Anonymous Venting for Mental Health and Emotional Support

Here is the Google Doc for the whisper. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HD_6uIuAvSYwy_zKGEj7rWaRgJnT5bxgMv-pJcE-Qsw/edit?tab=t.0

Anyways, longer version.

what if I gain a lot of weight in only a few months, because many people say at this age, you change weight drastically. What if I go from 45 to 60kg in only a few months, while I still stay 5'4"? I'd look chubbier since I'm not very tall. What if from February to 25th April, I can't fit in a tank top I probably bought somewhere during April itself for Joseph? Or my jeans won't fit? One cosplayer said she took 3 months to make an outfit, and when she wore it on 5th month to an event, she couldn't fit and she had to re-sew the thing and she felt bad because she got late. What if I go from my perfect beanstalk self to looking like a middle aged at only 14, because my fat got fatter? No woman likes being old, they all say that in their memoirs because they're fat, they got menopause, and they're weaker! How come my mom seems so chill at 44, she literally grows tiny but dark chin hairs which I have to pluck! I'll gain 20kg in only 2 months! They said drastic change, so it's drastic! I may eat the same, but if I eat slightly more, I'll get fat. Puberty hits people hard, and trust me, I've heard some women say they go from skinny to very curvy somehow. I don't wanna get fat, especially if the tank-top I'll buy or jeans I already own are stretchy or fit me just fine, and if they don't I'll feel bad because I'm buying extra when the wig and boots would be the most expensive parts already. Plus, imagine I go from S to L sized from the same food I eat, maybe I should stop snacking or eating so fast. 2 months can do stuff, maybe! What if I balloon from my already normal 45kg, which I don't feel bad about because that weight as of now is fine for me. What if I suddenly get hungrier in one month and start eating more, until I store fat instead of whatever other important nutrients? My dad may say if I eat a lot and fast it's good because my body needs to grow, but I don't care, the older you get, the slower metabolism is, so I'll end up 60kg in 2.5 months only. 2 months may be too early. What if I can't even fit the dress anymore, with my own clothes. I haven't fluctuated too much now, but what if I get some random hormonal issue that causes me to gain weight faster at 14?? My mom already grows small darker chin hairs because she's 44, and maybe she has PCOS, even when she tells me no like I asked something weird. She could be lying. Plus, what if my makeup looks bad on my face? I've seen kid cosplayers not even be able to put that because their parents didn't allow, and when they grew up with makeup they mock their younger selves for it. My mom may buy me eyeliner for the face lines and maybe an eyebrow brush to thicken my brows to resemble Joseph, but on one hand I'm cosplaying a guy as a girl, I may look ugly and too angry because of the eyebrows being too weird, the face lines may look ugly even if I concealed my face with the usual stuff, I don't have contact lenses so what if I look weird with my dark brown eyes, and I have braces so it's even worse and what if the wig also looks weird when I style it with hairspray and comb and how do I maintain it? I'm gonna regret going when I'm gonna become 25, I know it! At 25, you HATE when you were a kid, even if you had fun, because fun doesn't cover up bad embarrassment.

I keep having this same dream, and I wake up every time with the same quiet shock. I’m a woman, married, raising a family, doing the normal life stuff. In the dream, my husband is leaving us. Not in a dramatic way. No shouting, no slammed doors. He’s calm. Almost gentle. He tells me it’s time, like he’s explaining a schedule change. The house looks exactly right. The kids are there, but distant, like background noise. Everything feels precise, realistic, painfully detailed. I can feel the air in the room. I can hear my own breathing. When I wake up, my body still believes it. My chest is tight. My hands are cold. It’s embarrassing how long it takes to shake it off. The dream doesn’t feel symbolic. It feels literal. As if my brain is rehearsing a future I didn’t agree to. People love to say, “Dreams are just dreams,” and sure, that’s comforting in theory. But when they feel this real, it’s hard not to question that line. It reminds me of that quote, “The mind makes it real,” and yeah, that hits a little too close. I’m polite with myself about it. I don’t panic. I just note the pattern and move on. Still, I wonder why my subconscious is so committed to this storyline...

