Health and Wellness Failures Stories - page 2

ever had that feeling when you're just so anxious, like the world’s closing in, and then suddenly you're burning up with fever? so, i was just wondering if anxiety can actually cause a fever or if it’s all in my head. i'm 17 and honestly, the thought's been bugging me for a while now. whenever i have a big test coming up, or something stressful happens, i start feeling really hot. maybe it’s the nerves? i always thought fever was more about being sick, but it’s hard to ignore when you’re sweating buckets, right? it’s not like i’m shivering or anything, but i get so warm and it's all downhill from there; really messes with my focus and everything.

i asked some friends but they kinda just shrugged it off, saying everyone gets stressed sometimes. but like, isn’t there a point where your body's just like, "hey, take a chill pill"? i mean, isn’t it kind of ridiculous that my body reacts this way over school stuff? my mom thinks i’m just being dramatic, and maybe i am, but hey, a fever’s a fever, isn’t it? i’ve tried to keep cool, literally, like staying in air-conditioned rooms and stuff, but it doesn't always help. hmu if anyone else feels like their anxiety’s got a thermostat of its own, because i'd love to know if this is just a “me” problem or if it’s something more common. does anyone else get those anxiety sweats, or am i just out here dealing with my body on extreme mode? anyway, if i figure it out, i’ll definitely share what’s up. peace out!

Ever wonder if anyone, and who would come looking, if you disappeared? I think no one would come looking for me.

I honestly hate myself so much. What I’m not changing I’m choosing right? And I hate even that too. I hate that I’m fat, my tooth is chipped. I’m not pretty. I’m unattractive in every aspect possible of a human. Even my personality is ugly. I haven’t dated in 7 years. No one found me good enough because I’m not good enough for anything. Even now nearing my 30s I’m still lost in life. It just seems like every day is a drag. Dragging along in life just hating everything and myself. I have no friends. I eat too much I drink too much. Everything just sucks. I’ve been getting a lot of rejection to the point where I feel like I’ll eventually just end up with someone below my league due to me being this hideous inside and out. I won’t be happy. Will I ever be happy? It seems I’ll end up alone at this rate. I try to tell myself there’s nothing wrong with that.. but will I be content with myself in the end of it all? Or will I crave for connections?

it’s been a quiet kind of question growing louder in my head: am I transgender? I’m 25, biologically female, and for a long time, I didn’t really question that. I did what was expected — grew my hair long, wore dresses when the occasion called for it, and played the part of a girl just fine. but over time, small thoughts started piling up. I’d avoid mirrors some days, or feel oddly disconnected from my reflection. I don’t hate my body — it’s more like... indifference? like I’m occupying something that isn’t mine but also not foreign enough to fully reject. I hear people use “she” and it doesn’t sting, but it also doesn’t fit. when someone once referred to me as “they” by mistake, I felt seen in a way I didn’t even realize I craved. how weird is that?! is that enough to question everything?

I’ve been reading and listening to people’s stories — memoirs like Detransition, Baby and YouTube creators like Ty Turner and Jamie Raines — and honestly, their feelings mirror mine more than any cis woman I know. it’s not about hating femininity; it’s about not feeling entirely rooted in it. sometimes I think maybe I’m nonbinary, other days I wonder if I’d feel more like myself with a flat chest and a lower voice. it’s not dysphoria that screams — it’s more like a whisper that never shuts up. I’ve even tried visualizing a future where I transition, and surprisingly, it doesn’t feel scary or wrong. it feels calm. like breathing easier. but then I second guess myself — what if I’m just making this up? what if I’m confusing admiration with identity? ugh, does everyone go through this kind of mental gymnastics??

