trauma
At its core, trauma can be thought of as the psychological wounds that persist, even when the physical ones are long gone.
Redefining Myself
There are moments in life that define us, and sometimes moments so traumatic we need to redefine ourselves. We hear about these life events happening to other people but are rarely prepared for them to touch our lives. I was in shock when I found myself lying in the street, and my daughter tipped over in the bike trailer after a driver crashed into us. Moments earlier, the car had been moving towards my bike, and I didn’t have time to get us out of the way. My daughter was crying, and I tried my best to calm down. We did the best we could in that horrible, unexpected moment.
By Shailah Handy4 years ago in Psyche
Flash back to the crush
After the tragic events of the deaths at the Astroworld concert memories were triggered. I have been at the front for many concerts over many years, this event brought flashbacks of the biggest and most tragic. It was when I was 18, although I am now 51 some days it seems very recent.
By ASHLEY SMITH4 years ago in Psyche
The Day I Heard the News
It was sometime in the year 2000. I was in kindergarten, about five years old. It was time for all the parents to round up their kids and haul them off from after-school daycare. My brother and I attended this daycare directly across the street from our elementary school at the time. We had all sorts of activities in which we could partake. We made friends, played games, learned from the daycare staff and our peers, but mostly we just longed to be home and away from the grips of the academic landscape that was school and post-class daycare. We decompressed at home — played with our action figures, plugged in our Nintendo 64, or watched our favorite cartoons on television. That’s what we really looked forward to every day. On a great day, we would congregate with friends in the neighborhood ad pay elaborate, large scale games of tag or cops-and-robbers, or jump on the trampolines at friends’ houses whose parents allowed them to have one. Our parents told us not to jump on them which made us that much more excited to do so. But one day in October, instead of video games, cartoons and trampolines, the rest of our day would turn out to be more memorable than an episode of our favorite cartoon.
By Hogan England4 years ago in Psyche
Lions Heart
You were suppose to be different, you promised to be different, you said she was safe to place her heart in your hands but when shit got real you couldn't make the stand and when she got angry and started projecting her pain you painted her a monster and shoved her back in her lane.
By Destiny Tozier4 years ago in Psyche
Rabbit Cage
Imagine growing up dirt poor, like the other kids made fun of your shoes dirt poor under the "care" of a dangerous, violent, delusional psychopath. That's what I had going on. My father somehow ruined his mind with the most gentle "drug" experience that exists. He smoked a lot of weed and somehow it backed his mind up into his own special form of insanity and somehow, he remained violent...then he met my soon to be step-mother, a horrible, nasty, violent cunt herself. She once purposefully slammed a car door completely closed on my hand when I was in third grade. When she opened the door, my hand was shaped like the space between the door and the body of the car. It didn't break due to the incredible pliability of children's bones but I was both in pain and horrified. Yes, these are the two people that "raised" me and often let me know that my only value to them was a child support check. My birth mother was the first woman in Kentucky state history to lose custody of her children (she abandoned me as an infant, to die in the winter. I was an original trashcan baby. In her defense, so was traumatized by my father). I really lucked out with my childhood circumstance it seems.
By J.D. Bradley4 years ago in Psyche
Crash
At first there is nothing—the long, dark, infinite nothingness of oblivion where the conscience takes a backseat to the unconscious. Then there are the smells, crisp, vivid scents of fuel, smoke, ozone, burned rubber, and, oddly out of place, coffee. This is followed by sound, sounds so awful they grate the bone and chill the blood. These are screams—screams of fear, agony, pain, and shock. It isn’t until my fuzzy brain begins to clear that I realize these sounds are escaping from me.
By Laura Ball4 years ago in Psyche
