Health and Wellness Failures Stories

I don't know why I had to endure the treatment I endured. I feel like I lived surrounded by pure monsters, by people who wanted to change my life, who didn't love me. I don't know why I had to live through something like that. What did I do to the world to have to live through something like that? I had to put everyone in their place. It's as if they'd been waiting a long time for the day this would happen. I'd never seen such vengeful intent on the part of my family. I feel like it was the worst, on the part of medicine, on the part of the world.

I didn't understand why the hell the world turned against me. What did I do? I just wanted to be free from everyone. Why this eagerness to grab me? Do they think that because I'm a family member, I'm doomed to receive their punishment? They're all crazy. How many after-effects didn't they leave me with? How much did I have to write to survive the after-effects? So that these things wouldn't affect me in the future. And the psychiatrist ignores this! Why did I have to walk the path alone again? I don't understand. I feel like this is a very real reality for me. I'm having a hard time processing it fully.

It brings tears to my eyes. Why did I have to fight with my family? My departure was supposed to have made them reflect on their principles, but they weren't even capable of that. They only reflected on some brutal things, trying to figure out how to intervene with me. How could I be like this? Why the hell did I encounter such a bunch of macabre people? How long will I have to live putting them in their place? Don't they have the capacity to reflect? To learn? What the hell is wrong with them? Do you have problems there or something?

It can't be that I left for three years and these people only got worse. I can't believe it. They hit me, once, twice, three times, and now a fourth time. Who the hell needs to go to a psychiatrist? Me or them? It's clear they have serious behavioral problems. The same things happen again and again. They lack the ability to learn, they seek to do things secretly, seeking to do more harm. Why do these people only improve, leading them astray? Until when? Is it that a case in them cannot be trusted? Where is the education? I find it hard to believe that this I found is a family of mine. Personally, I say it, I admit it, it can't be that I found it, it's my blood. I can't believe this is my blood. Once again, pushing them aside, to the side, happened again. Until when?

I ask myself: Do these individuals really want family? Do these individuals really want to be with me? Where is the desire that verifies it? Where is the affection? It can't be that they're going back to the same mistakes as before. It can't be. It's clear that they don't want to get out of the same situation they're in with me. They're just making excuses, they don't want to be with me, but I've had enough of them. I've given them plenty of opportunities to change; it's been enough.

I feel totally disappointed in my family members. And not just in them, but in the doctors too, who clearly haven't reflected one bit on what happened, nothing short of a sad act of heroism. Where is a reflective world? It's impossible that no one has shared the cause of this explosion with them, it can't be. And they're healthcare workers! I can't stand these professionals any longer. Do they know how to socialize? If that's the case, it should apply to all cases, not just a select few. It's in diversity that things are seen. But what do I have to do with them? I don't see anything, I don't see effort, I don't see reflection. Where is the brainpower to move the world forward?

I feel deeply outraged. It's impossible that to this day someone suggested I celebrate Mother's Day again, as an adult, and also without knowing the circumstances, and also as someone who cares for children, and not just her, but also another who is a teacher. Why have I surrounded myself with these kinds of people? Where's the capacity for reflection? Are we just going to support the maintenance of a family structure? What if it's a façade, as is often the case, for the perpetuation of crime by one of its thousands of agents? Where's even the conscience of the citizenry? Frankly, I don't understand.

Is this what many people I've grown accustomed to wanted in people? These people are capable of bringing down a country. Am I going to be with them? For that, I'd rather pack my bags and leave forever, or at least, if I were to experience that, have the satisfaction of knowing that it was going to happen, and then formulate a support plan, but only by following the matter closely. That's being preemptive! Why does no one want to see that? Is that why no one wants to know what's going on in the environment, the people there? I mean, do I have to join them in that fall? It's not fair, I don't have to pay for the unconsciousness of others.

