humanity

Mental health is a fundamental right; the future of humanity depends on it.

A Little Black Book, A Big Black Bag and A Screaming New Beginning
There are many screams you can hear in the desert at night. If you dare face the silence with patience, sometimes you can discern clues to the unfolding story. Screams of love, terror, exhaustion, or exaltation. There are endless narratives that can be heard shrieking through the darkness. The real truth to those tales are known only by those from which the screams came from. For everyone else, they can leave it to the birds.
By Jessie Foley5 years ago in Psyche
Can One Create His Own Values?
Is one's mind not prejudiced and obstinately entrenched in the burrows of dogma? Be nice, pure, and kind, yes? With time, I have painfully conceded that niceness is a sham. Niccolò Machiavelli was aware of this, and in his book The Prince, he writes: "Men are so simple and so much inclined to obey immediate needs that a deceiver will never lack victims for his deceptions." These words, I reckon, are radically redemptive for humanity. The reality of the nice and virtuous is in the limbo of deceit and treachery. Machiavellianism is the unscrupulous practice of duplicity to further one's cause. Unbeknownst to humans, their savior Jesus of Nazareth has predisposed them to the traditional Christian wisdom of niceness and blighted their comprehension. René Descartes needs revision. "I think, therefore I am" must be "Religion thinks, therefore I am."
By Saugat Menon5 years ago in Psyche
Angh
The sun dressed my skin in the warm glow of morning. 19th July- Afternoon In a small coastal town situated in the lower-right quadrant of a bay, is the space I reside in. There is no-thing in particular that gives me a sense of belonging here, here was just what was. There is the coastal town itself, a former decorated resort before the war economic changes in the form of gradual decline and globalisation lead to travellers going further afield. All that remained; stayed and slowly over the course of time what stayed, ceased-defunct. There is an enigmatic property to these rural towns, some untapped history of value, hiding in the sheer red cliffs and the lumbering pines that overhang them these giants rise above the shore, mussels greet the tide from their sleepy seaweed digs against vivid red sands which give way to abyssal calm waters, contrasting themselves to an endless sky. At dawn the sun rises skyward from the ocean-depths taking its mantle on the horizon, directly above a holy-white aisle only a fool would think they could touch the altar.
By Matthew5 years ago in Psyche
Trash
The thoughts pour in silently. A steady stream of chaos. This shirt is too tight. She can tell you’re sucking it in. Did he just look at your ass? Probably because it looks gross in these pants. Oh God, she feels bad for you, huh? She has to. I mean, look at you. Quick, smile back.
By Ghost.5 years ago in Psyche
Putting a name to Empath
Hi there, I’m Mz Leigh. I prefer to use somewhat of a pseudonym (Leigh is a given name) to remain centered as I write. More often than not, I find myself changing my behavior depending on who I am around or place that I’m in. It’s more like all of the thoughts in my head take over to the needs of my surroundings, which of course would end up changing certain behaviors. This makes it incredibly hard for me to sit down and solely listen to my thoughts and my needs. So I’ve created a character of sorts that I can channel when I need to focus on her…me.
By Mz Leigh5 years ago in Psyche
2am Chronicles
It’s two in the morning as I’m writing this and the only thing on my mind is, fuck! Insomnia is one of the biggest pains in my life. It’s funny that it’s also the most consistent thing I’ve got going on, next to bills and my podcast. If I can’t depend on anything else, I can depend on insomnia coming in like a crackhead during a 3am stroll.
By Anthony Anthem5 years ago in Psyche
Being attractive has made me self conscious
I was not the prettiest child. My nose was always bigger than my face, and I had a thick, dark unibrow until I was twelve. I got called a bird more times than I would care to admit. My parents split up when I was four, got back together when I was eight, and split up again when I was eleven. My mom left us for good that time, and I have only talked to her a couple of times since to say hi to my younger half brothers.
By Cosmo Carr5 years ago in Psyche
My Walk Through The Fog
When you are a victim of gaslighting it feels like you are walking through fog. A never ending, dense fog. Trying to grab a hold on to reality. Asking yourself what reality even really is any more. Even more important, trying to grasp onto your reality. You are faced with trying to identify who you are. What is your purpose. Constantly questioning your insanity. The abuser says things like “You’re crazy” or “What are you talking about? That never happened, you’re making stuff up.”
By A Life Worth Living For5 years ago in Psyche
How to Tell If You Are The Abuser
If we don’t count the 1% of psychopaths among us humans, nobody sets out to be an abuser. Yet, scores of people systematically abuse others. Some even derive immense enjoyment out of it. But they don’t see it as abuse. Deep down, under layers of consciousness, they see it as self-protection.
By Martina Petkova5 years ago in Psyche
The Inner Dialogue
I get trapped between the comfort of stability and the desire for the unexpected - something more scintillating than the minutia of day-to-day existence. It’s monotonous, tiring and dull. I hate my job. I feel fortunate to have it but hate that I’m a part of an industry that stalks people online and encourages more consumption. I’m trapped in cage of my own hand, built at increasing speed within the confines of quarantine. I’m privileged to find myself so bored and without eminent risk to my home, health and modern comforts. But I’m frustrated and unmotivated. I’m stuck.
By Tera Brown5 years ago in Psyche
The Ruined Man.
A hazy confusion of sadness and white wet, foggy mist surrounds a man coated in masses of dirt and bloody scars. The only clothing he chooses to wear is a beaten and dusty, nearly ragged black cloth suit. This ruined man faces a crippling task in front of him: a large, ominous, ice-cold body of water. He stands on top of a small piece of rock and grass on a small island where he holds himself, as he looks up ahead at the goal the ruined man wishes to reach; he breathes in the wet freezing air around him. The ambition he seeks is a bright burning bulb of pure light past the deep frigid river of water; the man takes a step, finally descending into the icy body of dark water. The feeling of the lake surrounding him fills him with chills. They stab into his body like daggers.
By Mohammed Khan. 5 years ago in Psyche
Déjà Vu: An Enigma
A few years back I was visiting Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia as a tourist. We were entering a shopping mall when a group of students approached me with a few questions as a part of their school project. First few were simple ones like from where were we and what we found fascinating in this city.
By Richa Khare5 years ago in Psyche