ptsd
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; The storm after the storm.
Broken Pieces
It's been almost three months. I tried to fall for you slowly, easily, so I could protect my heart. Those attempts failed. You are so kind, considerate, and empathetic. I felt that when you looked at me, you saw me all the way to my soul. The physical attraction was immediate and intense. Two lost and broken souls just trying to find their way home. The first time I looked into your sky-blue eyes, I saw sadness, I saw exhaustion, and the vast emptiness that comes from just giving up. However, in each other, we found hope. I could see that spark of hope in your eyes. That you wanted this to be real just as much as I did, something to hold onto, something true, something that could last a lifetime and not just until things got too hard. We moved in together pretty quickly due to life and circumstances. Honestly, we needed each other to hold on to at night. I know now that your life has been riddled with demons, pain, depression, anxiety, ptsd and so many triggers from your past. You have never been given the right mental tools to move through your pain and torment. So, you have just remained silent and swallowed your pain. No one should have to hold that much pain alone. It has been a task trying to help you, but also hold space for my own well-being, but I want you to know that you are worth it to me. You are not too broken and will never be too broken. I want to show you that I can hold space for both your mental health and my own. We both have so much going on in our minds, and we both try to hold each other up as best we can. When your demons come out to play, I try to slay them or at least make them shut the fuck up, and you do the same for me. We can hold each other, cry, scream at the world, go break shit together, or just sit in silence. I'm trying to learn what you need in your moments of mental health crisis, and I can tell you're trying to learn what I need as well. Have you ever heard of the term "hot mess"? That describes us perfectly. But we are perfectly imperfect. I am your Juliet, and you are my Romeo, as cheesy as that sounds. I swear we're going to be okay. I swear we're going to get healthy together. I've already done some work myself, but we are a team now, and we have to work together. I'm not leaving you. Where you go, I go, together forever. Mental health is a cruel mistress that holds no prisioners. You are such a beautiful soul that has come into my life, and you've helped me in so many ways. You help add structure in my life, you help with my daughter, you're my friend I can talk through my day and emotions with, my partner I can figure out life with, my lover, when I can't breathe because of a panic attack, you hold me and talk me through it. I wouldn't go back to being alone. I want you, all of you, even the broken pieces, because you take me and my broken pieces. Life is full of broken pieces, but what makes it better is to find that special someone who will hold both you and your broken pieces and still say I love you no matter what.
By Lindsey Altomabout 15 hours ago in Psyche
The Inner Critic: Understanding the Psychology of Self-Talk. AI-Generated.
There is a voice most people hear every day, though few pause to examine it closely. It comments on mistakes, evaluates performance, predicts outcomes, and quietly narrates social interactions. Sometimes it encourages. Often it criticizes. This internal dialogue, commonly referred to as the inner critic, belongs to the subcategory of cognitive and self-psychology that explores self-talk and self-evaluation. Far from being random mental noise, the inner critic plays a central role in shaping identity, confidence, and emotional well-being.
By Kyle Butlerabout 22 hours ago in Psyche
Who Do You Look Up To?
My name is Elizabeth, and I am a survivor of sexual abuse and trauma. I endured things, terrible things when I was growing up. I was just a young sprout, but my lack of years and stature, failed to tell everyone what I had already lived through and seen with my young eyes.
By Elizabeth Woodsa day ago in Psyche
Anxiety After Hospitalization: When Medical Treatment Leaves Emotional Scars
As the title of this article implies; the emotional effects of a hospital stay (even a "short" stay) can linger - even if the relevant medical procedures were an overwhelming success. The emotional effects may not manifest immediately upon discharge, but rather show up in an individuals psyche weeks, months or even years after being discharged from hospital. If you ever find yourself needing an operation (whether you end up being put to sleep, or you can remain awake during such); people (myself included) have requested the relevant medical staff involved to only speak kind words (no laughter at and no gossip) to and about one another, including their colleagues outside of the operating room at the time of your operation/surgery. Even if you happen to be unconscious with general anaesthesia; your mind still takes in everything that is going on in the operating room/theatre at the time. And only focus on the well of positivity in general such as good news stories, and investments going well for example. As you would have gathered by now, this article is part-memoir, part-wisdom. I wish to thank the entire team in the operating room for respecting this wish of mine, and for being so caring.
