personality disorder
Personality disorders are as complex as they are misunderstood; delve into this diagnosis and learn the typical cognitions, behaviors, and inner experience of those inflicted.
You Are Not Empty, You Are Overloaded
You are not empty. You are not broken. You are not dull. - You are overloaded. - People often describe certain mental states as “having nothing in their head,” but that description is almost always inaccurate. What feels like emptiness is usually saturation. The mind has not stopped producing content. It has lost spare capacity. The system is busy allocating energy toward coping, regulating, or enduring, and there is little left over for reflection, synthesis, or creativity. This distinction matters, because mistaking overload for emptiness leads people to judge themselves harshly for conditions that are largely structural and biological.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast10 days ago in Psyche
Stepping Out of the Shadow of My Beautiful Twin
I can’t remember how many times I have been almost ‘admired’, not for who I was, but for who I was related to. This admiration would be expressed in the style of the following examples, on finding out I was related to my twin brother:
By Chantal Christie Weiss14 days ago in Psyche
Why Are Psychiatrists, Psychologists, Therapists, and Counselors Called “Shrinks”?
Most of us have heard someone say, “I’m going to see my shrink,” with a shrug or a half‑smile — but have you ever stopped to wonder where that slang word came from? It’s one of those cultural words we have heard, and we begin using them without knowing what they actually mean.
By Margaret Minnicks14 days ago in Psyche
Mirror, Mirror - Who Do You See?
Hey, how are you feeling today? Have you taken some time for yourself today? If you are a trauma survivor, the answer is probably not. As survivors, the last person we think about is ourselves because we have spent years being suppressed into believing that we don't exist, that we are nothing, and that we deserve nothing.
By Elizabeth Woods16 days ago in Psyche
This Show Makes You Suspicious on Purpose
At first, it feels harmless. You sit down to watch His & Hers the way you sit down to watch any thriller. Lights dimmed. Phone face-down. A body on screen. A mystery to solve. Two people telling the same story in different voices. You tell yourself this is entertainment. Suspense. Craft.
By Aarsh Malik21 days ago in Psyche
The Psychology of Losing Interest in Life
I didn't notice when I stopped caring. It wasn't a decision, wasn't a moment. It was a gradual dimming, like someone slowly turning down the lights in a room so incrementally that you don't realize you're sitting in darkness until you can barely see anymore.
By Ameer Moavia30 days ago in Psyche
The Psychology of Living in Your Head
I was at dinner with friends when I realized I had no idea what anyone had been talking about for the last fifteen minutes. They were laughing, animated, fully present in the moment. Meanwhile, I was three conversations deep in my own head—replaying something awkward I'd said two hours ago, planning tomorrow's presentation, and simultaneously worrying about whether I'd come across as distant by not contributing enough to this very conversation I wasn't actually having. My best friend touched my arm. "You okay? You seem a million miles away." She had no idea. I wasn't a million miles away. I was right there at the table, but I was also simultaneously existing in seventeen different mental dimensions, none of which were the present moment. "Sorry," I mumbled. "Just tired." But I wasn't tired. I was just living in my head again. Like always. The Inner World That Never Sleeps For as long as I can remember, my mental life has been louder, more vivid, and more consuming than my actual life. While my body moves through the world—working, eating, talking—my mind is elsewhere, running a constant stream of thoughts, scenarios, conversations, and narratives that never stop. I live in a perpetual state of analysis. Every interaction gets dissected afterward. Every decision gets examined from forty-seven angles. Every feeling gets intellectualized, categorized, and filed away for future rumination. My therapist calls it "being in your head." I call it my default state of existence. Other people seem to just be—they go to the gym and think about the gym. They watch movies and experience the story. They have conversations and stay in those conversations. I go to the gym and plan my entire week. I watch movies and critique the dialogue while simultaneously thinking about my own life's narrative arc. I have conversations while having three other conversations with myself about the conversation I'm supposed to be having. It's exhausting. But it's also the only way I know how to exist. The Architects of Overthinking I wasn't born this way. Or maybe I was, but life certainly reinforced it. Growing up, my household was unpredictable. Not chaotic in an obvious way, but emotionally volatile. I learned early that survival meant prediction—if I could think through every possible scenario, anticipate every reaction, analyze every mood shift, I could stay safe. My mind became my refuge and my fortress. When the outside world felt uncertain, I could retreat inward, where I had complete control. I could replay conversations until I found the "right" response. I could plan futures in meticulous detail. I could create entire worlds that made sense in ways reality never did. School rewarded this tendency. Teachers praised my thoughtfulness, my ability to see multiple perspectives, my rich inner life. "She's an old soul," they'd say. "Very introspective." What they didn't see was that I wasn't choosing introspection. I was trapped in it. The Prison of Possibility Living in your head means living in infinite possibility—and infinite paralysis. Every decision becomes monumental because I can see every potential outcome. Choosing a restaurant requires weighing seventeen variables. Sending a simple email takes an hour because I'm analyzing every word choice, every possible interpretation, every way it could be misunderstood. My partner once joked that I could turn "Should we get pizza tonight?" into an existential crisis. He wasn't wrong. But it's not funny when you're the one drowning in it. When your brain treats every choice like a choose-your-own-adventure book with infinite pages. When you're so busy thinking about living that you forget to actually live. I've missed so much because I was too busy processing it. Sunsets I didn't see because I was ruminating. Conversations I didn't hear because I was rehearsing what I'd say next. Moments of joy that passed me by because I was already analyzing them, trying to capture and preserve them instead of simply experiencing them.
By Ameer Moaviaabout a month ago in Psyche
