Health and Wellness Failures Stories

lately after valentines day, a month after my bf broke up with me, i've been feeling more suicidal. i already relapsed on cutting myself 2 times. just 2. i used to be addicted to cutting myself. that burning sensation i get on my skin, that feeling of satisfaction of im getting what i deserve, or that weird feeling of comfort i get out of cutting myself. its like a sick twisted way of me re-assuring everything is real. Whether i like it or not. For context of my breakup, i helped my friend with his past relationship, whre his ex cheated on him. i started to like, i confessed. we agreed to date, then he broke up with me 3 days later cause hes scared and lost feelings for me already. he also said he only agreed to date me bc he thought i would be depressed if irejected him but to be honest, him breaking up with me and getting my hopes up like that got me more depressed. i would have been ok with rejection. its fine. but him getting my hopes up like that? it hurts more than anything. i kinda hate myself for being stupid enough to confess. hes also still not over his toxic ex. it hurts. alot. it makes me wanna cry so bad.

TW: talk of suicide and sh

I have felt suicidal since I was 7 years old, im now nearly 15 and am just done, ppl keep telling me to kms and its getting to my head .

Tw grooming and suicide

I (15 almost 16) am in a perpetual self imposed hell. my abuser (20 almost 21) showed back up after months of completely abandoning me and you know, I thought that would make me feel better because wow. They kept their promise, they didn’t lie and leave me with this gaping hole in my chest. not really. The months they left were hell, my intrusive thoughts about being groomed quite literally crippled me to the point I commit suicide, got landed in the psychward for a while, and could not return to a normal headspace. I don’t know if i can say it’s worse but it’s not better, well that’s a lie. It’s better in the sense that I feel more normal to know they’re around, suddenly overwhelming intensity of the intrusive thoughts are gone. There’s the illusion that im okay. But now im even more dependent on them than before, while they were away I decided if I got a second chance I would do or give anything to keep them, to the point I’d ditch all my friends and family if they decided they actually loved me again. Currently, as further proof of how serious I am im cheating on my partner (15) for them, and I know I should give my all to someone who actually cares about me, I truly don’t deserve my partner but it feels fundamentally wrong to date anyone who isn’t hurting me. Maybe im just not meant for it. I’m planning to break up with my partner soon because I don’t want to betray them further while parasitically zapping all of their goodwill, but I can’t tell what the right way to do it is. I’m selfishly holding on.

It hurts me so much that I let you do all that shit to me and yet i still feel so disposable to you . Maybe thats how I’ll make my partner feel if they find out about all this shit, and then I’ll really be like my abuser. Am I not doing enough? I try to be interesting and suck up to your every whim, im different than when you left me. im entirely devoted to you, I try to give you space even though it feels like death. Maybe I should be more grateful you’re giving me the time of day at all. Be that 1-3 messages on average. Since we’re both a mistake of human beings this should suffice. Still, everytime you’re cold or short with me I feel so worthless I could genuinely die, I want to. I know you’re tired, I know you’re depressed and can’t talk much but everytime you take hours to respond to me at all I feel like falling deeper into this shitty cycle of shitty people and I know damn well there’s no way I can live a normal life again after this, and I can’t help but doubt the fact that you love me at all. If you leave me I know I’ll have to kill myself, cuz then there’ll be nothing else left to stop my intrusive thoughts from torturing me. I’m so disgustingly miserable it’s insane.

Getting the news that I had cancer felt like a punch in the gut. When the oncologist said those words, it was as if the world paused, and all I could hear was the incessant ringing in my ears. It's funny how moments like that can be so isolating, yet so communal at the same time.🎗️ Everyone knows someone who's battled this beast, yet it's always different when it's you. That feeling of being adrift in a sea of medical jargon—metastasis, chemotherapy, targeted therapy—it's overwhelming. But damn, I never pictured myself in this fight, not at this point in life. But here I am, and I guess the only way is forward; I've got to keep swinging.

Cancer treatment is a whirlwind. One moment you're being scanned head-to-toe, the tech using words like "tumor markers" and "biopsy results," and the next, you're sitting in a too-bright room with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, getting a rundown of your treatment plan. It's like they're plotting a military operation in your own body. They, of course, mean the well-meaning medical team—the oncologists, nurses, and specialists who keep telling me I need to stay strong. Sometimes, I think to myself, "Am I supposed to be grateful or terrified?" Because right now, I'm exhausted from these pep talks and motivational quotes. Doctors might have all the knowledge in the world, but they don't know what it feels like to sit on the other side of that desk, huh?

