It was just a family portrait, but the eldest daughter’s gaze revealed a devastating secret.
Dr.Lavra Hendris had been studying Victorian era family photography for 15 years, but she’d never seen anything quite like this.
The photograph sat on her desk at the University of Pennsylvania, part of a collection donated by a local estate.
It was dated May 1908, taken at Morrison’s photography studio in Philadelphia.
The family appeared prosperous and respectable.
The father perhaps in his early 40s sat in an ornate chair wearing a well-tailored suit, his expression stern and dignified as was typical for the era.
The mother stood beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder, her face composed and pleasant.
Three children completed the portrait.
Two boys, ages 8 and 12 perhaps, stood on either side of their parents in matching sailor suits, and the eldest daughter, 17 according to the studio notes, stood behind her mother.
Lavra had examined hundreds of family portraits from this period.
The conventions were predictable.
Everyone looked at the camera, expressions carefully controlled, bodies positioned according to strict social hierarchy.
Fathers sat while wives stood.
Children flanked their parents.
Everyone faced forward.
But this photograph violated those conventions in one crucial way.
While the father, mother, and both boys stared dutifully at the camera, the eldest daughter’s gaze was fixed elsewhere.
Her face was turned not toward the photographer, but downward and to the side, directly at her father.
Her expression was difficult to read in the formal constraints of the portrait.
But there was something in her eyes, in the angle of her face, that made Larva pause.
It wasn’t the typical daughterly affection one might expect.
It was more intense, more focused, almost hungry.
Lara magnified the image on her computer screen, examining the daughter’s face more closely.
The girl was beautiful dark hair swept up in the fashion of the time, pale skin, delicate features, but her eyes held something unsettling.
Longing, desperation, an intensity that seemed inappropriate for a family portrait.
She looked at the back of the photograph written in faded ink.
The Fletcher family, May 12th, 1908.
William, Margaret, Elizabeth, Robert, and Charles.
Lover began her research.
Unaware that this photograph would lead her into one of the most disturbing family secrets she’d ever uncovered.
Larva started with census records and city directories.
The Fletcher family had been prominent in Philadelphia society.
William Fletcher, born 1866, was a successful attorney with a practice on Walnut Street.
His wife Margaret, born 1870, came from an established Quaker family.
They’d married in 1890.
Their children, Elizabeth, born 1891.
Robert, born 1896, and Charles, born 1900, Lavra found the family’s address in the 1908 city directory, a substantial home on Written House Square, one of Philadelphia’s most prestigious addresses.
William Fletcher’s law practice specialized in estate planning and trusts for wealthy families.
By all accounts, the Fletchers were respected, affluent, and unremarkable.
But Laura had learned that the most devastating secrets often hid behind the most respectable facades.
She searched newspaper archives for mentions of the Fletcher family.
Most references were mundane.
William Fletcher’s name appeared in legal notices.
Margaret Fletcher was listed among attendees at charitable functions.
The children were mentioned occasionally in society columns.
Robert winning a school debate competition.
Charles performing in a school play.
Elizabeth’s name appeared less frequently, which was typical for young women of the era.
But Laura found one intriguing mention from June 1908.
Just one month after the family portrait was taken, Miss Elizabeth Fletcher, daughter of Mr.
and Mrs.
William Fletcher of Written House Square, is to be married to Mr.
Theodore Hartwell, aged 42, of the Hartwell Manufacturing Company.
The wedding is planned for August 15th at St.
Mark’s Episcopal Church.
Lavra did the math.
Elizabeth would have been 17 when the engagement was announced, barely past her 17th birthday when the portrait was taken.
Theodore Hartwell was 40-2-20-5 years older than his intended bride.
Such age differences weren’t uncommon in 1908, particularly when substantial wealth was involved.
But the timing interested Lavra.
The portrait in May, the engagement announced in June, the wedding planned for August.
Everything had happened very quickly.
Lavra searched for the wedding announcement, expecting to find a detailed description of the ceremony and reception that would have accompanied such a prominent union.
Instead, she found something else entirely.
A brief notice in the Philadelphia Inquirer dated August 14th, 1908.
The marriage of Miss Elizabeth Fletcher to Mr.
Theodore Hartwell, scheduled for tomorrow, has been postponed indefinitely due to the bride’s sudden illness.
There was no further mention of the wedding.
