Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Psyche.
Addiction's Greatest Victim - Trust
Trust: firm belief in the reliability, truth, or ability of someone or something. There are many casualties of addiction. The brain makes a cruel association between the substance/activity and survival, and god help anything that stands in the way of securing that person’s life-blood*. Health, career, family — all become secondary to the quest for survival. Body, mind and spirit are ravaged by the toxic substances and neglect that comes with a sole preoccupation with the substance or activity. And relationships are destroyed from the lies, manipulation and disgusting behaviour that comes with loss of control.
By Belinda Tobin5 years ago in Psyche
Before I Fall Apart
What are you supposed to do when your life suddenly turns on its head? What are you supposed to do when that time comes right before the tutorial for life is finished? Granted, the tutorial we’re all offered tends to be a pretty bad one, but how are we supposed to know the difference until we reach that next stage and realize how poorly prepared we were?
By Richard Belarde5 years ago in Psyche
Thoughts on Feeling Safe
I’ve tried to write this essay on feeling safe like four times now. The last month has been very tumultuous for me. It’s usually really small things that cause the most upheaval too. Back when I still had a job, someone could be harassing women in the store, and I’d be right in their space telling them not to. There was that time when someone pulled a knife on our security guy and blood went everywhere and I was just like, well, then. Startle me from behind and I’ll have a panic attack so intense I might pass right on out. I expect no one has ever said that a panic disorder was even remotely rational.
By Duointherain5 years ago in Psyche
A Grapheme Rainbow
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always automatically seen specific colors as numbers. For instance, the number one is black. Always. Three is red, four is olive green, and so on (see above). The number 842 looks like purple, olive green, pale yellow. If I stare at a painting it’s an exercise in paint-by-numbers, but mixed colors don’t have the same effect. Maroon, for instance, means nothing but maroon.
By Scott D. Williams5 years ago in Psyche
Tangled
I walked out behind a man at the coffee shop, and yelled, “Hey, Sir! You forgot your murse!”, a fancy word for man purse, but he didn’t seem to hear me. I ran back to pay for my coffee and ran to catch up with him as he turned the corner. He was only a few minutes ahead. I kept yelling and chasing after him to give him back his backpack. Before we knew it, I saw him go inside his apartment building, as I turned the corner. I had no choice since I was already there, to look inside his murse, perhaps his Driver’s license has his apartment number on it. I pulled his wallet out and read his card, Charles Anthony Brenton 18551 Trophy Club Apt 461. Dallas TX. I could not help but notice the bands of hundreds in the murse. It had to be at least Twenty Thousand that would set me free from this financial downfall I am drowning in along with all the other refinements in my life.
By Thanh Vuong5 years ago in Psyche
THE AGE OF ISOLATION : The New Era
The dangers of the Internet When people think of dangers on the internet , they think Dank Memes, Recycled Tiktoks, and the occasional Phishing sites, and etc. In truth those can be valid undesirable things on the internet, But what about the more psychological Dangers? In 2016 a study was given that 7.7 million people struggle with Mental illness, by the end of 2019 the numbers were 51 million. In this article Im going to uncover the hidden dangers of the Internet and how it creates mental illness
By Tahj Simmons5 years ago in Psyche
The Second Flight of Icarus
When Regor first discovered the body, Luka was still clutching what he called his "little black book with me poems in". At his side was a bag containing an old worn toothbrush and a comb that was missing more teeth than it had. Apparently, the elastic bands holding his shoes together had been upgraded to silver duct tape. His old Baird television set was still on. It was the only thing Luka brought with him when he moved into the Chalfont rest home. The sound was off. Regor didn't notice the old black and white rerun of Gomer Pyle on the screen. "Oh Luka", he thought, "now you've gone and done it." His old friend looked like shit. He wore a dirty satin shirt with small cigarette burns trickled down the front. He was sitting at the piano, his eyes still open. A burnt silver spoon sat on the glass table nearby. And he held his sacred black book tight to his chest. In his other hand he was squeezing a bunch of one hundred dollar bills. Must have been 200 of them.
By Phillip LoFaso5 years ago in Psyche
Light at the End of the Little Black Book
The chilled air cut like knives with every inhale Erica took. The calm rippling of water below eased her racing mind as she peeked over the side of the bridge. Her heavy sigh clung around her as white puffs floating in the winter air. “This is it,” she assured herself. “Your terms, your time.”
By Poproflwaffle5 years ago in Psyche