I haven’t talked to anyone in my real life about it yet. it feels too abstract, like I need more “proof” or clarity before bringing others in. but I know questioning is valid. I know that not being sure doesn’t make my thoughts any less real. a quote I read recently stuck with me: “You don’t have to have dysphoria to be trans. You just have to know who you are.” and I guess I’m in the middle of figuring that out. maybe this is a journey without a destination — just learning, adjusting, exploring. and for now, that feels okay 🙂 if you’ve gone through this too, how did you know? did it hit you all at once, or did it sneak up like it did for me??

hi. I don't really want to vent to a friend nor family like my parents and my siblings(they're the closest family to me if I ever refer to family again just know I'm only referring to them) so I'm venting on here. I don't really want to vent to them because I don't want to burden them and I just don't want their advice or reassurance. I just want someone to understand what I'm feeling which I know my friends will but still.

here's why I feel like a horrible person

The thing about me is that I ALWAYS procrastinate until the last minute. It doesn't matter what it is. It's not like I think procrastinatig is cool, anything but that actually. I rather be a hardworking person but everything around me just feel so hard to resist. I feel like I SEEK dopamine 24/7. I barely study like I only study last minute and it feels horrible because I actually gets good grade. I feel like I don't deserve this good of a grade when I clearly see that others that get lower grade than me worked even harder. I know the grade thing will probably change soon and I will mess up one day and finally get something that matches my efforts. I actually happened to get to be a monitress which honestly I don't think people really think it's that big of a deal anymore but I really don't think I deserve it. At first, there was only me but then my class teacher convinced someone else to join. I think I got it because people felt pity for me, I'd definitely vote for the other girl if I wasn't one of the choices. She was hardworking, charismatic and very positive. Loud, cheerful and responsible, that's what a good monitress should be. I feel like the opposite to be honest, I volunteered just because I got a rush of confidence that I'm competent for it and I can improve myself if I were one but I was wrong. I'm such a irresponsible person. I've been late to school many times not because of medical issues but because I woke up late. Sometimes, when I accidentally do something wrong, I'd blame my family members (I mean not really blaming but like for example, "oh, because of 'smth', this happened") I just feel like nobody can rely on me because I'll always mess something up.

Also, I have super random mood swings. I feel like I get mood swings even more lately, and it's not like I want them. I mean who would want to be miserable. I get mad at the smallest shit ever like I'd be pissed if I knew somebody like me. For friends, I don't really act mad IN FRONT of them when they did something that piss me off because I don't want to seem like a horrible person so I just try to brush it off and not talk to them that much since I don't want to accidentally show that I'm mad. For family, I feel a bit more comfortable to express my frustration to because they can't just dump me one day you know. So most of the time, I'll just be acting like an asshole, acting frustrated with a high pitched voice telling them to stop annoying me or like just anything. I love my family so I want to treat them properly but I can't. Fyi, I have good moments with my family I just act like this sometimes.

One more thing, I'm like super shy. I've experienced countless interactions that just felt super embarrassing for me to even think off because they were just horrible. Yesterday, I had a french speaking exam(finals). I tried to convince myself everything would be fine but it was absolutely horrible. I couldn't understand some of the questions and I had the dumbest grammar mistake I could've ever made. After I finished, the teacher told me to call the other person so I did. I didn't want the teachers to notice my tears so I lowered my head then walked out. Unexpectedly, one of the teacher walked into the room and noticed me crying so she comforted me which was nice but didn't really help much.(or did it I'm not sure myself) One thing that really pissed me off was that one of the teacher had a high expectation for me. He even said he'll count on me. The only thing I can think of him right now is that he had an unrealistic expectation for me because I don't only suck at french speaking. I suck at everything related to speaking in general. Some of my friends texted me if I was fine and honestly I don't know. After I went home, I immediately got online and asked an online best friend to game. We talked and stuff. I did feel better afterwards.

I'll be connecting that accident to another quality I have. I CAN'T THINK CRITICISM AT ALL. I mean I knew I did something wrong but then I'll just say ok in a natural tone then crash out(be mad and cry ugly) by myself later. I actually appreciate comments about improving myself but I just cringe every time I read them. My English teacher would always put comments for writings and honestly I can't read them at all but I need to do I just silently cringe while looking at the comments. A part of me probably thinks I'm better than everyone which I don't think so. (this is so contradictory) Like I'm just so overly sensitive. It's even annoying me.

Probably the last point I'll mention here today, I honestly can't see why anyone would want to be friends with me. When I ask my friends why do they want to be friends with me, they often reply with a you're kind. I don't see it at all after all that points I've made do you, yes you the reader actually think I'm kind?. Sure, I've done many things for my friends but that's just basic courtesy compared to things they've done for me. I even reply to my friends text late sometimes just because I don't have the energy to text them.

