Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Psyche.
The year he was elected
The news hit with me alone in my room, my boyfriend was out of town working and wouldn't be back for some time, several months to be exact. I found myself pondering how the coming years would present. I am in the LGBTQ+ community, as well as being of the opinion that black lives matter, and I overall did not agree with Trump's message. I found myself worried for my friend's safety, as well as my own.
By L.D. Malachite 5 years ago in Psyche
One Cold Night
Well, I wasn't sure what the sound was that woke me. It's best described as a young child in distress with a very faint cry. I untucked myself from my sleeping bag and carefully in slow movements lifted my woven cotton toque above my chilled ears. Listening ever so patiently while exhaling in slow rhythmic unlaboured function, it was evident that I probably was hearing things. You see, living on the streets in the cold months the sounds seem to echo in various directions with no particular point of origin. Now mind you, that sound, the distressed sound of cries happens a lot. It could have been a possibility that my sleeping bag was not covering the manhole on the sidewalk, and the escaping vapors of heat that are cherished so dearly made this faint cry. You see being homeless our minds are usually on high alert for any potential threats or sounds while we attempt to sleep. Well, I shouldn't speak for everyone, but this is how I feel. Maybe, just maybe the sewer gas that absorbs into my sleeping bag and the labored breathing in my sleep draw in these toxins. I am not sure but I hear all things are possible from others on the street. Gee, you know come to think of it, I haven't seen a doctor in maybe fifteen years. Maybe more, because honestly, I don't recall what year this is.
By Vinn Black5 years ago in Psyche
Angry reacts only!
'Doomscrolling' - it's a term I only recently heard, yet I instantly knew what it meant. That endless trawl through Twitter, skimming each new nugget of negativity. 'Stranger A' shouts at 'Stranger B', and hordes of other strangers wade in. Celebrities and influencers publicly play out their clashes of personality, ideals, and opinions. It gets very nasty, very quickly. No matter when you open the app, you can guarantee that there will be some vicious fight raging. You can also be sure that bad news will leap out with every twitch of your eager thumb, each story worse than the last; corruption, sleaze, death, inept government officials, natural disaster, and, dare I mention, covid19. So much for Twitter. Let's head to Facebook, that's sure to be a happier place. Actually, no. Here we have the option of several 'emojis' with which to display our reactions to the content on offer. Having scoured Facebook for pages that suit our own personal views, we then spend hours at a time scrolling through our timelines, reacting to posts from those pages as well as from friends and family. Invariably, we see stuff that angers, offends, irks. We stab at the angry face icon. If sufficiently moved by the content, we may even risk leaving a comment, usually bashed out in haste while our blood is still boiling. We then move on, having registered our displeasure, feeling faintly fulfilled at having 'made a difference' somehow. But what, precisely, have we achieved? In most cases, nothing at all.
By Jon Clynch5 years ago in Psyche
Forgotten Knite
I was in fourth grade when my world broke apart in the shape of the office lady coming to my water-color covered classroom. My teacher, who taught all but two classes, was pulled to the side and delivered news that would reach me shakily. "Lydia, I need you to come with me, let's...take a walk?" she started questioningly. "Holly will cover class until we get back." she continued heading towards me, sitting in the back of the room nearest the open door.
By L.D. Malachite 5 years ago in Psyche
The Chair and the Barn Owl
It had seemed as if I hadn’t felt the warm embrace of sleep for quite some time. For so long I had traveled...and for so long I had craved rest. My body craved rest...the kind that makes you feel as if your body is afloat in a lake and the quiet splash of the water hits the shores bringing comfort to your soul. No rest for me...no rest for so long. Had I fooled myself into believing that there was such a thing? Had I contoured up an idea of what rest was to be? I had heard people talk of such things as a “nice rest” or “ a little rest and relaxation”. Was such a concept fiction? All I knew was that I craved it...my body and mind yearned for it...I was dying to find it.
By Heather McCoy5 years ago in Psyche
10 Things that happened in my first 30 days sober
Sobriety is a topic I openly discuss on my platforms. Most of the time, my writing on the subject is deep and emotion based. Being a part of the sober community I often come across those who are "sober curious" and wondering what the shorter term benefits are. A persons choice to get "booze free" is a big one and often times it can be tough to see a light at the end of the tunnel. There is hope, and the benefits come faster than you think. In no particular order, here are ten things that happened (in the first 30 days) when I quit drinking.
By Dena Danzig5 years ago in Psyche
The Last Episode
Her life is nothing less than chaotic. That is the least she can say and, it is the most. She sits there thinking to herself. Will I ever be happy again? She thinks she deserves more. How does she go about declaring her worth? Why does she even have to? What point needs to be made to be made worthy again. Who is going to love , a broken schizophrenic? As she recaptures her last episode...
By Jackie Ruiz5 years ago in Psyche
Self-Love not Harm
I think the first time I self-harmed was in fifth grade. I told my parents it was because I wanted to be blood sisters with the other girl who had raked both her wrists against the school building with me during recess one day. We had of course performed the whole “blood sisters” ritual, but it was about more than that. She was in deep pain, having recently lost her mother to suicide and I was dealing with things that were way above my age level to process. We were both crying out for help without even realizing it. When it became clear that I was in trouble for my actions, I lied instead of telling the truth, because that’s what I did back then. Rather than admit that I needed help, I told a partial truth in order to escape the real trouble of dealing with the real problem.
By Tabitha White5 years ago in Psyche
4 Must-Read Psychology Books That Most People Have Never Heard Of
I experience mixed feelings whenever someone recommends a book or a song that came out years ago and which I’m just discovering now. One part of me is grateful for the recommendation, but another part of me says, “This came out years ago and I’m only just discovering it now?!”
By Matt Karamazov5 years ago in Psyche
