Family Drama Stories

All weekend long I was playing with my cousin's little ones. Their energy kind of energized me and I actually feel ready to face the world today. Playing with the kids, who are 2 and 4, let me be a little kid again and that felt great. They left to go back home this morning, but those little nuggets will always be in my heart <3. I'm not gonna let others get me down today, I'm actually in a really good mood. The depression that clouded my mind for so long is thinning out, and the sun in showing through the clouds. I think I'll be alright.

Am I the asshole for buying everyone ice cream?

my family seems to think I am.

my grandma's birthday is in a few days but she's been sick and bummed out, not to mention I'm working a lot and my mom has been bothering me about cleaning my room... so I gave my grandma her presents early. which she loved but I suppose it was my fault because this is where this issue starts...

my grandma didn't feel great and wanted me to take her to the store, I went and while she was shopping I got gas. she gave me $10 towards it which was nice. I would tell her to keep it but for people that understand out there ...doing that is more trouble than it's worth. normally I would sneak it back into her purse or a coat pocket so it's a surprise when she finds money around but she wanted to get ice cream so I decided to use some coupons and order it ahead since she wasn't feeling well. however you want to think of it.... I used the $10 either towards my gas or towards her gigantic sundae, I wasn't going to ask for any more money.

I decided to buy my mom and stepdad a little ice cream too, I know what they like... but when I got home they didn't say thank you. my mother called me fat and uncontrollable, especially noticing that their 2 sundaes were a medium instead of a large like mine and my grandma's. my stepdad said he didn't need it and when the time came later for a snack they openly grabbed chips. they do this often so I'm bothered by it but probably not as much as another person would be or I should be.

meanwhile... everyone had gotten a different ice cream. I could tell which one was which by size and toppings. my grandma had her ice cream in her freezer, before she went to bed (8pm) she said she didn't feel good and wasn't eating it tonight, not a problem. I left and around 9 when I went for my ice cream, eating past the toppings I chose for myself I noticed the ice cream place messed up, that ice cream wasn't my ice cream.. I assumed it was switched with my grandma's or they just gave me ice cream with nuts which I do not eat so I put the ice cream back in the freezer to figure out tomorrow when I got up and my grandma was awake so I could dig through her toppings to see if that was actually 'her ice cream' under there and if it really was a mistake then I would just scoop my ice cream out and switch.

I went to sleep. The next morning I got up and asked if she had eaten the ice cream, how she was feeling, etc..

"oh I was so sick last night. I got up in the middle of the night and had 'a little' ice cream blah blah.. why?"

"a little? oh ok good. I was wondering because I was trying to eat mine and when I got past my toppings on the one side I could see that wasn't my ice cream. I ordered everyone butter pecan with extra nuts.. I guess the girl was confused because I got butter pecan but with all my toppings on top"

"but you don't like nuts"

"yea I know. at first I thought maybe she mixed our ice cream up and I was going to check to see if you got my Oreo but since you had 'a little' how was it?"

"don't get me ice cream anymore"

?

"it tasted funny"

??? *walking to the freezer, prepared to get her ice cream to check but stops*

"it was probably my taste buds since I'm sick. yea, I ate the whole thing"

"... I thought you said you had 'a little'?"

"no I ate the whole thing"

"even though 'it tasted funny'?"

"well that was just my taste buds. I pushed through it"

"well.... I ...okaaay.. so.... what color was the ice cream?"

"it was ice cream"

"yes. what color? black? white? gray?"

"yea it was like black"

"that was my ice cream"

"you gave it to me!"

"yea because I thought it was yours. your toppings were on top. we both had different toppings so..."

"ok well then give me my ice cream"

...?

"the ice cream you still have. you didn't eat it right? the yellow butter pecan.. that was mine so give it to me."

"it has all my toppings on it.. you won't like that.."

