Health and Wellness Failures Stories

Hey, it's me. I have a question for you all. Well, a few ones, because I soon realized I'm a very deep empath and I love flagellating myself when I feel bad for someone (not literally), and today my YouTube's been popping up with people who experience autism. Folks like @Kaelynnism on YT really helped, and while you folks probably watch her too sometimes (or don't, I don't know, I'm stupid), it really helped me see from their POV. And I feel like garbage. I'm not diagnosed with anything, besides eczema but that's not really a mental illness, is it? But I can't help but feel terrible knowing the different experiences of you guys and how sometimes very sensitive you are to things. I feel like even if I BREATHE wrong you'll get mad, and it's my fault. That's why I got some questions.

For one thing, how bad are your triggers to sound, touch, taste, smell and atmosphere? Because I know a lot of you all mask up and pretend everything's fine, when really I should be doing that because it's sad when you do it. Another one, how bad can meltdowns get, so whenever I encounter someone who is, I should run away or comfort them by shutting up? Should I always agree to your rules or habits, even if I feel bad about some of them because to you they're right and I may hurt your feelings for asking you to not do it? Should I always nod and say yes to you even when I have no idea of your niche interests, and should I never tell you mine because they're not niche enough like yours? Should I always stay quiet when I'm with you? and when you're being too blunt I should take it in, even if it hurts? When you feel pain, should I forget mine? When you tell me or do something hurtful, should I excuse you because you're mentally ill? I'm not asking this with malice, I'm asking because I feel like a prick for even having a neurotypical brain and breathing.

hey, so I wanted to share something that's been keeping me up at night; it's about these dreams I’ve been having, all stemming from that carjacking I somehow survived. it's not the typical nightmares people talk about; these are vivid, relentless, and they cling to me long after I've woken up. you know how they say dreams are manifestations of our subconscious processing trauma? well, mine are like a non-stop highlight reel of that day’s terrifying events, played on a loop, with every punch, kick, and tug echoing in excruciating detail. imagine being trapped in a film you can’t pause, one where you're not in control, every scene as clear and vibrant as reality, and you're forced to relive it each night! it all started right after the incident; occasionally, the setting changes, but the core theme remains the same. is it normal to feel the physical impact of dream events upon waking? my psyche seems to be stuck in a feedback loop, desperately trying to make sense of the chaos; the slightest sound jolts me awake, my heart pounding as if the entire attack were happening all over again.

sometimes I ask myself, why does my mind replicate such suffering rather than letting it fade into obscurity? it's like my brain has switched to disaster mode! I read somewhere that this is my amygdala going into hyperdrive, but knowing that doesn’t exacty bring comfort when the flashbacks hit harder than a sledgehammer to the chest… and here's the thing, everything is intensified in those moments; street lights turn glaring and blinding, voices around me warp and distort as if trying to mock me, taunting me with fragments of past conversations that twist and churn my anxiety like a blender on high speed; emotional regulation goes out the window, and the normalcy I crave remains tantalizingly out of reach! funny, isn't it, how during daylight I can rationalize and compartmentalize, but as soon as the lights go out, I'm triggered by any sound or shift? have you ever felt your mind betray you like that, caught in a battle it keeps losing nightly? it's a solitary fight, when the darkness turns friend to foe, and I find myself awake, heart racing, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline. seriously, what’s with the hypervigilance? am I forever destined to navigate the world whilst walking on eggshells, second-guessing even the neighbor’s dog barking?”

no, I haven’t tried group therapy yet; honestly, the idea of reliving the trauma in front of others doesn't sit well with me, not when even privately, the memory looms larger than life! yet something's got to give, right? because even the smallest things might set off a chain reaction leading me straight back to those horrific moments. but understanding and dissecting it cognitively is only half the battle! have you ever tried to catalogue experiences only to have your mind slip into overdrive trying to make sense of it all? because that’s precisely what I've been tackling. even sleeping pills feel like cheats, granting oblivion but never resolution, a band-aid on a gaping wound; the experts talk about reconsolidation therapy, exposure therapy, but where do you even start when every night's a battlefield?! you have to wonder if resolving such deep-seated trauma requires accepting that vulnerability first; dialing down the hyperarousal one step at a time; retraining a mind that's gone rogue and wild in survival mode.

