family

Family can be our support system. Or they can be part of the problem. All about the complicated, loving, and difficult relationship with us and the ones who love us.

Difficult Truth
In an old abandoned house at the end of Falls Street, plants took over the foundation, as it was crumbling away into nothing. A young high school girl after school would find herself walking towards this house. Stepping inside felt as if she had a place that wanted her, like she had a purpose in life. Every day going to school was a struggle, always finding herself leaving early or crying behind the school. She could never go home and tell her parents about what was happening. Her mom was a drug addict that got drunk and high every night, not having a care in the world. Sara knew her mom was hurting her unborn brother by her actions. Simply just taking the consequences in and processing it through her mind, she knew her brother wouldn’t survive. Her father, on the other hand, was never around; when he was around, he would always be very verbally abusive, ending up in arguments over nothing important. Her younger brother, James, being verbally abused by his words, felt like torture to Sara, not knowing how she could stop the abuse from happening, only knowing it could only get worse from there. With nowhere to turn to feel alone and bullied at school, she soon found herself falling into a deep dark hole, finding a comfort blanket of loneliness and depression wrapping around her as if it was the only way.
By Natalie C..8 years ago in Psyche
Sixteen
Just the sight of him that day gave me a feeling, and I knew. I was getting off the school bus when I noticed him a few feet up the road. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach and a cloud swooped over my head. I didn't call out to him, or chase after him. I just walked. Frankly because I wasn't even certain if that was him on his way home that early in the day when he should have been at work, but also because if that was him I knew something was wrong, or something will be.
By Diana De La Cruz8 years ago in Psyche
Promise You’ll Be There Fighting the Addiction With Them
I’m guessing, since I’ve had a couple decades of life on this planet, it doesn’t come easy. We’re built to withstand those pernicious things that may come into our lives — things like trauma, depression, even pain can be detrimental to our overall health. But what about a family member?
By Ricksen's––A––"Neo-Manteau"8 years ago in Psyche
Why Being in a Relationship Doesn’t Make All the Bad Stuff Go Away
"It’s okay for you because you’re in a relationship,” a friend said to me once. “Surely things don’t get you down so much because you’ve got a partner,” a colleague told me. “It can’t be that bad when there’s two of you,” a family member offered.
By Vee Gray8 years ago in Psyche
Obesity + Depression
Outside of my depressive episodes, the only time I am self-conscious is when I’m with my family. Its hard enough feeling worthless when the actions of people you love seem to validate those feelings. I’ve gone back and forth for years caring and not caring about what my family feels about me but being home for the summer has seemed to both heal old wounds and open new ones. The latest obsession my family has with me is my weight. Now, I’ve always been big. I was always a fat kid and for awhile, I was the “oh, I just want to eat his cheeks” fat. Then I was the “damn, what are you feeding this kid, he’s gonna make a great linebacker” fat. By the end of middle school I was “kids make fun of him because of his size” fat.
By Devon Rooks8 years ago in Psyche
Vinnie's Story
It's been four years to the day since my brother took his own life. My brother, Vinnie would be twenty-one now, probably living in the countryside, all cooped up in front of the fire with a book in his hand. But no. He's gone.
By Bella Higgins8 years ago in Psyche
The Garden
It’s been years since I've seen you. And even though I am getting by in these solitary years since you left, there is not a single day that I don’t think of you. Not a single day that I can forget. Your words and actions drift endlessly from hundred miles away, constantly plaguing everyday thoughts. You taint every single memory I have of my childhood, every single memory I have of myself. From the monster I am a part of, you still truly define me. You are the embodiment of everything I am petrified to be. Everything I don’t want to finalize myself into is this very monster I've grown to known, the final form of my beautiful insanity. I can’t say I never sat here wishing for your demise. To a time before all this happened and I was pure. To save every countless individual you corrupted by your touch. Your actions and your very being trickled down into every surface of my skull, every surface of anyone who was remotely close to you.
By rot flower8 years ago in Psyche
When Your Muslim Parents Don't Understand Mental Health
I grew up with traditional Pakistani parents, arranged marriage and all from the hearts of Karachi. From a young age, I had already known what I can and cannot do around them. I can talk to them about grades and food and friends, just not about boys and feelings and sex. I can watch cartoons and Disney shows but nothing that has kissing and relationships and girls showing a lot of skin. Even important topics such as periods were avoided. To this day, my mother still has not properly told me what a period is and when I got it, all she did was show me how to wash my underwear so we don't buy new ones and how to put on a pad. Growing up, these were just taboo topics that as a Muslim child were instilled in you not to talk about.
By Sahar C8 years ago in Psyche
Becoming My Mother
Most women say if they become even half of the woman their mother was, they'd be happy; knowing their mother was a wonderful, compassionate woman. Someone who would kiss their "boo boos," a best friend, a confidante...Well, in my case, being half of my mother terrifies the daylights out of me. I'm sure she had some good in her, but I was hardly a witness to those parts of her. Finding good memories are few and far between. She wasn't an alcoholic or drug addict. At my young age it just seemed like I was her problem. I was the reason she was upset all the time. I was sure that I deserved all of her "discipline." Waking up as a six-year-old and asking her if I could have a bowl of cereal, I was positive it was totally disrespectful to wake her up and ask. I was sure I deserved being called “stupid little b****" after being yelled at and the bowl of cereal was practically thrown at me on the table. I was sure I did something wrong. There were times where she was happy to help me with my homework and after a few minutes of frustrating her, I felt the sharpened end of a pencil into my scalp. She would often use many devices or any to display her frustration with me. We lived in a one bedroom house and we slept in the same bed until I was 11. To me, it was a dungeon and I hated it. She finally died when I was 13, and it didn't bother me one bit. I never cried once.
By Melissa Weakly8 years ago in Psyche
Folie à Deux
Rebecca pulled up to the house and saw her mother’s car parked in the driveway. She hoped today was a better day for her mother. She parked her car and drew in a deep breath before releasing a heavy sigh and making her way towards the front door. As she reached to unlock the door, she felt a tightening in her thigh, and she could not figure out if it was because she was anxious or itchy.
By Deneane Delaney Brooks8 years ago in Psyche
Understanding
I’ve had to be an “adult” since I was 7. I’ve had to put on my big girl pants and put on a brave face since my parents split up when I was three. Not to be dramatic or anything but it sort of ruined my childhood. I was stuck between two people who seemed like they just hated each other, or maybe didn’t understand each other. I had to pick sides and listen to each one bad mouth the other, and a part of me always understood. At first I thought love was forever, and then I saw it disappear within my parents first few years here. It sucked.
By Tamara Nicotra8 years ago in Psyche
Trying to Escape My Internal Prison
I wish that I was able to tell everyone that I am perfectly fine and I'm living a completely worry-free life. Sadly to say, that is not the case. I am one of those few unlucky people who suffer from a plethora of mental instabilities. On top of that, I am also a mother. My day to day life of even completing simple tasks can sometimes seem like an impossible feat. I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (P.T.S.D.) and also I suffer from anxiety and paranoia.
By Alycia dasilva8 years ago in Psyche