Anonymous Venting for Mental Health and Emotional Support

I can't stand my mom anymore I am living in her emotions and I just can't take it anymore. I don't even know where too start. It's like when she's in good mood I need to be like her too and she will buy me things I didn't even ask for and be super nice too me and all and then on the days that she's in bad mood everything is my fault she start too yell at me for nothing like this one time when she was coughing and I didn't ask her if she was ok and she started to crash out on me and then bring out every thing that she did when she was in good mood and say that she does so much thing for me and that I never do anything and sometime almost always she hits me, insult me and make me feel so bad. I just can't live in her emotions. I am lost and on the verge of depression I don't know what to do and I'm lost. Please give me advice it will mean the world to me

It's actually so stupid how low I've actually stooped to. Just very recently all of the school stress and fear of criticism from friends (plus their hurtful jokes) has made me reach a new low. I was really trying not to ever do this, but I did. I just one day decided to find that one box cutter in my pencil case and try it out on my arm. The reason I even did it was to actually take away attention from another wound I had in the moment. Though somehow I would've thought I'd feel bad, but i didn't. Instead I just felt weird and dazed. The plan was to just do it that once, yet it somehow turned into more. I let the ones on my arm heal, since they weren't even that deep, and I moved on to one of my thighs. At first it was just only a small spot, and somehow with little time in just a week, it grew to both of my upper thighs, even a try on the inside of my ankles. Though the wounds may not be deep, there's many new with each day, that sting in a way that feels unfamiliar yet familiar. It's hard to stop doing it now. Even more with upcoming important stuff like exams, events and applying for schools, which all stress me out so much. I mean I'm 15, and I feel like such a loser for doing this as a way to get some sort of relief. It feels like I don't even qualify to do this, since I have a pretty normal life, except for a father, who is absent most times for work. It feels as if I'm mocking others who do it, even if I might not be, especially with one of my friends having done this sort of stuff for so long with family problems and all. It doesn't help that I feel more guilty when thinking of this friend actually having struggles and like almost a reason to do it, though that feels rude and offensive to say.

I feel so stupid for this to the point I had to get this out to somewhere. Even worse is that the trunks I was planning on using on top of my swimsuit for summer, are in fact, too short to cover the evidence up well. I dread the day I have to get exposed to this friend or anyone close to me. I should now probably go and prepare more for my math exam then.

I don’t even know how to feel about my feelings. I’ve been through so much, both now and in the past, that I can’t even understand how I feel anymore. I can’t express my feelings to anyone because when I try to express them to my mother, she sounds like she doesn’t care. So what do I do when I can’t even talk to my mom?

I keep everything inside, and when it becomes too much, I cry it out where no one will know, where no one will hear, where no one will see.

Pathetic, isn’t it? Well, that’s how I feel most of the time—pathetic.

I sit and wonder why I feel this way, why I have these feelings. A feeling where I feel empty, lost, and confused.

I don’t want to feel this way, but when I think about it, I prefer feeling numb because it protects me from disappointment. My whole life, I’ve felt like a disappointment—especially to someone I thought I could tell everything to. But now my heart aches because I can’t even talk to that person about what’s on my mind. My heart aches that whenever something is bothering me, I can’t express it because that one person I trusted thinks I’m just looking for attention.

“Attention.” You know, I never once thought about doing all of this just for attention. Well, what can I say?

Most of the time, I feel like I’m suffocating myself, as if I’m underwater and can’t breathe or get up. I can’t ask for help. Just like when my friend asks me what’s wrong, I can’t even form a word or sentence. It’s like I’m saying “what’s wrong,” but my lips aren’t moving.

You know what’s sad? Everyone I talk to about my problems says, “Talk to me” or “I’m always here.” But then they say they can relate to my trauma, even though I’ve been experiencing it for years.

If I told my mother everything I’ve been going through, she wouldn’t think twice before shouting at me, saying I’m looking for attention and pity. She is the reason I keep everything to myself, why I’m sad—no, not sad—numb. Numb is how she makes me feel most of the time, every second, every minute, every hour.

She makes me feel like I’m a burden to her. What I don’t understand is: if I’m such a burden, then why keep me? Why make me feel this way all the time?

Every time I think about all the pain she has caused me, I don’t even feel like crying. I just feel numb. I can’t even express my feelings to anybody anymore. I can’t even shed tears because I’m so numb.

“I used to float, but now I just fall down. I used to know, but now I’m not sure now...”

I don’t like this feeling I’ve been experiencing lately. I feel distant from my family and friends. Sometimes I feel like I don’t even exist in this world. I feel isolated from everyone.

Just a simple “Are you okay?” or “How are you?” can break the wall I’ve built to protect myself from crying, from looking weak, from showing that I’m in pain and suffering. So I build my wall again, brick by brick, over and over again. And there is no “until”—I will always have to build the wall.

What do I do now? How do I move on when the memories of my trauma still exist in my head, in my brain? It’s locked in a cage, like monsters waiting to come out and attack me, to make me fall back down, to make me give up.

This is why I keep everything to myself. Because once those monsters are free, and I talk about them, who will be there in the night when I’m alone with them? Who will support me? My friends say I should talk to them, but there’s only so much I can do.

Who will comfort me if I have another anxiety attack? That’s how I feel.

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.

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.