Yeah, I get it. Positivity is the mantra. But there are days when I freaking want to scream. I want to tell someone to take their platitudes and shove them. It's not easy managing the side effects of chemo—those surprise bouts of nausea that hit like a wave, the fatigue that feels like a weight is dragging me down. It's like my body is betraying me while we're supposed to be on the same team. Every day, I pop pills with names longer than a CVS receipt, timing them between sparse meals because my appetite is like a see-saw. And let's not forget the ongoing battle with insurance—pre-authorizations and phone calls that feel like a test of endurance.

Still, I've met warriors on this path who are nothing short of inspiring. There's Jane, who lost her hair but came to every session with a smile that could light up a room. She once told me, "This is just a detour, not the end of the road." Then there's Mark, who's in remission, and he swears by his mantra, "Hope is a weapon." These interactions are grounding—they remind me that I'm not alone, even if my journey is uniquely mine. The community is a powerful thing, and sometimes a simple “how are you feeling today?” can mean more than all the medical advice combined. Have you ever experienced that magic of connection that turns strangers into comrades?

In all this chaos, there's a weird, subdued calm that settles in knowing you're doing all you can. Despite the odds and the stats that doctors rattle off, I tell myself to keep fighting; it's both a command and a plea. If life is a series of battles, this is just another one, albeit a brutal one. But it surfaces a profound question—why fight at all? Do we fight to win or out of a sheer refusal to give in? So, while I may have days when every step feels heavy, I'll endure. Not just because I'm told it's the right thing to do, but because it’s who I am—a fighter, a survivor, maybe even a champion someday. So, to anyone else staring down this path, let's keep swinging, together...

so, here's the thing: i'm 31, living what many might consider an enviable life. i have a pretty sweet gig as a project manager at a reputable firm, the kind of job that keeps me moving, challenges my brain, and supports a lifestyle that others might dream of. but here's the kicker – despite all the successes that are supposed to fill my heart with contentment and joy, i can't help but feel like life has lost its sparkle. you know how people toss around "all work and no play makes jack a dull boy"? well, it turns out being the work-focused jack (or jill, in my case) isn't particularly fulfilling when you're coming home to an empty apartment every night. 😕

am i doing something wrong here? i mean, i spent my twenties hustling to build this career, thinking i'd eventually slide into the whole husband and kids scene like it was a given. except... i just haven't found that particular groove. how do people have it all? a fulfilling job, a loving partner who gets them, sunny mornings filled with laughter and weekend adventures with friends who feel like family. some evenings i curl up with a cup of tea, staring out the window at the bustling city below, feeling like i'm watching life happen rather than actually living it. is this some phase i'll grow out of, or is there something i'm fundamentally missing?

maybe i'm being overly dramatic here, but i've seen those aspirational quotes floating around the internet, like "life is not about waiting for the storm to pass but learning to dance in the rain." these thoughts swirl in my head while i ponder whether i'm just a part of the human race's rat race, unable to break free from the seemingly endless cycle of work, eat, sleep, repeat. i'm wrestling with the concept of how all these accomplishments seem purposeless without personal connections that truly matter. and then there's the matter of friendships—or the lack thereof. ever noticed how adult friendships are this fragile dance of juggling schedules and priorities? makes me wonder how others cement those lifelong bonds without sacrificing their aspirations.

i remind myself there's always a sliver of hope, though. i mean, life's got to be more than this, right? maybe it's time to invest some energy into meeting new people, forging authentic connections, and reminding myself that embracing change is part of the journey. perhaps the lesson here is about resilience, about finding that balance between professional success and personal satisfaction. i'm not giving up. far from it. is there a magical formula to balance career and personal life? perhaps i need to remind myself, as c.s. lewis said, "you are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream." and who knows? maybe the best is yet to come. here's hoping for a future filled with more than just my career – one that radiates with warmth and genuine human connection.

