Life Stories and Everyday Drama - page 112

This is probably going to be my final post anyway let me get into it.( for my context check my last post) Currently I’m just in the idgaf stage Ive truly lost pretty much lost a lot of hope almost all of it. I’m also just at the point where I don’t care to get better, I don’t want to get better, and I don’t want better for myself. I’m considering distancing myself from everyone(including friends,family, even teachers) and potentially cut off people as a whole. I’m also going to refrain from making new friends and telling people how I feel period it’s no one’s business. Honestly my plan going forward Is to just turn myself in and do my time and then after I finish my time I’ll kill myself. And my goal for being an astronomer is most likely dead at this point I’ll probably be dead before then and not do I really want to put in the effort to achieve it and improve my math skills so basically I’ve given up on it and to be honest it’s upsetting to think about. I’m also pretty apathetic and resistant to the idea of therapy now I’ve accepted that I don’t want to get better and it would be a waste of money for my family members to even pay for it because I wouldn’t cooperate and I would be hard to work with and it would also be a waste of time for the therapist. Anyway that’s all I wanted to say and I appreciate those who gave me support on my last post.

I never thought I’d end up here, but here I am, dreading every single morning when my alarm goes off. I hate my job. There, I said it. I’ve tried to convince myself that it’s just a phase, that everyone feels like this sometimes, but it’s been almost a year, and nothing’s changed. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

The work itself isn’t even that bad. I mean, it’s not what I’m passionate about, but it’s tolerable. The real problem is the people. My boss is one of those micro-managers who has to be involved in every tiny detail. No matter what I do, it’s never good enough. I’ll spend hours on a project, only for them to nitpick and make me redo the whole thing for no real reason. It’s exhausting and makes me feel like all my effort is pointless.

Then there’s the office culture—or lack of it. Nobody talks to each other unless it’s about work. Lunch breaks feel like detention, with everyone silently eating at their desks or scrolling through their phones. I tried to make friends when I first started, but everyone already seemed to have their little cliques. After a while, I just gave up.

What really gets to me, though, is the constant pressure. It’s like they expect us to give 110% all the time, but they don’t give anything back. Overtime is practically mandatory, but don’t expect a “thank you” or even acknowledgment for staying late. And forget about a raise or promotion—that’s a pipe dream. It’s hard not to feel bitter when you’re working so hard and getting nothing in return.

I keep telling myself I should just quit, but it’s not that simple. I’ve got bills to pay, and the job market isn’t exactly booming right now. Plus, there’s this tiny voice in the back of my head that keeps asking, “What if the next job is just as bad—or worse?” It’s like I’m stuck in this cycle where I hate my job, but I’m too scared to leave.

Even at home, I can’t seem to escape it. I’m constantly checking emails or stressing about the next deadline. It’s like my job has taken over my entire life, and I don’t know how to take it back. My family keeps telling me to just hang in there, but they don’t understand how draining it is. By the end of the day, I’m too tired to even think about applying for other jobs, let alone pursuing something I actually enjoy.

Sometimes, I wonder if it’s me. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this kind of work. Or maybe I’m being ungrateful because at least I have a job. But then I think about how miserable I am, and I can’t help but feel like there has to be more to life than this. Doesn’t there?

If anyone else feels this way, I’d love to know how you’re coping—or if you’ve managed to get out, how did you do it? Right now, I just feel stuck, and honestly, it’s hard to see a way forward. All I know is, I can’t keep living like this. Something’s gotta give.