"I'll pay you for it"

"no no it's ok"

I didn't take her money. I took off my toppings as best I could and gave her the ice cream. she complained to my mother about something because a while later my mother says something like "I can't believe you took her money, it's ice cream! her birthday is next week that could have been her present"

I didn't say anything and idk what was said by who but.... I got my grandmother at least $50 of stuff. sure she gave me $10 'for gas' but I'm paying for her Netflix and with her $10 Starbucks and the $12 ice cream for her... and that's just TODAY. I get people things all the time. PLUS I buy my mother's birthday cake and my grandma's cake every year....

I ignored what my mother and stepdad said again. I asked my grandma how the ice cream was, if it was better than the previous one. she said "it was ok. I still can't taste right but I know that there was no basically no toppings on it and the few things that were there weren't even what I liked. (name) you have to remember I like nuts. lots and lots of nuts, and caramel. this didn't have that"

"yea ..all the nuts and the caramel were on the first one you ate. this one I took the toppings off because I knew you wouldn't like it"

"yeaaa... that first one tasted funny. just don't get me ice cream anymore"

my mother walked by in that moment, overhearing, and decided to tell me that no one needed or wanted ice cream, and I should be more thoughtful since some people are lactose intolerant. my grandma and stepdad basically agreed saying they didn't ask for any of that.

so I guess I'm just some wicked witch pushing my evil lactose on people, talking about my topping agenda.

Apparently here is me and my mom, who fights for the smallest things ever. We just fought today in the clothing store because my style of fashion is way too different from hers.

I know what’s going to happen later on, she’s gonna yell at me, and tell me it’s my fault— but why? It’s not my fault that I like simple clothes, not those complex colorful designs that she tells me to wear

Right. She’s my guardian so she gets to decide who was wrong and who was right— I mean she’s always right

But how to I tell her that she was wrong this time? She’s mad for absolutely no reason

My mother has 3 daughters. I am the youngest, with two older sisters. My oldest sister died of a rare form of cancer 2 months ago. She was only 35. Saying that we were close is an understatement. We lived together and worked together. She was my very best friend and understood me on a level I don't think anyone ever will again. My middle sister is also my bestfriend, but the relationship is different. She's a very selfish person. She doesn't know how to be any other way. Before my oldest sister died, they were in an argument and not talking. My middle sister doesn't feel guilty about that at all..saying she knows without a doubt they would have been talking again soon. Well that's not neccesarily the truth. I know so much that she doesn't about how my oldest sister was going to cut her off completely. She still loved her, but just didn't like her anymore..and as mean as it sounds, her reasons were valid. I could never share that with my middle sister of course..but sometimes I wish I could. She has made comments lately that have made me so angry. She has said, "I'm so sorry we lost our sister. She was so much better to you than I can be." And you know what shes freaking right. My oldest sister was better to me, and the family. She cared for me and about me. She was selfless. So if my middle sister wants to sit and talk with me, looking for pity when making those statements... I'm going to come online and say the one thing I would never say aloud. you're right. It should have been you.

[Translated from Spanish. Reminder: IIWIARS is English only]

I feel like no one is there for me—to listen, to read me, to write to me, or even to be open to talking with me. I feel like, in my environment, I’m just an extra burden. And if that’s the case, then I feel completely pushed aside by everyone. How could I not want to look for another place? I have to face it: I don’t belong here. That’s it. I need to find somewhere else. Period.

I’m tired of my environment refusing to admit it. We’re not compatible—and we never will be. We’ve only lived causing each other headaches, acting out power struggles to avoid admitting it, but all that’s brought is war after war. It’s time for me to leave. Maybe not physically, but mentally, emotionally. I can’t take these useless conflicts anymore—they’re destroying our ability to coexist. My presence here, their acknowledgment of me, has only made life more fearful.

It’s time to go, once and for all. I feel like I have the chance, and I’m going to take it. We’ll all be safer this way. Maybe there will be a time of imbalance, but it’s either that or keep living in fear. Those who manage to get through it will be okay—and those who don’t, well... at least everyone will have searched for peace. That’s what matters most to me now—finding peace, no matter what.

