors permanently and creating a population surge in Ohio correctional facilities. According to a national survey completed by The Treatment of Persons with Mental Illness in Prisons and Jails, the majority of state prisons and jails in Ohio each house more mentally ill inmates than does the largest remaining state hospital.

WHAT THE EXPERTS ARE SAYING

Click on each person to hear their perspective.


Becky Baker

Mother of two children with mental illness and member of NAMI Ohio

“We don't have the facilities. We have to have the resources to help care for people with mental health and we have to learn how to do it right.”


David Schenkelberg

Chief Clinical Officer at Hopewell Health Centers

“It's unfortunate but the largest institution for housing people with mental illness is corrections. It's not hospitals, it's not nursing homes. It's not adult care facilities and the other things; it's prisons and jails.”


Jennifer Schwirian

Clinical Program Director at Appalachian Behavioral Healthcare

“I think we need to be careful about labeling people with a mental illness as criminals. I think we need to provide more services in the jails and in the communities where people live and try a preventative measure rather than a reactive one.”


Margaret Sterling

Clinical Coordinator of The Adam and Amanda Crisis Rehabilitation Unit

“Jail is never the best option for somebody in a mental health crisis. But with the way that things are with criminal justice and mental health, that sometimes is the only available option.”


Josh VanBibber

Warden of Southeast Ohio Regional Jail

“Typically, someone with a mental illness that needs hospitalization now has to almost be incarcerated prior to getting the help that they need.”


Terry Russel

Executive Director of NAMI

“What's happened is we've changed one institution to another. Probably no less than 40 percent of everybody in our jails and prisons today are there because of an undiagnosed or untreated mental illness.”

black divider

Mental Health Today

above drone shot of the ridges

When examining the history of a place like The Ridges it’s easy to see the mistakes that were made. However, lobotomies and shock treatments weren’t performed by cruel sadists hoping to cause pain to another person or remove their humanity. They saw a sick person and thought that they knew the cure. Thanks to pharmaceutical advancements there are now more treatment options. People who are mentally ill, once locked away, can live within a community. According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, between 70 and 90 percent of individuals who seek treatment see a significant reduction of symptoms and improved quality of life.

Much like the Kirkbride moral treatment approach during the inception of the Athens Lunatic Asylum, many experts in the mental health field see a strong need for community support and engagement for the mentally ill. Today people with mental illnesses aren’t isolated by the walls of the asylum, but by the stigma that society has attributed to them. In order to increase understanding, break down those stereotypes, and keep people with mental illness in the community, mental health promotion needs the long overdue attention that it deserves. Only then can the mental health gap begin to be closed.