trauma
At its core, trauma can be thought of as the psychological wounds that persist, even when the physical ones are long gone.
Triggered Memories
A great cry, a mournful wail, an ear-piercing scream—an altogether heart-wrenching picture of a young woman crying out for her life, eyes shot forward in sheer panic. It was a blurry picture and a fainting frame. There she was in her car, seemingly cornered in her driveway. It was a long driveway going downhill, away from a lofty home that stood before it. Her screams were so frightened. It was like seeing a child alone in a dark room. So scared, so isolated; pending certain doom. She just kept screaming, waving her hands so as to frighten away something, or someone.
By Mizael Mendez4 years ago in Psyche
The Day Her Life Changed
When it all started it was the day before my fifth birthday. If only I knew that it would change my life forever. It was the day my baby brother passed away. He was my best friend who was by my side the whole time. He was very protective of me. If you were mean to me my baby brother would hit you till you apologized. He was deaf and had a hard time fitting in and I accepted him for who he was. I also had a hard time fitting in since I had spent most of my time with my brother and I did not care, he was my best friend. On May 11th, my best friend passed away. Jonathan is someone who made me feel as though I was never alone. A few months after my brothers death, I started to notice my mother changing. She started to be super depressed and refused to get out of bed for weeks. Then one strange day my mom got out of bed and decided to get a job. She changed so fast that I never realized my mother was on drugs. My mother would hide in her room closing the door and locking it. My mother was on drugs for years before something happened. Her drug of choice was Methamphetamine. This was just the only started of my life going downhill till one day it just hit a super happy note. But of course I am getting ahead of my self.
By Jessica Munns5 years ago in Psyche
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 5 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 Clayton5 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. Joseph5 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 Tori5 years ago in Psyche