I’m a 16 year old that is going through a tough time. I’m currently experiencing immense and persistent feelings if stress,guilt,frustration,shame,sadness,hopelessness,worthlessness,disgustand anger. I’m also suicidal,self loathing and experiencing low self-esteem,low self-worth, and the desire to have not been born/ exist. Most of these feelings I am experiencing because of some awful mistakes I did when I was younger especially when I was 12. The awful mistakes I made are related to sexual behavior and I feel like what I did is illegal. I am constantly being tormented by remembering these awful mistakes. I am avoidant to taking accountability because I am scared I am scared of my future, I am scared of possibly not achieving my dreams of becoming an astronomer, and I’m scared of losing ny friends and family. I feel like a fake person and a hypocrite I act completely different on the outside but on the inside it’s a completely different story. I feel the need to distance my self from everyone and cut off friends. I don’t want to pose any unnecessary harm by continuing the relationships I have with my loved ones. I feel undeserving of the friends I have and the relationships I have with my family.i don’t deserve any support I don’t deserve sympathy,empathy, or care. I feel disgusted just thinking about how my friends and family have a relationship with a disgusting person like me, and I feel like Ive ruined my life and that there is no redemption for me. I constantly create scenarios in my head of going to juvie or losing friends and family. I hate myself so much for doing those acts so much I feel like I deserve all of this pain and suffering. I don’t want to accept myself let alone consider myself a functioning member of society. I am an outcast now. I constantly ask myself “why did I do that?” “Why couldn’t I have been a normal 12 year old? “why did I have to act like an irrational animal?“ I wish I could go back in time and made better decisions. I am constantly worrying about other people’s thoughts about me too if my past mistakes were to come to life. I worry if they would be sympathetic or not. I worry if I will be disliked by others and hated. I haven’t told anyone about this irl as I am scared to have a scary conversation about it and I am scared of the situation getting worse.

A few months ago, I faced something I never thought I’d have to deal with—trying to comfort my best friend after she lost her mom. It was sudden, a heart attack, and it left everyone in her family completely shattered. I remember getting the phone call and just sitting there in shock. What do you even say when something like that happens?

When I went to see her the next day, I froze at the door. I had all these things running through my head, but none of them seemed right. “I’m sorry for your loss” felt too generic. “She’s in a better place” sounded hollow. And “let me know if you need anything” felt like something people just say, but never follow through on. I stood there for a good five minutes, rehearsing words in my head, and none of them felt like enough.

Finally, I rang the bell. When she opened the door, I could see how much pain she was in. Her eyes were red, her shoulders slumped, and she looked like she hadn’t slept at all. I panicked and blurted out, “I’m so sorry.” She nodded and let me in without saying much. The whole visit, I kept second-guessing myself. Should I talk about her mom? Should I stay quiet? Was I making her feel worse?

At one point, she started crying, and all I could think to do was sit beside her and let her cry. I didn’t say anything. I just put my arm around her. And you know what? She told me later that was exactly what she needed—someone to just be there without trying to fix it or say the "right" thing.

That experience taught me a lot about what to say to someone who lost a loved one—or rather, what not to say. I realized that people don’t need clichés or advice in those moments. They don’t want to hear “time heals all wounds” or “everything happens for a reason.” Those words might come from a good place, but they don’t really help when someone is drowning in grief. What they need is for you to acknowledge their pain and let them feel it without judgment.

Over the weeks that followed, I tried to be there for her in small ways. I checked in with her often, even if it was just a text saying, “Thinking of you today.” I didn’t expect her to reply, but I wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. I also made sure to listen when she wanted to talk, even if she repeated the same stories about her mom over and over again. I learned that grief doesn’t follow a timeline, and people need to process it at their own pace.

One thing that really stood out to me was how much she appreciated when people shared memories of her mom. At the funeral, a mutual friend told a funny story about how her mom used to sneak extra candy into her kids’ stockings at Christmas, even though she’d pretend to be strict about sugar. My friend smiled—really smiled—for the first time that day. It was a reminder that her mom wasn’t just gone; she was still a part of all of us through those memories.

Now, when someone asks me what to say to someone who lost a loved one, I always tell them the same thing: don’t overthink it. It’s not about finding the perfect words; it’s about showing up and letting them know you care. Sometimes, saying “I’m here for you” and actually being there is more powerful than any other words.

Another thing I learned is that support doesn’t stop after the first few weeks. In the beginning, everyone rushes to offer condolences and bring meals, but as time goes on, people get busy with their own lives. That’s when the person grieving needs support the most. I made a point to invite my friend out for coffee or walks months after her mom’s passing, and she told me those little gestures made all the difference.