By the way, I don't know why I do these or feel like this because I don't think I grew up with a abusive household or anything. I didn't grow up with the best parents ever but I think they're good compared to others. I didn't get bullied. I have supportive friends. but honestly I don't really think I have a lot of friends I mean like my friends would help but I'm probably not their no.1 choice if you know what I mean. It's like I'm left alone. I don't know why I'm SUPER shy. I've never asked to be shy, I want to be confident. I don't think I have social anxiety or anything because I can interact with my friends just fine. I don't want to exaggerate anything because I know they are billions of people suffering more than I'll ever be so yeah. This is the end of my rant, pretty long but I got it off my chest.

It’s weird to even say this out loud, but I got a tattoo to cover my self-harm scars. And honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. The whole idea started off as something empowering, like reclaiming my body, right? You know the line, “Your skin is your story”—some therapist threw that out years ago during one of my low points. It stuck. I thought maybe, just maybe, putting something beautiful over something so painful would help change the narrative. So I chose a design I’d doodled in a journal years ago—something abstract but meaningful, sort of a fractured mandala, each line connecting past and present. The artist was kind and didn't ask too many questions, just looked me in the eye and said, “We’ll make this a transformation piece.” That sounded nice. Better than what it really was: me trying to hide from myself in ink and pain management creams.

Now that it’s been a few weeks, I stare at it and feel conflicted. The tattoo is well done—technically clean, good contrast, smart shading—but the scars are still visible beneath it. Not physically, not if you’re just glancing. But I know they’re there. That skin holds memory like film holds shadows, and even the pigment can’t overwrite the fact that I hurt myself deliberately, over and over, for years. Sometimes I catch my reflection and wonder who I’m trying to fool. Is this ink for healing, or just another form of concealment? It’s a question I keep circling, like a moth around a porchlight. I'm 38 now. Not a kid experimenting with identity. Not a teenager struggling with trauma she couldn’t name. A grown adult who still can't quite figure out what to do with all this leftover pain.

The part I didn’t expect was how other people would respond. Friends said things like “Wow, that’s powerful” or “It’s so meaningful,” like they were in on some secret spiritual moment. I smiled and nodded and said things like “Yeah, it represents growth,” but I never corrected them when they assumed it was just art for art’s sake. One coworker even said, “That’s dope, did it hurt?” and I just laughed and said “Not more than the stuff it’s covering.” He didn’t get it. And maybe I didn’t want him to. The truth is, there's a whole subculture around tattooing over scars, and it's not always about covering things up—sometimes it's about honoring survival. But I’m not sure if I survived something, or if I just stalled it.

I know this might come across as ungrateful or overly cynical, especially since not everyone gets a second chance to rewrite their skin. But what if rewriting isn't enough? What if healing isn't about erasing the past but learning to live with it in broad daylight? Some days I think I did the right thing—turned something painful into something beautiful, like alchemy. Other days, I feel like I’ve just added another mask, one that requires constant touch-ups and explanation. I'm not embarrassed by the scars anymore, but I am tired of what they represent: all those years spent pretending I was fine, when I was really just holding myself together with caffeine and denial.

Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is—if you’re thinking about getting a self-harm tattoo, ask yourself why. Like really, why. Is it closure? Is it expression? Is it shame in disguise? Maybe it’s a mix of all those. I can’t tell you the right answer because I still don’t know mine. All I know is that ink fades slower than memory, and covering something up doesn’t always mean it’s healed. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe healing isn’t linear. But I do wish someone had told me that before I sat down in that studio, gripping the chair like it was gonna save me.

Literally whenever i try to comfort anybody they never respond or they just say something totally unrelated, which i dont mind but i wanna see someone happy, i wanna save someone, not for any selfish reasons, because it makes me happy when others are happy. (A picture of Kanade fades in/j)

