trauma
At its core, trauma can be thought of as the psychological wounds that persist, even when the physical ones are long gone.
Constructing a Trauma Account
Sometimes it takes a while to figure out if what has happened to you counts as trauma. Not all trauma is capital-T Trauma, and not all trauma causes PTSD. PTSD at its core is a disorder of processing; the brain gets stuck processing the traumatic event(s), and those memories remain active but fragmented. Not everyone who experiences traumatic events gets fully stuck, but processing may be slow and interrupted.
By Ashley L. Peterson7 years ago in Psyche
3 Ways to Heal Following Sexual Assault
For years, sexual assault has been a taboo subject. It’s something we all know happens, but many prefer not to address or acknowledge that it does. This is especially true when it comes to male survivors of sexual assault. It may surprise you to learn that 1 out of every 10 victims of sexual assault are male. This means 2.78 million men have been victims of rape since 1998. Unfortunately, while awareness and support has grown for female victims of sexual assault in the last few years, male victims are still largely ignored or forgotten. While most women feel comfortable speaking with friends about their experiences, men tend to shut down and are less likely to seek help following this kind of trauma. So how can male sexual assault survivors learn to heal and recover?
By Marshall Stevenson7 years ago in Psyche
From the Other Side
The first time I realized that my story may have been different from all of the other children my age, was when I was in grade seven. Aldergrove Public School, the place I don’t like to think about much, the place I was made to realize that I was just a young teenage girl who had been living in isolation most of my years in school. I was the girl who chose to make up excuses so that my teacher would allow me to stay inside for recess. “I’ll do anything, please just, can I stay inside?” Whether it meant wiping boards, or organizing shelves; In my mind, nothing could be worse than going outside and having to pretend as if being alone didn’t bother me. I remember one year, I broke my arm trying to jump off of the swing set, mid air—the swing set my father had built himself in our backyard. I was playing with the only other people I could be comfortable being myself around at the time—my sisters—in the only place I felt comfortable: home. Breaking my arm was painful, but during a school day, it was a blessing in disguise. I didn’t have to make up an excuse for a change. I remember sitting on the windowsill, looking out onto the pavement, and through the portables into the field. I don’t remember what was running through my mind at the time, what I was thinking about, but I remember feeling alone. I felt trapped inside of myself, as if there was more to me than the person I was, and I felt the need to hold that girl captive. I didn’t want anyone to see her. So I stayed quiet most of the time. I hid in the washroom during recess. I took walks through cliques of my fellow classmates, but never stopped to talk to them. I would stand by the double red doors, leaning against the wall, waiting desperately for the bell to ring. I became the odd one; the girl that most of the students poked fun at, perhaps not knowing at the time that the words they used, the words anyone used during that developmental stage of my life in particular, would shape the person I would later become.
By Aisha Chughtai7 years ago in Psyche
People with Violent Intentions Need Help, Too.
As my sister sent a notice to our family group chat this morning, explaining why she didn't have to student teach today, I started to wonder why people are the way they are. If you're unaware of what I'm referring to, basically a young woman (only 18 years old from Miami, FL) was in the Denver area with a shotgun, who had made threats to the Denver-area schools. This young woman was infatuated with the Columbine shooting, and allegedly had violent intentions. She had bought the shotgun when she arrived in Colorado, and was eventually found, apprehended, and then died (All credit for this information to the local news stations in Denver).
By sarah cay smith7 years ago in Psyche
"Fragile - Handle with Care"
Ah yes, mental health.As cliche as it might sound, life truly can and will be a "rollercoaster."Although, I feel thatif you were to more specifically apply that metaphor, it may be more fitting for mental health, or at least mine.I don't want to ramble on providing commonly accepted notions or ideas about the ebb and flow in one's mental state... but sometimes it can be difficult to keep it all together.To bring a more personal lens to the piece, I suffered a medical condition that exclusively bred within my little cranium and in medical terms only lasted three weeks.Those three weeks defined the next eight months of my life. The definitive nature of the impact slowly erode in the following six months... and I estimate around 18 months—from the time I left intensive care. I felt normal again.
By camaïeu cally7 years ago in Psyche
Letters for Myself
This will be a series. Part One To Whom It May Concern, I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety for over two decades. I’ve recently once again entered into outpatient therapy (this is my sixth or seventh time) and have a renewed dedication for it.
By Kathryn Parker7 years ago in Psyche
Triggered
I am a survivor of domestic abuse. When most people learn that they are surprised. More than once I have been told that I don't act like a "victim," my attitude is too bad, or I appear to be too strong to let someone hit me. The truth of the matter is, that's not how abuse works. It wouldn't matter if I was Mr. Universe with the will of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, if someone wants to bring you down, they will. It's a matter of how they do it.
By Edward Anderson7 years ago in Psyche
The Merciful Blue Sky
A girl with hazelnut hair with eyes to match, sat on the edge of a cliff. Forests of huge redwoods surrounded her, green as ever. She was looking out at the brilliant blue sky, it was clear and refreshing. Not a cloud in sight. As her gaze settled on the vastness above, she was remembered the friends she lost. Her best friend, her best friend's brother and her lover. She saw all those lost memories, all those wonderful times in a vision above her. She looked down below her, watching her dangling feet and the worn sneakers that barely clung to them. Such a long way down. But she could see her friends down at the bottom waving up.
By Avery Burroughs7 years ago in Psyche