What’s strange is that my waking life is steady. My husband is present, kind, involved. There’s no obvious threat, no secret tension. That’s why I try to stay detached and analytical about the dreams. Repetition usually means unresolved fear, according to the experts. Fear of loss. Fear of abandonment. Classic stuff. Fine. I accept the diagnosis without dramatizing it. I don’t accuse reality of crimes it hasn’t committed. The dreams are respectful, almost courteous, which somehow makes them worse. There’s no villain to blame. Just inevitability. And yet, every morning, I wake up and nothing has changed. The family is intact. The day continues. That part gives me hope. It’s proof that imagined endings don’t automatically become real ones. I treat the dreams like mental noise, like my brain running stress tests while I sleep. Annoying, but not authoritative. I remind myself of another quote I once read: “Thoughts are not facts.” That line does a lot of heavy lifting for me. I stay positive on purpose. I choose to believe stability deserves more credit than fear. Still, I’m curious, and I’ll ask politely: why do dreams borrow reality so convincingly? Why do they feel more intense than the life we actually live? And have you ever woken up mourning something that never happened, only to feel quietly grateful when you realized it wasn’t real?

I love lying to myself.

“It’s for me, so I can be happier!”

It’s for him, because I didn’t want it to become toxic.

“I’m not mad!”

I’m pissed, but with myself.

“It’s ok. I don’t care anymore. they’re all in my past!”

My hands are shaking.

It wasn’t you.

It was me.

It was all me.

I’m right here.

Can’t you see I’m waiting?

I took too long.

I ventured to far.

While you were waiting.

So does that make me the monster?

Does that mean I’m in the wrong?

I was the problem, hiding all along.

M y h a n d s a r e s h a k i n g .

If I could take us back, if I could just do that

And write in every empty space the words “I love you” in replace

Then maybe time would not erase me

If you could only know I never let you go

And the words I most regret

Are the ones I never meant to leave

Unsaid Emily

(Clive)

You know exactly who you are. and who I am.

Sapphire is confused. Cartter’s just himself, but honestly worse. Bax is indifferent, they never had any particular affection for anyone they knew. Mushroom has no idea what’s happened. I’m generally indifferent, you never were anything to me. Allen locked front, he doesn’t want to deal with us anymore, but I managed to get him to let me out for a bit. Aether just doesn’t care, he was tired of everyone calling him “unc” anyway. We gained a new one, Carlos, who thinks Allen could’ve handled it better.

(Sapphire)

Clive’s right, I am kinda confused, I don’t know why Allen did this. I just hope… nevermind. Allen wouldn’t want me to say that, and neither would they, I suppose… Cartter would say something, but he’s a little angry with Allen, and trying to hide that anger. What me and Clive are trying to say is don’t be mad at ALL of us, please. This was all Allen’s decision. But… he is happy with his new friends, and glad to see that you guys seem… generally still happy without him, at least on the outside. He read all your posts, and he’s… understandably shaken (I am choosing my words SO CAREFULLY here and still failing at keeping my head cool). His exact words were, “Nothing like going through your ex’s vent posts about you… I feel like an asshole. Probably cause I am, but… y’know.”

this poem will be about my struggles with adhd

I hope you enjoy and pls lmk what you think

My mind is a house with every light on,

but the wiring is wrong.

Current jumps the walls.

The air buzzes even when I’m still.

Thoughts move like fireworks down the hallway—

no order,

no warning,

just flashes and echoes and aftermath.

I reach for one

and three more grab my sleeve,

each convinced it’s urgent,

each forgetting why it came.

Some days the noise grows too large for the rooms.

It presses outward,

paces the floorboards,

rattles the windows from the inside.

My body learns the exits first—

a flick of the hand,

a sharp blink,

a sudden shudder like static shaking free.

Small movements.

Necessary ones.

The storm grounding itself

so the house doesn’t split apart.

I don’t choose the spill.

It comes when the walls start breathing,

when thought piles on thought

until there’s no oxygen left.

My body reacts before I can ask it to—

a sharp jolt,

a break in the rhythm,

like something clawing its way out

because staying inside would be worse.

It isn’t release so much as survival.