There are things we have to leave behind, and ironically, that includes the place we were born. I have nothing left here—absolutely nothing. All I see is destruction and more destruction. Why keep denying it? I don’t want to be part of this anymore. I feel like I’m encouraging my relatives to become something like criminals—just as they do to each other. Luckily, we haven’t crossed the line that would get anyone arrested or reported, but we’re getting close. And that’s not the goal. I have to face it: my presence here—someone not suited to this environment—is just harmful. I can’t deny that anymore.

There’s nothing more painful for me than realizing I’ve been a source of harm and pain. And the worst part is, I couldn’t do anything before—but now I feel like I can. And I’m proud of that. I can give everyone a calmer life. Yes, let’s admit it—they’ll be better off without me here. I’ll be better off leaving, because in doing so, I’ll have truly supported them. I’ll be repaying everything they’ve done for me. It’s the greatest thank-you I can offer—the most meaningful one. What good are gifts or fake kindness? They don’t help anymore. People feel it, even if they don’t realize it.

I feel like I’m fulfilling a moral obligation, in the end. A civic duty, even—one that supports a healthier society, whether that means staying or stepping away. It’s what I have to do.

What hurts, though, is realizing that the solution to my problems with this environment isn’t in the environment itself—it’s somewhere else. I wish it were here, so I could embrace that resolution and feel proud of it. But the truth is, it never was. Trying to force that belief only led to disaster. It’s what brought us to this point—where we hate each other, deeply. All because we tried to stay. We have to face it: this environment is filled with disconnected people who pretend to bond just to deny the truth. There’s nothing between us. There never was—barely even between parents and children.

I wish it had been different. I always believed that teamwork was the answer. But the problem is... there’s no team. You can’t count on something that doesn’t exist.

Why did this life have to be mine? Why couldn’t this have happened to someone else? Why live with this discouragement? Why does this transition have to be like this? Why do I have to leave this environment just like that? And yet—it feels like inertia. My mind just goes there... because there’s more calm. That’s it. I think deep down, that’s what we’re all searching for—peace and calm. And in a way, my own environment has pushed me toward it. It’s something that’s just out of everyone’s hands.

Then come the questions:

What will I live in that new environment? Will they try to change me? Will I become someone else? Will I forget the place I came from? What will happen to them once I’m gone?

There’s so much I can’t control. I just know this: I’m in transition—and I never thought it would be like this.

I never thought I'd be someone who would complain about havin too much support from her parents. Honestly, most people would probably envy my situation, havin grandparents so involved and present. But lately, I swear it feels like they're takin over my house and my life. My husband and I just had our first baby—a beautiful little girl—and we thought havin my parents around would be the biggest blessing. But now, I find myself constantly frustrated, anxious, and overwhelmed. My parents have always been loving, but now they've turned into helicopter grandparents, hovering over every little thing we do. From how we hold our baby to the way we wash bottles, every single decision seems to need their approval. At first, I thought it was sweet, them wanting to help and be involved, but it quickly became clear that it's way too much. Like, seriously, do they really need to rearrange my kitchen cabinets because "it makes more sense" their way? Or constantly tell us we're dressing our daughter wrong, feeding her too often, or not enough? I mean, don't get me wrong—I appreciate that they're here for us, but it’s starting to feel like they're forgetting this is our child, our house, and our life.

The biggest issue, though, is that they're always popping over unannounced. I'll be sittin on the couch, exhausted after finally getting my baby down for a nap, and suddenly I hear the front door open and my parents stroll in like they own the place. No call, no text, nothing. They just assume that because we're family, boundaries don't exist. My husband tries to be patient, bless his heart, but I can see it wearing on him, too. The other day, they walked right into our bedroom to "check on the baby," completely ignoring that we were both still asleep. It was awkward, uncomfortable, and honestly disrespectful, even though I know they mean well. Every time I try to gently bring it up, my mom acts hurt, like I'm rejecting her help or saying she's a bad grandmother. My dad just gets defensive, claiming they're only trying to make things easier on us. But how can I tell them that they're actually making things so much harder? I don't wanna hurt their feelings—I love them dearly—but I'm an adult now, and I deserve to have my own space, my own rules, and my own way of doing things.

