Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Psyche.
Citalopram and I
True Story I was sitting in the waiting room with a teenage boy. He didn’t look at me, he was staring at his feet, tapping fingers on his skinny thighs. I don’t remember his face, but I can still picture the weird, black cartoon ACDC T-shirt he was wearing. He reminded me of my brother, a sad metalhead whom no one understood.
By Lili Grosserova5 years ago in Psyche
This tool will help you improve critical thinking.
Socrates, one of the founding fathers of Western philosophical thought, was on trial. Many Athenians believed he was a dangerous enemy of the state, accusing the philosopher of corrupting the youth and refusing to recognize their gods.
By Better Brain5 years ago in Psyche
When Words Become Triggering
Words are often one of our leading guideposts when it comes to interacting with each other in society. Non-verbal gestures may be what we first come to know—such as smiling when faced with something pleasurable—but we can often express ourselves best through the use (and nuance) of language.
By Jillian Spiridon5 years ago in Psyche
It's Time We Stop Trivialising PTSD
I have PTSD, or, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It feels strange to admit that when I’ve only just been diagnosed myself. Even stranger to tell people I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting. It’s a condition that not a lot of people fully understand (myself included) and one that many others have knee-jerk reactions to.
By Outrageous Optimism 5 years ago in Psyche
Mother to a
There are few people I would wish my relationship with my mother on. She is a strong, courageous, loud, wild, toxic, addictive, impulsive, beautiful, harmful woman. For as long as I can remember, my mom’s heart was hidden behind spirits.Not “Spirits”. A bottle. As she slipped into the dark mental conscious of drunk, she would tell her woeful stories of her life. I would hear her cry at night through the wall. She would scream all the venom of her life into night’s air. My childhood, what I have not blocked out, was a heartstricken one. My mother was often in two minds. She would glow in the day with laugher and prosperous smile. When she had a job, it was often factory work. Boot straps and sweat were nothing to this woman. By night, my mom faded to a tortured soul. My father, before he was absent, was an addict of his own that abused her in unspeakable ways. My mother was a strong woman who fought back. I was taught what not to do in so many ways from her. I learned the signs of toxicity. She lived them so I didn’t have to. Yet, so many toxic injections into my heart were out there through her own needle. I also learned to work at a young age because life wasn’t going to be given to me. Needs were not given freely, and my next meal was earned since I could pick up a broom. By witness, I saw what it meant when you didn’t learn to walk away from a situation that didn’t serve you well. The mental, emotional, and spiritual breakage that occur day by day in negative and harmful environments or people is unparalleled. Worst of all, the most unforgivable violence is that in which we do to ourselves. I was given the freedom to become my own person because there were no bounds in my life. To call myself a rebellious free spirit is an understatement. My mother, above all, taught me that those who are suppose to nurture and love you are sometimes the ones who sink you down the farthest. One moment, she would be the most open ear and softest shoulder, but when I experienced the other side of her, she would use all the words, feelings, and thoughts I had confided in her against me. You cannot truly be wounded by someone you do not love. So, I love, nurture, and honor myself. Truly, forgiveness will always be a personal journey that you have to recognize you deserve, even if the person you are forgiving has done nothing to deserve it. If I were to let all of the painful experiences with my mother weigh on my heart, I would have broken a long time ago. Waiting for someone else to validate your beautiful soul is futile and empty because there is no higher love than the one you have for yourself. For this, I get to be the parent for my daughter that I needed my mother to be. When she speaks of her feelings, I will confront them with validation. When she needs an ear, those thoughts will remain with me alone. I was taught to be a mother, not only because I raised myself and healed my inner child, but because I saw everything I didn’t want to be. All that could possibly be left is what I needed to be for my child. My mother taught me many lessons, though not in the traditional sense. She put me through trials when no crime was committed. My mom taught me how to be a mom.
By Logan Gillaspie5 years ago in Psyche