there's something fundamentally unsettling about being unable to trust your own mind and the manner in which it processes past terror… the dichotomy's stark: a life of logical intelligence clashing against primal instinct! so, where's the balance, and is resolution even possible when you're eternally questioning if your defenses will crumble again under pressure? at the end of the day, the essence of these dreams feels not just like a punishment, but a reminder bestowed against my will, and confronting that without letting it drown me remains the hardest endeavor. so if you have any suggestions, maybe you've been through similar? I’d genuinely be open to hearing how others tackle such pervasive, all-consuming tension that manages to infiltrate the most sacred space of rest! just want a semblance of tranquility where each night doesn't have to mean revisiting hell, and isn’t that something we all deserve?

At the age of 86, mobility and hearing challenged I find myself the care giver of my dementia suffering soulmate and my mentally ill adult daughter. It is overwhelming sometime with events and worries of what happens if I am unable to provide the care they need. Members of our small immediate family and our few close friends do not seem to understand.

I will call her Amara, [the essence of spiritual and physical beauty.] It was 70 years ago, in our Junior year at high school and it was love at first sight. She was literally the girl of my dreams then and still is the love of my life. I am blessed. We started dating and married 6 years later.

Amara and I have been the perfect team for 65 years, growing together while supporting each other in everyway possible. One of our daughters has given us a wonderful son-in-law, two grandsons to be proud of, and a beautiful great grandson. Our other daughter is single, emotionally ill and lives with us. She is estranged from the rest of the family outside our home.

In recent weeks Amara has been diagnosed with the early stages of dementia. Many of the symptoms have been present for some time. As I have learned, they are not all related directly to memory.

As a believer, I constantly pray. Everyday I ask for the patience and strength to deal with my own short-comings and provide what my dear wife and daughter need from me. Any constructive advice will be deeply appreciated.

I feel like everything's strange since she's been in my life—well, them. Everything's strange. I feel like I can't write calmly. I'm afraid of straying from the norm they want. When I post things on my social media where they're not present, I feel like they're watching me. Also, when I write, I feel like they're pressuring me to keep me insistent when I write, and so they can accuse me of being pushy, obsessive, or something like that.

I don't feel good around her. Her boyfriend is an arrogant person who likes to make others feel bad, and he's also extremely violent, and about things that connect with his past and aren't really a topic of conversation. With her, I feel like every time she has the chance to criticize me for something, once I'm comfortable, she just does it; first she gives in, and then she leaves, pretending to act in ways that keep me quiet or keep me unaware of the issue.

I don't know why these people wanted to associate with me. I feel the hugs from her boyfriend are absolutely fake. Once, I felt like she pulled me in for a hug, and I felt like she was going to accuse me of being a stalker, a pervert. These people really don't give me a good feeling.

I was with her once and said goodbye, thinking she was going to come with me, but no, it turned out she left with her work group. However, when I said goodbye to them, they displayed a strange, absorbing silence. They gave me the impression they were upset with me because of a possessive spirit. Frankly, I acted like nothing was happening, but it really seemed strange to me. Added to this is the fact that several of them, the women in that work group, seem extremely expressive and confident, leaving it up to you to decide whether they're looking for something or not. More than once, I half-assedly tried to get closer to see what the outcome would be, only to be met with rejection, which I dodged. Of course, this group likes to provoke when something gets out of order, invading the normalcy with which they treat you. That order consisted of everything regarding its members being consensual. For God's sake, it's a work group! How can they pretend to be like that?! They seem like those typical dysfunctional families, who are meddlesome in everything related to their members, and like things the way they like them, so as not to lose profits.

The disorder was palpable. Furthermore, that girl liked to encourage her boyfriend to get into situations that always bordered on the limits, provoking others, while being complacent when it came to coworkers. It seemed that her bosses, somehow, maintained the situation or had gotten used to it.

I also didn't like that girl was insinuating things about her relationship, saying that things were going badly, and at the same time treating her as if he were her husband or something. On top of that, she expressed that her environment put too much pressure on her; I saw her numerous times.

