Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Psyche.

My History of Anxiety, Pt 4
So now we come to the part of the story that will be the toughest for me to write because it's the part that's the most embarrassing: the sex stuff. Yes, once I finally had sex – and remember, I didn't lose my virginity until I was 29 and it was only because the woman I had sex with was rather aggressive in her pursuit of me; otherwise, I'm not sure if I'd have ever had it – boy, did I have sex.
By Mytoxic Family4 years ago in Psyche
Have You Been Love-Scammed?
What does it mean to be love-scammed? Being love-scammed can mean anything from being catfished to dating a narcissist, a serial cheater, a bigamist, or someone who's just out to get money from vulnerable (usually older) men and women. Their intention is not all about you or the relationship, it's all about them!
By Yve Anmore4 years ago in Psyche
Let Me Be Real
I struggled to get up this morning. The pounding of my head numbed the stiffness in my muscles and the soreness of my back. Another day without a word. Another day where I don't know what to expect and I planned to be as compliant as possible.
By JB Ingland4 years ago in Psyche
Mud
Mud. Cold, damp, lingering mud. Mike knew that he would never be able to get that image out of his mind so he never really tried. How could he really? No one in their right mind would expect him to forget or “move on” after what happened that morning. The problem was that not only did Mike not try to forget but everyone and everything in his life seemed to conspire to keep reminding him of the defining moment of his life every time he left his house or ate oatmeal.
By Fred Swindells4 years ago in Psyche
Crisis Runs Cold
Frosted with bitterness, sprinkled with self loathing and ruefully self-aware. Trials, falls, failures. Her righteous rage poised spear-like at whomever dared approach. It would take Spartan strength to hold a gaze so heavy as hers. Why must the torturesome memories of being wanted, happy and safe remain? Those realities far gone from her life, yet unceasingly haunting. Not unlike a long dead lover. Too much a part of her to release, yet now too foreign to remember why she held on. Unwelcome were flashbacks of "the good days." With arachnid swiftness, they were enwebbed and committed back to the furthest recesses of her psyche. Memories are not inherently cruel...except when they are. Frozen snow crunched rudely under her boots. The sound reminiscent of a thoughtless child open-mouth masticating hard candies. The harsh, consistent sound rankling her to the core. Hastening her footsteps, she deftly avoided the filthy roadside slush. Kicking a dirty snow pile and ending up with a used hypodermic needle piercing through her shoe as a kid, well, it taught her not to go bothering what ought not to be bothered. Vividly visible in the winter air, a ragged sigh incurred whimsical winter contemplation. Such a shame this raw December morning couldn't swallow her up; rendering her one with the universe. Birthing her anew, pure, as unsullied snow. Perhaps, mercifully, allowing her to melt away forgotten, upon winter's end. Spring felt more like idealism than renewal, and her current internal season had no end in sight. Abysmal anhedonia buried all joy, all hope. Her soul became Pompeian, blindly choked in post-Vesuvian ash. A lightless, brumal night. Horoscope. The topography, a screaming silence of sunless skies, rabbit holes and slippery slopes. Her pitcher plant mind, patently unwilling to release its prey. Suicidally consuming at its own excruciating leisure, any positivity that dare arise. Growth destroys with a mighty closed fist. It must be so. The seeds of healing require openheartedness. Darkness despises a flourishing flower. Keep pace. Cover your existential disarray. Blend seamlessly into the background. Living is self defense. Self defense is remaining alive. She walked on. Approaching the stark, imposing psychiatric office, icy blasts of wind bit mercilessly at her face. Jaw clenched and body shivering, she wished she'd worn that hideous pink wool scarf. A gift, of course. Bright colors repulsed her, the way fresh carrion might repulse another. The value was in its warmth, paired with a rare sentimentality. It felt like a hug from her late Grandmother every time she wore it. Ugly, still. Breathe. You're late. Oh well. You showed up. Where does your "give a fuck" hide? Glaringly obvious, your giving of fucks is sparse. Hold on tight to that tattered half-a-fuck you have left. Or fuck it, don't. After choosing the furthest fold up metal