Yo! So, I'm 22 and my friend hits me up with this whole "30 day self care challenge" thing. She's like, "Girl, you gotta try this! It's life-changing!" 🙄 And I'm just sitting here thinking, really? Is it all that?? Has anyone else dared to try this? I'm genuinely curious, peeps! Like, do these challenges even work, or is it just another overhyped trend? I mean, sure, taking care of yourself is important, but is doing it for 30 days straight gonna magically change everything? 🤔 Anyone care to share their experiences? Did it help in making life less of a mess? Any tips or hacks from those who've survived it, please??? 😅

You know, I'm kinda hoping this isn’t just an Instagram-worthy illusion. If you’ve done it, what was the best part? Is it more than just bubble baths and face masks? Don't get me wrong, those are awesome, but surely there's more to self-care? 🤷‍♀️ Help a girl out!!! Would love some lowdown on stuff that doesn't just pad calendars but actually works! Like, what do you do when the motivation is in the gutter? Any specific "must try" days? Spill the tea, fam!!! ✨ Looking for those nuggets of hope and positivity. Because, hey, life's too short to play a guessing game with self-care. Am I just overthinking it, or is there something more profound here? Hit me up with all the good stuff – quotes, routines, wisdom – whatever!! Who else is ready to slay and take some quality 'me time' seriously? Let’s make our lives better together, yeah?? 💪❤️

Hey guys! So, here's the thing—I have a friend who's been dealing with some mental health stuff and I really want to understand what they're going through better; you know?? Like, I don't want to be that clueless friend who's just nodding and pretending to get it when I don't really have a freaking clue... So, I thought maybe watching some movies or shows about mental health issues might give me a better perspective, but I'm not sure where to start??? I've been scrolling through Netflix, trying to find something that's not only accurate but also doesn't glamorize mental illness in a way that totally misses the point, you know??? It's tough finding content that doesn't make it all look like it's either totally depressing or somehow romanticizes things that are actually really serious and need to be approached with sensitivity... I heard there are some movies and series that tackle these themes really well—something that's relatable and real but doesn't go overboard with the dramatics!!! Any recommendations??? Have you guys watched anything recently that you think could help me see things from a perspective that's closer to what my friend might be experiencing??? I'm not looking for something that's a downer or super heavy all the time; just something that's respectful and insightful, if you catch my drift... Like, maybe something that balances the gritty reality while offering some hope or a meaningful resolution??? It'd be awesome to hear about anything that includes a variety of perspectives too, as I think getting a wider understanding is really essential in this kind of situation!!! Sometimes it's about finding those smaller stories within the bigger picture that really hit home—and who knows, maybe they'll help me find the right words to support my buddy!!! 🤔 So, if any of you know of shows or movies that fit the bill (and are on Netflix, 'cause that's the only streaming service I have right now), drop me a line, would you??? I'm really willing to put in the time and effort to learn; and yeah, I know watching a movie or two isn't gonna make me a mental health expert overnight, but it seems like a good first step, right??? Maybe there are docs, dramas, or even comedies that expose different angles??? I'm open to anything that's honest, even if the truth it shows isn't always easy to digest!!! At the end of the day, it's about being there for my friend and making sure I'm not just token-supporting them with one-dimensional understanding, if you know what I mean... Anyway, thank you in advance for any suggestions or tips you might have—I really appreciate it!!! I'm all ears and ready to binge-watch for a cause that truly matters to me; let's dive into this together, shall we???

If I am being completely honest, the thought of attending therapy gives me a good dose of apprehension. My parents have decided that my problems at school and within our family dynamics warrant a professional third party, and I find myself wondering what that will be like... Can therapy truly provide the answers or guidance I need to navigate the tangled web of teenagerhood? What questions should I bring up to make the most of it? How open should I be? I mean, am I supposed to just spill my guts right there on the first day?