So, here I am, sitting in my messy room, trying to figure out if I’m just some person who’s a little slow on the uptake when it comes to feelings or if I’m actually asexual. To be honest, I really don’t know. I mean, I’m 17, and all my friends are out there exploring their “sexual awakenings” or whatever they call it, but for me, it’s like a big ol’ void. Like, I don’t even know what I’m missing. I get that everyone’s on this wild ride of hormones and romantic entanglements, and there’s me, standing on the sidelines like I’m stuck at a video game level that won’t load. My friends casually toss around terms like “crush” and “hookup” while I'm over here thinking, “why bother?” It’s like I’m reading a manual in a different language that nobody thought to translate for me.

The other day, my buddy was all hyped up about this girl he liked, and he was telling me what he thought would happen. He kept dropping lines about “chemistry” and “sparks,” and I just couldn’t relate. Every time I hear someone say, “you’ll know when it happens,” I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised I don’t see my brain. I mean, what does that even mean? Do I need to sacrifice a goat or something to get this so-called “spark”? I’ve tried to be interested; I’ve flicked through dating apps, swiped here and there, and honestly, it feels like a chore. Like, I’m trying to watch a movie that everyone claims is a masterpiece, but I’m just sitting there wondering when the good part starts. My mind wanders to the definition of asexuality, and I catch myself thinking that maybe I fit that description. But then I wonder—am I just overthinking, or is it real? Am I just taking a little longer to get to the party?

I’ve read enough articles, seen plenty of videos to know that asexuality isn’t just “being picky” or something you grow out of when you hit puberty; it's a legitimate orientation. But it gnaws at me. Am I really asexual or just a late bloomer who’s scared of rejection? I mean, every time the topic of sex comes up, my brain goes into this autopilot mode where I’m nodding along, but inside I’m just screaming, “This isn't for me!” It feels like I’m meant to be a part of this club, but they won’t let me through the door, and I’m honestly starting to think I might not even want to go in. Maybe that’s the crux of it—this nagging feeling that says, “why do I have to be labeled at all?” So, dear reader, I turn this back to you: Am I asexual, just confused, or frankly, who cares? Do you ever feel this disconnect, or is it just me spiraling down this rabbit hole?

I'm currently at work. I do research for a travel provider in my local area. Today I was interviewing passengers on the metro system but before I can start, I have to count all the passengers that come through my assigned door. I was mid-count when one of our ticket inspectors told me to move for a disabled passenger because I was standing in the wheelchair area absentmindedly. She pulled a face and gave me dirty looks for the remainder of her time on the metro and was doing the same when she got off. It wasn't a major issue and I moved immediately because I was in the way but her tone and glaring made me so angry. I wanted to scream at her and hit something. I just wanted to explode and it was completely out of proportion. Then on the same trip we had a fare dodger who refused to leave when he was caught. The team members let him stay on the metro despite travelling without a valid fare. I was mad at the staff for giving up so easily but I just wanted to attack the dodger. I'm a fair large person and all I could picture in my head was repeatedly kicking this man in the head. Again, irrational anger. The staff are not obligated to remove fare dodgers when they get aggressive, which he was. And wanting to beat a man to death for being a cheap, scumbag is excessive. But I keep having these thoughts of disproportionate rage whenever a situation arises. I regularly fantasize about murdering my neighbour after he threatened me a year ago. What the hell is wrong with me?

