trauma
At its core, trauma can be thought of as the psychological wounds that persist, even when the physical ones are long gone.
Black Women Who Survive Rape
The first time I was sexually assaulted was at the age of five. It was by my neighbors. It happened so fast that I cannot begin to remember when my abuse actually started. They were sneaky. They would sit on their front porch and watch me. I thought it was weird at first but they never spoke to me. They would just wave or smile. In the back of my mind, it felt weird but a wave and smile seemed harmless. They were patient went it came to me. I guess it is why they are called sexual predators.
By Cara Simone Sparks 4 years ago in Psyche
Faultlines
There’s a crack in the ice now, come all at once and splitting the mirrored surface like a frozen fault line. I am frustrated. I’ve been enjoying the reflections of the stormy sky, admiring them for hours and hours as they waltzed with one another. They flirted constantly, flashing all their blues and their greens; colours you wouldn’t notice if you did not pay them enough attention, merely glancing as others would. They were exhibitionists and confident in their beauty, rewarding you if you admired them for long enough, if you were willing to look gormless as you stared. They were rewarding me most of all, producing flakes of snow like tears of gratitude.
By Grayson Clayton4 years ago in Psyche
Little Black Boys Get Hurt Too
I remember the first time that I was molested I was six years old. I was called to the assistant principal office of my elementary school and was bribed with candy and promises of toys. In exchange for the candy and toys I received, I was told that I had to do something for him as a way to say thank you. That was the first time that I touched a man's genitals. I was made to promise that I wouldn't tell anybody about what I had done and if I told I would be in trouble. The abuse lasted for a year when another boy came forward and told his parents what had happened to him at the hands of the same man.
By Isaac D. Joseph4 years ago in Psyche
Threading the Needle Through the Eye of Transcendence
It is a feeling of weightlessness, of an absence of time, of space. Synchronously this vast nothingness that exists everywhere is filled with the deepest understanding of wholeness, of complete fullness, of truth that lies in the stillness surrounding me. The pursuit of higher states of consciousness is what inspires me, and the practice of transcendence is what keeps me grounded, de-stressed and in a state of peace.
By Storied Tori4 years ago in Psyche
Hidden Costs of Narcissistic Abuse
I am now treating my intuition as my spirit, my belief system, and I believe in myself. I will no longer abandon myself or my beliefs because I don't want to get sick again. My body knew, and I got sick. It started with brain fog, hypothyroidism, breast problems, cysts in the body, heavy menses, and much more. All symptoms...
By Christa Cusack O'Neill4 years ago in Psyche
John
John is a bad name. Every day is a day of war. Every few days are good days but for the most part, there are constant shots being made. There is always an underlying monster waiting to take a hold of someone from our family. Most of the time the monster takes hold of my dad. I guess he is pretty weak. He stomps around searching for any type of weakness or problems.
By SJ Augustine4 years ago in Psyche
Time's Up
I can’t quite hear myself think, the television is blaring, and the smell of maple pancakes and hickory smoked bacon appear to waltz around my nostrils. I didn’t even realize it had started; my fingers were nervously tapping upon the wooden table as I considered what I would do next.
By MK Colbert4 years ago in Psyche
My Dark Guardian Angel
The wind pushed against my face; I felt weightless. Suddenly, I stopped. I opened my eyes and saw the ground near my face. Looking up, I became aware that everything that frozen. My dress and hair were frozen flying in ripples behind me, and the leaves on the trees were frozen in a paused wind. I didn’t know what was happening; I had never died before, maybe this was normal. I heard a slow clapping, breaking through the silence. I looked around to find the source, but I didn’t see one.
By Christan Tracy4 years ago in Psyche
The Baptism and the Bake Sale
She sought a nepenthes… something to mute the pain… banish the memories. An analgesia of monumental proportions. Her story was markedly different. It was sadly unique. No one could identify the hardships, the abuse, the trauma, the pain, by having a conversation with her (surface), by seeing her (beauty), by meeting her (personally). There were no tell tale signs of the wrenching PTSD that lurked/lingered/proliferated beneath her outer layer, like lava within a volcano, denied by the very ones who owed her assistance.
By Jalyn Janvier4 years ago in Psyche
