Words are funny things. Their meanings, the images they draw in their heads when they hear them - for me they are not the same as for others and this makes them meaningless. For example, the phrase "black widow". As I say these words, I imagine a spider with a red hourglass-shaped imprint on its stomach. However, to imply an arachnid insect that lives in a spindly and dew-filled web, people who whisper when uttering these words imply something else. They talk about me. From what they tell me, I'm called a "black widow" because not a single man I loved survived. And yet I don't remember anything about it. My new home leads me to the definition of another obscure and meaningless word. This is the place where I am supposed to have found refuge. But the definition for this place is wrong and becomes meaningless when you've been drugged and subdued and hidden behind nice white coats. My name is Alexandra Sutton and this is the story of what happened when I was locked up in the Criminal Insane Asylum.