What I found in those people was a complete disaster. A total disaster. I don't want them in my life. They are invasive, they provoke others, they push boundaries, and no one does anything to prevent these situations. What this seems to me is a group of victims, who also like to have order in everything around them, with everything they interact with, typical of victims. Furthermore, this is at a prestigious university. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The overload, due to the excesses, is becoming degrading to me. I have to get away from all these people immediately.

I will definitely leave some things behind, however, I will not be in a place where this behavior is encouraged. Besides, it was the university where I studied. I wondered, how could they have ruined it like this? For me, it was practically a luxury, even though I am Catholic. And it is also one of the best in the country. This had to be a nightmare. I wondered, "Where were the priests?" Besides, if the place where I worked, and where I observed the scenes with her boyfriend, was the library, what were they like in other places that are less important to students? I feel like there's no room for peace there, no way. I wanted to have a good time, to be comfortable, but under these relationships, under these people, it's impossible because I have to move as they please. I understand why they chose to associate with me, with extreme kindness. For me, my beloved university, being that library where I liked to study and it was the best place for that, was completely lost.

I felt each of those employees using their positions purely to socialize, instead of using them to work. She sometimes neglected her responsibilities; I had to remind her of her duties. The most horrible thing is that her boyfriend was a sexist... I honestly wanted to die. I can't believe what I witnessed.

When I was a teenager, I stumbled upon pornography for the first time, and like many young men, curiosity quickly turned into a routine. At first, it felt like an innocent exploration of sexuality, almost like a rite of passage. But what started as occasional viewing during adolescence somehow became a deeply ingrained habit in my adulthood. Now that I am married, I find myself watching even more than before, despite having a loving and fulfilling relationship with my wife. This contradiction puzzles me 🤔. How is it that I can share intimacy with the person I love most, yet still feel compelled to seek artificial stimulation through a screen? I have read about dopamine reinforcement, novelty-seeking behavior, and the escalation effect in behavioral addictions, and these explanations make sense scientifically. Still, emotionally, it feels like an unresolved battle between rational understanding and impulsive action. Do you ever ask yourself why something so artificial can hold such a powerful grip on our brains?

Over the years, I noticed how pornography consumption gradually shaped my expectations. It was not about love, affection, or connection anymore; it became about intensity, novelty, and the endless pursuit of something new. This mirrors the very mechanism of tolerance seen in substance addiction, where the same stimulus loses its impact over time, pushing one to seek greater extremes. I started to recognize certain patterns: I would use it not only for arousal but also for stress relief, boredom, or even avoidance of difficult emotions. This realization made me feel trapped, as if the habit had infiltrated parts of my life where it did not belong. I confess that the shame cycle is real—after watching, I would feel guilty, promise myself to stop, but then repeat the behavior. And the paradox here is that while I acknowledge the addictive tendencies, I continue to rationalize them because of their accessibility, anonymity, and perceived harmlessness;

Yet, I try to maintain hope 🌱. I have begun to view this struggle not as a moral failure but as an opportunity for self-awareness and growth. I am learning to set boundaries, to replace compulsive behavior with healthier coping mechanisms like exercise, meditation, and open communication with my spouse. I truly believe it is possible to retrain the brain and regain control, just as one would in cognitive behavioral therapy or any structured intervention for maladaptive habits. When I reflect on it, I realize pornography does not define my masculinity, my marriage, or my identity. It is simply a habit that I allowed to grow unchecked, but habits can be reshaped. I share this here not to seek sympathy but to remind myself—and perhaps others—that it is never too late to make a change. Have you ever wondered if what feels like an unbreakable addiction might actually be a doorway toward deeper resilience, discipline, and authenticity in life? If so, maybe we are not as powerless as we sometimes think 💪.

