Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Psyche.
What It's Like to Have PTSD
Having PTSD is beyond scary. Most can't fathom the depths of its terror. It is like there is a deep dark sadness and it engulfs you, crushing your lungs until it seeps into you. It wraps itself around your organs and bones so you feel this sadness throughout your whole being. It begins to define you. It even seeps into your brain where it wreaks havoc. It drags you kicking and screaming into the past with nightmares and flashbacks over and over again. It makes the horrors of the past real and present dangers. There is no getting away from them. You can't outrun them. You can't reason with them. They are all there to stay for good.
By Lexi Merrick7 years ago in Psyche
Time for a New Priority
Yes, yes— I know. I don't have time to brush my hair though. I don't have time to take care of myself. I'm too busy taking care of everyone else— even though no one asked me to. I know it's needed, I can see it, I can feel it. It's a fear that's so deeply seated: the fear that I'm going to be left all alone, so I might as well take care of the people I love, while they still pick up the phone. When they see my number on the screen, do they see the pain? Do they see the lies I tell when I say, "I'm okay?" Can they see through the bullshit? Can they tell I'm breaking down? I guess not, because no one is around. No one is asking, no one is helping, no one can see that I'm being slain my own thoughts; no one is interested in my pain. Or maybe they are. Maybe it's because I hide myself away. I just don't know, my head is my enemy, I don't know what to think because my brain keeps betraying me. It's telling me the end is near, that I should lay down and give up, but my heart is still fighting. But for what, FOR WHAT? For the father who disappeared? For everything that I lost? For the anxiety, the anger, the apathy, the grief? The grief that I felt when my best friend left me. The grief I felt as I lifted his lifeless body from the rope and released him from the grip of the tree? Everyone knows, they all heard the story. Everyone can see the discomfort dripping off of my being; everyone is studying me like I'm in a laboratory. But no one, not one person, can see the guilt. No one knows that the only one I blame is me. No one knows that he was the only one who stopped me from demolishing my own body, the only reason I had a fight left in me. All the while I never saw the agony festering inside his own walking corpse. How could I be so dense? How did I not recognize the same suffering, which was inside of me? Well now it's too late; there's no point in trying. It's too late to wonder what I could have done, said or offered. It's too late for regrets, because he's already gone. So now here I am, taking care of everyone else while I still can. Because maybe that will make up for all the times he cried and I told him someone else's problems were worse. Maybe it will make up for that time when he called, but I ignored the ringtone because I was bitter: bitter he didn't have the time to listen to me, bitter he didn't come to my rescue when I was at the end of me. All the while, he was sitting on his bathroom floor, trying to figure out what he had to live for anymore, when all he had left was me. Coincidentally "me" was the only one I had time for. So maybe if I put others on the top-shelf, maybe if I deny the care of myself, maybe if I spend every waking moment trying to live for everyone else, then just maybe, he'll forgive me. Maybe he'll see. Maybe he'll be watching. Maybe he'll reach out to me, though he has no body. Maybe I'll finally be at peace. Maybe I'll be able to forgive myself, and maybe I'll stop wishing that the corpse in the tree was someone else. Maybe I'll stop wishing that it was me.
By Final Thoughts7 years ago in Psyche
Her
My body jolted awake as the sound of the alarm clock rung throughout the room. She’s already awake. Sleep is the only time she leaves me alone, although I know she is always there watching, waiting for me to wake up. Sure enough, there she sat in an almost contorted position.
By Tara Harrison7 years ago in Psyche
A Trichy Story
A Trichy story. Where do I start? Well, maybe right here because my hand keeps straying up to my head to pick at the bumpy, crusty scabs on my scalp. I better start typing something in order to occupy both hands, and make a start on this story. It is one of my stories, and one aspect of me. My name's Dandelion, and since the age of 5 I have been continually fighting an inner dance of detachment with my hair. Or more finely put, in the most part, my eyelashes and eyebrows.
By Dandelion Florence7 years ago in Psyche
A Knock of the Block
How far have we taken the idea, and placed importance on “true happiness?” We all buy into a false ideology of what makes us “happy.” People choose their own idea of happiness, whether that be material things, drinking and taking drugs, traveling to never come home, sleeping with people, or earning money. Materialistic items, sleeping around, taking drugs, drinking, having lots of money, and running away to other countries in the hope to find yourself doesn’t work out quite as rock and roll as people would hope. There’s no real substance to “true happiness” through any of these things. This is the type of artificial happiness that the media and society here in the UK has inflated and forced down our throats.
By Megan Jenkinson7 years ago in Psyche
Resources
This is a video all about mental health resources. It is important to take care of your mental health whether or not you have a mental illness. You are no good to anyone if your mental health is poor, so take care of yourself so you can help others. Also, mental health is important when it comes to work and school. It helps you do better in both.
By Lexi Merrick7 years ago in Psyche