I LITERALLY HAVE NO HOBBIES, I FEEL LIKE MY FRIENDS HATE ME, IM BAD AT ART, WHEN IM IN FANDOM SPACES IM SCARED TO TALK TO ANYONE CUZ OF MY SEVERE AHH SOCIAL ANXIETY BRO💔 also my family is broken apart ahahahhelpme

i’m 38 and i shake like a goddamn leaf when the anxiety hits hard. it’s not subtle, it’s not “just in my head,” it’s full-on tremors like i’m freezing in a meat locker naked. i hate it. it’s embarrassing, especially in public or at work. people pretend not to notice, but they notice—oh, they fucking notice. my hands twitch, my legs bounce, sometimes my jaw clenches so tight it hurts. and the worst part? it doesn’t even matter if i know it’s coming. there’s no warning bell, no gentle rise of stress i can manage—just boom, there it is. i’ve tried to outthink it. i’ve tried grounding exercises, breathing like some enlightened yoga douchebag, and even imagining myself in calm places. but when it hits, it’s like my body betrays me, and logic goes out the damn window. 🧠

the shaking doesn’t care if you’ve got a deadline or a meeting or a date. it shows up when it wants and ruins everything. i’ve tried to explain to people around me—like hey, i’m not nervous about you, i’m not having some freakout because of this specific situation—it’s just a chemical overload in my brain going haywire. but people don’t really get it unless they’ve lived it. and honestly, most of the time i don’t have the damn energy to explain it anyway. the worst part is pretending it’s not happening; forcing myself to hold a coffee cup steady when my hand clearly says otherwise. like what am i supposed to do, tape my limbs down? i can’t just vanish from reality every time it hits; that’s not how life works;

what’s also wild is how random it can be. i’ve had full days where everything seemed fine—slept well, ate like a damn adult, kept my caffeine low—and then bam, anxiety tornado from hell. it doesn’t care about logic or rhythm. i’ll be driving and suddenly my foot's twitching on the pedal, or trying to read a book and the words blur from the tension. the only thing that seems to work a little is stepping outside and pacing like an unhinged philosopher. the movement sometimes tricks my brain into focusing on walking instead of spiraling. but who the hell has time to go for a walk every time they get shaky? it’s not realistic when you’ve got shit to do, kids to feed, jobs to hold down, bills to worry about.

one time at a restaurant, i knocked over a glass trying to lift it to my mouth. the server gave me that awkward half-smile, the kind people use when they’re trying to be kind but don’t want to get involved. i could feel my face go red as hell, and i wanted to crawl under the table. my date asked if i was okay and i just nodded like a damn liar. i wasn’t okay. i was shaking so badly i wanted to run to the bathroom and hide until my system cooled off. i didn’t though. i stayed. i wiped up the water with a napkin and kept the conversation going, because that’s what we do, right? pretend it’s fine until it is, or until it ends.

so here i am, still figuring it out. i don’t have some miracle answer, and honestly, i don’t think there is one. anxiety like this is physical. it’s not always mental. it lives in the body like a parasite and shows up when it wants. maybe one day it’ll leave me the hell alone. maybe not. but until then, i try not to beat myself up every time the shakes come. i let my body freak out a bit if it needs to, try to slow my breathing, maybe grip something solid and ride it out. it sucks, but it is what it is. if you deal with this too, you’re not broken. you’re just trying to keep moving through something that’s hard to describe but very, very real. and if anyone tells you to “just relax”? tell them to kindly fuck off.

as a 17-year-old male confined to a wheelchair since birth, the notion of possessing a superpower often captivates my imagination. it's an intriguing scenario to envision - transcending the limitations of my physical form and embracing abilities that defy the laws of nature. in such flights of fancy, i ponder the myriad of possibilities: the gift of flight, the capability to manipulate time, or the power to heal. despite the practical implausibility of acquiring such skills, the concept remains captivating and serves as a source of motivation and contemplation.

in my musings, the prospect of flight often takes center stage. the idea of soaring through the clouds, emancipating oneself from the restraints of gravity - it's truly exhilarating. "but would the exhilaration of soaring through endless skies outweigh the responsibility that often accompanies such power?" one might ask. it's a fair point, given the complexities of the airspace, the burden of providing aid when needed, and the ethical dilemma of intervening in natural calamities. while navigating through such ethical quandaries, the allure of flight remains enticing nonetheless.

time manipulation also piques interest, with its far-reaching implications. one might ponder the ramifications of revisiting moments, altering choices, and even witnessing future. however, "would controlling the fabric of time itself lead to adverse consequences, disrupting the delicate equilibrium?" considering the predicaments of paradoxes and affecting the universe's timeline provoke an array of philosophical inquiries. indeed, these are inquiries from scholars and philosophers that have been contemplated throughout ages, potentially providing insight and balance to harness such immense power judiciously.