No later announcement, no marriage record.
Elizabeth Fletcher had vanished from the public record after that notice.
Larver spent 2 days searching for any trace of Elizabeth Fletcher after August 1908.
She found nothing in Philadelphia records, no marriage, no death certificate, no further mentions in society columns or newspapers.
It was as if the girl had simply ceased to exist.
Lavra expanded her search to other cities, thinking perhaps Elizabeth had moved away or married elsewhere under a different name.
She checked New York, Boston, Baltimore, anywhere a wealthy Philadelphia family might have connections.
Finally, she found a lead in an unexpected place.
The admission records of the Kirkbride Asylum for the Insane in West Philadelphia.
The asylum, now demolished, had been one of the largest psychiatric institutions in Pennsylvania in the early 20th century.
Elizabeth Fletcher had been admitted on August 13th, 1908, one day before her scheduled wedding.
She was 17 years old.
The admission form listed the committing physician as Dr.
Harold Morrison.
The diagnosis as hysteria with melancholic and obsessional features and the next of kin as William Fletcher father.
Laura’s hands trembled as she read the intake notes written in doctor.
Morrison’s precise handwriting.
Patient is a young woman of good family presenting with severe emotional disturbance characterized by inappropriate attachment to male family member.
Patient exhibits obsessional thoughts, refusal to accept arranged marriage and threats of self harm.
Family reports gradual worsening of symptoms over past two years with acute crisis precipitated by announcement of engagement.
The next line made Laura’s stomach turn.
Patients attachment appears fixated on father.
Mother reports patients jealousy toward her.
Patients refusal to allow father privacy.
Patients emotional outbursts when father shows affection to wife.
Patient claims father reciprocates her feelings.
Though father vehemently denies any inappropriate behavior.
Lorra sat back looking again at the photograph.
Elizabeth’s gaze fixed on her father with such intensity what had seemed merely unusual now appeared deeply disturbing.
The intake notes continued.
Patient arrived at asylum in state of acute agitation.
Required restraint during initial examination.
Patient insists she cannot marry Mr.
Hartwell because she belongs to her father.
When informed this belief is pathological.
Patient became violent.
Recommend immediate isolation and treatment with hydrotherapy and sedatives.
Lavra found Elizabeth’s patient file, which documented her treatment over the following months.
The records painted a picture of a young woman trapped in a devastating psychological crisis.
Unable to accept reality, convinced of a romantic connection with her father that, according to all documentation, existed only in her mind, Elizabeth’s patient file at Kirkbrite Asylum was extensive, documenting nearly 6 months of treatment.
Lavra obtained permission to review the complete records through the hospital archives, now housed at the Pennsylvania Historical Society.
Dr.
Morrison’s notes from August 1908 described Elizabeth’s condition in detail.
Patient remains convinced of father’s romantic affection toward her.
She interprets his normal paternal concern as evidence of deeper feelings.
She recalls with elaborate detail moments of supposed intimacy.
a hand on her shoulder, a word of praise, a glance across the dinner table, and constructs from these ordinary interactions an entire narrative of mutual but forbidden love.
The doctor had interviewed William Fletcher extensively.
His notes recorded Fletcher’s account.
Mr.
Fletcher appears genuinely distressed by daughter’s condition.
He states that Elizabeth has always been his favorite child, perhaps because she was the eldest and only daughter.
He admits he may have indulged her more than was wise, but vehemently denies any improper behavior.
He describes growing alarm over past 2 years as Elizabeth’s attachment to him became increasingly possessive and inappropriate.
According to Fletcher’s testimony, Elizabeth had begun displaying troubling behaviors around age 15.
She became jealous when her father paid attention to her mother, sulking or having emotional outbursts.
She insisted on sitting next to him at meals, on walking with him alone, on monopolizing his time and attention.
She began writing him letters, passionate, inappropriate letters that confused affection with romantic love.
Mr.
Fletcher states he attempted to address the situation by spending less time with Elizabeth, hoping distance would correct her misconceptions.
Dr.
Morrison wrote, “This intervention proved counterproductive.” Elizabeth interpreted his withdrawal as evidence that society was forcing him to hide his true feelings.
Her obsession intensified.
The breaking point had come when William Fletcher, desperate to resolve the situation, had arranged Elizabeth’s engagement to Theodore Hartwell, a wealthy widowerower known to the family, stable and respectable.