Energy tearing a seam in the dark,

lightning striking downward

so it doesn’t turn inward.

I let it happen

because holding it all

feels like suffocating quietly.

Time behaves strangely here.

It leaks through my fingers,

slips under doors,

vanishes the moment I look directly at it.

Clocks stare like witnesses.

I apologise to them anyway.

Memory is a hallway with missing doors—

names hovering just out of reach,

sentences dissolving halfway spoken.

I step over the gaps,

pretend I meant to forget,

pretend it doesn’t follow me.

Some days my head is a carnival after dark—

lights too bright,

rides spinning too fast,

music overlapping until it sharpens.

I want to leave.

I want quiet.

But the ticket never tears

and the gates stay open.

Then comes the other kind of heavy.

Not loud—

dull.

A dimming after the surge.

Rooms go dark one by one.

Ideas slump in their chairs,

still breathing

but too tired to stand.

This is the exhaustion that doesn’t ask permission.

The kind rest doesn’t solve.

Bone-deep.

Sticky.

Like gravity turning personal.

My body stays still

while my mind keeps running,

burning energy it no longer has.

I stare at things I love

and feel only the weight of them.

Even stillness hums.

Even silence costs something.

And yet—

I find colours hiding in ordinary days.

Stories stitched between unrelated things.

Patterns where chaos pretends to be random.

My mind builds bridges instinctively,

even when I don’t know where they lead.

Ideas love me recklessly.

They arrive in crowds,

talk over one another,

leave without warning—

but for a moment

they make me feel infinite.

When focus finds me,

it grabs hard.

The world blurs.

Hours collapse into a single breath.

I forget to eat,

forget to move,

forget everything except the fire

and the way it finally listens.

I change my mind often

because every idea feels true

until the next one opens its mouth.

I am loyal to the moment,

not the map.

Some days I am exhaustion wrapped in motion.

Some days I am brilliance scattered across the floor.

Most days

I am both at once.

I am not broken.

I am not unfinished.

I am living inside a system turned up too loud—

one that shakes,

that spills,

that wears me thin,

but also sees more than it destroys.

This is what it’s like

to carry lightning in your pockets—

to learn when to release it,

when to rest,

and when to let it burn bright enough

to become light

Hey everyone, I’m not usually one to air my personal stuff, but I really need some advice here. For the past few months, I’ve had this gut feeling that my wife might be cheating on me, and it's eating me alive. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but the signs are starting to pile up, and I’m just not sure what to do.

It all started when she began staying late at work more often. At first, I didn’t think much of it—she’s always been dedicated to her job. But then, she became super protective of her phone. She used to leave it lying around, but now she keeps it close and seems to be on it all the time, even at odd hours. And when I casually ask about her day, her answers feel...vague? Like she’s hiding something.

Then there are the little things. She started dressing up more than usual, even just to “run errands” or meet friends. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone. I’ve tried to brush it off, telling myself I’m being paranoid, but every time I bring it up, she gets defensive or says I’m just being insecure. It makes me feel like maybe I’m overthinking, but part of me feels like my concerns are valid.

To make things worse, I found a receipt for a fancy dinner that she said was a "work thing," but I know her company usually doesn’t do dinners like that. I keep second-guessing myself, and now I’m stuck in this loop of anxiety. I don’t want to accuse her without solid proof, but I also can’t keep living in this uncertainty.

So here I am, asking for advice. Has anyone else been through this? How do you confront someone you love without it turning into a huge fight? Should I even bring it up again, or am I just being paranoid? Any advice would be appreciated—I feel like I’m losing my mind here.

I've come to the harsh realization that perhaps, I'm not the nicest person around. In my mid-thirties, I find myself surrounded only by a single friend and a girlfriend, yet I can't shake the feeling that I'm somehow superior to others. My lifestyle is quite reclusive; I shy away from any social gatherings related to work, and most of my routine revolves around my job, hitting the gym, smoking weed, and cycling. Traveling and cycling in the forest are my escapes, the rare times I don't feel swamped by depression.

