trauma

At its core, trauma can be thought of as the psychological wounds that persist, even when the physical ones are long gone.

Growing Up In A Bubble
I was raised in a bubble…what most others I’ve come across consider a religious cult. I’m 40 now and in reflection it amazes me how much this aspect of my childhood has negatively impacted my whole life so far.
By Amanda Carol4 years ago in Psyche
My Borderline Existence: Death
My wonderful mother was vibrant and intelligent. She was 28 years old when my baby brother was born. She died five months later of an insidious cancer. To make things worse, my grandfather (her father) disowned his three grandchildren. Of course, now I understand that this type of loss is the basis of a borderline personality disorder (BPD) diagnosis. But wait, it gets worse. Soon after my mother died, my father married our 18 year-old babysitter. She left after being nearly beaten to death when I was 12 years old. I was left to fend for myself, take care of my siblings and my abusive father.
By JP4 years ago in Psyche
Perspective ...
Perspective is not about listening to everyone ones. It is about your personal point of view. Whether it be events that happened, or how they made you feel.
By Justice for All4 years ago in Psyche
Lily
I remember the day we brought Lily home. It was a time in which I thought a lot about life, and subsequently, about death. I wondered what life and death were all about, and I also wondered about what death could possibly bring to the human soul. Thoughts had never turned into actions, though they easily could have, and I think I have Lily to thank for that. For a while, we had joked that she was an omen of some sort; the day she walked through our door, I had lost my favorite pair of socks, and a rock had hit the windshield of my father’s car, something that amounted to over one-hundred dollars worth of damage. In Lily’s presence, we always felt as if something were going to happen- we were never sure of what, though. Lily, somehow, just had a way of making you stop and wait. At the time, though, it had been a thing we had simply joked about. At the time, I didn’t know that Lily was something really special.
By Ellie Rae4 years ago in Psyche
Building Castles in the Sky
"Yes, the world is broken," a voice descended from the attic, disgusting and fragile, "but you and I will survive." I was bending at the waist. The trash was strewn across the floor. I pushed aside a pile of junk mail to kneel on the hardwood. I spotted a mass of delicate feathers beneath the dining room table. The house was actively crumbling around me, like so many other things in my life, at a pace so slow it was imperceptible. At least, until I held my breath and truly watched the process. I passed the hole in the living room wall as I fetched a clear plastic box and its lid. I scooped the white feathered object inside. Upon further inspection, I made out the shape of a baby owl, somewhat distorted by rigor mortis. The owl’s eyes were hidden in the ruffled fluff of its face. “By 2050, the polar ice caps will be totally depleted,” the voice from the attic was saying, “Maybe sooner.” I was still examining the deceased owlet several minutes later, when someone knocked at the door. Suddenly, I remembered that I had been planning to kill myself yesterday. I had never gotten around to it. Why does that always seem to be the chore that gets put on the back burner? I answered the door. It was a three-foot-tall pile of violet slime with a semi-human face. I groaned quietly. My mother is in the hospital, dying, I thought, I have so many better things to do than talk to my ex-boyfriend right now. “What do you want, Charlie?” I spat. “I’m busy right now.” A greasy purple tendril stroked my face. “Baby, I want you. I want you back in my life. I’m so sorry.” In my mind, I saw a skillet hit a cinderblock wall beside my head, chipping the stone. “I don’t want to talk to you. Please, just leave me alone.” “We can work this out,” Charlie was saying, his voice thick with fake pleading, “I can make it up to you.” I began to close the door in his face-ish area. I wondered, not for the first time, how I had failed to notice the ugliness of this man for so long. Not physically, I’ve loved worse-looking men. Charlie was spiritually ugly in so many ways. A pair of rusty scissors were being waved threateningly at me in my mind. In reality, Charlie’s shiny boot was blocking the door from closing. “Don’t do this,” he whispered, “I love you.” He pulled a phone from a fold of goo near his waist. Three taps and the phone was loudly playing what had once been 'our song'. I closed my eyes. Behind their lids, I was in a cheap hotel room in Asheville, NC. Charlie was slimy drunk. He was attacking me with a champagne bottle. The champagne had been intended as a gift for Greg and Laura, our friends who were getting married that weekend. My wrist began to hurt, distantly. Some part of my brain tried to escape the memory, to find a happy moment to dwell on. That was no longer as easy as it had once been. I opened my eyes, and it seemed that my ears opened at the same time. Bill Withers was telling me, "To make those rainbows in my mind, when I think of you sometime, and I wanna spend some time with you, just the two of us…" "Charlie, stop it. I'm not in the mood. Please, just leave." I fought to keep anger out of my voice. He reacted as if I'd slapped him. He broke into a gush of tears and screamed. "No! Baby! Please, no! Let me in!" He sank into a shapeless puddle, his glistening muck muffling the sound of the phone, still playing its song. I shook my head and tried to push his puddle