Fletcher had hoped that marriage would redirect Elizabeth’s inappropriate attachment and provide her with a proper focus for her emotions.
Instead, the engagement announcement had triggered a crisis.
Elizabeth had locked herself in her room for 3 days, refusing food, writing page after page of letters to her father, begging him not to force her to marry another man.
When her parents finally gained entry to her room, they found the walls covered with her writings, declarations of love for her father, fantasies about running away with him, threats of suicide if forced to marry Hartwell.
The situation became untenable, Dr.
Morrison noted.
Family reputation at stake.
Patients behavior threatening to become public scandal.
Commitment to asylum necessary both for patients welfare and family’s protection.
Lover read through the treatment records with growing horror.
In 1908, psychiatry was in its infancy and treatments for what doctors called hysteria or obsessional melancholia were crude and often brutal.
Elizabeth had been subjected to hydrotherapy hourslong immersion in cold baths meant to shock the system back to normaly.
She’d been given heavy sedatives, chloral hydrate, bromides that left her drowsy and compliant, but did nothing to address her underlying psychological state.
Doctor Morrison’s notes documented his attempts to reason with Elizabeth to convince her that her feelings for her father were pathological.
Patient refuses to accept that her attachment is inappropriate.
He wrote in September 1908.
She insists that society’s rules are arbitrary, that love cannot be controlled or judged.
She believes her father shares her feelings but is prevented by social convention from acknowledging them.
This delusion is firmly entrenched and resistant to logical argument.
The asylum had allowed William Fletcher to visit once, hoping that a direct conversation might break through Elizabeth’s delusions.
The visit had been a disaster.
Patient became hysterical upon seeing father.
Dr.
Morrison recorded she attempted to embrace him inappropriately, declared her love, begged him to take her away from the asylum.
When Mr.
Fletcher firmly stated that her feelings were not reciprocated and that she must accept treatment.
Patient collapsed and required sedation.
Mr.
Fletcher was visibly shaken.
He has requested no further visits, stating he could not bear to see his daughter in such a state.
Margaret Fletcher had visited several times, but these visits were equally difficult.
Elizabeth viewed her mother as a rival, blamed her for keeping William Fletcher away, accused her of jealousy and cruelty.
Patients relationship with mother is characterized by hostility and paranoid beliefs.
Dr.
Morrison noted, “Patient believes mother has conspired to separate her from father.
Reality testing remains severely impaired.
Over the months, Elizabeth’s condition gradually stabilized not because she recovered, but because the sedatives and isolation broke her spirit.
By December 1908, she was quieter, more compliant.
But Dr.
Dr.
Morrison noted that patient continues to harbor obsessional thoughts regarding father, though she has learned not to express them openly.
This represents behavioral compliance rather than true recovery.
Lara found the final entry in Elizabeth’s Kirkbride file.
Dated February 1909.
Patient transferred to private sanitarium in upstate New York.
Family arrangement.
Patient remains mentally unsound but manageable with continued supervision and medication.
Tracing Elizabeth’s path after Kirkbride proved challenging.
Private sanitariums kept their records confidential, protecting the wealthy families who used them to hide embarrassing relatives.
But Laura had become skilled at following historical paper trails.
She found the sanitarium through a reference in William Fletcher’s estate records.
After his death in 1925, his will included a trust fund designated for the continued care and maintenance of my daughter.
Elizabeth at Riverside Sanitarium, Pikipsy, New York.
Riverside Sanitarium had operated from 1895 to 1954, catering to affluent families with mentally ill relatives.
It was euphemistically called a rest home or nervous disorders clinic, but it functioned as a permanent institution for patients whose families could afford private care rather than state hospital confinement.
Lava contacted the New York State Archives, which had acquired Riverside’s records after the facility closed.
After weeks of bureaucratic navigation, she obtained Elizabeth’s file.
Elizabeth had lived at Riverside for 43 years from age 17 until her death at age 60 and 1,952.
The file contained annual reports from the sanitarium’s medical director documenting a life of medicated stability punctuated by occasional crisis.
Patient remains convinced of father’s romantic attachment to her.
Read a report from 1915.
She speaks of him constantly.
Rereads his infrequent letters obsessively.
interprets his continued financial support as evidence of his true feelings.
