humanity
Mental health is a fundamental right; the future of humanity depends on it.
Hidden Identities
It was a grey, cold morning. The kind of grey and cold you only have the miserable privilege of enduring when you live in a spectacular house on the lake. The winters here are beautiful, but miserable. A special kind of sarcastic fuck you from mother nature herself.
By Jen Craig-Evans5 years ago in Psyche
Getting out of Forgottensville, West Virginia.
12th July Blood splattered on the sink below me. Hunched over, wheezing. More coughing. more blood. And rest, my lungs deserve it. I took a step back, stumbling as I lowered myself, resting my back against the bathtub’s wall.
By George Devo5 years ago in Psyche
A Souls Desire
I remember the day when 20,000 pieces of paper fell from the clouds with the grace of crisp fresh snow. Before then, the only type of magic I believed in came from a pen’s first glide across a new ivory sheet of paper. Yet there I sat with a Moleskine journal full of mistake-marked pages in my left hand and a fresh 100 dollar bill in my right. The sound of shuffling papers tantalized my ears as the hum of the city ceased to an awe-stricken buzz. As the world around me rubbed its eyes with disbelief, I realized I couldn’t tell who was lying: the sky or the state of my mind.
By Lauren Portee5 years ago in Psyche
Black=What?
When strange things happen to me in broad daylight– like noticing an exploded bracelet on the ground and (just like a fairy tale) I eagerly stoop to gather seed pearls scattered on the parking lot pavement, I can sense the wobbly dream world is close. And when later on the same walk, I find a small black notebook next to the abandoned tennis court on the way to the woods, there is again, this swelling of peculiar presence. Mind and body suddenly function as metaphor – I am a two-way mirror bridge. The outer world aligns so surprisingly and precisely with my internal narrative that it feels like the pleasure of rhyme followed all the way back to silence. Or the voice of a bell pulsing into inaudible vibration: here is a brief chance to notice the flavor of the void – vast, sparkling possibility! My own tongue is the permission slip, and it seems completely obvious my whole life has been a giant game of hide and seek. This is how I feel when I flip it open.
By Kathleen Ivanoff5 years ago in Psyche
The Optimistic Cynic
Take this story with a grain of salt, as a truth no one particularly cares about, as a story from the desk of a certified madman. I found this short transcript while rummaging through an estate sale, an old, crumpled, unsent letter to a soul unknown. Take it seriously, if you want. Enjoy.
By Mental Sweat5 years ago in Psyche
Fountain pens are still a thing
Fountain Pens Are Still A Thing By: The ADHD Accountant – Krid Welcome to our little community. We’re all around you; you may know one of us. You might even be on of us. Let me give you a quick tour of how I ended up down the rabbit hole; I’m no Alice but you may find a wonder land like I have. And you too may find Wonder Pens to be enabling…
By ADHD Accountant5 years ago in Psyche