Do you know that feeling when you’re dreaming, and suddenly you’re falling, then you jerk awake like your whole body just snapped? I want to know if anyone else actually experiences this because lately it’s happening to me several times every single night, and it never used to be like this. I’m not talking about that occasional twitch most people joke about—you know, when your body jolts once and you laugh it off. This is constant, it’s repetitive, and it’s so intense that it feels like my brain has turned into some kind of defective machine that keeps hitting the emergency eject button. I wake up with my heart racing, drenched in sweat, like I just got thrown off a building mid-dream. And it’s not once, it’s not twice, but six, seven, sometimes eight times per night. It destroys any chance of real rest. I’ve done the basic checks: no late caffeine, no screens blasting in my face, no major stress spike, not even any alcohol. None of that matters. It still happens. I’ve been reading around—doctors and articles love to call it “hypnic jerk,” or they classify it under parasomnia or throw in phrases like “nocturnal myoclonus.” All that jargon does is dress up the fact that your body decides to violently boot you out of sleep like a system crash. One medical review I came across said, “most individuals report these episodes as harmless,” which is honestly insulting. Would you call it harmless if your own body tricked you into thinking you were dying by falling every night? That word doesn’t fit at all. It feels hostile, rude, and like my nervous system is playing a sick joke at my expense.

And the more I think about it, the angrier I get. On one hand, I can go all technical and detached: it’s probably my nervous system misfiring, some mix-up between the vestibular system in my inner ear and the brain’s perception of stillness. I could cite “Mahowald and Schenck (2005)” or the International Classification of Sleep Disorders, which catalog this crap like items on a warehouse shelf. But honestly, that doesn’t help me at 3 a.m. when I’m yanked awake for the fifth time in a row, staring at the ceiling and wondering if I’ll ever sleep like a normal human again. One paper described it as “heightened sympathetic activation,” which is medical speak for “your fight-or-flight system won’t shut the hell up.” Great, thanks, I already knew my body was panicking. What I want to know is: does anyone else deal with it this often? I don’t mean occasionally, I mean systemically, like it’s been programmed into your nights. Do you just accept it, or does it drive you as crazy as it drives me? I feel detached even as I write this, but the truth is that it’s wrecking me. It’s ruining my ability to get restorative sleep, wrecking my circadian rhythm, and making me wake up already exhausted. I’m not here to be sentimental or dramatic—I’m just being direct about how much this is screwing with me. And yet, it still feels absurd to even type this out, because how do you complain about your own body deciding to simulate free-fall every single night? But here I am, frustrated, pissed, and stuck with it. If you’ve felt the same, you know exactly why I had to vent it out here. And if you haven’t, lucky you. For me, the best I can sum it up in one image is this stupid emoji: 😑.

When i was young I had a few inappropriate sexual encounters that I think have ruined me more than I realized. As an adult I'm addicted to porn. Not only that, when I first got the internet I was exposed to everything. Gore, porn, underage porn, everything. Now when I'm online I feel like I turn into a numb zombie, with a one track mind. a ride I can't get off, there is no escape and I feel like death is the only way to redeem myself or put an end to these compulsions.

As an adult I spend more time finding porn than actually looking at it. for the last few years I have been trying to find new, different stuff to be excited about. This has turned into me losing control. When the idea pops in my head I jump into the passenger seat of my own mind. I feel like I have no control. I start digging, grey out, then come back to reality, disgusted, depressed, and frantic.

I spend most of my waking hours depressed, frantic, and paranoid. The addiction is no longer fun or satisfying. it is a pure compulsive behavior and I really don't know what to do. The reason for the extreme guilt and disgust is due to the sites I visit. I've always sought amateur Webcam type content, I think traditional porn is too fake. the problem is some of the sites I found with this type of content had underage content. In the moment, it doesn't bother me, afterwards I want to die.

in reality those thoughts are not in my mind. I have come to the conclusion that I seem to be addicted to "finding something not meant to be found" or even worse, im addicted to depression. when i feel good about myself, have a good day or get some kind of self confidence boost, it sends me into a spiral and I feel like i need to remind myself im a huge piece of shit and kick me down where I need to be.

i have never saved or shared any illegal content, the disturbing thing is if you just google the right words everything is easy to find and access. I cant tell anyone, I even started therapy but can't speak the real truth. I don't even know if this is truly anynoymous, at this point I feel like turning myself into the police just so I can be removed from all access to the internet. I don't believe im a bad person, I don't actually have perverse thoughts about doing anything taboo. I'm just addicted to digging into the depths of the internet, getting disgusted with myself, and finding a valid reason to end my own life.

ill probably get judged here, but i really need advice on how to be the person I truly am and get rid of this monster taking over my brain.