Patients fantasy life appears more real to her than actual circumstances.
William Fletcher had written to Elizabeth occasionally over the years brief formal letters that a father might write to any daughter.
He’d updated her on family news.
Robert’s graduation from university, Charles’s marriage, the births of grandchildren.
He’d never visited, but he’d ensured she was well cared for, paying substantial fees to keep her in a private room with comfortable furnishings and adequate staff attention.
Elizabeth had interpreted these gestures as proof of his devotion.
Patient treasures father’s letters, has them memorized, constructs elaborate interpretations of his words, a 1920 report noted.
She believes he cannot visit because mother forbids it or because society prevents their reunion.
patients delusional system has become more complex and internally consistent over time, making intervention increasingly difficult.
The reports documented Elizabeth’s reaction to significant events.
When William Fletcher died in 1925, Elizabeth had a complete breakdown.
Patient inconsolable, refuses food, states repeatedly that she should have been with him at the end, that she was his true companion, required increased sedation and supervision to prevent self harm.
She had never accepted that her father hadn’t loved her as she’d loved him.
Lavra investigated what had happened to the rest of the Fletcher family, trying to understand how they had lived with this devastating secret.
Margaret Fletcher had died in 1930, having outlived her husband by 5 years.
Her obituary made no mention of Elizabeth.
As far as public records showed, Margaret had only two children, Robert and Charles.
Robert Fletcher had become a physician, practicing in Philadelphia until his retirement in 1960.
He’d married, had three children, lived a conventional and successful life.
Lavra found no indication that he’d ever spoken publicly about his sister.
Charles Fletcher had followed his father into law, eventually taking over William Fletcher’s practice.
He’d also married and had children.
Like his brother, he appeared to have completely erased Elizabeth from the family narrative.
Lavra found a diary kept by Robert Fletcher’s wife, Helen, donated to a historical society after her death in 1975.
One entry from 1932 caught Laura’s attention.
Robert still refuses to discuss his sister Elizabeth.
He becomes agitated when I ask questions.
He says only that she was ill and had to be sent away and that it’s best forgotten.
But I seen the pain in his eyes when he thinks I’m not looking.
Whatever happened to her haunts him still.
Lavra discovered that the Fletcher family had maintained the fiction that Elizabeth had died young.
At family gatherings, when asked about William and Margaret’s children, people would reference Robert and Charles and sometimes mention a daughter who passed away in childhood.
The lie had become family mythology, repeated so often it became truth.
But someone had kept the family portrait from 1908.
That last photograph of Elizabeth before her world collapsed.
It had been preserved, passed down through generations, eventually ending up in an estate sale after the death of Charles Fletcher’s last surviving child in 2023.
Lavra wondered who had kept it and why.
Had they known the truth about Elizabeth’s gaze in that photograph? Had they understood what they were seeing, a 17-year-old girl staring at her father with an obsessive intensity that would destroy her life just months later.
She found one more crucial document.
A letter written by Margaret Fletcher to her sister in 1910 preserved in a family collection.
Margaret had written, “I blame myself every day.
I saw how William doted on Elizabeth.
how he indulged her every whim.
I should have intervened sooner, but I told myself it was natural for a father to adore his daughter.
I never imagined it would become dot dot this.
Our beautiful girl lost to us forever because neither William nor I understood what was happening until it was too late.
Lara consulted with Dr.
James Morrison, a psychiatrist and historian of mental health treatment at John’s Hopkins to better understand Elizabeth’s condition through both a historical and modern lens.
In 1908, they would have called it hysteria or melancholia with obsessional features.
Dr.
Morrison explained during their phone conversation.
Today, we’d recognize it as a complex psychological disorder, possibly erotaminia, a delusional belief that another person, often someone of higher social status, is in love with you.
He explained that erodtomania typically involved elaborate misinterpretation of innocent gestures.
The person constructs an entire narrative from ordinary interactions.
A smile becomes proof of secret affection.
A casual compliment becomes evidence of deep feelings.
The delusion becomes more elaborate and resistant to reality over time.
But why her father? Lara asked.
Why develop this fixation on a parent? Dr.
Morrison was thoughtful.
That’s more complex.
There may have been developmental factors.
Perhaps Elizabeth never successfully navigated the normal childhood attachment to her father.
Never transferred her affections to age appropriate peers.
