trauma
At its core, trauma can be thought of as the psychological wounds that persist, even when the physical ones are long gone.
Scared of Things that Aren't There
Hello! This is my first story in Psyche and I am very excited but also anxious to share my experiences and struggles with the world. I hope that anyone who reads them can learn something new since my goal is for people to see and understand a different point of view in my life. A life of a 17-year-old with many struggles but also strengths.
By Scarlett Wood7 years ago in Psyche
The Trauma Hijack
We've all heard of the fight or flight response. What's not as well known is the freeze response that's also a potential automatic response to danger. This is particularly relevant in the #metoo era to help understand people's seemingly unusual reactions during traumatic events.
By Ashley L. Peterson7 years ago in Psyche
The Frightening Consequences of Childhood Trauma
It's no secret that abuse and neglect in childhood cause damage to the child. It's unsurprising that psychological harm could persist for many years. What is less known, though, is the profound connection between negative experiences in childhood and adverse health outcomes in adulthood. The Adverse Childhood Experiences was the first large study to shine a stark light on just how overwhelming this link was.
By Ashley L. Peterson7 years ago in Psyche
The Life I Never Asked For (Pt. 2)
I had sat a year in the juvenile prison, I was considered a repeat offender and a criminal. I honestly didn't care, because I was safe. I sure did my fair share of dumb things, and getting myself a criminal record just to screw myself over was one of the worst. While I was there, I had a lot of time to think about my life. The fact that my so called family never visited just made my hatred so much worse for them. I knew I didn't want to go home, I didn't want to do drugs anymore. I wanted a happy and clean life.
By Kay Mellinger7 years ago in Psyche
U-turn (Pt. 1)
To resemble any person’s story is to start from the roots of it all. Growing up, it was not the typical Chinese family nor was I being submerged in loving and kindness. My father was a single dad divorced when I was four. A four-year-old not truly knowing the meaning of days, let alone being stripped away from my biological mother. Moving to the United States was the plan for my father since I was his care now. At the age of eight, I came to Los Angeles with boxes of trauma and trembling heart. However far away from my birth town and mother, the images of my father beating my mother were still encapsulated into my head while trying to adjust to things around me, the culture shocks!
By Aiyan Turley7 years ago in Psyche
The Night That Haunts Me
Looking back at the seven year old girl doing her homework on “what I want to be when I grow up,” I never thought I would be the twenty-one-year-old sitting, frozen still, weeping in the shower. I never imagined that if anyone grabbed my neck (even in a playful way) again, I would have flashbacks of his heavy weight crushing my body and soul. I never believed that I would have to explain to my parents why I am seventeen and pregnant and how it wasn’t my fault. And worst of all, I never thought it would come from someone I loved. I carry a hatred in my heart for someone I once trusted with my life. It took me months to get over the nightmares. Now, I am thankful they only come weekly. It took me so long before someone could touch me or hold my hand. But I believe it’s unfair to not tell you everything. So here I go..
By Valentina Sophia7 years ago in Psyche
Growing Up
This is my first ever time using this, so I'm not sure whether this will get published or if anyone will read it. I guess I'm doing it for myself, but as a sort of diary, if you will. I'm the stereotypical man who struggles to talk openly about how he feels, and I suppose this is a very good way of doing that without openly talking about it face to face, which I don't fancy.
By Rich Dunbar7 years ago in Psyche
Sunday
For five minutes I was able to escape into the showers, and feel the hot water, and stinging strength of the water pressure as it hit my skin. I washed up, and changed into my new clothes that my husband brought. The pajama pants fit perfectly, and my oversized hoodie was perfect for curling up on the couch.
By Rachel Bonneval7 years ago in Psyche
Still Dealing with the Loss
I was born in 1987 to two wonderful parents. They loved and cared for each other and we were all happy. 18 months later my sister was born, and then two years passed before my youngest sister was born. We moved a few times before settling in New York. Like most families, my parents had their issues and split for a while. Myself, my dad, and my youngest sister stayed in New York, while my mom and my middle sister went to Michigan for a while. I am unsure of how long had passed in between them splitting and eventually working it out, but we were all to meet in Maryland to get back together as a family. On December 26, 1991, my father received the most heartbreaking news possible—my mother had been in a car accident and was dead on arrival at the hospital. She was 22 years old, with a husband and three little girls. He made his way to Michigan for all the proper funeral arrangements and all, but was never the same after. My two younger sisters were too young to really know or understand what happened to our mother. It was not until I was 18 that I was finally given the accident report from that dreadful day. I, to this day, can still picture everything that I read in that report.
By Amber Consiglio7 years ago in Psyche