So here I am, 23 years old, sitting on my couch at 6 AM, scrolling through my phone like the rest of the world, and I can’t help but wonder if doing some morning yoga could actually help me chill out a bit, you know? Work has been an absolute circus lately—endless deadlines, demanding bosses, and that annoying coworker who “just loves to chat” while I’m trying to concentrate! Ugh! On top of that, my home life isn't exactly a zen garden either. It’s like a tornado of chores, family drama, and oh, let’s not forget the never-ending battle with my own mental health; I don’t need to tell you how exhausting that can be. Someone once said, “When you find peace within yourself, you become the kind of person who can live at peace with others.” Is that true? Because at this point, I’d just like to be at peace without screaming at the top of my lungs. I keep hearing about how morning yoga is supposed to be this miracle cure-all for stress, but honestly, I can’t get over my own skepticism. I mean, sure, there’s something appealing about stretching out my tight muscles, especially when I’ve been hunched over my laptop for way too long—but will it really help? Every time I think about it, I picture myself in a yoga class, all zen and serene, looking like a complete novice! Have you seen how those yoga influencers contort themselves? Like, what even is that? And let’s not forget the smell of essential oils—it’s either heavenly or a total headache! I can just imagine showing up with my “I do yoga” sweatpants and completely whiffing a pose. People in the room would probably roll their eyes at me. “Girl, just breathe,” they’d probably whisper while I’m over there struggling to keep my balance. Yet, I feel like I should give it a try. Couldn’t I use a bit of that whole “namaste” vibe in my chaotic life? But then I wonder: could I actually commit to doing it regularly? I’m already 10 minutes late to everything, and adding a morning yoga routine to my schedule seems like a tall order, doesn’t it? I could see it now: me, madly trying to fit in downward dog before I rush out the door, only to be late again because I lost track of time trying to “find my center.” Lo and behold, my chaotic mornings would just get more chaotic! Would it really set a positive tone for the rest of my day, or just make me more irritable when I can’t get everything done in time? So many questions! I could just start with simple stretches at home—maybe throw on a YouTube video and pretend I know what I'm doing, right? They say even a few minutes of mindfulness can lead to better stress management; just breathe and focus, they say. But I find it hard to relax when my mind races with a thousand thoughts about what I didn’t do and what I still need to do. Like, why is life such a juggling act? Is it too much to ask for a little bit of balance? Probably, because let’s face it: my life has been more of a tightrope walk than a yoga class! I can't even tell you how often I've tried to squeeze in self-care, and yet, here I am, still feeling wound up like a string on a bow. But, as I delve more into this whole yoga idea, there's this nagging voice in my head pushing me to try something new, you know? "Step out of your comfort zone," it whispers. Maybe I really could use some calm in my mornings, even if I end up looking ridiculous and flailing about as my cat watches on, probably judging me, has anyone ever felt that? For some weird reason, I feel like I owe it to myself to at least give morning yoga a shot; who knows, it might even make me a better person at work and home. Plus, wouldn't it be awesome to actually have a chill start to the day instead of bursting out the door like a caffeinated squirrel? I'm still on the fence about it—do I really want to give it a go, or just keep watching random memes on my phone until the last second? Maybe if I push myself to get up a lil' early? I mean, the thought of being able to say I do yoga does sound kind of badass. And hey, I’m all about trying to make my chaotic life feel a little less chaotic; is it crazy to think that morning yoga might just hold the answer I've been looking for? Anyone out there make it work in their routine? I need help deciding here; should I take the plunge and roll out a mat, or keep dreaming of that blissful morning peace while I slip back into the chaos that is my reality?