Looking back, I realize how much I’ve grown through this experience. I used to feel helpless and awkward around grief, but now I know it’s okay not to have all the answers. Sometimes, just saying “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here for you” is enough. It’s not about solving their pain—it’s about being a steady presence while they navigate through it.

If you’re reading this because you’re struggling with what to say to someone who lost a loved one, I hope this helps. Just remember, you don’t have to fix anything or make it better. Let them cry, let them talk, or just sit in silence with them if that’s what they need. Your presence alone speaks louder than any words ever could.

15 year old here.

Although some people find me smart (and I can agree to a certain degree) it is a middle position. Advanced topics of mathematics, physics, computer science and etc. capture my interest, but I often navigate them worse than most people considered prodigies or anything alike. It's not a matter of just confidence, self-esteem and such as it is a quality I genuinely value and would love to have, is required for most of my interests, so it is not a situation where one grieves over lack of it without a reason. Typically, raw intelligence can not be drastically improved. Most I can do is educate myself, but that just does not feel enough.

What do I do? How do I cope with not being even nearly as smart as people from my social circle that I strive to be alike to?

I always thought I’d be ready for this moment. I mean, isn’t that what parenting is all about? You raise your kids to be independent, to go out into the world and make their own lives. But now that it’s actually happened, I feel so... lost. The empty nest isn’t what I expected at all.

Last month, our youngest moved out to start college. The house feels so quiet now, almost like it’s holding its breath. For years, it was filled with laughter, noise, and the constant chaos of a busy family. Now, it’s just me and my husband, and we don’t really know what to do with ourselves. We used to joke about all the free time we’d have once the kids were gone, but the silence is... unsettling.

I find myself wandering into their rooms, staring at the posters on the walls, and wondering how time flew by so quickly. It feels like just yesterday I was helping them with homework, driving them to soccer practice, or staying up late to make sure they got home safe from a night out. Now, they’re off living their lives, and I’m stuck here trying to figure out what mine looks like without them in it every day.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m proud of them. So proud. They’re doing amazing things, and I know this is how it’s supposed to be. But I didn’t realize how much of my identity was tied up in being a mom. Now that they don’t need me the same way, I’m struggling to figure out who I am outside of that role.

Everyone keeps saying I should take this time to focus on myself, pick up hobbies, or travel. But it’s hard to start when your heart feels so heavy. Has anyone else gone through this? How do you adjust to life with an empty nest? I want to be happy for them, and I am, but I can’t shake this feeling of loneliness.

I can't love someone without feeling totally insignificant, small and useless next to them. I automatically start to distance myself because I feel that this person deserves someone better, they would be better off without me, they don't need me, I'm nothing special and I'm nothing compared to them, I hate feeling this way , I don't want to push away the people I love, I don't want to push away, but I do when I start to feel insignificant next to them, when I start to think that maybe at any moment they will realize that I'm worthless and will leave me, maybe they deserve something much better than me, that anyone is better than me. I want to love someone without feeling less, without feeling that that person will leave me at any moment for the same reason.

Being a mom is the most rewarding and terrifying thing I’ve ever done. My little girl is only two years old, but every single day, I find myself wondering: am I doing enough? How to be a good mother when it feels like there’s so much to figure out?

Some days, I feel like I’m nailing it. We play together, she laughs at my silly songs, and I can see how happy she is. But then there are moments when I feel like I’m completely failing. Like yesterday, when I lost my temper because she spilled juice on the carpet after I told her three times not to run around with her cup. She cried, and it broke my heart because all I could think about was, “What kind of mom yells at a two-year-old over juice?”

I read parenting blogs and watch videos on how to raise happy, confident kids, but it’s overwhelming. There’s so much advice out there, and half of it feels contradictory. Be strict, but not too strict. Let them explore, but set boundaries. Make healthy meals, but don’t stress if they eat nuggets and fries once in a while. I’m trying to do it all, but is that even possible?

