humanity
Mental health is a fundamental right; the future of humanity depends on it.
Mirror Moment
She opened the door. A woman stood there smiling, and staring in her eyes as if she known her in another life. She entered the room, and from the bedroom behind, he asked “who is it baby?” She answered with large eyes on the woman, “I don’t know, but she’s here now.”
By Chelsie Monet4 years ago in Psyche
This Love Story About a Bipolar Girl Made Me Cry Like a Baby
All of us enjoy choosing movies and entertainment that moves us in some kind of way. That’s probably the biggest reason that people enjoy watching romantic comedies; they know they’re going to have a good laugh, plus feel something at least close to emotional.
By Justiss Goode4 years ago in Psyche
According to research, we have no idea about what we desire.
No one can tell you more about yourself than what you already know once you get to know yourself. But after all, there's a slim chance that we'll ever know everything there is to know about ourselves. Sure, we know who we believe we are, how we think we think, and other such details. However, we are far more complicated than we let on, and far more complex than we admit to ourselves. Implicit biases, heuristics, and a need for conformity are just a few examples of data that demonstrate our limited comprehension of ourselves.
By Avocado Nunzella BSc (Psych) -- M.A.P 4 years ago in Psyche
Having a Rough Time
I just needed to vent on here. I am hoping that this post can help someone or they can at least relate. Recently my panic and anxiety has come back with a vengance. I feel greatful to atleast know this is what is going on with my body, but it doesnt make things any less scary. Or frustrating for that matter. I know healing isn't liner, and I am trying to accept my bad days but its so hard to do sometimes. I am on vacation from work, even though its really just a staycation. Being away from work has helped a little bit, but not as much as I had hoped.
By Kimmiekins44 years ago in Psyche
I sit. I wait.
I sit. I wait. A sterile beige room taunts me as a cocktail of bleach and dust swirl around the air. Fading framed photographs fill the tragic walls. Battered reupholstered chairs retain the shadowy concave imprints of the people who waited here before me.
By Bianca Shaw4 years ago in Psyche