chair from the other freaks and presiding therapist, the nearly unendurable Dialectical Behavioral Therapy commenced. "Therapist". She scoffed to herself. A nauseatingly typical, neo-hippie, midlife twat who went in big for archetypal blame games and self-help spoon-feeding. First always came her favorite, the "individual check-in." AKA, let's coax out your naked soul for public judgment. A dead rose by any other name. Ghastly, forced socialization with women she'd never see outside this room. Devoid of truth or meaning. Perfunctory. Being in an all women's group would be comforting, they said. It was not. At. All. Breezily, she navigated through the insipid psycho-mockery being inflicted upon her. Controlled tones. Calculatedly vague, monosyllabic replies. "Good." "Fine." "Yes." "No." Appropriately timed affirmative nods. Controlling her micro-expressions for a face that appeared comfortable. People paid less attention that way. Mark that as success. Staring blankly out the single bay window offered no relief. Swirling sparkling fractals, innumerable, drifted earthward from the foreboding gray sky. How might freezing to death feel? In a way, she already knew. Shrugging internally, she'd ceased seeking pity long ago. This wretched hour of
By C.J. Jaye4 years ago in Psyche
In the Most Desperate of Times When There Seems to Be No Hope, Just Live
Sometimes we wonder what our life’s really worth We wonder whether we’re fulfilling our purpose or not. Why do we wake up each morning? Why do we work so hard to make a living?
By Jocleyn Soriano4 years ago in Psyche
Addiction VS Habits Are They The Same?
The web explains Addiction and Habits this way; A habit is a routine repeated regularly and tends to occur subconsciously. While we all have a few bad habits it's whether or not that habit negatively affects your relationships, work, or school that is usually the determining factor, and if that’s the case we now call it an "addiction."
By Dave Wettlaufer4 years ago in Psyche
12 Lessons From 12 Months of Sobriety
Organ failure and suicidal thoughts forced me into sobriety. The lessons I learnt kept me here. Before these life-changing events occurred, I would have never believed I could go so long without alcohol. Drinking was as vital to me as breathing was. Every day would involve alcohol, from breakfast beers to lunchtime wines. Alcohol was my life, and I believed I was nothing without it. I quickly learnt that this was not the case. Sobriety taught me a lot about life and also about myself.
By Liam M 4 years ago in Psyche
Attitudes And Values Toward Drug Use
The question of drug use is a complex one. It involves many different variables. A majority of respondents believe that people who abuse drugs have weak willpower. However, a significant minority of people hold the opposite view and believe that they have the power to overcome their addictions. Regardless of which group you belong to, the attitudes and values toward drug use are pervasive. Some of these opinions are based on personal experience or cultural biases, while others are rooted in a deep-rooted belief that drug users are somehow deficient or defective.
By Hershel Tiedeman4 years ago in Psyche
Sunday Sessions
I'm constantly anxious these days. I feel like the woman in the photograph. As if I'm staring down the rest of my life in this very moment and I... I have to do something. Right? Well, maybe not. One of the hardest lessons I've learnt (and still continue to learn) is that patience is definitely a virtue. Not just in terms of high moral standards, more-so in terms of me trying to be a better person, each and every day. You simply must be patient in the grind. It's that patience that gives you a chance to think; that pause. That pause to think, then to prioritize and finally make a decision. A lot of our decisions are based too much in anxiety. I get it though. I'm anxious too, all the time. In these moments my mind is like a prison. I second-guess my instincts and the whole decision-making process gets corrupted with fear, with doubt, with anxiety.
By Maco4 years ago in Psyche
I’m Dating a Narcissist - what the fuck do I do now?
When I was much younger I dated all the wrong men. A drug dealer, an air traffic controller with a sex addiction, an emotionally unavailable artist, a stuntman in Hollywood who later turned into a cage fighter.
By Kim Byrne4 years ago in Psyche
Why It’s Not Good to Get Used to Rejection
Rejection is hard No matter how we try to explain it away, it hurts. It’s no wonder then that we do all we can to avoid it.
By Jocleyn Soriano4 years ago in Psyche