Setting boundaries with my parents feels harder than I ever imagined. I always pictured us being a big happy family, but this constant invasion of our privacy is straining everything. So how do you even start setting boundaries with parents who don't think they need them? I've realized it's gotta be about clear communication. I know it sounds obvious, but it's honestly terrifying to think of sitting them down and saying, "Look, we need some space." But I also know that if I don't speak up, it's never gonna get better. So, I'm planning to have an honest conversation soon—just me, my husband, and my parents. I need them to understand it's not about rejecting their love or pushing them away, it's about respecting the fact that we're our own little family unit now, with our own routines and preferences. I have to find a gentle way to say that while their intentions are great, their actions sometimes cross the line. Maybe I can suggest specific times they can come over, or ask them to call before they visit. Maybe setting certain tasks aside specifically for them, like babysitting once a week or family dinners every Sunday, will help them feel involved without overstepping. It's not gonna be easy, and I fully expect some hurt feelings and awkwardness at first. But setting boundaries isn't about hurting relationships—it's about protecting them. I believe my parents love us enough to eventually understand, even if it's painful at first. All I know is, if I don't start setting these boundaries now, I might end up resenting the people I love most—and that's something I refuse to let happen.

Growing up, I never really knew there was a name for what my parents were. I just knew that somethin was off. Other kids talked about their moms and dads like they were these safe places, comfort zones, u kno? Mine weren’t. My parents were more like actors on a stage, and I was the audience they needed applause from constantly. Everything revolved around them—their feelings, their needs, their dreams. If they had a bad day, it was my fault. If they fought, somehow that landed on me too. I learned early to keep quiet, to keep my own feelings hidden, cause whenever I tried to express them, I got shut down quick. It was always, “How could u say that after everything we’ve done for u?” Or my personal favorite, “You’re so selfish.” For a long time, I actually believed that. I thought that maybe I really was selfish for wanting my own feelings to matter. And it’s taken years, and a whole lotta therapy to finally realize that wanting to be heard doesn’t make me selfish—it makes me human.

It’s funny tho, lookin back, cause when I was little I just assumed every house was like mine. That every kid walked on eggshells tryin not to upset their parents. I thought every mom was dramatic and cried easily, making you feel guilty for even existin. I thought every dad was overly critical, pickin apart every mistake, remindin you constantly how lucky you were that he even bothered to feed and clothe you. It wasn’t till I started spendin more time at my friends’ houses that I realized something was seriously messed up at mine. Their parents listened to them. Like really listened. When my friends spoke, their parents didn’t just wait for their turn to talk—they actually heard them. And when they messed up, they got hugged, comforted, reassured. Not shamed or belittled. The more I saw that, the more confused and honestly jealous I became. I wondered what it felt like to grow up without fear, without that constant anxiety in your gut tellin u that ur feelings weren’t important, that ur only job was to make sure your parents were happy, even if it meant hiding who you really were.

As I got older, it didn’t get easier. In some ways it got harder. Teen years are supposed to be when you figure out who u are, but that was nearly impossible in a house ruled by narcissists. Any attempt at independence was treated like a personal betrayal. My mom would cry, sayin I didn’t love her anymore. My dad would get cold and distant, like I’d deeply offended him just by having an opinion of my own. I learned to live a double life—one version for home, the other for school and friends. But the exhaustion of it was brutal. I felt like an actor too, just like them, pretendin to be okay, pretendin everything was fine. Even when I left home and went to college, the damage was already done. I struggled to form healthy relationships. I kept waitin for friends or boyfriends to turn on me, to blame me for things, to tell me my feelings weren’t valid. And sometimes they did, cause I guess I subconsciously chose people who were familiar—people who acted like my parents. Breaking that cycle felt almost impossible. I kept wonderin if maybe my parents were right, maybe I really was just impossible to love or deeply flawed somehow.