the ability to heal, perhaps the most altruistic of powers, resonates deeply with the desire to ameliorate suffering. at first glance, it appears immaculate and devoid of complications. yet, "would possessing the capability to heal indiscriminately compromise the natural order and progression of life and death?" in reflecting upon perspectives shared by medical professionals and ethicists, one must acknowledge the complexities of intervention, the ethical implications of prolonging life, and the impact on the global ecosystem. these are considerations that add gravitas and depth to the proposition of wielding such a formidable gift.

perhaps engaging in such a hypothetical discourse serves as an exercise in understanding not only oneself but also the embrace of limitations and potentialities. as i contemplate these superpowers, i'm often led to consider the latent power within - the ability to inspire, to innovate, and to transform adversity into opportunity. ultimately, i ask, "how do you, dear reader, perceive the superpowers within and beyond, and how would they define your existence?" indeed, this is an inquiry into the extraordinary capabilities we each possess, waiting to be realized in manifold forms. 🤔

ive realized that i actually had symptoms of adhd. all of these years including in elementary school i thought that i was just actually bad at learning and actually being a good student and now i guess not. im so bad at saying my feelings and reasoning, i feel like im just standing in a one singular block in a void. im so embarassed everytime i communicate with someone thinking i said something wrong, my decisions are so foolish, and to the main issue is my life where im so fucking miserable to the point that i have no friends that i can trust including, doubts about people, and lusting over friends that i love the most. LUSTING OVER THE FRIENDS THAT I LOVE THE MOST AND ACTUALLY CARES TO JUST GIVE ME ATTENTION ALL THE TIME. im so fucking disguisting and a disgrace holy shit. i just cant keep going on a life like this.

so, there’s this thing i’ve been doing lately and it’s probably the dumbest thing you’ll hear all day, but it works for me during those totally unpredictable, chaotic moments where i feel like the entire universe is flipping me the bird and my anxiety’s about to skyrocket into orbit; i’ve been forcing myself to just breathe, like literally standing there in the middle of whatever’s going down, inhaling so deep that it feels like i’m about to burst, then slowly letting it out like i’m some kind of zen master or whatever, and yeah it sounds super corny but focusing on your breath actually forces your mind to stop freaking out for just long enough to not lose it; i also try to write things down, and i don’t mean a fancy bullet journal or some crap you see on pinterest, i mean i grab the nearest scrap of paper, napkin, whatever, and i start scribbling every chaotic thought or worry or even a stupid doodle if i can’t find words, because there’s something about seeing it all outside of your brain that makes it less intimidating and gives you a bit of a laugh at how ridiculous some of it sounds; and then there’s my go-to move, which is just dropping everything and going for a walk, no matter the weather, and yeah, sometimes it’s pouring rain or freezing, but the sheer act of putting one foot in front of the other, feeling the ground beneath me and just noticing the tiny details around like the color of the sky or the way the air smells helps me anchor myself to reality; oh and don’t even get me started on music, because blasting your favorite playlist, the one that makes you feel like a badass, can literally change your entire mood and shift your perspective from ‘everything sucks’ to ‘okay, maybe i can handle this for a bit longer’; and if i’m really in deep, like spiraling kind of deep, i force myself to reach out to someone, whether it’s a friend who’ll let me vent without judgment or even just sending a quick “hey i’m struggling today” text, because as much as i hate to admit it, sometimes you just need to hear another human voice reminding you that you’re not as alone as your mind is making you feel; i also sometimes dive into something completely unrelated, like rewatching my favorite dumb tv show, because giving your brain a break from obsessing over uncertainty can be surprisingly powerful, and it’s not avoidance, it’s just giving yourself permission to rest and not be ‘on’ all the time; also, weirdly enough, i’ve found that setting the tiniest goals helps, like literally telling myself “just get through the next ten minutes” or “just clean one corner of the room” because ticking off even the smallest task gives you a tiny hit of accomplishment and sometimes that’s enough to keep going; but maybe the most important thing i’ve learned is to stop trying to predict or control everything because let’s be honest, none of us really know what’s coming next and pretending we do just exhausts us, so i’ve been trying to lean into the discomfort and tell myself “you’ve survived worse, you’ll survive this too” and weirdly enough, it helps to remember that i’m not the only one trying to navigate this crazy unpredictable life.