As I sit here reflecting on my life, I cannot help but confront the pervasive sensations of existential dread that have accompanied me throughout my existence. Being 31 years old, a male navigating the complexities of adulthood, has brought forth a cavalcade of thoughts that often orbit around philosophical quandaries and abstract concepts that seem to hold me in a vice-like grip, compelling me to analyze every facet of my reality, both past and present. In a world where the mundane often shrouds the profound, I find myself ensnared in an endless loop of ruminations, particularly those that provoke anxiety surrounding my own existence, the nature of reality, and the elusive meaning of life itself. For instance, I was recently walking in the park—a typical Saturday outing to decompress after a taxing week—when I stumbled upon a seemingly innocuous tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze, yet my thoughts spiraled into an intricate analysis of its existence: Was this tree merely a transient anomaly in the grand scheme of the universe, serving no greater purpose than aesthetic pleasure for the passerby? Or did it embody an essential piece of a larger cosmic puzzle, contributing to the ecological systems that sustain life on Earth? These dilemmas circulate in my mind like a hamster on a wheel, never quite yielding the clarity I so desperately seek. Coupled with these musings are the persistent obsessions that arise from my experience with OCD, a condition that amplifies my tendencies toward overthinking everything that might seem trivial to another—like the cycle of life and death, the inevitability of decay, and, perhaps most dauntingly, the question of whether I am truly living authentically or merely going through the motions dictated by societal expectations. I often wonder whether others grapple with similar sentiments; might they find themselves staring into the abyss of their own thoughts, lost in contemplation about the purpose of their existence? During one particularly trying episode, I recall sitting at a café, attempting to savor my espresso while the cacophony of voices around me morphed into a philosophical dialogue of its own, leading me to ponder the vastness of the universe and my infinitesimal, seemingly inconsequential role within it. Is it possible that I am just another fleeting consciousness amidst an unforgiving cosmos, merely existing rather than truly living? Yet, while these thoughts may initially seem daunting, I have come to realize that acknowledging such existential questions can catalyze growth and introspection. I have learned that challenging oneself to navigate through these labyrinthine thoughts can lead to an enriched understanding of my own beliefs and values, often prompting me to realign my priorities and appreciate the sheer beauty of fleeting moments—like the laughter of a friend or a stunning sunrise illuminating the horizon. Amidst this internal chaos, I find solace in the notion that there is something inherently human about grappling with uncertainty and the quest for meaning; it binds us together as we navigate a shared experience defined by our complexities. As I confront my existential OCD, I recognize the potential beauty in vulnerability, for it carries the promise of connection and growth. Whether through conversations with friends or moments of solitude, I have discovered that vulnerability can engender resilience, allowing us to confront our deepest fears and emerge stronger, even amid uncertainty. Thus, I encourage you, dear reader, to embrace the electromagnetic spectrum of emotions and thoughts that accompany the human experience; perhaps you, too, can take a moment to reflect on what it means to exist in a world that often feels overwhelmingly vast. In doing so, we might find ourselves embarking on a journey toward understanding and acceptance, realizing that even in the face of existential quandaries, there is hope and beauty to be found. In a strange way, is it not this very struggle that lends color and meaning to our lives, offering us the opportunity to define our own significance in this unpredictable adventure we call life?

lately, i find myself caught off guard by my reactions to even the smallest events. it's strange how watching a sentimental TikTok or hearing a slightly critical comment from a friend sends my emotions spiraling. some days i feel utterly indifferent to everything, while on others, i’m ridiculously sensitive, crying over trivialities that i wouldn’t usually bat an eyelash at. maybe it’s hormones, or perhaps this is simply what being a teenager entails. still, the inconsistency of my emotional state makes me question whether something more profound might be at play here. do other people my age feel this overwhelmed by basic, everyday situations, or am i just overly dramatic?

it's weird how sometimes emotions just hit differently, right? like yesterday, i was joking around with my bestie when she casually said something about how i take things too seriously. she wasn't even mean about it, just teasing me like usual. yet somehow, that casual remark lingered with me the entire day, making me feel unexpectedly inadequate and overly self-conscious. logically, i understand it was harmless banter, nothing worth dwelling upon, yet emotionally, it felt disproportionately impactful. later, scrolling through my socials, i came across a meme about being overly emotional, and instead of laughing it off, i genuinely related and felt comforted knowing others might feel similarly conflicted. it’s bizarre, isn’t it, how quickly emotions fluctuate from laughter to near tears, leaving you wondering if your reactions are typical teenage turbulence or indicative of deeper insecurities you haven't addressed?

sometimes i try stepping back, analyzing my emotional patterns objectively, hoping to uncover why i'm experiencing these drastic emotional shifts. perhaps i should consider external factors—lack of sleep, academic pressure, or social dynamics—as they undoubtedly influence mental equilibrium. additionally, adolescence inherently entails emotional instability, thus explaining why minor stressors trigger exaggerated reactions. despite acknowledging this logically, the sensation remains intensely personal and often isolating. so, here i am, articulating these thoughts to strangers online, hoping someone else might resonate and reassure me that feeling emotionally overwhelmed occasionally doesn't signify weakness or abnormality; rather, it merely highlights our shared human fragility. do any of you experience this emotional rollercoaster, and if so, how do you typically navigate these confusing, unpredictable feelings?

