Anonymous Venting for Mental Health and Emotional Support

I feel like I use to be such a creative writer my imagination was on 100 then adult life happened and just like they say math if I don’t keep up with it you will end up loosing your mojo I feel like lost my imagination groove If that makes sense. I was more into fantasy fiction. Now I’m like stuck like unable to get a short story out I’m a teacher schools out I was figuring getting a part time giving myself some short story pts to r get back into writing everyday but now that I’m sitting in front of the computer drawing blanks . And if something does come out it sounds like every other Netflix movie I do occasionally write thrillers but it’s just not working. Not having any fresh ideas how do I break this cycle maybe some exercises. Anyone else dealt with writers block

hi! I'm Cara.

So for background, I have diagnosed minor depression and major anxiety, I have grades A's and B's, I have a 'good' relationship with my parents, but talking to them feels like a chore, I don't like any of the hobbies i used to adore, I barely have the motivation to do my makeup and i used to be such a girlie on that stuff. i'm an atheist, very pessimistic, and bisexual.

here's where my issue starts. when i communicated my suicidal tendencies to my parents, my mom just said it was a 'rough patch' and had the therapist/psychiatrist increase my Lexapro dosage(antidepressant). i think the root of my suicidal tendencies come from one of these few things. First, I feel in the middle about thinking i'm suicidal because i have an 'ok' life knowing damn well other people have it worse. Second, knowing i have many friends but i'm never the first pick. they aren't intentionally leaving me out, it's just i know im not their priority. it makes me feel so guilty knowing i have no reason to be mad they have their own life. Third, talking and texting people feels like a chore. When I talk to people, it feels like i'm just waiting for them to shut up so i can go back on my phone. even if im genuinely interested in what they're saying, i get bored so fast. i feel like such an asshole. thing is, people perceive me as a bright, loud, sometimes annoying person. but sometimes i wish i knew how'd they'd feel if i just.. stopped showing up.

if you made it this far, my heart goes out to all of you, and if you're lazy asf like me, just vote in the poll. Goodnight!(or good morning.) btw im going to translate the whole thing to spanish for the bilingual people.

¡Hola! Soy Cara.

Para ponerlos en contexto: tengo un diagnóstico de depresión leve y ansiedad severa; saco calificaciones de A y B; tengo una relación "buena" con mis padres, pero hablar con ellos se siente como una obligación; ya no disfruto ninguno de los pasatiempos que antes adoraba; y apenas tengo la motivación para maquillarme, a pesar de que solía ser muy coqueta y femenina con esas cosas. Soy atea, muy pesimista y bisexual.

Aquí es donde comienza mi problema. Cuando les comuniqué a mis padres mis tendencias suicidas, mi mamá simplemente dijo que era una "mala racha" e hizo que el terapeuta o psiquiatra me aumentara la dosis de Lexapro (un antidepresivo). Creo que la raíz de mis tendencias suicidas proviene de una de estas pocas cosas. Primero, me siento ambivalente respecto a mis pensamientos suicidas, ya que tengo una vida "decente" y sé perfectamente que hay otras personas que lo pasan mucho peor. Segundo, saber que tengo muchos amigos, pero que nunca soy su primera opción. No es que me excluyan intencionalmente; simplemente sé que no soy su prioridad. Me hace sentir muy culpable saber que no tengo motivos para enojarme, pues ellos tienen su propia vida. Tercero, hablar con la gente —ya sea en persona o por mensajes de texto— se siente como una carga. Cuando hablo con alguien, siento como si solo estuviera esperando a que se callen para poder volver a mirar mi teléfono. Incluso si estoy genuinamente interesada en lo que dicen, me aburro rapidísimo. Me siento como una auténtica imbécil. La cuestión es que la gente me percibe como una persona alegre, extrovertida y, a veces, un poco molesta. Pero, en ocasiones, desearía saber qué sentirían ellos si yo simplemente... dejara de aparecer.

It’s not love, nor a situationship, nor even friendship. It’s just two strangers who met one night. He started to open up to her comfortably, like he never had before. They are also neighbors, but on different floors.

The issue here is that he opened up to a woman who barely knows herself. She has zero self-confidence, overthinks everything, feels numb, and what’s worse, she is an attention seeker.

They almost had the same childhood trauma. She felt bad that he went through all that at such a young age. Exactly two weeks passed, filled with the best memories together, until he asked her for the third time to come to his room just for coffee. She accepted only because he asked in a way that made her feel like she was being questioned: “Why don’t you trust me?”

In his room, he kept assuring her that she was comfortable by asking and offering tea and snacks. It started with her crying when he told her why he has a missing finger and that he had tried to kill himself, but thankfully only lost his finger. Here, she started to tear up, trying to hide it, but when he saw it, he tried to calm her down and hugged her. She didn’t push away; she hugged him too.

When she was fully calm, she said, “We shouldn’t touch.” Then he replied, “I didn’t know what to do when I saw you like that.”

