Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Psyche.

I’m Not a ‘Real Man’
Growing up, I was told a lot of things about being a man. Most commonly, I heard that men don’t cry, show weakness, or even get emotional.
By SWS5 years ago in Psyche
Can Unprocessed Trauma Really Be Stored in the Body?
When trauma occurs, the brain functions differently. Under normal circumstances, the brain will encode what it needs to encode, send it, process it, and store it or dispose of it, then your life goes on. As a result, your memories stay intact.
By SWS5 years ago in Psyche
Putz
Mr. Lebowitz sits contently in a train car. He wears a pince-nez on his nose which is always buried in a crossword puzzle, as it is at the moment. He folds his paper to the side and starts setting out an assortment of little tupperwares just so. When he is satisfied with this arrangement, he dips a baby carrot into some hummus. With a relishing crunch, he closes his eyes and at this moment all is right in his world.
By Fiona Walkington5 years ago in Psyche
Known
The funeral had been quiet, not in an eerie way, but because nobody had anything to say about Morrigan Walsh, who had died from cancer the week prior. I had worked with her for years, greeted her countless times, yet I my thoughts had never once drifted in her direction. Cubicle blindness, I kept thinking, as our boss eulogized this dead woman, giving ode to her timeliness and how neat her desk was.
By Ross em5 years ago in Psyche
Almost Gone
The sky was dark. The breeze cold. Heavy white snow danced in the air before falling to the ground and blanketing the earth in fluffy white clouds. Nora sat on her balcony next to a heated lamp as she placed some cannabis flower into a red metal grinder. She was determined to catch the sunrise that day, blunt in hand. After a long sleepless night, or month really, Nora had decided that today would be her last. The pain inside her had finally won.
By KP Scott5 years ago in Psyche
Raw
Dawn seemed to be blinded by all the love and support that she thought she needed, she failed to see what she had right in front of her. Inwardly, she longed for the support that birthed a sense of self. The sense of knowing that she could do anything and be anyone. This desire blinded her to the nurturing she had presently. She idolized the love and support she thought everyone else had. So much so that she missed out on the fact that she already possessed it. Funny, how when life throws a curveball, suddenly the eye sees what was there all along.
By Chariss Rausaw5 years ago in Psyche
Black Book - Small Universe
I have a lovely story to weave, of a lovely little black book, and a girl. A book nobody can see, it’s invisible. She and her dog, Princess Pizza are able to see it though.
By Elise Tiffany5 years ago in Psyche
Introducing Me!
I am currently a mother of two happy, healthy, and adorable children who happens to have schizophrenia. I enjoy writing and it has long been on my heart to write about motherhood, mental health, and other random “adulting” subjects. I may not be any good at it, but I can’t be any worse than all of the articles in a Google search engine that talk about how horrible it is to know a schizophrenic – let alone have one be a mother.
By The Schizophrenic Mom5 years ago in Psyche
To Be Free
“They’re looking because you’re talking to no one” Scene one It’s a ritual to go to art exhibits with my sister Raven, as I chat it up with her, I look around and I'm infuriated to see everyone looking at her with confusion and judgment. “Has nobody ever seen a woman with cancer before? It’s like they think all illnesses are contagious” grumbles Jerrick. I locked eyes with a European man, he gave me a slight nod and a smile. “A gesture of pity,” I thought. My sister giggles. “What?!” I exclaim. “They’re looking because you’re talking to no one”. “You’re somebody! Stop calling yourself no one, you’re everything to me, my world in fact”. “Sorry to interrupt, you seem just as uncomfortable as I tend to be at these exhibits, curious as to why you still come?” says the European man. “Well” as I pull myself together “My sister and I have a ritual, she's an art teacher and I'm an electrical engineer, I love to break apart machines and piece them back together into something entirely different, so I have a deep appreciation for art but not for the people who possess them.” “Looks like we are men of like minds, lovely to meet you two” he hands me a card with an address scribbled and gives me a nod and a smile and disappears into the crowd. “Curious..”
By Jillian Paris Ferguson5 years ago in Psyche
The Empty Man
It was the foliage that drew me to those apartments. The view through the large white gate to the main building was like looking into some exotic palace's courtyard. The driveway tiled in red and canopied in green created an illusion of beauty that the dilapidated buildings couldn't muster autonomously. Our home was the first apartment to the left. It wasn't anything special. In unification with the heavy air brought in from the ocean, a large wooden armoire engendered the mildew that perfumed the air inside. A black trash bag fastened with duct tape replaced the glass in the window over the kitchen counter. It didn't matter how rigorously I scrubbed the small bathroom. It never met the clean standard that my home in the United States had set.
By Alexi Hastings 5 years ago in Psyche
North Tower
Feeling lopsided. Barney noted just two things in his small notebook. His daily assignment was to track lingering symptoms from his recent surgery. He was sitting in his unassuming room at Calbington Rehabilitation Facility looking out over the lawn. He watched as a strong wind blew the nearby forest back and forth.
By Francis Bertram5 years ago in Psyche
The Waiting Room
There are 4 of us here. And the room is thick with tension. Dark, cold and dripping with tappings of rainwater from the previous night. 2 metres apart, maniac scribbles, loud breaths and thick cigarette smoke. Glances are quick and unsettling, our supervisor looks tired, my legs are weak and my throat thirst from lack of water.
By omotayo5 years ago in Psyche