It was a sunny day when I first found myself under the water, feeling the panic rise in my chest like a tidal wave. Just a regular swim day, you know? But then I slipped. The water enveloped me, and for a brief moment, everything turned dark. I thought I was going to die, honestly! My thoughts just raced—what does it feel like to drown? Is it like suffocating? Or is it calm, like falling asleep? I could feel my lungs screaming for air, yet all I could do was flail and hope for someone to pull me up. Every desperate grasp for air felt hopeless, and I realized in that instant how fragile life truly is. You never think it'll happen to you until it does... right? 😨

But wait! Not all was lost, as if by some miracle, I felt a strong arm wrap around me and pulled me to the surface. It was the most incredible feeling, breaking through the surface and gasping for air! The pure relief was overwhelming. I choked, sputtered, and took in the bright sunshine that I had been missing. Suddenly, every struggle I faced under the surface felt worth it, somehow. It’s like I got a second chance, you know?! I learned to appreciate each breath as if it were my last! The water that had once terrified me now felt like a strange friend that taught me a lesson about resilience. Isn’t it funny how life throws stuff at you that you never expect? 🌊

Looking back, drowning wasn't just about feeling fragile; it was also about emerging stronger. I mean, now I look at water differently. I respect it, yes, but I also embrace it. I’ve taken swimming lessons since then, and I’m no longer afraid. Instead of seeing it as a threat, I’ve learned how to navigate through the waves! Each splash reminds me of my near-drowning experience, but it also fuels my desire to conquer my fears. So, isn’t it something? To feel new life after a near-death experience? 🌈 Do you think we can emerge stronger after facing our fears, or does it leave us more cautious? I hope everyone out there can find their path to recovery like I did! Keep swimming, because life’s currents may be rough, but we are stronger than we think!!! 💪

Every morning, I wake up with the same thoughts swirling around in my mind. I drag myself out of bed, caught in the battle between wanting to feel good about myself and being overwhelmed by a sense of inadequacy. I walk to the bathroom, avoid looking in the mirror, afraid that this reflection will echo the familiar voice doubting me—“You don’t fit into those jeans anymore, do you?” “How did you end up here?” I know I’m not technically “overweight” according to the BMI charts or what society deems as the standard, but God, do I feel heavy. It seems every little thing weighs me down. I don’t understand; I eat relatively well, have an exercise routine, and yet my mind still holds onto the narrative that I’m not enough, that I’m not the fit and vibrant version of myself that I used to be.

The kicker? Social media. I scroll through impossibly perfect images of other women who seem to have it all figured out—gorgeous outfits, flawless skin, flawless abs. Meanwhile, I’m over here in sweatpants, scrolling through my feed at 11 p.m., munching on a bag of chips. I know rationally that these posts don't reflect reality, but I can't help but measure myself against them. Every “like” I didn’t get feels like a reminder that I’m somehow less desirable or less worthy. Sometimes, I find myself wondering, do other women feel this way? Am I alone in thinking I should look like that, feeling this constant sense of dissatisfaction with my appearance? It’s exhausting. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but the feeling keeps creeping back in—an unwelcome visitor that never really leaves. In those quiet moments before sleep tugs me under, I find myself asking, why do I feel fat? Am I simply a victim of society's skewed standards, or is this really about something deeper within me?

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and to be honest, I’m a bit confused. I’m a 28-year-old guy who identifies as bisexual, but I keep hearing people talking about pansexuality and it’s making me question what I really know about my own identity. I mean, I’ve always thought of bisexuality as being attracted to two or more genders, while pansexuality seems to be more about being attracted to people regardless of gender. But does that mean pansexuals are more open, or am I just overthinking this? Like, can you even clearly define the difference between the two, or are they just different labels people use to describe similar feelings? I’ve had friends tell me that it really comes down to personal choice and how someone relates to their own attractions, but I don’t want to assume that my experience as bisexual is the same as someone else’s experience as pansexual. It’s honestly exhausting, and maybe I need to just chill out a bit, but these identities feel so fluid and I just want to understand them better.

I remember talking to this girl I met at a party who identified as pansexual, and it was kind of an enlightening experience. She talked about how she feels attracted to people based on their personality over their gender. It made me think about my own preferences and if I truly limit myself, or if I'm just as open as she is but with a different label. Sometimes I catch myself questioning if there’s a right way to identify, like should I be more fluid or should I stick to how I’ve identified for years? It’s frustrating because I certainly don’t want to misrepresent myself, but it also feels like there’s this constant pressure to define myself in a way that makes sense to others. Are these labels helping us connect, or are we just complicating things? If you’re reading this, what do you all think? Is there really a significant difference between being bisexual and pansexual, or is it just a matter of semantics? What’s your experience with these identities?