But here’s the thing: eventually, I found people who showed me different. I found therapy. I found books and podcasts that made me realize I wasn’t alone, that being raised by narcissists wasn’t my fault, and most importantly, that it didn’t have to define me forever. Slowly, I started settin boundaries. Slowly, I learned to say no without feelin guilty. Slowly, I started believin that my feelings mattered just as much as anyone else’s. It's still hard sometimes. There’s still days when the old voices creep back in, tellin me I’m not good enough or that I’m selfish for thinkin of myself. But now I kno those voices are lies. Now I kno my worth isn’t defined by anyone else's approval, especially not theirs. I won’t pretend it’s been easy—cause it hasn’t. Healing from parents like mine is messy, complicated, and takes longer than anyone wants to admit. But it’s possible. It’s happening. And every day I feel a lil bit more free. I might’ve been raised by narcissists, but I don’t have to live the rest of my life under their shadow. I’m finally learnin to step into the light—my own light. And damn, it feels good.

basically my dad passed away almost two years ago (july 18) and the only time i have visited him was when we buried him.

he died of a heart attack cause he was drunk at the beach when it was hot. he had a drinking problem for as long as i can remember but it was particularly bad the year he passed.

i remember that back then i had just started high school. between all the shit he was pulling (i wont list them but it is pretty bad) and puberty i got very hateful and even got into drugs and hanging out with the wrong people. i really hated him back then, because i felt like he was all that was wrong with the family (very untrue).

now that ive matured and healed a little, i wanna visit him. all along, i never really hated him. i love him and i hope he knew that when he passed.

also im sober too, my drugs phase thankfully didnt last long

when he was sober, my dad was a chill guy. although i didnt get to see him sober a lot, it pissed me off how good his potential as a father was.

after a while, i grew to understand the dynamics of my family that led him down this path. he did bear a part of the blame, but ive come to understand that the alcohol was just his way of coping.

when drunk, my dad once said that when he dies, he hopes i will visit his grave because he wants to bear my 'beautiful voice'.

the reason why i have gone yet is because i didnt feel ready to fully accept the fact that hes really gone and isnt coming back. i have so many regrets that i cant even list them all

i really wanna go, but i dont know what i would say.

i love you dad, if you can see me. i miss you more than i thought was possible

[Translated from Spanish. Reminder: IIWIARS is English only]

I feel like I never want to go back to my aunt’s place again. That woman doesn’t accept me for who I am. She tries to erase me—erase how I really am—just to protect her own image. She’s done it before, and now she’s doing it again. She’s still fighting that same battle, and I can’t take it anymore. I just want her out of my life. Honestly, I wish I’d never even met her.

If she thinks that helping us gives her the right to meddle in our lives, she’s completely mistaken. That’s how I feel—invaded. Ever since I stayed with her, I’ve felt strange, emotionally wounded, and completely unmotivated. I’ve been fighting to not let myself get dragged down by whatever it is she left in me—this form of disguised violence, pretending to be innocent. It seems like she enjoys it, and that terrifies me. I don’t think she even knows what she’s saying—she just acts without thinking. She believes a smile is enough to fix everything.

This woman scares me. I simply don’t want to see her again. Nor her friend. They’re strange people. They want to change everything about you and frame it like it’s “for your own good”—but it goes as far as emotional abuse. What kind of mentality is that? Why did I have to witness this? And why, of all families, did this one have to be mine? Why couldn’t I have ended up in a different one, for God’s sake?

Why, of all people, was she the one available to care for me after surgery? The moment I walked into her house, with my bags in hand, I felt like I was walking straight into hell. These people are experts at shutting you down when you try to speak about what’s hurting you. When I tried to explain this to my psychiatrist, I felt like she looked at me like I was crazy. Honestly, I’m afraid my aunt will try to set me up—make me explain what hurts me just to twist it around and blame it on my traumas or mental health, like I’m the problem.

I feel helpless dealing with the aftermath of these people. No one around me is supporting me. I feel absolutely awful.