TW: sexual assault

Hi um so I'm posting here because I really don't have anywhere else to talk but I've been having a lot of trouble recently. I've been remembering a lot of the bad things that happened to me when I was a kid and it's a lot and idk what to do because I can't stop remembering it. From the ages of 9-11 my best friend who was the same age and gender as me kind of like molested me? I don't know if it counts because we're both girls and the same age but she would do a lot of things to me. I don't wanna get into a lot of details but it happened at least once a week and it did involve penetration with her fingers. I remember it happening a lot and she'd "experiment" on me, and one time our parents walked in. They were really mad and her parents stopped talking to us for a week but she convinced them it wasn't that bad and we were just "playing doctor" but she never stopped after that and I'd tell her I didn't like it but she would tell me I'm pathetic and if I didn't do this I wouldn't be her best friend, so I did. It went on until she moved to a different state and I honestly forgot about it until like a few months ago and I've been recalling everything she'd done to me and idk what to do because I feel disgusting and I can't stop thinking about it and I know it wasn't a super big deal bcs yk we were both kids but I still can't get it out of my head and it's like scaring me and idk what to do and idk if it even counts because we were both kids and we were both girls but I think I've been spiraling downhill recently and I realize how a lot of the stuff I do like being awkward in convos or having trouble with physical touch is partially due to this and I just hate myself for it because I can't get over it and I can't even hug my own friends without getting weirded out and I'm sorry for ranting I'm just really in a bad place rn with this and I can't stop thinking about it eve though it happened years ago

Hey there! I'm reaching out from this space because I really need to chat, but finding the right person to talk to... Well, it's complicated. I'm 19, and being a female in this rapidly evolving world sometimes feels like navigating through a maze with no clear exit... The desire for genuine conversation is strong, but I'm at a crossroads when it comes to whom I should open up to. Can you relate? I've tried reaching out to friends, family, even strangers on the internet, but something holds me back each time. It's as though there's this invisible barrier that stops me from pouring my heart out fully. Maybe it's the fear of judgment or maybe it's just the uncertainty of how they'll respond. 🤷‍♀️

I've always believed in the power of words, but it's puzzling how, in this digital age, we're more connected than ever, yet finding a genuine, open conversation feels so rare. "Isn't it ironic?" Every time I think about reaching out, I get flooded with what-ifs that make me retreat into my shell. But I'm determined!!! I want to open up and talk; to share my thoughts and feelings with someone who'd truly listen. The positivity lies in hope that someday, I will find that person who makes the interaction worthwhile.❤ In the meantime, the quest continues, and I'll keep searching for that special someone out there who resonates with my words, and somehow, makes sense of this journey; I hold onto the belief that every conversation has the potential to be a stepping stone towards understanding and connection.

How is the vibe here? :)

Hey, guys. So, I've been grappling with a bit of a morally gray area lately, and I could really use some outside perspective. Is it bad to watch porn? I get that it's a touchy subject, and opinions on it vary greatly. Sometimes, I feel like everyone does it, but no one talks about it, almost like it's this secret secluded to the hidden corners of our lives. The alluring consumption of adult content is accessible as ever due to modern technology and the privacy it offers, yet the stigma surrounding it remains quite palpable. It leads one to wonder about its implications, both psychologically and ethically. I mean, sure, on the surface level, indulging in pornography feels like a harmless escapade, almost like ordering takeout instead of cooking. But is it nearly as innocent as it seems?

There's something undeniably magnetic about the immediate gratification it offers, and let's face it, the variety is vast. However, I can't help but feel that there's a darker underlying current. Does it adversely affect our perception of reality? Impacts cognition and behavior? Or maybe even our relationships with others? These questions keep swirling around in my head. The industry sure is a juggernaut, boasting millions of viewers but is it all coming at a hefty price? Does it heighten unrealistic expectations or foster an unhealthy cycle that one struggles to escape from? I know personally, it's hindered my capacity to connect meaningfully with partners at times. And the feeling of guilt lingers, a byproduct of wondering if I'm feeding into something more sinister. Are others feeling this duality of pleasure and guilt too, or is it just me? Ugh, it's complicated, isn't it? 🤔