Have you ever sat in your room, staring at the blank wall while the world outside continues its relentless pace, and wondered why you even bother to wake up each day? I mean, seriously, I'm nineteen and still asking myself this elementary question: What’s the point? Life, as I see it, feels like one stacked disappointment after another. Sometimes, I can’t help but feel like I’m just a ghost wandering through a living nightmare. Friends? Yeah, apparently I have a couple, but how many of them actually care? It’s like playing a game of pretend where everyone’s wearing masks, and I’m trapped inside my own. We laugh; we talk about pointless things that mean absolutely nothing. But deep down, I know that beneath the surface of those smiles is a sea of apathy, drifting quietly past as time ticks on. Like, do you ever get the sense that everyone is as lost as you are, but we’re just too scared to admit it? Days bleed into nights, and what do I have to show for it? A collection of half-finished projects and dreams that crumble every time I actually muster the courage to pursue them. Take school, for instance. I’m pushing through it, but I honestly can’t fathom why it matters. The grades, the pressure, the endless cycle of studies and exams—it all feels so trivial when you think about it. Not to mention the regrets that linger like smoke in the air, taunting me over lost opportunities and things I wanted to say but never did. How did I let it get this far? This overwhelming feeling of inadequacy weighs on me like an anchor, making it hard to even get out of bed some days. I mean, am I the only one who feels like I’m screaming in a crowded room and no one hears me? Sometimes the silence feels deafening. The moments between the chaotic noise of everyday life are filled with self-doubt, pulling me down into thoughts that spiral like a roller coaster out of control. Relationships are complicated, aren’t they? I see my friends dating, laughing, living lives full of passion, and I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with me. Why can’t I find that spark, that fire that lights up the mundane? I scroll through social media, each post a reminder of what I lack. Life looks perfect through a screen, but in reality, it’s just a highlight reel, right? Are we all just actors in our own stories? I keep waiting for the moment when I finally feel alive, yet every time I think it might happen, it slips through my fingers like sand. What if all I am is a name on a list, an afterthought in someone else’s tale? I try to fill my days, consuming content, watching movies, playing videos games—it’s like I’m escaping into different universes where my real life feels even more distant. The thrilling escapades and heroic quests completely contrast the mediocrity of my existence. Yet, when the screen fades to black, I’m left alone again, confronting the echoing reality of my confusion and despair. Do you feel this way too? Like a spectator, just watching your life go by? I thought adulthood came with the promise of freedom and adventure, but here I am trapped in an existence I didn’t sign up for. At times, I think about the possible paths I could take—the ones I didn’t choose, the risks I was too scared to take. So many “what ifs” floating in my head. What if I had gone after that girl I liked in high school? What if I had taken a year off to travel? What if I actually pursued what I loved instead of what everyone else expected? We live our lives pretending to follow a script, but what’s written doesn’t reflect who we are inside. And here’s the kicker; despite all that feeling, I still wake up every day. I won’t lie and say that the night doesn’t sometimes stretch endlessly and leave me feeling hopeless, but a part of me clings to the thought that maybe, just maybe, it could get better. There’s still a glimmer of hope buried somewhere under all this confusion that tells me there has to be a reason for my existence, but for now, I’m just lost in the chaos. Who knows if I’ll ever find my way? Do you ever feel the same, or am I just rambling into the void? Why are we here? It’s a question I’m still struggling to answer.