My sister is 3 years younger than me, and she's basically getting everything she wants with basically no consequences. when I was younger than her age, I had to be self reliant because our parents were busy working as we had no home and had to stay in a relative's house- we all had to sleep in one room, and I didn't even have many personal belongings- I had to prioritise taking care of myself- ironing my uniform, making my own lunch and breakfast, straightening my own hair, and having to walk 40 minutes everyday to school when we no longer had a car- even when we did, I was often berated by my dad for being slow because I was late and he had to drop me off- but that was because I didn't have any food for school. This was when I was 12- I don't really think it's a big as it's important to be self reliant when you're older, but the thing is, my parent keep coddling my sister to the point where she doesn't want to do anything for herself for her own, honestly selfish, reasons. She doesn't do her own laundry, style her hair, make her own breakfast or lunch because she can't be bothered to- this was by her own admission. She's 15 turning 16. She also doesn't clean up after making a mess. She studies in the living room- which is fine, obviously- but this now means that the entire living room is a mess of papers- even when we clean up, we can't do anything about them because she'll literally get so angry and starts to get aggressive and messes up the room if she can't find anything - which is annoying since I'm the one who has to clean the living room. She can also be very judgemental and rude to me about my interests and has called me cringe if I'm interested in things she doesn't like. She just doesn't feel like a considerate person at all. Honestly, she's the main reason why I'm excited to move out for university because I feel like I'll be able to live my own life- like I won't have to sacrifice my self worth just for her. I'm also hoping that she'll learn to mature and calm down as sometimes her temperament scares our mum off too

[Translated from Spanish. Reminder: IIWIARS is English only]

Friends, I feel deeply outraged at my community. How is it possible that the spirit of speaking out is not embraced? How can a society exist where wrongdoing is approved, accepted, and even—supposedly—tolerated? I am furious.

In my own home, speaking out was not allowed. Once, I reported my mother, and my father retaliated while my mother punished me. What kind of mother does that? She does bad things and then doesn’t want to be held accountable—instead, she conditions everything so she won't be called out? So that she’s protected and coddled? What kind of mother is that?

Tell me—what kind of mother encourages wrongdoing? When I saw that kind of behavior at home, it was the moment I realized things were very, very wrong. At first, I stayed quiet because I was confused about what “normal” parenting looked like. I thought violence, especially within the family, was somehow acceptable or even expected. But all I was doing was walking right into a dead-end that usually ended in a beating—just for reacting in ways they didn’t like.

Yes, maybe I responded harshly or impulsively as a kid—and I’m not trying to justify it—but today I understand those reactions were, in fact, justified. My parents were authoritarian. How the hell wasn’t I going to push back when I was trapped in their home during their toxic marriage? It made no sense to demand peace when their very demand was a gateway to more abuse. Their expectations were completely unfair. Completely.

When I finally realized all this, it hit me hard. For over 15 years, I carried the guilt of believing I had been the problem. But the truth is, I was just seeing myself through a lens of indifference—a reality where I wasn’t treated like a person, but like a toy they could manipulate however they wanted. I didn't even notice that I was being dehumanized. That’s why I developed such an emotionally distant way of being, isolating myself from others without understanding why.

In the end, that kind of upbringing—where reporting abuse was forbidden, and empathy was absent—destroyed my social life. People started drifting away from me, to the point where they’d only reach out when they really needed something. That was the only way anyone socialized with me, and I went along with it—just because I craved any interaction at all. I remember pointing this out to a friend once. I honestly feel like crying: an entire life thrown away because of those two core wounds.

I used to ask myself why everything at home was like that, and my parents would just tie me up in excuses, shaped by deeply broken identities. I’m scared to even express this—I’ve been censored before, especially for saying things like this on that other platform. But the truth is, what they called “help” turned into a sad form of isolation. And it makes me think of a doctor I once saw—her behavior seemed odd, almost abrupt in how she reacted. I get the feeling I might have unknowingly hurt her somehow... though maybe that’s just in my head. I don’t know where this conflicting emotion comes from.

All of this got reinforced by the biases I inherited from my family environment. I was completely lost back then—disconnected from reality, and I didn’t even realize it. How could this have happened to me? It tainted my elementary years, high school, and university, leaving me with almost no friends by the end of it all. That hurts. Because it wasn’t my fault—it was my parents’.