On other nights, she showed him her gloves and jokingly said, “We can hold hands with gloves on.” Then they were playing with the wheelchair like kids. He hugged her, and she didn’t pull away but hugged him more. He asked her, “Do you want to take off your gloves?” She said okay. On other nights, he asked how her hair looked and said he wanted to see it. She said she wanted to show him her hair but couldn’t (she is hijabi), but she did take it off.

On other nights, they started to hug in silence for hours and sleep together (clothed). All of that happened within one month.

Then one night, at the end of the month, she said, “Could we go back to being friends?” She wanted to argue, but he just said okay. Then he offered her to sit while he went aside. She said, “I want to leave,” and she left.

Here is what she told him exactly that night:

“I want to be friends like we used to be before. I know you like to talk comfortably alone, but we could meet in any garden outside and talk. I just don’t like where our friendship is going, and I know it’s against my religion. You know that was never me.”

He said, “I understand, and you are right. Actually, I am sorry that I hurt you. I know you are a good girl, and I pushed you to come here. And by the way, I spread Islam. See the Quran you gave me; I gave it to a friend. As you know, I don’t read English; I read it in my language.”

Then he walked to the edge of his bed (beside the window) to smoke and moved the chair toward her. “Sit,” he said. She replied, “I’m going to leave.” “Okay,” he replied.

Two days passed in silence. She asked him what was going on with their friendship.

He said, “You wanted that.”

She replied, “I said friends, not strangers.”

He said, “This is better for you. I don’t want to hurt you again, and I actually changed because every word you said was right. You are going to be okay.”

She said, “I didn’t mean to break the friendship. How can we fix it?”

He kept repeating his words, and she kept asking. In the end, he said, “Do you really want it to be fixed?”

She said yes.

He said, “Come.”

She came. They repeated the same conversation. Then he asked her, “Can we hug for the last time?” She said yes without hesitation. Then they slept together like before. He said, “This is going to be our last night.”

Then she left.

Two weeks of silence passed, then they met by coincidence. “How are you?” he asked.

“I’m okay. I missed how we were before,” she said.

“I know, I missed it too, but that’s good for you. You will be fine, don’t worry,” he said.

A week later, she texted him “hello” but deleted the chat, not realizing the message itself wasn’t deleted. The next night, he replied “hello.” She forgot she had even texted him, so the conversation went: hi, hi, hi. Then she said, “Man, say something other than hi.”

“Wanna come?” he asked.

She replied, “Really or a joke?”

“For only one hour,” he said.

“Okay,” she said.

They met, but that night was different from any other night.

She told him she started vaping. He told her not to, that it’s bad. He said he started to have chest cramps from vaping and advised her to stop. Then they started hugging. For the first time, they had sex. He kept asking if she was comfortable. They finished, and she left.

During those two weeks, she started to look for a therapist so she could understand herself and learn how to express her emotions, but that needed time. She went for a faster solution and vaped for the first time, although she knew she wasn’t allowed to, but she bought one anyway.

As time passed, her body started to give her warning signs due to the vape. She has anemia, so she simply threw the vape away.

A week passed. He texted her, “Are you asleep?”

“Trying to,” she said.

He asked her to come, but she said they could meet outside (she knew he would say no). He replied, “You know I just came back home, it’s okay, just forget it.”

“Okay, night then,” she replied.

The next day, she texted him, and they met. That night was short; they just kept staring at each other, then hugged. She told him she was on her period and that’s why she looked tired. They kept hugging until he fell asleep on her shoulder. She woke him up, told him to go to bed, and said she would leave. She left.

A couple of hours later, he posted a story of a depressed man. She commented, “Man, this photo says a lot.”

He replied, “I am okay.”

She replied, “You know I’m around whenever you need, even if it’s just sitting in silence.”

She feels bad for him, as she keeps telling herself that he is using her, but she isn’t sure yet whether he is honest with her or playing.

They both aren’t ready for marriage, and they don’t want to be a couple. Also, neither has feelings for the other.

I have a skin picking disorder where I generally tend to pick on my lips often till they’re bloody and raw. It’s an habit I have since I can remember. It must’ve started when I was around two to three years old. I am now 17. With that it’s deeply ingrained within me and I am quite used to it. I often do it when I am bored, sitting still, stressed, need to concentrate or nervous. I have ADHD and with that it’s often also a way to stimulate myself, especially during school. I try to break the habit but it’s quite difficult with me either not noticing it when I do or the compulsion to do it being too strong.

Well now to what happened. On the weekend I was on a trip with my father. Apparently in the evening when we came back my lips looked pretty bloody and my mother asked why I picked on them so much again. I told her it’s mostly because I was bored in the car. It was because of that and I also studied, meaning I didn’t really noticed it while I was concentrating on my work. My father now told me that my mother gave him on Monday an entire speech about how it’s bad and that it was during the trip I was with him on. But generally it isn’t his fault. I know it’s mine. It’s my habit. It’s also a daily habit meaning he didn’t make me fall back into it or anything. He now asked me to try and stop but the problem is it isn’t that easy for me. I do want to but it’s difficult. I am not sure what do. I am also not sure whether I should ask my mother about why she decided to complain to my father about it when he didn’t actually have to do anything with it.