I fucked up my maths exams today. It’s finals I can’t believe I made so made fucking small mistakes and it’s literally decreasing my marks. I EVEN TOLD MY PARENTS IT WAS WELL. I’m the only one who messed up my exams like this. I just wanna kill my self. I really wanna cry. I’m so scared to show my face to my parents.

i’ve been holding a lot in for a long time. i don’t always know how to say these things out loud, but maybe you’ll understand. maybe you’ve felt some of this too.

i’ve always been different. even when i was little, i noticed it. i had meltdowns at school and sometimes i would run out of the classroom. everything got too loud and too confusing. kids stayed away from me. some were scared. i got bullied a lot. it made me think something was wrong with me.

i wanted friends. i wanted to be like everyone else. but i didn’t know how. it felt like i missed out on learning something everyone else just knew. people tried to help. i got put on meds and into therapy. i know they were trying their best. but it didn’t fix how alone i felt. it just made me feel guilty for being a problem.

growing up, i barely had any friends. most of the time, i was by myself. even in high school, when it seemed like everyone had groups and plans and people to count on, i had maybe two or three people i could really trust. and even then, i was scared. i felt like if people ever knew the real me, they might leave too. and if they did, i would have no one.

and the truth is, i love people. i love hard. i act fine because i don’t want anyone to worry about me. i laugh things off, i ignore my problems, and i show up for everyone else. because somewhere deep down, i’ve always felt like i can’t be loved just for existing. i feel like unless i achieve something, or do something for you, i don’t deserve to be cared about. i help so many people, and no one really asks how i’m doing. but that’s fine. that’s just who i am, right? i take care of others. i make people smile. i stay strong so no one has to worry. i guess i thought maybe if i gave enough, it would be enough to keep people around.

the only place where i ever felt like i belonged was baseball. when i played, i wasn’t different. i was just part of a team. i didn’t have to hide anything. all the stress, all the burden, all the overthinking — it would just disappear. for those couple of hours, all of my problems were gone. it was one of the only times in my life i could breathe and just be. no worrying if i was too much or not enough. no second-guessing every word i said. just playing the game i loved. it made me truly happy in a way nothing else did. i’ve played since i was a kid. no vacations, no parties, no normal stuff. just baseball.

when i played baseball, i felt like i had a purpose. it was the only place where things made sense. i had a job to do, and i knew how to do it. i didn’t have to guess what people were thinking or try to be something i wasn’t. i could just play. i belonged there, even when nothing else in my life felt right.

but i’ve also realized something. ever since i was 10, it’s all i did. every day. i practiced. i lifted. i threw. i hit. i spent every summer on the field while other kids went on vacations or hung out or just lived. i was out there in the middle of july, 100-degree heat, full catcher’s gear, sweat pouring off me, pushing my body harder than i probably should have. i was 15 years old, catching doubleheaders in the sun, going home sore and waking up to do it all over again. i told myself it was worth it. i told myself i was chasing something important.

but it also made me feel behind. and lost. because no matter how much i worked, i would see kids who were just better. they had the talent. they made it look easy. i’d put in hours and hours and hours, and they’d show up and still be ahead of me. i’d tell myself to keep going, to work harder, that it would pay off. but deep down, i started to wonder if hard work was ever going to be enough. if maybe i was just running in place, wearing myself out chasing something i could never catch.

and i think part of me knew that. but i was too scared to stop. because if i stopped, then what? without baseball, i didn’t know who i was. it wasn’t just a game. it was the thing that made me feel like i had value. without it, i was just that weird kid again. the one who didn’t fit. the one who didn’t know how to be normal.

so i kept going. even when it hurt. even when it felt hopeless. because being exhausted and left behind still felt better than being nothing at all.

now i know i’m probably not going to make it. i’m not getting drafted. i’m not going to play pro. and i don’t know what to do without it. it was never just a game to me. it was my whole life.

now i’m studying accounting. i’m good at numbers, maybe because of my autism. people say it’s a smart choice. they say it will get me a good job. but i don’t like it. it’s just surviving. working and paying bills and doing it all again the next day. i hate it. i hate that dreams don’t matter unless they make money.

i thought about coaching, but it doesn’t pay enough. so i have to give that up too.

i feel stuck most days. like i missed too much already and now i’m building a life that won’t make me happy. people told me i was going to do great things. and now if i’m not the best at something, i feel like i’m nothing.

i don’t know where i go from here. i don’t know what it looks like to build something new from nothing. i just know i’m tired of running from myself. tired of chasing things that were never meant for me. tired of believing that i have to earn the right to be okay.