I see other moms who seem to have it all together—perfectly dressed kids, Pinterest-worthy lunches, and spotless homes. Meanwhile, I’m just proud if I can get her to daycare on time with matching socks. Sometimes, I wonder if they’re struggling too and just hiding it better.

I love my daughter more than anything, and I want her to grow up feeling loved, supported, and safe. But how do I know if I’m doing it right? Is there some magic formula on how to be a good mother, or is it just about showing up every day and doing your best?

If anyone has advice or has felt this way too, I’d love to hear it. I’m trying so hard, but some days it feels like I’m just fumbling through.

For the past 16 years of marriage, punctuality has continued to be an elusive concept for my spouse's parents. They are consistently late by 20 to 30 minutes and fail to notify us in advance of their tardiness. Last Halloween was particularly telling. They had promised to arrive at 6:30 PM for trick-or-treating with my now-teenage children, who had canceled their own plans to spend the evening with their grandparents. When 7:15 PM rolled around without any sign of them, a phone call revealed they were still "5 minutes away." They eventually showed up 23 minutes later, apparently unconcerned by their lateness.

This recurring issue has compelled me to establish a new family rule I've dubbed the "5-minute rule." According to this directive, if someone says they'll arrive at a specific time and fails to show within 5 minutes of that time, we proceed without them. If it's a meal, we'll order and start eating. If they arrive as we're finishing, we’ll simply leave.

An example of this rule's implementation occurred just this evening. They had made plans to dine out with my teenagers, affirming a 7:00 PM pickup. Reminder of the "5-minute rule" was given during a phone conversation at 2:00 PM. Nonetheless, by 7:05 PM, they had neither appeared nor called. When I contacted them, they claimed to be 10 minutes away. I directed them not to rush, as we would not be waiting, despite their pleas for another chance citing their one-hour drive as an excuse.

It feels outright disrespectful that they don't regard our time with any seriousness. Should I feel bad about enforcing my rule?

Imagine how this issue would unfold if it was part of a reality TV show scene. The dramatization of the confrontation, complete with tense music and close-ups, would likely divide viewers. Some might side with the grandparents, arguing that family deserves patience and understanding. Others might applaud the enforcement of boundaries as a necessary step in cultivating respect for others' time. The episode would definitely spark debate and could possibly even trend on social media as viewers share their own family punctuality horror stories.

Now, thinking about this situation, I wonder: Is my new "5-minute rule" too harsh?

I never thought I’d feel this way, but here I am, completely heartbroken. It’s been two weeks since she ended things, and it still feels unreal. We were together for almost four years, and I honestly thought she was the one. We had so many plans—talking about moving in, maybe even getting married someday. But now, all of that is just... gone.

She said she needed "space" and that she wasn’t happy anymore, but she never really explained why. I’ve been replaying every moment in my head, trying to figure out where I went wrong. Did I not show her enough love? Was I too much? Or maybe she just fell out of love with me, and there’s nothing I could have done. I guess I’ll never know.

The worst part is all the little reminders of her everywhere. The playlist she made me still comes on sometimes, and I can’t bring myself to delete it. Her favorite coffee mug is still in my kitchen, and I haven’t had the courage to move it. It’s like everything in my life right now is just one big reminder that she’s not here anymore.

My friends tell me it’ll get better with time, but honestly, I don’t see how. How do you move on from someone who was such a huge part of your life? I’m trying to keep myself busy—going to the gym, meeting up with people—but it all just feels so empty.

I hate feeling this way, but I don’t even know where to start. Has anyone else been through something like this? How do you stop feeling so heartbroken when the person you love is gone? I just want to feel normal again. 😥

Recently, my mother informed me that she and my stepdad were making arrangements for their future, including drafting their wills. Rather than discussing minor inheritances like heirlooms, she dropped a major bombshell. They plan to bequeath their house to me and my two stepbrothers to share as a living space. It's a gorgeous house in a decent area, but the thought of living there with my stepbrothers never crossed my mind. I'm currently living comfortably with a roommate, quite content with my living situation.

