anxiety
A look at anxiety in its many forms and manifestations; what is the nature of this specific pattern of extreme fear and worry?
The Silent Epidemic: How Social Media is Destroying Our Attention Span
In today’s world, most people can barely sit through a 10-minute video without checking their phones. Scrolling endlessly through TikTok, Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts has rewired our brains, making it harder to focus on anything for long. While social media connects us, it also comes at a cost: our attention span is shrinking faster than ever.
By Abdullah Yousufabout a year ago in Psyche
the end of VOLUME 1 of ENFJ Gogol's novel DEAD SOULS
Chichikov did nothing but smile, slightly rising and falling on his leather cushion, because he delighted in rapid motion. And indeed, which Russian isn't fond of speedy travel? How could such a soul, longing to spin wildly, to lose itself in revelry, to sometimes cry out, 'To hell with everything!' --how could his soul not love it? How could one not love it, when it carries a hint of something blissfully magical? It seems as if some enigmatic force has lifted you aloft, borne upon its wing, and you yourself are flying, and everything is flying: the miles sweep past, merchants atop their kibitkas [wagons] hasten to meet you, the forest streams by on either hand with somber files of spruce and pine, resounding with the axe's stroke and the raven's cry; the entire road rushes off to some unknowable vanishing distance, and something terrifying is concealed in this rapid flickering, where the disappearing object does not have time to be discerned -- only the sky above your head, the light clouds, and the struggling moon alone seem motionless. Eh, troika! bird-troika, who was it that conceived you? surely you could only have been born among a spirited people, in that land that cares not for jesting, but has spread out smooth and level over half the earth, and you may go on counting the miles till they dance before your eyes. And it’s no clever device, it seems — no iron bolts hold it together — but with just an axe and a hammer, in haste yet with masterful strokes, a resourceful Yaroslavl peasant crafted you, alive and pulsing. No polished German boots for this coachman: just a wild beard and thick mittens, seated on the Devil knows what, then, with a swift rise, a sweeping motion, and a song bursting forth, the horses surge like a storm, the wheel spokes spinning into a perfect, smooth blur, the road quivers, a frightened passerby cries out -- and away they go, thundering, racing, vanishing into the distance!.. And there, far off, something looms into view, trailing dust and piercing the air.
By ANTICHRIST SUPERSTARabout a year ago in Psyche
The Man Who Remembered Everything. AI-Generated.
It started with a nosebleed. Just a thin trickle, ordinary in every way, except for the fact that it followed three days of unusually vivid dreams. Dreams where I spoke languages I’d never studied. Remembered faces I’d never seen. Recited poetry I’d never read.
By Ahmet Kıvanç Demirkıranabout a year ago in Psyche
The Time Illusion: Why We Never Feel Like We Have Enough. AI-Generated.
“Time is money,” they said. “Don’t waste it.” Yet somehow, despite our calendars, to-do lists, reminders, and productivity apps, we end every week feeling like we’ve run out of something invisible and irreplaceable.
By Ahmet Kıvanç Demirkıranabout a year ago in Psyche
How Humans Suppress Their Emotions. AI-Generated.
In every social gathering, workplace interaction, or fleeting encounter on a busy street, there is one silent ritual almost everyone participates in — the suppression of emotion. A smile that hides a worry, a nod that masks resentment, a calm tone that veils grief. We are, consciously or not, participants in an ongoing performance, shaped by culture, upbringing, and personal coping strategies.
By Ahmet Kıvanç Demirkıranabout a year ago in Psyche
Memories
My name is Michael Zimmermann. At least that’s what the man standing over my hospital bed called me. It didn’t sound quite right but since I didn’t remember what my name was, I accepted it. Michael Zimmermann. It sounded kind of strange to me. But I had no idea who I was. I had no Idea who the man standing over me was. I don’t know why I was in the hospital. I had a vague memory of, nope. It was gone. The only memory I had was Gregory Zimmerman standing over me. He said that he was my father. Without anything else to go on, I went home with him.
By David E. Perryabout a year ago in Psyche
My Disabled/ Partially Immobile Mother's Mental Health Is One Of My Top Priorities.. Content Warning.
The feeling of powerlessness. It's a feeling I am growing accustomed to when it comes to caretaking for my sick family. Between a sister struggling with her first round of chemo, a brother who can't eat solid food anymore, and an almost completely bedridden mother with Multiple Sclerosis, being powerless is a feeling that I have been forced to acknowledge a lot lately. And that is a feeling that can destroy someone like me. Or my poor mama.
By Hope Martinabout a year ago in Psyche
Online Pharmacist Chat: The Future of Accessible Healthcare
In today’s digital era, healthcare is rapidly evolving to meet the increasing demand for convenience and accessibility. One of the most impactful innovations is the rise of free online pharmacist chat 24/7 services. These platforms enable patients to consult licensed pharmacists from the comfort of their homes, offering quick answers to medication-related inquiries, prescription clarifications, and general health advice.
By Najeeb khanabout a year ago in Psyche
Chapter IV: The Fool’s Lament Beneath the Comet’s Eye
Kraków was engulfed in night like a heavy coat that thickened and resisted shedding, as if there were an invisible force rejecting all life around. Inside a chamber dark as the depths of a comet’s tail spilling through a window, glowing a faint grey, sat a man alone. His clothes were a strange mixture of bright red and black, adorned with jingle bells that rang out laughter, as though whatever once caused them to do so was simply an echo now devoid of sound. This man was Stańczyk, the court jester, yet the expression on his face was anything but jovial. He appeared astonishingly forlorn, his haunted gaze lost deep within the throes of a letter weightily spread open on the table before him. All Stańczyk could notice was a broken, worn wax seal that appeared flaccid like human desire, and the letter whispered softly with the simple phrase 'Smolensk is lost.'
By LUCCIAN LAYTHabout a year ago in Psyche
Why Your Brain Sabotages Success (And How to Rewire It)
Success isn’t just about talent, hard work, or luck; it’s also about how your brain is wired. Many of us struggle with procrastination, self-doubt, or fear of failure, even when we desperately want to achieve our goals. Why? Because our brains are wired for survival, not success.
By Liam Osuosabout a year ago in Psyche