So life has been going pretty well actually. I've been getting my grades up so I'll be able to graduate real soon, finally booking an appointment with a doctor so I can talk about therapy and hrt trans stuff. Already getting my glasses soon and I'll definitely look cool with them. I've been making jokes and my sister and mom laugh at them again, idk why I'm good at jokes again, nothing really changed except for like just doing more positive affirmations and manifestation stuff. I'm glad that part of me is back tho.

Ngl I need to change my hair but my sister wants me to wait it out, I've just been wearing a bandana thing which looks cool but like it's hot asf outside. I still haven't tried to make friends or a boyfriend, it's easy to do online but like idk, maybe I'm lazy. I low-key wouldn't mind going to appointments on my own, my mom kinda let me and I was fine, but I felt...idk like overdressed, didn't feel like an npc. The doctors didn't really speak too much directly too me or seem to take me too seriously, I think it's because I look childish and still have a kid voice, my mom points it out and also my style. It's nothing wild, I like alternative baggy clothes and I still like them. I wished I sounded more mature, I've been trying pronounce things differently or change my voice, making it deeper... doesn't really help. The reason I got insecure about my voice is because I recorded for a school project and I sounded nerdy or like something was wrong with me like I have some kind of vocal problem. I told my sister about it and she was like "you don't need to change it, you just need to accept it for the rest of your life" she's low-key wise.

I do wonder if I should take hrt, that would make me love life but my parents are homophobic and transphobic so like I'm scared. Idk when or how to come out, my plan was just to transition and then come home but...that seems like a bad idea as my parents are very much in my life so I feel like we would need to address the elephant in the room. I'm going from girl to guy so it would be noticable. If I have the opportunity to take hrt, should I?

My parents would have a bit of a crazy reaction but idk how crazy. My mom would just think it's because of trauma and be sweet or try to change me but my dad? That's some scary stuff, he's like low-key crazy, anger issues, hulk smashing everything, and would be very angry. When a queer family member lived here, he referred to her as the devil in his house. I'm lowkey already getting that tho because I said I have different beliefs plus being into rock/metal music and horror games so I have dark posters and stuff that he thinks is demonic. My room is pretty colorful tho.

Any advice is appreciated and I really hope you have a good day 🖤🩷 always be gentle to yourself, what's the point in hating yourself during the journey if you're going to the same destination regardless. <3

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.

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.

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 never thought I’d end up here, but here I am, dreading every single morning when my alarm goes off. I hate my job. There, I said it. I’ve tried to convince myself that it’s just a phase, that everyone feels like this sometimes, but it’s been almost a year, and nothing’s changed. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

The work itself isn’t even that bad. I mean, it’s not what I’m passionate about, but it’s tolerable. The real problem is the people. My boss is one of those micro-managers who has to be involved in every tiny detail. No matter what I do, it’s never good enough. I’ll spend hours on a project, only for them to nitpick and make me redo the whole thing for no real reason. It’s exhausting and makes me feel like all my effort is pointless.

Then there’s the office culture—or lack of it. Nobody talks to each other unless it’s about work. Lunch breaks feel like detention, with everyone silently eating at their desks or scrolling through their phones. I tried to make friends when I first started, but everyone already seemed to have their little cliques. After a while, I just gave up.

What really gets to me, though, is the constant pressure. It’s like they expect us to give 110% all the time, but they don’t give anything back. Overtime is practically mandatory, but don’t expect a “thank you” or even acknowledgment for staying late. And forget about a raise or promotion—that’s a pipe dream. It’s hard not to feel bitter when you’re working so hard and getting nothing in return.

I keep telling myself I should just quit, but it’s not that simple. I’ve got bills to pay, and the job market isn’t exactly booming right now. Plus, there’s this tiny voice in the back of my head that keeps asking, “What if the next job is just as bad—or worse?” It’s like I’m stuck in this cycle where I hate my job, but I’m too scared to leave.

Even at home, I can’t seem to escape it. I’m constantly checking emails or stressing about the next deadline. It’s like my job has taken over my entire life, and I don’t know how to take it back. My family keeps telling me to just hang in there, but they don’t understand how draining it is. By the end of the day, I’m too tired to even think about applying for other jobs, let alone pursuing something I actually enjoy.

Sometimes, I wonder if it’s me. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this kind of work. Or maybe I’m being ungrateful because at least I have a job. But then I think about how miserable I am, and I can’t help but feel like there has to be more to life than this. Doesn’t there?

If anyone else feels this way, I’d love to know how you’re coping—or if you’ve managed to get out, how did you do it? Right now, I just feel stuck, and honestly, it’s hard to see a way forward. All I know is, I can’t keep living like this. Something’s gotta give.