No wonder I’m so angry about what I said about my community.

[Translated from Spanish. Reminder: IIWIARS is English only]

I feel so much anger. Am I really doomed to stay in the groups I’m in? I mean, if I end up in a group I’m already part of—say, a family group—am I condemned to be stuck with them forever? Is there really nothing I can do to break away? Do I just have to get used to it out of inertia? This worries me deeply.

I admit it’s hard for me to write because I come from a social network that censored truly beautiful texts I wrote to let off steam—something I found incredibly unfair. It made me feel completely lost when it comes to using that platform. My intention was to express myself and structure my thoughts—focusing on that structure—without really considering others’ views. The point wasn’t to stay trapped within those external conceptions, but to develop something from what I was expressing. I just wanted to say this in case anyone wanted to offer their perspective.

Anyway, ever since that experience on that social network, I’ve felt trapped. Venting is what helped me break away from my family, to carve out a safer space both within and outside that context. That’s why I say I express and transcend. Venting gives me a holistic view of things without having to exclude any terrain. But I realized something: I think I’m normalizing things about my family. I feel like I’m using my venting to smooth over rough patches caused by behaviors that made me angry. It’s like I’m helping to re-establish those relationships in a “normal” space—a space I try to maintain without digging too deep. I feel like that has consequences, but I don’t quite see what they are yet.

It’s hard to structure my ideas in this environment—it’s different from what I’m used to, just like that other platform was. The fear of censorship is still there. Those posts were removed for no reason, or at least I never got an explanation. I followed the same rules as other posts I saw there. I’m furious about it. In fact, it makes me feel like the outside world somehow wants to push me back into my family setting. And whether it’s about family or not, people always say you have to break away on your own terms, not because someone tells you to. Otherwise, it could turn into a tragedy—it’s such a heavy burden. There’s this girl—I'll admit—who told me she feels trapped in a group and doesn’t know how to get out. In her case, the group is actively trying to make her leave her family, creating a barrier due to past circumstances that now prevents her from reconnecting. That happened a long time ago, and I’ve kept it inside ever since. I just wanted to express it.

I don’t want to meddle in that girl’s life. I feel like I’ve already left my family space behind—I did so a long time ago. And my experience with her only helped confirm it, especially after going through some very intense interactions with my closest relatives. The closeness we had only pushed me to create more distance, and that made our superficial routines of togetherness even more unbearable. So when the time comes for me to leave, it won’t be entirely bitter—there will be something sweet in it too. This is especially relevant if I ever get sick and we have to interact again. I know that kind of interaction will be unpleasant for me, because it creates tension and unwanted closeness with my relatives—those who used to take care of me. So in a way, if I do fall ill, it would trigger a change in their routine. And I think they would, maybe subconsciously, begin to appreciate the idea of me moving on to a place where they can’t or don’t have to interfere. That would open the door to my independence at last.

I feel sorry for this girl. Still, I think I’m ready to defend the principles of helping her—offering her a fishing rod rather than a fish, so she can catch her own. At the time I met her, I think she was open to it because her need was great, though I believe that need was buried deep due to how embedded she was in her group. I had stopped reacting impulsively and disrespectfully, breaking her routines without warning—these were the patterns she used to destabilize people, myself included. Her group absorbed her completely, and she shaped her environment around that. In short, maybe I can support her.

I just needed to say all of this. I don’t feel particularly skilled at writing. I posted eight times. Maybe the way I wrote had something to do with it—perhaps I wasn’t careful enough in how I structured things. But I can’t focus on that right now. I need to express myself freely if I want to sort out my thoughts. I need to release all this mental weight and reshape it through structured writing, so I can, as I said, transcend it—and that helps me find order in my mind. What hurts is that this was already my second attempt to engage with that platform. And once again, it highlighted how hard it is to express oneself freely—which, ironically, reminds me of how much I need to express myself freely. Otherwise, I’m just crawling through a dark tunnel, getting buried alive or hitting a wall I can’t break through.

