trauma
At its core, trauma can be thought of as the psychological wounds that persist, even when the physical ones are long gone.
- Top Story - December 2023
A Flock of Questions
It always occurred when least expected. As the moon stalked me home on late car rides. When I sat under my favorite tree contemplating the cracks in the ground caused by the months of drought. While I bent down to tie my shoe.
Daniela AlejandraPublished 5 months ago in Psyche The Anxiety in life and work of Goya
An angry twelve-year-old girl stops by a Goya painting at a museum while waiting for her mother to return from the toilet. A guard walks over to her and starts to talk ...
F.R. GautvikPublished 5 months ago in PsycheA Letter to My Soulmate.
I am not the person I was ten years ago and I don't think I will ever be her again. It's been a rough decade. If one thing went differently would I still feel this way. I'm trying to become the person I was back then, I just don't know how. I had so many reasons to run away. I thought it was the best possible thing I could do. I was in such a bad places after losing you that I couldn't stand to me in the same city let alone the same state that you died in. Ever since your death I do not remember what I used to fight for.
I Lost My Mind And Got To Know Myself
I lived a split life for a long time. Some things happened that put my life on an unplanned path. Then, in the blink of an eye, my path started to clear, and I realized I might not be who I wanted to be. Better late than never, right?
Jason Ray MortonPublished 5 months ago in Psyche- Top Story - December 2023
Voices in my head.
"Hello." Whose voice was that? I'm the only one in this room, just me, myself and my thoughts. "Hello.." I abruptly open my eyes, waiting for the next word to be said to confirm there is someone else here....
Dancing With The Shadows of My Soul
I took a poetry class in my second year of university. It was one of my favourite classes ever, and I always appreciated the way that my professor taught us how to craft more than just a piece of poetry, but a scene. How he showed us that the details were important too, not just the story. Maybe that's why I've always been interested in romanticizing my life.
Amanda DoylePublished 5 months ago in PsycheZenith
It was a tiring and rigorous day. I was drained out of my much needed energy, and a bit pissed off. My book bag weighed down on my right shoulder like a carcass of an un-gutted doe. I got an hour until my brothers come home, so that enough time to figure out dinner. Mom was gone, she said work, but I’m pretty sure she was on a bender with her lover Critter. All we had in the fridge was ground meat graying from pre-rot, I hope it was beef, stiffening cheese, and tortillas. Tacos it is.
Jennisea RedfieldPublished 5 months ago in PsycheWhat An Abusive Ex Said About Me.
We all have disagreements in relationships. However, toxic relationships also involve a pattern of abusive rumors; the worst?
Carol TownendPublished 5 months ago in PsycheCommon Manipulation Tactics
Introduction: In any relationship, both men and women can employ various tactics to influence one another. However, it's crucial to recognize that manipulation isn't exclusive to one gender. Instead of focusing on gender-specific behaviors, let's explore some common tactics that individuals, regardless of gender, may use in relationships.
Bagwasi DennisPublished 5 months ago in PsycheThe Loss of Identity
Have you ever felt unrecognizable to yourself? Or wondered who that person was that lived life so fearlessly but who is now so cautious and filled with fear and anxiety? I’m here to let you know that you are not alone. Dissociation is a trauma response that manifests in either flight or freeze, and to combat the trauma, the only options are to escape into a new life or a new persona.
Unraveling the Tactics of Johan Liebert
Introduction: In the intricate world of psychology and influence, few characters stand out as master manipulators. One such enigmatic figure is Johan Liebert, whose ability to manipulate others to achieve his desires is both captivating and chilling. While it is crucial to approach such topics responsibly, understanding the tactics employed by characters like Johan can shed light on the subtle nuances of manipulation. In this exploration, we will delve into key strategies inspired by Johan Liebert, emphasizing the need for ethical considerations and responsible use of these insights.
Arnav DixitPublished 5 months ago in Psychethe bipolar person
The bipolar person was lonely most of the time and alone when they weren’t. Lonely was a symptom of mania; alone belonged to depression. The bipolar person had not felt at ease while alone for many years; they needed music, drugs, or the distraction of friends. For years they had not felt the security that comes from having spent a necessary day of engagement with the world and its people, looking them in the eye many times, laughing and reacting, noticing things of light and color and volume, and thoroughly exhausting themself in full health as a social animal then to return home and expand in the silence of their moderately sized one-bedroom apartment to restore. The bipolar person didn’t live alone anymore. And lately, this restoration was so fraught with overthinking and condemnation that they wondered if they could still do it right. The moderately sized one-bedroom apartment had become a small –– bordering on efficiency –– two-bedroom. The bipolar person shared this small –– bordering on efficiency –– two-bedroom, complete with a murphy hammock and washer/dryer in the [flexion of two upright fingers to indicate the presence of scrutiny] kitchen, with their ex’s best friend. This person quickly became the bipolar person’s friend, muddying the situation further, as the breakup between the bipolar person and their ex soured. The [finger flexion] kitchen had been a sacred place for the three of them - the bipolar person, the ex, and the roommate who happened to be the ex’s best friend. They made the most incredible things in that [f.f.] kitchen. The bipolar person agonized over remembering the meals made and eaten together: the curries, the soups, the sweet potatoes, the risotto, the rice and beans, the miso eggs, the pomegranates, the apples and peanut butter, the skillets, the mochi. Love was shared in the [f.f.] kitchen, and the bipolar person now struggled to fry an egg, let alone prepare a complete meal for themself. There was little to be done for the wave of depression settling over the bipolar person except to wait it out. Medications did not seem like an option for treatment due to the adverse effects of selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs) on their mood. Without fail, SSRIs sent the bipolar person into fits of mania that usually ended with them balled into the fetal position on the end of their bed, in hysterical fits of laughter and tears, and attempting to open their flesh with a knife or a razor or scissors or a stapler or anything they could get their hands on as if the skin itself were diseased and requiring removal. These breaks would come at the end of an extended episode where the bipolar person felt as though tiny spiders had laid large nests of eggs all over their body, and those eggs were beginning to hatch. At times, the sensation was so intense the bipolar person swore they could see as deep as the dermis move; this movement extended from their flesh into the darkened corners of their room so shadows would climb and dance, taunting an inner child still terrified of the dark. This inner child bared itself to the ex and roommate on more than one occasion, and the bipolar person considered death to end the shame. After being so exposed, they felt there was no way to redeem themself in their own eyes. The bipolar person knew well enough at this point that other people would forgive all sorts of behaviors, and even if they wouldn’t, the only thing that mattered was whether or not the bipolar person could forgive themself. The answer was almost always a resounding no, but ultimately death was not an option. So the small –– bordering on efficiency –– two-bedroom apartment complete with murphy hammock and washer/dryer in the [f.f.] kitchen shrank under the weight of self-hate, blame, and resentment.