I'm feeling a little bit sad because I'm messing all my progress with my healthy life style. I mean no junk food, go to the gym and all that stuff. I don't drink neither smoke since always because I don't like it so in that stuff I'm more than fine at least. I was doing it really great. But since june I've been eating a lot of junk food and not doing any kind of exercise and I'm truly disappointed with myself. I made a big promise and I don't wanna break it. I know can do better than this.

Suicide is justified

why shouldn’t we choose to exit? Death is inevitable anyway whether I die at 17, 47, or 89, the end is the same. Nothing makes me happy anymore. Helping, studying, relationships don’t fill the void so why keep patching something unfixable? Even if life improves later, that’s still a gamble right now suffering feels endless, and it’s unfair to force someone to endure just because “it might get better.” Life feels like theft, not gift born without consent, condemned to suffering, then robbed by death.

suicide isn’t just “choice,” it’s the end of all choices. If you exit now, you deny your future self the possibility of ever choosing differently. The amount of life experienced is the difference. If meaning is something you can create, then more time = more possibility. the void isn’t eliminated, it’s carried differently. That shift (existential acceptance) changes how much power the void has. Suicide blocks that possibility forever. I agree but I have no motivation to play this game.

you can decide whether to treat life as a burden or a canvas. The injustice of being born doesn’t mean the only justice is exit. Suicide hands victory to those who hurt you; living (even broken, even with void) is resistance. I agree and I don't want victories anymore.

I may never “fix” happiness, but i can still create meaning or peace and that possibility only exists if i stay. Right?? Yes but pain is unbearable and there's no way I can fill this void.

Uncertainty Principle (Heisenberg) Nothing is 100% fixed. Even particles don’t have definite positions/velocities until observed. Exactly: The “permanence” of my void is also uncertain. Just like particles, my inner state isn’t fixed. As we know Quantum Superposition A particle can exist in many states at once until measured.

Science and medicine can’t fill a void; it can change conditions so that the void stops swallowing everything. It can raise the floor (sleep, nutrition, meds), loosen the grip (therapy skills), and make room where meaning-making is possible.

“In quantum mechanics, X (a cause) doesn’t force only one effect (Y). It creates a range of possible outcomes {Y, Z, A…}. Which one becomes real depends on interaction/observation in life, that’s your choices and actions, But Possibility ≠ happiness it is only the chance. The void remains, yet the collapse is yours."

Suicide is a rational solution to suffering. you can't know what comes after death. If it's nothingness, yes, suffering ends. But if it's something (unknown state, spiritual consequence, ripple effect), the assumption breaks. I believe in nothingness. Life has no inherent meaning suicide is neither wrong nor right. Life has no meaning but precisely because of that, we must create our own meaning. Suicide "skips the responsibility" of creating. Yes, life is suffering, but the measure of a human is how they bear suffering and turn it into strength. Ending it early is abandoning your post. Since you didn't choose birth, the only place you do have choice is what you make out of this forced existence. Isn't it cruel to ask someone drowning in despair to wait for an uncertain tomorrow, when their suffering is certain today? void of meaninglessness certainty vs possibility. I Don't ask "what makes me happy?" I Ask "what makes me 2% lighter?" Still nothing works I'm not happy anymore. I used to believe When meaning is present, happiness sneaks back as a by-product. But I'm Wrong. Same with emotional rewiring. Only from stability can happiness grow. But slowly I'm feeling it will not work. Years of disappointment/ trauma condition me to "not expect joy" so even when it's there, i don't trust it. It's not the genuine happiness I feel. My brain doesn't take it. I have seen through the game of "do this be happy." i realize the loop is empty so happiness feels fake. I agree partially, studying 24/7

doesn't give me happiness but it can give me purpose. "Purpose sustains you when happiness can't." I do partially agree.

The unfair part of life is that we didn't choose to be born yet we're expected to carry on as if there's nothing wrong. When we didn't decide to whom or how we're born, why should we continue living a miserable life when there's a way out? There is far too much obsession with "success" and material gain, and not enough empathy. Suicide isn't selfish. What's truly selfish is neglecting someone so badly to the point that they want to kill themselves.

I feel like the only reason that suicide wouldn't be justified in the ultimate sense) is if your life still contains obligations (unfinished responsibilities to others, society, or even to yourself).

