Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Psyche.
Blackness
Ever have one of those days where you feel like you'd be better off dead? Once you have that one day, that thought consumes you. You start to visualize yourself gone from the world and you see the impact, or lack of, that would occur if you did not exist. If you are someone unimportant like me, your existence is not necessarily needed.
By Elijah Taylor7 years ago in Psyche
They Left for the Day
After seeing the abuse and the mistreatment of other patients in my hall, I had to remain alert. I was not going to speak unless spoken to, and I was going to keep to myself. I did not want to give the techs a reason to notice me. I was beginning to feel tired, but there was no way I was going to be able to sleep, not even for five minutes. I decided to just sit in my recliner and watch television.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
There are elements in my family that do not take medication for their OCD. You know who you are. These are people who cannot face up to the fact that they have a disability as I do, only I’m not impaired by it like you are. OCD makes you doubt yourself; did I leave the stove shut off? Did I leave the door locked? Is my house burning down while I’m away from it because the stove was left on? Am I doing this assignment for work right? Yes, I’m doing this assignment but I’m not sure if my boss will like it so I have to make it perfect, starting over a dozen times.
By Iria Vasquez-Paez7 years ago in Psyche
Crowds
6 years ago, I started to notice a different voice in my head. A man's voice, the sweetest tune you could think of. He only really showed up when I was alone, I thought how nice it was that someone wanted to keep me company. He'd repeat the most delightful things to me, telling me how special I was. One night, I wanted to talk back, to thank this mystery man for making me feel so important.
By Abigail Brooke7 years ago in Psyche
Deranged from Pain
At a young age, I learned to cry with style: silently, with soft tears rolling down my cheeks after swelling gradually in my eyes. No smears or streaks. Just water with a tinge of salt, and boundless pain. When I started crying in front of him, it felt all too familiar. Like how I would cry when I’d be called out of class to find that he had packed the car again and waited for me to beg him to stay. Like how I would cry when he’d show me his black and blue thighs and swollen rib cage. Like how I would cry late at night when I could hear my mother’s scurrying footsteps and piercing cries, followed by loud thuds on the wooden floor, and the sobs of my oldest brother as he watched. Like how I would cry when he’d hand me that rattling yellow bottle and tenderly ask me to hide them, for if I couldn’t keep them safe, he may not live—or so he said.
By quinn riley7 years ago in Psyche
Dirty Snow
Dirty Snow She had never seen snow that color—a blended mix of grays and browns from the line of footsteps that had been walked over it, with holes from heels and imprints of sneakers left behind. The path towards the grave was covered in piles of snow since no one deemed it necessary to clean out a path in a graveyard. It made sense, she thought, it’s not like it’s residents could walk, and if you believed in ghosts they would be floating above the snow. Her feet dragged in it, heavy, like her heart. Her body shook from cold, but also from despair. Her eyes had been stained with tears for the past week. No amount of moisturizer could smooth over the circles beneath her eyes. No amount of foundation could cover the tired look on her face. Even when she wasn’t wearing black, people could tell she was mourning. Yet, today of all days, the day of his burial, she hadn’t shed a tear. She was as numb inside from the sadness as her body was outside from the cold.
By Victoria Nicolova7 years ago in Psyche