William Fletcher’s admitted favoritism could have reinforced this attachment.
As Elizabeth entered adolescence and experienced emerging romantic feelings, she may have unconsciously directed them toward the primary male figure in her life.
He was careful to emphasize something important.
Based on the documentation you’ve described, there’s no evidence William Fletcher behaved inappropriately.
He appears to have been a normal, affectionate father whose daughter developed a pathological misinterpretation of his affection.
This is crucial.
Elizabeth’s condition wasn’t caused by abuse or inappropriate behavior.
It was a psychological disorder that would have developed regardless, though his favoritism may have provided fuel for her delusions.
Larva asked about treatment options.
In 1908, they had nothing effective.
Dr.
Morrison said no antiscychotic medications, no real understanding of brain chemistry, no evidence-based psychotherapy.
The treatments they used sedatives, hydrotherapy, isolation were essentially just management strategies to keep patients calm and contained.
Could she have been helped with modern treatment? Lara asked.
Possibly, he said.
Antiscychotic medications might have reduced the intensity of her delusions.
Cognitive behavioral therapy might have helped her recognize and challenge her distorted thinking, but erotamania is notoriously difficult to treat.
Even today, the delusions are often firmly entrenched and highly resistant to intervention.
Elizabeth might have required lifelong treatment and supervision even with modern care.
The tragedy doctor Morrison emphasized was that Elizabeth had been trapped caught in a time when her condition couldn’t be properly treated and by a family and society that responded to her psychological crisis with shame, secrecy, and permanent institutionalization.
Lavra obtained Elizabeth’s complete medical file from Riverside Sanitarium, documenting the final decades of her life.
The records painted a picture of a woman who never escaped her delusions, who lived entirely in a fantasy world she’d constructed.
By the 1930s, the reports described Elizabeth as institutionalized in affect and behavior.
Having adapted to permanent confinement, she followed the sanitarium’s routines dosily, caused no trouble, and spent her days writing letters to her deceased father that were never mailed.
Patient writes to father daily.
A 1935 report noted.
She describes her activities, asks about his health, expresses her love.
Staff have attempted to remind patient that father is deceased, but this causes severe distress.
We have concluded it is more humane to allow patient to continue her correspondence as it provides comfort and structure to her days.
The letters preserved in her file were heartbreaking.
Ler read dozens of them tender loving letters from a daughter to a father except they were addressed to a ghost and written by a woman whose mind had never left.
1,98 Dearest Papa, one letter from 1940 began.
I hope this finds you well.
The gardens here are lovely this spring.
I think of you constantly and await the day we can be together as we were meant to be.
With all my love, your devoted Elizabeth, she had written similar letters for decades, never accepting her father’s death, never accepting that the relationship she’d imagined had never existed.
Elizabeth’s physical health declined in the late 1940s.
She developed heart disease, struggled with mobility, but her mental state remained essentially unchanged.
Patients delusions persist unabated.
Read a 1950 report.
Despite physical frailty, patients psychological state shows no deterioration beyond baseline.
She continues to believe father will eventually come for her.
Elizabeth Fletcher died on November 3rd, 1952 at age 60.
The cause of death was heart failure.
She was buried in a small cemetery near the sanitarium in a plot purchased by her brother Robert’s estate.
His final obligation to the sister whose existence the family had erased from public memory.
Her gravestone bore only the basics.
Elizabeth Fletcher, 1891 to 1952.
No mention of her parents, no flowery epitap, just a name and dates marking the life of a woman who had been lost at 17 and never found her way back.
The sanitarium’s final report concluded.
Patient died peacefully in her sleep.
To the end, she maintained her delusional belief system.
Among her personal effects were dozens of unscent letters to her father, photographs of him, and the pressed flowers he had given her for her 16th birthday treasures she had preserved for nearly 40 years.
Lavra prepared her findings for publication in the Journal of American Psychiatric History.
But she also created a public exhibition at the University of Pennsylvania Museum centered on the Fletcher family portrait.
The photograph hung in the exhibition, enlarged so visitors could clearly see what Lara had discovered.
Elizabeth’s gaze, fixed on her father with unmistakable intensity, captured just three months before her world collapsed.
Laura’s exhibition text explained the context carefully, avoiding sensationalism while acknowledging the tragedy.
This 1908 family portrait captures a moment frozen in time, a family that appeared normal and prosperous, but was already fracturing under the weight of a devastating psychological crisis.