I don't feel happy... there's no happiness trust me.

So guys, this is about some stuff where I need your guidance and experience with this. I'm a young teen, and I have some stuff which bums me out like some chronic illnesses. I suffer eczema, and have been since I was 2 years old. As much as I have the creams, I hate putting them. I hate feeling that I can't ever be a girl who can wear makeup or dress up like a regular girl my age, I can only put on creams and Vaseline with lip balm. I feel like a stone with eczema, not a girl. I even developed a new set of allergies from cat fur, so now I can't even pet my cousins's three pet cats without sneezing and swelling up, and I discovered this while being at their place and one time in Malaysia, in a cat cafe when I petted a chonky cat, rubbed my eyes and it swelled. Now my orthodontist saw that my adenoids and tonsils are more sensitive than usual, hence why I cough more easily when eating cold ice cream or drinking cold stuff. Maybe I have asthma because my maternal grandma has for many decades now, and while hers has gotten better (she doesn't use an inhaler much and stays with the three cats), but she's 64 now. Now with a lot of these health concerns, I wanna give up so badly.

I don't wanna meet up with an allergist or ENT or dermatologist because it's too expensive for my parents and besides, my paternal grandpa used to be a dermatologist, and he was kinda brash. He would yell at everyone, like, EVERYONE, at work, patients, his family and he's now quite jaded with many things, binging all sorts of carbs and foods and not going out much. He's 75 now. I just wanna give up, I already don't feel like a girl and I hate my eczema, my tonsils, my allergies, and my fear of developing asthma because they're part of the atopic triad. I just wanna doomscroll, not do anything, binge all the snacks and sweets to become like my grandpa, and isolate from people because they are all more normal than me. I feel so hopeless, and I wanna know, if anyone is like me. Anyone who's a teen, or anyone with asthma, eczema, or allergies, I wanna know.

Sabotage eh? Was planned all along? Don't complain if my work is wrong what I was taught wrong all along?

I express that I feel tearful. Why is there no efficient psychotherapy service in my country? I feel extremely hurt. Friends, it's impossible that not a single one of the psychotherapists I turned to was able to help me with my problems; instead, I had to do everything on my own. The very symptoms I was carrying kept returning, and no one cared. These enormous individuals, narcissists, con artists, weren't concerned about doing their job. There's nothing more unpleasant than going to a professional and having them come up with a series of inefficiencies, make you believe they're correct, have the good fortune to prolong therapy as long as they want, and on top of that, offer you a return.

It's horrible to feel that none of those therapists were concerned about doing their job, none. In fact, I ended up using one of these individuals to get them to say I'm fine and thus get rid of the people who were on my nerves, insisting that I was unstable or something like that. How is it possible that this therapist didn't realize I was more focused on using it for that than anything else? It was all based on a sad complacency: completing psychotherapy so they'd leave me alone. On top of that, the surrounding psychotherapists were determined to keep me in therapy, which felt, as you can see from my previous words, like a prison I couldn't escape. I had to find excuses to get out of the psychotherapies I was undergoing, which weren't simple, but precise. It's horrible to feel that something that should be healing turns out to be exactly the opposite, in some ways, and not transparent at all. And in this spirit, the psychotherapists, at least in my country, dared to express that I should go to one. This outrages me and made me feel like I was facing a group that only sought to maintain a position of power over me, even at the expense of my health. It's appalling, and it's something that others supported, especially my father, who is a doctor and who sought such status.

It's incredible, in general terms, how the health sector has based its discourse no longer on being a health producer but, quite the opposite, on an entity that simply seeks social dominance. How can we not think that these entities serve an international entity that could very well serve others? My father insisted that I give in to therapy at all costs. In other words, even in this environment I'm in, they cared about the conditions I was in and how well they were leading me to define myself as a patient as something else. It's like feeling the environment pressuring me to go to psychotherapy, and at the same time, the therapist forcing me to go, against my will, inducing changes that don't favor my development. For me, these psychotherapies became simple conversion therapies, simply a way to be submissive to the environment. Perhaps this issue, from what I'm seeing, isn't as unusual as I thought. This makes me understand why cinema is killing off psychotherapists these days, and because it's international in scope, this problem is going beyond the borders of my country.