Interacting with people, especially in groups, is a daunting task for me. The fear of turning red-faced and being judged negatively is always lurking. Thus, I avoid such situations altogether. There's a worrisome intensity in the way I live; I indulge too often in alcohol or getting high, viewing people merely as elements that enhance my own existence. My eyes wander too freely, admiring every attractive woman I come across, often blatantly flirting in the presence of my girlfriend. Even though these thoughts are never vocalized, I often catch myself belittling others or feeling utter disdain towards them internally.

I confess to being a staunch atheist, holding a disdainful view towards those who are spiritually inclined, believing myself to be smarter, better-looking, and stronger. The resentment builds whenever I see someone possessing what I desire, although I manage to keep this anger bottled up within.

Dominating these emotions is a profound sense of isolation, mixed oddly with a perverse comfort in wallowing in my misery. Sometimes, hurting my own feelings seems like a twisted form of pleasure, perhaps because it means feeling something at all.

My family background does little to lighten my outlook. My brother lives with the dark shadow of being a murderer and a former heroin addict. My father was a violent man, devoid of emotions, who ultimately took his own life. My mother, afflicted by illness so severe that she has been bedridden since my childhood, sparks a guilt within me for not taking care of her. However, I've chosen a path of self-preservation as dedicating myself to her care would consume my own existence entirely.

This life I've crafted for myself is one I despise, yet a part of me feels I shouldn't. With a good education, a well-paying job, and an undeniable appeal to women, I should feel fulfilled. Instead, I’m left feeling empty and, frankly, disgusted with myself for sounding like a self-pitying fool. What the hell is wrong with me?

Despite my efforts not to belittle others overtly, the impression that people don’t like me is hard to shake off. Loneliness is a constant companion.

If I were to join a reality show, my character might be polarizing. Would the audience appreciate my brutally honest introspections, or would they be repelled by my self-confessed arrogance and emotional detachment? It's intriguing yet terrifying to ponder how my persona would unfold under the constant scrutiny of cameras and a public audience.

I chose the friendship stories category but yeah it's related to friendship, love, family, work... I am like that.

For the longest time, I’ve been stuck in this cycle of excuses. I’d wake up every morning telling myself I’d make changes, that today would be different, but by the time the day ended, I was back to square one. Whether it’s eating healthier, exercising, or even just cleaning my space, I keep putting it off. I’d tell myself, "I’ll start tomorrow," but tomorrow never seems to come.

Yesterday was my breaking point. I was scrolling through social media and saw an old friend post about running their first marathon. I remember how we used to run together, how much I loved it back then. And now? I can’t even jog up the stairs without feeling winded. It hit me like a ton of bricks—what am I even doing with my life? Why do I keep finding reasons to avoid what I know I need to do?

I looked around my apartment after that. Clothes piled up on the floor, dishes in the sink from who-knows-how-many days ago, and a gym membership card collecting dust on the counter. That’s when it finally clicked—it’s time to stop. It’s time to stop avoiding the hard stuff, time to stop pretending everything will fix itself, and time to stop being my own worst enemy.

I don’t have a perfect plan yet, and honestly, I’m scared I’ll slip back into my old habits. But I know I can’t keep going like this. If I don’t make a change now, when will I? Maybe writing this out will help me stay accountable. I don’t know who needs to hear this, but if you’re feeling stuck too, maybe it’s time to stop and take the first step. We’ve got this.

Got lots of love to give but no one wants to have it. They want the toxic ones.

I grew up in a very religious family where our faith has always guided our lives and choices. The teachings I’ve known my whole life tell me that being gay is wrong, and yet, I feel these undeniable attractions that make me question everything. I’ve tried to push it down, to change, to pray it away, but it’s always there, a part of me I can’t ignore.

I don’t know how to reconcile my beliefs with who I am. It feels like every day, I’m torn between two worlds: the expectations of my family and faith, and the reality of my own heart. Am I wrong for feeling this way? Is this something I can change, or should I even try? I’ve heard so many opinions, but deep down, I just want to know if I can truly be at peace with both my faith and myself.

If anyone has gone through something similar, or if you have advice, I’d really appreciate hearing from you. I feel so lost and alone in this struggle, and I just need someone to help me see a way through this.