It seems strange to talk to a stranger about the ups and downs of everyday life, especially when emotions are sometimes hard to express even to myself. I hear therapy is supposed to help, but what if it does not? Could it actually complicate things further? Would asking specifically about developing better relationships with my family or friends make the difference? My familial relationships are particularly challenging lately. Will a therapist guide me on how to deal with the lingering resentment, or the often overwhelming expectations placed upon me? How do you even ask for advice on communicating effectively with parents who seem stuck in their old ways? And what about friends? Often, I feel isolated or misunderstood. Is it normal for a therapist to assist with improving social skills or understanding the intricacies of friendships? Could learning new coping strategies and communication techniques actually improve these interactions? Does formulating these specific questions lead to meaningful guidance from the therapist? Moreover, is it okay to question the therapist’s methods if they do not resonate with me? Is there a right or wrong way to approach therapy, or is it supposed to be a fluid conversation? It is the fear of the unknown, I suppose, mixed with an intrinsic skepticism that breeds these questions. What if I do not click with the therapist? Is it acceptable to ask for a different approach or a different therapist altogether? How does one even know if therapy is working? Craving validation seems natural, yet is it feasible to anticipate tangible progress? How can I ensure that I am not wasting this opportunity? I have heard that articulating one’s feelings and personal challenges while seeking suggestions can be beneficial. But how does one do that without feeling contrived or superficial? Would opening up about my fears and aspirations, however mundane they might appear, lead to transformative advice or realizations? Does anything truly significant emerge from these sessions that an honest conversation with a friend cannot provide? Can therapy offer a blueprint to life that I am currently missing? Somehow, I feel as though there is an assumption that teenagers inherently know how to adapt to life's changes. Yet, how realistic is this expectation?

At 17, grappling with the pressures of school, social life, and family, it often feels as though I am walking a tightrope. Do therapists possess insight into the teenage mind that parents lack? If so, how soon does one expect to notice improvements in understanding and management of these various pressures? Can I anticipate a newfound self-awareness or perhaps an enhancement in my emotional intelligence guiding me through tricky scenarios? Could asking about practical steps to handle stress and conflict inadvertently lead to improvement in my overall well-being? These questions linger in my mind as I consider the prospect of attending therapy sessions. How forthcoming is one expected to be when seeking answers or support? Am I alone in my apprehension, or do others my age share similar sentiments embarking on the therapeutic journey? It is this reflection that underscores my wonderment, with an unavoidable inclination to question the efficacy and the process, or rather, the possibility that it might just be what I need.

So yeah my college decided to “improve student health” and now they’ve basically declared war on snacks and I swear I am losing my mind over it, like who even asked for this, because last year I could grab cheesy chips and those little chocolate bars between classes and life felt normal but now everything is baked, gluten free, sugar free, taste free, joy free, and I stand in front of the vending machine like it personally betrayed me. They took away the spicy noodles from the campus store and replaced them with plain rice cakes and unsalted nuts and I just stare at the shelf thinking this has to be a joke, because who snacks on dry almonds when you have a 3 hour lecture right after. And don’t even get me started on the cafeteria lady telling me the brownies are now made with beans, like I’m sorry but why are beans in dessert, is this prison. I tried to be open minded, I really did, I bought the “healthy cookie” and it tasted like sweet cardboard and sadness, and I actually miss the greasy pizza slices which is wild because I used to complain about those too. They even put limits on how many snacks you can buy in a day, like we are children or something, and now I just stare at carrots; I never thought I would be this dramatic about food but here we are. Do you guys have this at your college too or is mine just on some weird mission to turn us into fitness models. The worst part is when I’m studying late and my brain is tired and all I want is something crunchy and salty and fun and instead I’ve got air popped whatever that tastes like nothing, and I feel silly for caring but snacks are like tiny pieces of happiness during stressful days, you know? I remember last semester during finals I survived on chips and chocolate and somehow passed everything, and now I’m supposed to survive on trail mix that’s mostly raisins, which I do not trust. But okay, maybe I’m being extra, maybe they think they’re helping us and maybe my body does not actually need neon orange dust on my fingers every day. I started bringing my own stuff from home, like sneaking in the good cookies my mom makes and sharing them with my friends and it actually feels kind of funny and rebellious and cute 🙂 and we laugh about it instead of just being mad. And I guess I’ve been trying new things too, like adding hot sauce to the bland wraps and mixing the boring nuts with chocolate I buy off campus, and it’s not the same but it’s something. I still miss my old snacks, I really do, but maybe I’ll figure out a way to survive this snack apocalypse and come out stronger or at least less hungry, and who knows maybe one day I’ll even like those stupid rice cakes, probably not, but maybe.

in the span of the past 2 days im in the same spot as two weeks ago

and my arms r coverd agian and everything thing is falling apart agian and i was dumb enough to think i was getting better