How disappointing to be told about a service that can help you with your problems, and it's, in fact, urgent, and you find yourself facing this. The worst part of the situation is that psychotherapists and those around you accuse you, for appearing frustrated, of not being cooperative with the process, that is, of not showing yourself as they think you should. So, what's happening to them? Does the patient have to meet expectations of what's expected from the therapeutic work or be a product of the therapeutic work? Frankly, I think it's the latter. It's incredible how far such a delicate process has been taken, such as assessment, perhaps more so than surgery. I'm truly shocked. The most horrible thing is that no one talks about this at all, although I've seen some insights into it, but the problem is that it's not done in my country. This guild is being blindly admired, like many other guilds, which implies or only encourages abuse by professionals, which is in effect an attitude completely unprofessional. I can only say that my country, under these conditions and assuming there is no support, is going to go bankrupt, but by the professionals themselves, the issue no longer even being about political conditions, and it makes me feel fearful of my stay on this earth.

It's incredible, but instead of being scared of the government, I'm scared precisely for those who are not the government. I have often observed that the population uses this entity as an excuse to escape their responsibilities, pointing to their own impulsiveness turned into reality in entities that belong to the government. At this point, it makes one wonder if it's really worthwhile to study the government, when in reality should be about the people themselves. It's said that the government provides insecurity, however, I see that the entities that produce it are the population itself, and in the form of opaque crime, since professional abuse is one form of it. It's impressive how far we've come in my country, as a people, these days. This is definitely not what I expected to find when I left my family. It's practically becoming the same constitution as theirs, that is, a defense of the roles obtained through hard work and the consequent ability to achieve a leading discourse through words specific to the domain. With professionals, this is translating into a simply leading discourse and the use of certain technical terms, and this is what the people are defending, without questioning it, which marks it as inactive.

It's appalling that this has happened to psychotherapists, who are the primary ones who should exercise essential caution with every word dictated, without exception, because every word counts. This, in turn, requires constant review of the work done, given the consequences each practice leaves behind, something I, in fact, never experienced with any of the psychotherapists. My country is becoming a place where, as a result of the great instability that leads to a desperate search for solutions, there are leaders who seek to dominate people within a certain realm, thus achieving, as with my family, an absolute disrespect for the independent spirit, descending into their denigration in such realms regarding what leads to such a modus operandi, always seeking a suggestion. Indeed, in the environment I live in, identity integrity is a superficial element and worthy of being changed by the environment, according to the circumstances. I never imagined things were this serious.

Indeed, if I mention anything like this to those around me, they won't pay attention to a single word I say. They'll pick up on it, but it will be as if I'd never said anything, just like what happened in my family. I can now understand why I've navigated this situation with great astuteness, something that has certainly not been the case for many people in my country. It's ironic, but having ties to a wounded, hegemonic family has its advantages when it comes to experiencing conditions of instability—of course, when you begin to visualize the elements that constituted it.

This is more like a health question/vent. This is more on the sickness bit and not my age. Anyways, I suffer eczema and have cat allergies that came recently at 13. I had eczema since I was 2, and it has been bumming me out more at 13. The reason is because I always see folks like models with such glossy and pretty skin, with no acne, and while cutting cashew nuts did get rid of my acne (which is good). This is stuff like, where, I feel bad that I have eczema. I now hate even more how my skin flakes, how it makes me feel old, how it makes my lips look whitish pink than the regular lip pink, and how much it looks bad and spooks my dad even when he's seen it for years, and it sucks. I'm 13, and I know insecurity is what I should be feeling at this age about my appearance, but I just wish I was better than this since most girls in my class have clear skin.

And then I got a random cat allergy when I was in Malaysia when I rubbed a chubby cat, and then I rubbed my eye and it swelled so much. And then at my relative's house the same happened but not as bad. Now I fear I may get asthma because eczema, allergies and asthma are all part of the atopic triad. My maternal grandma has it, she's 64, and somehow I don't see her much with an inhaler and she's more chill with cats but her leg skin is dry af. I fear dermatologists because my paternal grandpa was both a dermatologist and anesthesiologist back in the 70s, and the pressures made him so rude and angry to patients, his family, senior doctors, and his own siblings too.