Elizabeth Fletcher, age 17, was experiencing what doctors today would recognize as erottomania, a delusional belief that her father reciprocated romantic feelings she had developed toward him.
The exhibition included the medical records, the letters, the documentation of Elizabeth’s life at Riverside.
But Lara was careful to emphasize several crucial points.
William Fletcher had not abused his daughter.
Margaret Fletcher had not failed as a mother.
The tragedy wasn’t caused by parental misconduct, but by a psychological disorder that 1908 medicine couldn’t treat and society couldn’t accept.
The Fletchers responded to their daughter’s crisis the only way their era allowed.
Lara wrote, “They sought medical help, arranged what they believed was appropriate care, and tried to protect both Elizabeth and the rest of the family from social scandal.
By the standards of 1908, they did what was considered right.
That their solution, permanent institutionalization and family eraser, seems cruel to modern eyes, reflects how far we’ve come in understanding and treating mental illness.
The exhibition attracted significant attention.
Descendants of the Fletcher family, Robert and Charles’s grandchildren, contacted Larva.
Most had never known about Elizabeth.
The family’s secret had been kept so thoroughly that three generations had grown up believing their great aunt had died in childhood.
One descendant, Jennifer Fletcher, met with Lavra privately.
“I found old letters in my grandmother’s things after she died,” Jennifer explained.
“Letters from someone named Elizabeth, addressed to a William Fletcher.
I didn’t understand who they were from or why my grandmother had them.
Now I know.
My grandmother was Robert Fletcher’s daughter.
She must have known the truth.
Must have kept Elizabeth’s letters as what? Evidence? Memorial.” Jennifer looked at the portrait for a long time.
She was so young, she said finally.
17 years old.
My daughter’s age, I can’t imagine.
If my daughter developed a mental illness, we get her treatment, therapy, medication.
She’d have a chance at recovery at a normal life.
But Elizabeth had none of that.
She spent her entire adult life in an institution because she was sick in an era that couldn’t help her.
Lara nodded.
That’s exactly the point.
This isn’t a story about a scandalous secret or forbidden feelings.
It’s about a young woman with a treatable psychological disorder who was born at the wrong time.
Elizabeth’s tragedy was being 17 in 1908 instead of 2008.
The portrait itself had become a teaching tool medical students.
Psychology residents and social work programs used it to discuss how society’s response to mental illness has evolved.
That single photograph with Elizabeth’s revealing gaze captured a moment that would determine the trajectory of her entire life.
Lava stood in the exhibition hall one evening watching visitors study the portrait.
They leaned in, found Elizabeth’s face, noticed how her gaze deviated from the camera, how it fixed on her father with that unmistakable intensity.
What was she thinking in that moment? A visitor asked.
Lavra considered the question.
Based on her later writings, she was probably thinking that this portrait captured her family, her real family as she understood it.
her father the center of her world, her mother and brother’s obstacles between her and the relationship she believed she had with him.
She was probably already planning how to avoid the marriage her father would soon arrange.
She was probably already living in the fantasy that would consume the rest of her life.
The visitor shook her head sadly and no one could see it.
No one realized she needed help before it was too late.
They saw something was wrong, Lover said.
But they didn’t have the framework to understand what they were seeing.
Her parents thought she was willful, spoiled, going through a difficult adolescent phase.
By the time they recognized the severity of her condition, it had progressed too far for the limited interventions available in 1908.
Lara had one final addition to the exhibition.
A photograph of Elizabeth’s grave, which she had visited in Pikipsy.
Just a simple stone barely weathered, marking a life that had been hidden and forgotten.
The caption read, “Elizabeth Fletcher, 1891 to 1952.
lost at 17 to a mental illness that her era could not treat and her family could not acknowledge.
May her story remind us of the importance of compassion, understanding, understanding under story remind us of the remind us of the importance of the importance of compassion, understanding, understanding, understanding, and evidence-based treatment for those suffering from psychological disorders.
The family portrait from 1908 no longer showed just a respectable Philadelphia family.
showed the precise moment when a young woman’s devastating secret was captured on film.
A gaze that revealed an obsession that would define and destroy her life, preserved forever as a reminder of how far medicine and society have come and how much further we still have to go in understanding and treating disorders of the human Mind.
