Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Psyche.

Her Name
There was only one way to keep her quiet. She needed to think it was her idea. She wasn’t like most twelve-year-old girls. She was dark, cynical to the point of self-destruction. Her outlandish sense of humor made it impossible for her to connect with anyone. This being what it was, she never viewed it as much of a problem. She was rather small for her age, the runt of the litter — a description that rang true on more levels than one. In fact, she always felt like an outcast in a society she never had a desire to be a part of to begin with. Her jet-black hair, the coffee-colored irises of her eyes, her swarthy complexion, and her overall disheveled appearance were all very true reflections of shadows lurking beneath the fleshly level — the secret looming, longing to be discovered, revealed. Her name was Simone Coletun and there was one way to keep her quiet; it was simply this: ask her to talk.
By Final Thoughts8 years ago in Psyche
How Does Ibogaine Treatment Work for Addiction?
Before I found out about Ibogaine treatment, I was a massive junkie. My life was in shambles. I had stolen cash, credit cards, vehicles, and probably lifespan from my parents.
By Aeden Smith-Ahearn8 years ago in Psyche
A Tribute to Delilah
I love to write about all things under the sun, but one thing I like to pay extra special attention to is the good that surrounds us all the time. It may not seem like it all the time, since oftentimes, it feels the world is in such turmoil and distress, and surrounded by so much evil that we cannot see the good. I hope with this writing, as I hope with all my writing, that I can bring a ray of hope, or some light to someone’s life, and some happiness to someone’s otherwise tumultuous life. So today I am writing a tribute to Delilah. No, not The Plain White T's’ Delilah, but the popular radio host, who has stations reaching all around the United States.
By Keely R.8 years ago in Psyche
An Open Letter to the Abused
An Open Letter to the Abused: Hey. First I want to say I am sorry. I am sorry for what happened to you. I am sorry you are hurting. I get it. I was abused too and it's painful and traumatizing. It's not fair and it's not ok. I want you to know that it's not your fault. I don't care what your abuser said to you, they are a liar! Your abuse is not your fault and you didn't deserve it.
By Lexi Merrick8 years ago in Psyche
Things That Will Most Likely Happen When You Stand Up to a Narcissist
Many of us have met, dated, worked with, been friends with, or are related to at least one narcissist. You know who they are. Those impossible, self-absorbed individuals that hurt us, and yet, in the moment, can make us feel like the most loved and desirable person on the planet. But the illusion of admiration and loyalty eventually fades, and underneath it all you realize how ruthless and self-serving they are. You realize that all that charisma and swagger served a purpose: To blindyou. Getting you to lower your guard so they can use their arsenal of manipulation to move you around like pieces on a chess board. And the worst part? Some part of you still looks forward to seeing the best of them even if it means ignoring the worst. Hey, I'm not judging you, and I don't blame you for feeling that way. When I was in the clutches of a narcissist, I craved the attention they gave. They made me feel like they loved me above all which gave my ego and self-esteem a well-needed boost.
By Courtney Jackson8 years ago in Psyche
Must Watch Movies About Bipolar Disorder
One of the biggest issues that comes with mental illness is the feeling that you're the only one who has to deal with the uphill struggle of keeping your sickness under control.
By Cato Conroy8 years ago in Psyche
Kayaking and Emotional Intelligence
If you imagine kayaking as being trapped in a tiny boat hurling towards edgy rocks on the crashing riptides of Mother Nature, you will almost certainly ascertain a confident mind to give this sport a go.
By A D8 years ago in Psyche
When He Came
She was very young when he came into their lives, probably around four or five at the time. Still in that young trusting age, oh, what a shock this turned out to be.
By Adrianna Vicente8 years ago in Psyche
Anxiety's Best Friend: Change
It's exciting thinking about all the progress you're making when you don't let that bellowing voice in your head dictate your life, especially for a deranged teenager with trust issues and paranoia. You think of all the ways anxiety has taken over your life; you don't trust anyone, you overthink every decision, and you cut corners wherever and whenever you can. High school becomes easy to cope with when you've been around the same people for 14 years. Graduating and moving overseas, however, had anxiety written all over it.
By Ana S.8 years ago in Psyche
What It's Like to Have PTSD
Having PTSD is beyond scary. Most can't fathom the depths of its terror. It is like there is a deep dark sadness and it engulfs you, crushing your lungs until it seeps into you. It wraps itself around your organs and bones so you feel this sadness throughout your whole being. It begins to define you. It even seeps into your brain where it wreaks havoc. It drags you kicking and screaming into the past with nightmares and flashbacks over and over again. It makes the horrors of the past real and present dangers. There is no getting away from them. You can't outrun them. You can't reason with them. They are all there to stay for good.
By Lexi Merrick8 years ago in Psyche
Time for a New Priority
Yes, yes— I know. I don't have time to brush my hair though. I don't have time to take care of myself. I'm too busy taking care of everyone else— even though no one asked me to. I know it's needed, I can see it, I can feel it. It's a fear that's so deeply seated: the fear that I'm going to be left all alone, so I might as well take care of the people I love, while they still pick up the phone. When they see my number on the screen, do they see the pain? Do they see the lies I tell when I say, "I'm okay?" Can they see through the bullshit? Can they tell I'm breaking down? I guess not, because no one is around. No one is asking, no one is helping, no one can see that I'm being slain my own thoughts; no one is interested in my pain. Or maybe they are. Maybe it's because I hide myself away. I just don't know, my head is my enemy, I don't know what to think because my brain keeps betraying me. It's telling me the end is near, that I should lay down and give up, but my heart is still fighting. But for what, FOR WHAT? For the father who disappeared? For everything that I lost? For the anxiety, the anger, the apathy, the grief? The grief that I felt when my best friend left me. The grief I felt as I lifted his lifeless body from the rope and released him from the grip of the tree? Everyone knows, they all heard the story. Everyone can see the discomfort dripping off of my being; everyone is studying me like I'm in a laboratory. But no one, not one person, can see the guilt. No one knows that the only one I blame is me. No one knows that he was the only one who stopped me from demolishing my own body, the only reason I had a fight left in me. All the while I never saw the agony festering inside his own walking corpse. How could I be so dense? How did I not recognize the same suffering, which was inside of me? Well now it's too late; there's no point in trying. It's too late to wonder what I could have done, said or offered. It's too late for regrets, because he's already gone. So now here I am, taking care of everyone else while I still can. Because maybe that will make up for all the times he cried and I told him someone else's problems were worse. Maybe it will make up for that time when he called, but I ignored the ringtone because I was bitter: bitter he didn't have the time to listen to me, bitter he didn't come to my rescue when I was at the end of me. All the while, he was sitting on his bathroom floor, trying to figure out what he had to live for anymore, when all he had left was me. Coincidentally "me" was the only one I had time for. So maybe if I put others on the top-shelf, maybe if I deny the care of myself, maybe if I spend every waking moment trying to live for everyone else, then just maybe, he'll forgive me. Maybe he'll see. Maybe he'll be watching. Maybe he'll reach out to me, though he has no body. Maybe I'll finally be at peace. Maybe I'll be able to forgive myself, and maybe I'll stop wishing that the corpse in the tree was someone else. Maybe I'll stop wishing that it was me.
By Final Thoughts8 years ago in Psyche
Her
My body jolted awake as the sound of the alarm clock rung throughout the room. She’s already awake. Sleep is the only time she leaves me alone, although I know she is always there watching, waiting for me to wake up. Sure enough, there she sat in an almost contorted position.
By Tara Harrison8 years ago in Psyche