I also like when a space doesn’t allow too much outside interference—it helps me feel like there are steady receivers out there, even if the way I express myself is different. I know that’s not realistic in the real world, where we talk face-to-face, not through digital platforms. But this goes back to what I said earlier—it’s so hard to break away from the past. If something from the outside knocks me down, I risk being dragged back into my family’s orbit. And I don’t want that. I have to be very careful about where and how I express myself—so I can see where the boundaries are and navigate through whatever life throws at me.

Apologies if this came out a bit disorganized. After all, this is a vent—a need to breathe, to unload what’s suffocating me and leave it somewhere, so I can move on to other thoughts. That’s how forgetting works, as good ol’ Freud would say.

a poem a wrote to my stepmum who abused me

Dear abuser,

How are you able to sleep at night?

After what you've done

All the anger and pain you've caused

The things you put me through

Dear abuser,

Are you happy now?

Breaking and bending teenagers spirt

Leaving wounds deeper than skin

Dear abuser,

How can you live with yourself?

Forcing teenagers to run away as their only other choice was death

Mentally and physically injuring them in the process

Dear abuser,

Does it feel good to get your way?

Is it everything you wanted?

Was it worth all the pain and suffering you caused?

Dear abuser,

I hope your happy now

I hope it was all worth it

The pain you put me through hasn't broken me

Dear abuser,

I know you will never get what you deserve

But this is my way of getting justice

I hope you read this one day

And realise its about you

Dear abuser,

I hate you.

Yours truly,

A survivor

Have y’all heard of enoclophobia? A phobia of crowds, it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but for me it’s overwhelming

Basically my family owns a small business company, and they’re been forcing me to do presentations on the lastest products since I was young. And since there are lots of people in the auditorium, I panic, but I shouldn’t make humiliation of myself in this big event, so I just manage. By the end of the presentation, but face is blue;;

I’ve been telling my parents for years that I don’t want to be the heir of this company, and I don’t want to do these presentations, but I’m forced to, even my long term crush is going through the same situation, she doesn’t have any phobias tho… she doesn’t like me back bc of how stupid I act while on stage, buts it’s a natural born phobia, I wish I could get rid of it but how?

Some mornings I just sit at the edge of the bed and stare at the wall, not even sure why I’m getting up again. I’m 32 years old, got 3 kids who depend on me, a husband who doesn’t see me anymore, and a life that feels like it’s already over even though I’m still breathing. Everything feels like a loop—make breakfast, clean up, laundry, grocery shopping, break up the kids’ fights, smile when I don’t mean it, pretend like I care when inside I’m screaming. I used to have dreams, I used to want more. I can’t even remember what those dreams were anymore. Somewhere between baby bottles and birthday parties, I lost me. My husband comes home, says "how was your day" with no real interest, stares at his phone, and falls asleep before I even finish my sentence. We don’t fight. We don’t talk either. It’s like we’re roommates that share responsibilities but not hearts. I don’t love him. I don’t even like him half the time. But I stay. For the kids, for the house, for the fear of what happens if I leave and fail. But deep down, I don’t even know what success would look like anymore. It’s like I’m living a life someone else chose for me, and I got stuck in it like mud.

I see people my age on social media living lives that look full. Traveling, working jobs they care about, falling in love, starting fresh. And I’m just here, stuck in a cycle that’s got no meaning left. I feel guilty even saying it out loud—because I have things. A house, healthy kids, food on the table. But I don’t have joy. I don’t have connection. I don’t have me. And that emptiness… it’s suffocating. I feel like I’m running on fumes, always pretending everything’s fine when nothing is. Sometimes I wonder, if I vanished, would anything change? Would they miss me or just miss the things I do? I don’t cry anymore, even when I want to. I just go numb. Day after day after day. I’ve tried to talk to people about it, but they always say, “You just need a break” or “It’s just a phase.” But what if it’s not a phase? What if this is it? What if life is just this endless line of chores and fake smiles and empty kisses from someone who doesn’t know the woman next to him is dying inside? I’m so tired. I’m tired of carrying it all. And worst of all, I’m tired of hoping something will change. Because it never does.