i’ve been asking myself that question for a while now and i don't want to talk about that with my friends. like, i don’t do the stuff you see on tv or in movies, i’m not cutting or bleeding or anything like that. but sometimes when i get really anxious or angry or just... overwhelmed, i scratch at my arms or the back of my neck or even my legs, usually when no one’s around. i tell myself it's nothing, that it’s not serious. but then i look at my skin and it's red and sometimes raw, and i start wonderin if it does count. maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m scared to admit that something's not okay with me. cause if i admit that, then what? do i tell someone? what if they think i’m just looking for attention? what if they don’t take me seriously cause i’m not “hurting myself the right way,” if that even makes sense.

i started doing it more during exams last year. the pressure just got to me and i felt like i was gonna explode. i didn’t even think about it at first — it was just a way to deal with the stress. dig my nails in, press hard, breathe, repeat. sometimes it helped me feel like i was in control, like i could focus my brain on that instead of everything else spinning around. but then one of my friends saw a mark on my wrist and was like “dude what happened there?” and i panicked. made up a story about my cat scratching me. i don’t even have a cat. i laughed it off, and he didn’t push, but afterward i felt so ashamed. like what the hell am i doing to myself? why can’t i just deal with life like a normal person?

it’s not like my life is that bad. i mean, i got a roof over my head, food, i’m doing ok in school, my parents are around even if we don’t talk much. but i just feel... numb half the time. and then randomly i’ll feel too much, like someone plugged my brain into an amp and cranked the volume up to 100. that’s when i start scratching. i guess it’s my way of trying to feel something real, or maybe it’s just a distraction. i don’t even know anymore. sometimes i do it and then sit there staring at the red marks, thinking “wtf is wrong with me.” other times i do it and just move on like nothing happened. like it’s normal. but it’s not, right? this can’t be normal.

i googled it one night and found people asking the same question. “is scratching yourself a form of self-harm?” and the answers weren’t super clear but most said yeah, it can be. self-harm isn’t always about blood. it’s about intention. and that kinda hit me. cause even if i’m not trying to “hurt” myself, i am trying to punish myself in a way. or escape something. or maybe both. i don’t know how to talk about it tho. i don’t even know if i want help or just someone to sit with me and say “i get it.” not fix me, not judge me, just get it. cause honestly the silence in my own head is sometimes the scariest part. i keep wondering if anyone else around me is going through this and just hiding it like i am.

so yeah, maybe scratching is a form of sh. maybe it’s not about what you’re using to hurt yourself but why you're doing it. i don’t want to keep doing this forever. i want to find a better way to cope. but for now, writing this is a start, i guess. if you're reading this and you’ve done the same thing — if you’ve ever sat in your room scratching at yourself and feeling like a freak — just know you’re not alone. i’m out here too, still figuring it out. still asking the same questions. and maybe, just maybe, that means we’re not as broken as we think.

i hate my body right now. i don't know if there's any way out besides starving myself. it's the way I was able to lose fat in the past. working out or eating healthy takes too long and too much discipline. i hate hating my body. i want to love my body. i have before. i used to be in love with it, but suddenly I get a little bit bigger on literally JUST MY WAIST AND I HAT E IT> how is that possible. how is it possible that I only grow in one spot. it's making me so upset. it's not fair. nothing else growns. my hips don't grow, my arms don't grow, my legs don't grow JUSt my waist. it's so upsetting. it's so upsetting. it's so upsetting. i just wish I could personify my torso and then hurt it. i don't want to hate any part of myself. i want to love myself as I am .

For so many years, I've been so totally horrible to everyone around me. People that I call my friends, my family, people I don't even really like, everyone. I don't know how to control my temper, or my tone, and I lash out at people for no reason. No wonder he doesn't want to talk to me. I've been so horrible, so mean to him the two years I've known him. No wonder he doesn't want to be my friend anymore. He didn't say it, but I know it's true. Nobody deserves to have a "friend" as horrible as me. Especially him. He deserved better than to be forced to deal with me for two straight years. I don't know how I didn't notice before now.