I keep having this same dream, and I wake up every time with the same quiet shock. I’m a woman, married, raising a family, doing the normal life stuff. In the dream, my husband is leaving us. Not in a dramatic way. No shouting, no slammed doors. He’s calm. Almost gentle. He tells me it’s time, like he’s explaining a schedule change. The house looks exactly right. The kids are there, but distant, like background noise. Everything feels precise, realistic, painfully detailed. I can feel the air in the room. I can hear my own breathing. When I wake up, my body still believes it. My chest is tight. My hands are cold. It’s embarrassing how long it takes to shake it off. The dream doesn’t feel symbolic. It feels literal. As if my brain is rehearsing a future I didn’t agree to. People love to say, “Dreams are just dreams,” and sure, that’s comforting in theory. But when they feel this real, it’s hard not to question that line. It reminds me of that quote, “The mind makes it real,” and yeah, that hits a little too close. I’m polite with myself about it. I don’t panic. I just note the pattern and move on. Still, I wonder why my subconscious is so committed to this storyline...

What’s strange is that my waking life is steady. My husband is present, kind, involved. There’s no obvious threat, no secret tension. That’s why I try to stay detached and analytical about the dreams. Repetition usually means unresolved fear, according to the experts. Fear of loss. Fear of abandonment. Classic stuff. Fine. I accept the diagnosis without dramatizing it. I don’t accuse reality of crimes it hasn’t committed. The dreams are respectful, almost courteous, which somehow makes them worse. There’s no villain to blame. Just inevitability. And yet, every morning, I wake up and nothing has changed. The family is intact. The day continues. That part gives me hope. It’s proof that imagined endings don’t automatically become real ones. I treat the dreams like mental noise, like my brain running stress tests while I sleep. Annoying, but not authoritative. I remind myself of another quote I once read: “Thoughts are not facts.” That line does a lot of heavy lifting for me. I stay positive on purpose. I choose to believe stability deserves more credit than fear. Still, I’m curious, and I’ll ask politely: why do dreams borrow reality so convincingly? Why do they feel more intense than the life we actually live? And have you ever woken up mourning something that never happened, only to feel quietly grateful when you realized it wasn’t real?

this poem will be about my struggles with adhd

I hope you enjoy and pls lmk what you think

My mind is a house with every light on,

but the wiring is wrong.

Current jumps the walls.

The air buzzes even when I’m still.

Thoughts move like fireworks down the hallway—

no order,

no warning,

just flashes and echoes and aftermath.

I reach for one

and three more grab my sleeve,

each convinced it’s urgent,

each forgetting why it came.

Some days the noise grows too large for the rooms.

It presses outward,

paces the floorboards,

rattles the windows from the inside.

My body learns the exits first—

a flick of the hand,

a sharp blink,

a sudden shudder like static shaking free.

Small movements.

Necessary ones.

The storm grounding itself

so the house doesn’t split apart.

I don’t choose the spill.

It comes when the walls start breathing,

when thought piles on thought

until there’s no oxygen left.

My body reacts before I can ask it to—

a sharp jolt,

a break in the rhythm,

like something clawing its way out

because staying inside would be worse.

It isn’t release so much as survival.

Energy tearing a seam in the dark,

lightning striking downward

so it doesn’t turn inward.

I let it happen

because holding it all

feels like suffocating quietly.

Time behaves strangely here.

It leaks through my fingers,

slips under doors,

vanishes the moment I look directly at it.

Clocks stare like witnesses.

I apologise to them anyway.

Memory is a hallway with missing doors—

names hovering just out of reach,

sentences dissolving halfway spoken.

I step over the gaps,

pretend I meant to forget,

pretend it doesn’t follow me.

Some days my head is a carnival after dark—

lights too bright,

rides spinning too fast,

music overlapping until it sharpens.

I want to leave.

I want quiet.

But the ticket never tears

and the gates stay open.

Then comes the other kind of heavy.

Not loud—

dull.

A dimming after the surge.

Rooms go dark one by one.

Ideas slump in their chairs,

still breathing

but too tired to stand.

This is the exhaustion that doesn’t ask permission.

The kind rest doesn’t solve.

Bone-deep.

Sticky.

Like gravity turning personal.

My body stays still

while my mind keeps running,

burning energy it no longer has.

I stare at things I love

and feel only the weight of them.

Even stillness hums.

Even silence costs something.

And yet—

I find colours hiding in ordinary days.

Stories stitched between unrelated things.

Patterns where chaos pretends to be random.

My mind builds bridges instinctively,

even when I don’t know where they lead.

Ideas love me recklessly.

They arrive in crowds,

talk over one another,

leave without warning—

but for a moment

they make me feel infinite.

