treatments
The past, present and future of psychiatric diagnosis and beliefs about treatment in every culture and pocket of society.
Situational Depression: Causes, Symptoms, Recovery, and How to Heal After Life’s Challenges
Life does not always go as planned. Unexpected events such as academic failure, job loss, relationship breakdowns, or family conflicts can deeply affect emotional stability.
By Daily Motivation7 days ago in Psyche
My Experience on Silencing Autism
I wanted to do an educational article on something that has recently come up in my attention. I was having lunch with some of my peers - and one of the ladies spoke briefly about someone she provides care for: "You know, so-and-so still is so loud and needs to learn to not make everyone miserable just because she is miserable." The so-and-so is an autistic individual and I wanted to say something then, but bit my tongue.
By The Schizophrenic Mom7 days ago in Psyche
The Speed of Life
We live in an age where speed is celebrated. Faster internet, faster success, faster replies, faster results. From the moment we wake up, life seems to press a silent accelerator. Notifications buzz, deadlines chase us, and comparison quietly sits in our pockets. The speed of life keeps increasing—but the quality of life often does not. This raises a powerful psychological question: Is moving faster actually helping us live better, or is it slowly draining the meaning from our lives?
By Alexander Mind9 days ago in Psyche
The Weight of Words Never Spoken: What Happens When We Bury Our Emotions Alive
For years, I smiled through the pain, convinced that silence was strength. It wasn't until my body started screaming what my mouth refused to say that I learned the true cost of swallowing my truth. The panic attack hit me in the middle of a Tuesday morning meeting. One moment I was nodding along to quarterly projections, and the next, my chest tightened like someone had wrapped steel cables around my ribcage. My hands trembled. The room spun. I couldn't breathe. Twenty faces stared at me as I mumbled an excuse and stumbled out, convinced I was dying. The ER doctor's words still echo in my mind: "Physically, you're fine. But your body is trying to tell you something." I wanted to laugh. My body had been screaming at me for years. I just hadn't been listening. The Art of Pretending I learned early that emotions were inconvenient. Crying made people uncomfortable. Anger made me difficult. Sadness was selfish when others had it worse. So I became an expert at the smile that didn't reach my eyes, the "I'm fine" that meant anything but. When my father left without saying goodbye, I swallowed my abandonment and wore a brave face for my mother. When my best friend betrayed my trust, I pushed down the hurt and pretended it didn't matter. When my boss belittled me in front of colleagues, I buried my humiliation under layers of professional composure. I told myself I was being strong. Mature. Rising above it all. What I was actually doing was building a pressure cooker inside my chest, adding more heat every time I chose silence over honesty, more tension every time I said "it's okay" when it absolutely wasn't. When the Body Keeps Score The human body is remarkably honest. It will express what the mouth refuses to say. My suppressed emotions didn't disappear—they just found other ways to speak. The chronic headaches that no medication could touch. The insomnia that left me staring at the ceiling at 3 AM, mind racing with thoughts I wouldn't let myself think during daylight. The digestive issues that doctors couldn't explain. The inexplicable fatigue that made even simple tasks feel mountainous. I visited specialist after specialist, searching for a physical explanation for what was actually an emotional rebellion. My body had become a museum of unexpressed feelings, each symptom a exhibit of something I'd refused to process. The panic attacks became more frequent. My immune system weakened. I'd catch every cold, every flu, as if my body was too exhausted from managing my emotional lockdown to defend against anything else. The Breaking Point The Tuesday morning panic attack was my breaking point, but it wasn't the beginning. It was just the moment I could no longer ignore what had been building for decades. That night, alone in my apartment, I finally let myself feel. Not just the fear from the panic attack, but everything I'd been storing in the vault of my chest. The grief. The rage. The disappointment. The loneliness. The hurt.
By Ameer Moavia9 days ago in Psyche
The Night I Understood Football
I didn’t go to the game expecting hope. It was a cold November Thursday. My brother had just lost his job. My nephew hadn’t spoken in days after a school incident. The world felt heavy, and the last thing I wanted was to watch a mismatch—our hometown team facing a dynasty that hadn’t lost in months.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Psyche
The Year She Forgot How to Be Around People
Emma had been alone for 347 days when she realized she'd forgotten how to have a conversation. It wasn't intentional isolation. It started with the pandemic—everyone retreated into their separate spaces, and Emma's one-bedroom apartment became the entire universe. Then her remote job eliminated the casual water cooler chats. Her best friend moved across the country. Her weekly book club dissolved. One by one, the threads connecting her to other humans frayed and snapped. And Emma told herself she was fine. She had video calls sometimes. She texted people. She scrolled through social media seeing everyone else's lives. She wasn't truly alone. But when her neighbor knocked on her door to ask about a package delivery, Emma opened her mouth to respond and the words came out wrong. Stilted. Like she'd forgotten the rhythm of human speech. "I... yes. The package. It's... I haven't..." She couldn't form a complete sentence. Her neighbor looked at her with concern, and Emma felt a wave of panic. What was happening to her? After he left, Emma sat on her couch and tried to remember the last real conversation she'd had. Not a transactional exchange with a delivery person or a scripted work call, but an actual spontaneous human interaction. She couldn't remember. And when she tried to imagine having one now, her brain short-circuited. The social scripts she'd once known automatically—how to read facial expressions, when to laugh, how to know when it was her turn to talk—felt like a foreign language she'd once been fluent in but had somehow forgotten. Emma wasn't just lonely anymore. Loneliness had physically changed her brain. And she had no idea how to change it back.
By Ameer Moavia12 days ago in Psyche
When Silence Hurts More Than Words
Mia grew up in a quiet house. Her parents never screamed. Never threw things. Never called each other names or slammed doors. To anyone looking from the outside, they were the picture of civility—calm, controlled, perfectly composed.
By Ameer Moavia13 days ago in Psyche
