trauma
At its core, trauma can be thought of as the psychological wounds that persist, even when the physical ones are long gone.
No One To Save Me - Part 5
No One to Save Me Part 5 There was a remote area our father used to take us; a river under the San Jacinto bridge off hwy 59 towards New Caney. We rarely saw anyone else there. At night it was a haven for the homeless and there were a couple of large barrels used for making a fire. The river flowed swiftly and the drop off was steep. It really was dangerous for anyone to go swimming. A railroad track ran nearby. It is important to note that Walter frequented this spot, considering his pathological behavior.
Jennifer ReinoldsPublished 6 years ago in PsychePTSD Part Two
I left off in Globe, AZ where my mother had stabbed herself in the leg in an attempt to save my father’s soul. In her delusional state, she had went into hysteria about this. I will continue this story in an effort to show just how devastating mental illness can be, if left untreated.
Kathleen WilliamsPublished 6 years ago in PsycheWhen I Became Homeless
Scarborough 1998, is a place I never will forget. I originally lived in Leeds, but I lost my family and my home due to violence from the community. I moved to Scarborough with the hopes of trying to find some grounding in my life and having a fresh start. It didn't start that way, and my journey was very painful.
Carol TownendPublished 6 years ago in PsycheI'm Nobody
It’s dark. Well, it’s not that dark. It’s bright at the same time, but it feels so deep and it enervates me. Black? No. It’s like white paint on white walls, but I can’t see as far to see whether this place has walls or not. The wall could be right in front of me or miles away—it’s all the same.
Bullying
The recent suicide of a 7th Grader at Jackson Memorial Middle School in Stark County, Ohio didn’t get the same coverage that the shooting on Valentine’s Day at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Florida received. Both incidents are tragic. Their families and communities are beyond repair. And that is an understatement.
Lady SundayPublished 6 years ago in PsycheA Perfect Storm
All my life, I felt I was not worthy of love. I never felt special. I had dreams, but they were never considered fundamental. As a child, I was creative and impressionable. I was desperate to feel love; my parents rarely showed compassion. I wanted more.
Z.K. CampbellPublished 6 years ago in PsycheHurt
Today I woke up sad. Sad that I didn't believe in God, and yet I prayed for a miracle. I prayed that I would just sleep forever. Waking up is so hard. Too hard. The loneliness has crept in so deep that it's choking my very soul. Crying has become my new normal. Stuck in this perpetual moment of heartbreak and even after the rain has cleared, I sit with no rainbows. No sunshine. No butterflies or even puppy dogs. I cry until my eyes hurt and my chest feels like it will explode. I YouTube videos on self-affirming yourself out of a panic attack. I lie, out loud, because it feels more true when my ears can hear it.
Drowning
I’m not really a party person, yet here I was, standing in the middle of a loud room full of teenagers. I guess the movies weren’t too far off from a typical high school party. I had gone with my sister who had dragged me with her so that she wouldn’t have to be alone. Prom was coming up soon so she wanted to meet more guys who might take her. I felt horribly out of place in a party like this. Everyone was drinking. I don’t drink. Ever.
Medea WalkerPublished 6 years ago in PsycheThings to Understand About Someone Who Was Abused as a Child
To start this off; I as a person feel stronger from what I have been through, and want to use my voice to help others like me or help people understand people like me.
Kaiti LearnedPublished 6 years ago in PsycheDiary of a Rich Kid
I grew up wealthy, everything that everyone else had I was given in tenfold. I got what I wanted in excess and I chose to ask for more instead of being satisfied with what I got. Most would say that I was a spoiled brat, and in some ways, they’re probably right. But beneath that wealth, that lifestyle, that excess, was a painful and damaging childhood.
Why I'm Not Okay
When I was 11, my father threw a steel toe boot at my head. By the time I recovered from the shock, I was barely able to get out the back door before he got ahold of me.
Danika WhitePublished 6 years ago in PsycheWhat’s Left of Me (Part 2)
“How could you possibly understand how I feel?” I asked, incredulous. For a moment I considered yelling at Levi, then admitted, “Then again, I can’t really feel anything. Except when I do this.” I pointed to the bandaged cut on my arm.
Chadlai ShadePublished 6 years ago in Psyche