back out onto the porch with the door. He pushed back and wailed, "Biiitch! Let. Me. In!" This was when I started to get really irritated. I set down the box containing the expired barn owlet. I kneeled down and rested my hand softly on his greasy tentacle. "Shut up, Charlie. Shut up right this instant," I whispered placidly, "or else I will call the fucking police on you. You're disturbing the peace. This is where I live now, and I don't want my neighbors pissed off at me." I shoved his appendage out the door and slammed it shut. I sighed heavily and slumped face first against the door, reaching up to lock it. Charlie was pounding with a splattery fist on the outside, shouting obscenities. I jumped. From behind me, I had heard Bill Withers' smooth voice start up again, clear as crystal, "I hear the crystal raindrops fall on the window down the hall, and it becomes the morning dew, and darling when the morning comes…" For a moment, I had the crazy thought that Charlie had gotten inside, maybe oozed through the big hole in the wall of the living room. This was not the case. What had once been our song was now belting out of the dead owl's box, as if the box were a quality subwoofer. The baby owl's eyes were still hidden, but its beak waggled feebly with every word. It was actually a really good song, I thought, and Charlie could not have it. I refused to think about him every time I heard it. For the rest of my life, I would think about this owl instead. I propped the box up on the dining table and grabbed a broom from the closet. It was time to get to work on the mess in here. When my Mom got home from the hospital, the place was really going to look nice. The owl made it through a whole album of classic hits before the attic voice sounded again. "There is no reason to worry. There is only worry to reason," the voice boomed, sounding strong and pleased with itself.
By Sean B. Monett4 years ago in Psyche
Relive & Rewire
My name is Tyler Franklin, I’m 32 years old, married, divorced, married again, currently a stay at home dad to my son, and live with anxiety and depression… great to meet you. The honest to god truth, I can’t believe I have lived the life I’ve lived. Sometimes I step back, and shake my head at the choices I’ve made that I now have to live with. Some good choices, some terrible, and some that are still t.b.d. The past decade has been a series of dramatic swings of highs, lows, and eventually rock bottom. Beautiful moments now memories as gorgeous as the pink sky before the sun disappears. While other moments have challenged the values I’ve tried to bring to pass.
By Tyler Franklin4 years ago in Psyche
Torrential Down Poor
There was never much to take from the child. Things, perhaps; but she placed little value upon them. Dolls did not please her, she scribbled in marker over their pretentiously perfect painted faces. She styled their hair to baldness. They looked better to her this way.
By C.J. Jaye4 years ago in Psyche
Suicide is Prevalent
How to deal with people who can’t stand you? (I ignore them.) How to keep going on when you can’t keep going on? I hear about people ending their lives because I guess they are unhappy, scared, or depressed. It becomes dangerous and destructive. I mainly hear depression is the reason people commit suicide. They commit suicide because they cannot go another day of living on earth. Do they have friends or someone to talk to? We should be more open to friendships and relationships. Human touch, hugs, talking, and knowing you have someone there for you. Human touch builds up the immune system too. It makes people healthy too. I think that is wonderful that friends make us healthier. Friends help us smile and help us live longer.
By Regina Mauldin4 years ago in Psyche
Cost of Convenience. Top Story - January 2022.
To wake up mesmerized and still breathing was both terrifying and humbling. I woke up, forever changed, at 20 years old. I woke up with a traumatic brain injury – a TBI that would set the tone for the rest of my life. But I didn’t know it then. The fall Colorado breeze brushed against my hair, my black Security Forces beret now MIA, having shot out of the SUV like I did. Shot out of the windshield that smashed. Shot out, landing right on my head then blacking out.
By BC Purchas4 years ago in Psyche
The Trauma Is Inherited From Your Parents!
This theory was developed when children of Holocaust survivors who were never in a concentration camp were observed and yet had the same symptoms of post-traumatic stress as their parents; their children, the grandchildren of the concentration camp survivors, also had the same symptoms.
By John Wheeler4 years ago in Psyche
Why is it so important to heal from NARCISSISTIC TRAUMA?
Why is it so important to understand and heal from narcissistic trauma? Narcissistic abuse is a form of emotional abuse perpetrated by someone who suffers from narcissism or sociopathy. These individuals tend – whether conscious or unconscious – to use words and language in manipulative ways to damage, alter, or otherwise control others' behaviors.
By Christa Cusack O'Neill4 years ago in Psyche
How Did A Story of Being Groomed on The Internet Turn Into A Campaign for “Not All Men”?
(photo source: Suzi Kim on Unsplash) Trigger Warning: Talk of sexual situations involving a minor I chose to write a very personal story about when I was groomed by strange men in an infamous online chatroom. I understood putting this out there would warrant criticism — which is fine. But I wasn’t prepared for the number of people who told me that I shouldn’t think negatively of men.
By That Psych Nerd4 years ago in Psyche