When focus finds me,

it grabs hard.

The world blurs.

Hours collapse into a single breath.

I forget to eat,

forget to move,

forget everything except the fire

and the way it finally listens.

I change my mind often

because every idea feels true

until the next one opens its mouth.

I am loyal to the moment,

not the map.

Some days I am exhaustion wrapped in motion.

Some days I am brilliance scattered across the floor.

Most days

I am both at once.

I am not broken.

I am not unfinished.

I am living inside a system turned up too loud—

one that shakes,

that spills,

that wears me thin,

but also sees more than it destroys.

This is what it’s like

to carry lightning in your pockets—

to learn when to release it,

when to rest,

and when to let it burn bright enough

to become light

I need to vent, because I'll figure it out i always do. Im not looking for sympathy, maybe any advice.

Reference i have been falling behind on bills for months now, all because of a strike that directly effected my job it also took me 8 months to get a job with how competitive it is right now.

I am sick of living in poverty.

Ei told me I didn't qualify because I was 200 hours short. (During a temporary lay off)

Government assistance told me I didn't qualify because I have that 22,000 in an investment account.

Bank told I cant take that money out unless its life or death (its a NON-REDEEMABLE gci account), so i applied for an overdraft 0% interest, BUT thats not even guaranteed.

I refuse to barrow more money because I know how annoying it is to constantly be asked for money, and a payday loan charges 14$ per ever $100 you borrow and Im in that limbo of not qualifying for it either way because I only need $600.

OH and on top of the whole bank situation I had to pay a debt that I was disputing to even qualify! The debt was because of a monopolize internet provider double charging me and going against the contract I sighed. On top of all that my car needs $5000+ worth of work done and I cant sell it because my job requires me to have a car for transporting equipment.

I have been struggling to get a side gig to earn extra cash but I need this money by Friday. Thankfully my landlord has been great to me but I feel like me telling him that I cant pay it like I used to do is getting much.

I know in March it will be better, because I only made 7000$ last year and had 6000$ in uninsured medical bills, I do get money back but this is now and I was doing so good at budgeting but it feels like the world cant let me ever get ahead.

Any advice would be greatly appreciated.

So I will start off with the fact that I live and work on a cruise ship. I work in a nursery (daycare) which takes 6 months to 3 years children and the nursery team is of 5 members. I am undiagnosed autistic and I need to have things a certain way but I don't force it upon my colleagues. Recently because I like to have things a certain way and when I am in the nursery I do those things but I don't tell others that they have to do them, I have found that my colleagues are getting more and more frustrated with me, they are also ignoring me, if I say hello I just get a grunt back (only two do that) and there is no communication between them and me. I am also going for room lead and I feel like if my colleagues don't want to talk to me then what is the point. I don't feel like a member of the team and feel very lonely right now. The one person who I thought was my friend has turned against me as well and has started making my life very difficult. Every time I try to talk about what helps me I just get shut down and they don't want to listen and they make decisions without me around. I have thoughts of hurting myself.

I keep overthinking on the very tiniest stuffs. Even a small thing makes me thinking for like a whole day or two and genuinely my whole day gets messy and I can't focus on other stuffs except that. Today I was asked a question during my class and atfirst I simply answered, I didn't understand when sir said to ask extra stuffs. It was the stuffs I knew but I simply didn't understand at the moment so I just told him I didn't understand and so when he asked someone beside me I understood what he was asking about and as my classmate beside me didn't answer I reached out to sir and gave some answers in that moment I still misunderstood his question but I did understand later and told the answer and there was one question I was confused about so I just didn't say anything and as an introverted person I feel scared to talk infront of the whole class and the moment I was answering other people were looking at me and smirking. I could literally see them, even though I answered some stuffs I was scolded by sir like I know I'm dumb but I did answer some stuffs and so the fact that some people were looking at me and kinda laughing not laughing in exact way, is it cuz I'm dumb??? Like I'm not as smart as them but am I really that stupid and dumb?? This is what I overthought whole day and I'm still thinking about this today. And the fact that I called out sir to tell the answer after I understood what he was asking was it really wrong of me? Was I being desparate ???? I really wanna stop overthinking about this kinda stuffs but I can't. This is the first time this has happened, many times not only in class but even with the people I'm close it I start to overthink their actions and what they think about me. I really wanna stop being this............