trauma
At its core, trauma can be thought of as the psychological wounds that persist, even when the physical ones are long gone.
Not Everything Happens for a Reason, but That's Okay
There have been numerous accounts of tragedy and heartbreak that I have experienced throughout my 22 years on Earth, all of which I remember so vividly it is almost as if they occurred just last night. What I remember even more vividly, however, is confiding in a person close to me who, after expressing sorrow and concern, proceeded to say to me that this had to have happened for some reason greater than the human mind can even begin to comprehend. While these words were intended in the most consoling way possible, in order to aid me in accepting what had happened to me, I was repulsed at this reaction each and every time. In a world where tragic events occur with no explanation whatsoever and we are left wondering what we did to deserve this and why this had to happen, it has become human nature to adapt the ideology that everything happens for a reason beyond our capability of understanding so that it is easier to accept them and move on with our lives. Realistically, however, everything does not happen for a reason, and living by the idea that it does is not as effective as one may think.
By Abbey Walters8 years ago in Psyche
What’s Left of Me
The nearly empty glass dropped from my hand. I felt my grip loosen and gasped, but time seemed to inch forward at a crawl. The edge tilted towards the floor, gravity’s inexorable grip drawing the last inch of wine one drop at a time into the gray shag carpet. The fabric absorbed the impact of the glass, rolling it under the table without shattering it, leaving a red stain, like blood, behind it.
By Chadlai Shade8 years ago in Psyche
When Abuse Pretends It Isn't. Top Story - January 2018.
Ok, so this is going to be a touchy article, regardless of what experience you have with it. Talking about mental illness (especially when you don't suffer from anything too serious yourself) is usually considered a little off-base. I try to keep my opinions to myself regarding most precarious social issues because no matter what it seems to cause unnecessary upset feelings and judgement, even if nobody is willing to admit it. But hey, I feel like this is important, and I wish I could have read something like this a year ago when I was in the throes of an abusive relationship and battling a mental illness that wasn't my own. If you've ever felt trapped by guilt, you probably have a good idea where I'm coming from. It really makes you question your morality. I never saw myself as someone who would abandon a person battling a MI, I thought it would make me a bad person and some days I feel like it does.
By Carly Anne 8 years ago in Psyche
An Open Letter to My Attacker/s
I’m writing this to you, the ones who have forgotten about me, who walk past me on the street & who do not remember who I am or what you did. The hard part being that you had completely forgotten me & 12 years on, I haven’t forgotten a thing. I’m almost certain you’ll never read this but try to remember me...
By Emma Pilgrim8 years ago in Psyche
Feeling Like a Burden
I feel like such a burden. I have my problems, my agitative depression, my uneven serotonin levels, my yelling in my room I try desperately to curb. I use humor, venting through writing, busying myself with tasks, focusing on the cuteness of my cat, crying it out, anything I can think of to stop myself from being this yelling monster that disturbs others by her yelling.
By Alexandra F8 years ago in Psyche
Unexpected Friendship: Part One
I used to be in an abusive relationship. All the text book red flags and warning signs were present, however, I was being played by a narcissistic sociopath, and man, those people are good at what they do! ( I am in no way trying to down play the severity of this situation, I am just finally at a point in my life where I can use humor and sarcasm when I tell this horrendous story).
By RaeAnna Mercado8 years ago in Psyche
Thirty Stitches, A Concussion, & the First Day of my Junior Year
It is pitch black and I cannot tell if I am dreaming. I remember a bike, a car, a curb, and then, did someone punch me in the eye? I wake up disoriented in the backseat of an ambulance. Sirens are blaring, and a man I’ve never seen before is dabbing my cheek with what I assume are cotton balls with some form of antiseptic on them. My facial expression remains stoic, but internally I am panicking. I touch my face, then look at my hand and see blood. It has a watery consistency, not at all like the blood in the movies. He asks me questions to keep me present and distract me from the blood, and it works. He asks me about school, and I actually laugh. Even with a gaping wound, I could not escape the irony of this happening to me the day before my first day of my junior year of high school. My mom shows up at the hospital and I end up with thirty stitches and a mom scared half to death.
By Giselle Omar8 years ago in Psyche