By Justine Crowley6 days ago in Psyche
When Reflection Feels Like Accomplishment
There is a subtle experience many people recognize but struggle to name: the feeling of having done something meaningful without having actually changed anything. It often follows long periods of thinking, talking, organizing, or refining ideas. The mind feels clearer. Tension feels reduced. There is a sense of closure or completion. And yet, when examined closely, nothing in the external world has moved. No decision has been enacted. No behavior has shifted. No responsibility has been embodied. What changed was internal orientation, not external reality.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast6 days ago in Psyche
Meeting My Dead Best Friend Twice: . AI-Generated.
I was twenty when the world cracked in half. My mom died suddenly that spring, leaving me reeling and raw. Then, just months later, Jimmy told me over a nice casual lunch on Broadway in Vancouver— plates filled with burgers & fries, the sharp tang of ketchup mixing with the faint diner coffee bitterness—that the spots on his arms weren’t an injury. They were the first signs of something the doctors were just starting to name AIDS. He was scared, but still grinning like the slutty optimist he was, his voice low over the clatter of dishes. “California,” he said. “They need fresh faces. Mature ones.” He practiced saying James instead of Jimmy, rolling the name around like it might armor him against whatever came next. I laughed, called him a goober, and hugged him so hard the waitress looked away; my cheek pressed against his warm shoulder.
By Thaidal Zoner8 days ago in Psyche
The Brew's Bitter Gift: . Content Warning.
By my early fifties, grief and trauma had stacked so high I could barely hold myself up anymore — just numbness, barely existing and fake smiles along with small talk raised as armor when I had no choice but to be social. It felt like my life was already over and I was just waiting for time to pass.
By Thaidal Zoner8 days ago in Psyche
Lifelines
I’m not afraid of the darkness. It’s been home for so much of my lifetime. I’ve known the darkness for far longer than I’ve known the light. But you, my friend, were the light. It’s why we all had you on a pedestal. You were someone, something none of us had thought we could ever be. Your death marks, not the end, but in fact a new beginning. That singular light in one individual is gone but you shared your light with so many of us that it will never truly be gone. You were a lifeline that kept me hanging on desperately when all seemed without hope. In a dark place, you reached out to me and offered friendship, a hand. I was standing there on the brink of oblivion, apathy dripping from my fingertips and you approached in quiet confidence and struck a note that awakened my soul, and every time over the next 16 years that I found myself ready to dive into the darkness and disappear—that same note would reverberate in the depths resonating me back into this sphere we call “reality” and would hand me that lifeline all over again. Their presence may be fleeting at times but lifelines leave ripples which will ever remain true. When you reached out a hand to me as I began to collapse into the oblivion, you stopped me and without even knowing it, you provided me with a safe place. That memory has been a companion through some very dark times in my life. The vibrations in my soul gave me purpose and helped keep me from letting go.
By Sarah Lynn Jones9 days ago in Psyche
Tragedy in Rhode Island: When Violence Shattered an Ordinary Day
The gunshots in Rhode Island did not begin when the weapon fired. They began much earlier, in a mind that slowly shifted from frustration to fixation, from anger to action. By the time the trigger was pulled, something inside the shooter had already hardened.
By Aarsh Malik9 days ago in Psyche
Trying to Take a Left Off the Roundabout
I won't keep anyone long. An introductory post that may never be followed up on. I'm not in a great place. I can't see many opportunities in my future, that excite me at any rate. My romantic relationship is far from ideal. No kids and mostly estranged from my family. I have so few friends I can't volunteer. I've witnessed corruption in the worst way - repeated institutional failures and no, I'm not a conspiracy nut! Just shit luck and a defiant, diogenic personality that's not exactly helped me or anybody else much.
By Victoria Millinship11 days ago in Psyche