And I'm scared if I will get judged for my skin, for how gross and flaky and ugly it is. By the doctors. And I'm afraid if I'll never live like a regular human again if I ever get diagnosed with asthma.

I sometimes just wanna desperately eat all the sweet, sugary junk food I can if I ever will, just because if at least I die from asthma, at least it's sugary and sweet, like a cute filter with bears and puppies.

I feel I can never own a fluffy animal like a cat because of allergies and no cat is truly hypoallergenic, and lizards, frogs, fishes and snakes feel so emotionally distant they'll only see me as their food giver and not their parent who wants to love them but can't because they lack that emotional bit

Just, anyone with asthma or eczema wanna tell me what dermatologist visits are like (last time I went I was 2 and I can't remember), how you guys manage, what it was like when you got diagnosed, and I just wanna know if you can ever own a fluffy animal like a cat without wheezing or swelling.

I'm not even shocked at this point hahahah they've done that to me before years before they gonna do it again right now lol 😂

This is not for minors I dunno don't read if you can't, be safe. This is going to be about sexual stuff. This is going to include topics like SA! and other disturbing shit. I don't know if the story really fits the category but i couldn't find a better one. It's going to be long, so yall can skip it I don't mind. This also may be nonsensical because i cant write.

So starting off I'm very, very messed up. Im scared to talk about this even to a therapist and I will understand if you tell me im disgusting and horrible. Heres me trying to explain how I got to this point.

The first time i heard about sex was when i was in kindergarten. I don't remember much but I remember one of my friends walked in on her parents and was telling us about it. I was very confused about what was happening because I'd never heard of it. I don't think i was even given the warning to tell my parents if someone touched me. But that doesn't really matter.

So fast forward like a few years i was at the end of kindergarten like the late years. I hadn't started school yet. My mom during summer would leave me and my sister's at my grandma's for a week and our cousins would come and visit us. My cousin was only a year older than me and I would play with dolls with her. Only the games would be really messed up. She would act out scenarios where the guy was like 20-30 years old and the girl was like 12- 18 at most. In short the stories would normally go like this. The guy kidnaps her, locks her up, r@pes her multiple times and she falls in love with him. Of course at that age i didn't know how messed up it was i didn't even know what was sex and when I asked she gave me a very fuxked up explanation. We were both kids. I was scared my mom would be mad if I told her what we played so I never did.

Now again skipping a few years I'm in school. The boys in my class are even in 1st grade finding porn sites and other shit like that. I still was mostly confused and didn't interact with any of it. Until one day when i was like 12 or 11 or something. My friend invited me over to her house. And she told me: I will show you something but you can't tell anyone. She shows me corn sites... And not even the normal ones like hardcore bdsm shit. And of course like the little stupid kid I was like I got hooked. I have ADHD that might be part of it. At that time I freshly got my first phone that had internet. I immediately got hooked. But my mom caught me. And then we had a sit down talk about what is sex and how it actually works.

And that might've worked if i already wasn't so messed up. I was still watching but i got better at hiding it.

A little while later I joined a fandom. It was fine and cool but the fandom had really gross shipping culture and I stumbled upon it and again got way too into it. First i just found fan content on tik tok. Then it was Fanart then Wattpad and then finally the beast AO3. Even though until this point I had already been seeing some weird shit. AO3 was the thing that took it off the rail. The sorting system on the site is pretty hard for beginners and I started to read some very disturbing and disgusting stuff. I think I got addicted both to mastu*bating and to corn.

And here i am now.

I'm addicted to the shit. I hate myself. Whatever you think I've read I can assure you I've read worse. The thing is I don't normally consume that shit. I feel disgusted when i see it. But when I'm excited it's like my brain turns off and i am ready to see the most disgusting stuff and every time I need something more. And after post nut clarity hits i want to kill myself. And like you may say bdsm thats a normal kink DW. But its not. The shit I read contains noncon sometimes gore and even worse stuff. I'm not actually attracted to any of it. At least I hope so.

Okay that's it. I understand if no-one reads this. And I completely understand that if you do you call me disgusting. I am. I know. I wish it was different. I wish I could just wipe my mind clean. But i cant.

Okay bye have nice day if you read this and even if you didn't.

Yours truly, Most fucked up girl in the world.