During this discussion, my mother also revealed their intentions for me to become the legal guardian of my younger stepbrother, who, at 30, has an intellectual disability requiring lifelong care. Although he manages his basic needs and can make simple meals, his overall welfare is a permanent responsibility. My other stepbrother, who is autistic, seems content with his life, working at a factory without showing any desire to live independently.

Having joined our family a few years ago when my mother remarried, I've never really bonded with them, except for my stepsister. She and I had many great moments shopping and hanging out until she relocated. Given the situation, I would've thought that either she or their somewhat estranged mother would be more suited to care for him.

Moreover, I have future plans with my partner, aiming to eventually relocate to her native country. It seems utterly unreasonable to spring the responsibility of an additional person, potentially two, onto her as well. Financially and logistically, supporting my stepbrothers from abroad isn’t feasible, yet my mother hinted that should the brothers end up living alone, my sister and I would need to finance their upkeep. This, to me, felt exceedingly unfair and impractical, as it’s unlikely they would move if others are managing their affairs, leading to potential property neglect.

I’m contemplating a firm conversation with my mother, expressing my unwillingness to assume guardianship or financial responsibility for my stepbrothers. Both are somewhat independent and could feasibly share an apartment. Declining this role wouldn’t be out of cruelty but rather a recognition of my limitations and life plans.

If this ordeal were part of a reality show, the drama and emotional intensity would likely captivate viewers. The audience might speculate on familial obligations and personal boundaries, potentially siding with or against me based on their personal views on family responsibilities and individual rights.

Considering the nature of such shows, the reactions could range from empathetic understanding to harsh judgment, placing my decision under a sensationalized spotlight.

For the longest time, I’ve been stuck in this cycle of excuses. I’d wake up every morning telling myself I’d make changes, that today would be different, but by the time the day ended, I was back to square one. Whether it’s eating healthier, exercising, or even just cleaning my space, I keep putting it off. I’d tell myself, "I’ll start tomorrow," but tomorrow never seems to come.

Yesterday was my breaking point. I was scrolling through social media and saw an old friend post about running their first marathon. I remember how we used to run together, how much I loved it back then. And now? I can’t even jog up the stairs without feeling winded. It hit me like a ton of bricks—what am I even doing with my life? Why do I keep finding reasons to avoid what I know I need to do?

I looked around my apartment after that. Clothes piled up on the floor, dishes in the sink from who-knows-how-many days ago, and a gym membership card collecting dust on the counter. That’s when it finally clicked—it’s time to stop. It’s time to stop avoiding the hard stuff, time to stop pretending everything will fix itself, and time to stop being my own worst enemy.

I don’t have a perfect plan yet, and honestly, I’m scared I’ll slip back into my old habits. But I know I can’t keep going like this. If I don’t make a change now, when will I? Maybe writing this out will help me stay accountable. I don’t know who needs to hear this, but if you’re feeling stuck too, maybe it’s time to stop and take the first step. We’ve got this.

In our early thirties, with a solid seven years of marriage behind us, my life took an unexpected and tragic turn when my husband George suddenly passed away a few months back. Coping with his death has been the most challenging period of my life. In those first numbing weeks, I could barely function. Thankfully, George’s mother was right there to support. She took care of all funeral costs, a gesture for which I was immensely grateful, considering I was in no state to manage anything.

Only recently, I recalled that George had a modest life insurance policy set up through my workplace. I had completely forgotten about it amidst all the grief. After processing the claim, the payout wasn't vast, but it was sufficient to cover my moving expenses back to my hometown and perhaps even a down payment on a small house where I could start anew.

However, the atmosphere changed once my mother-in-law discovered I received this insurance money. She became very upset and demanded that I reimburse her for the funeral expenses, accusing me of taking advantage of her son's death. Her words were not only harsh but deeply wounding; she went as far as to label me as selfish and suggested I was profiting from our loss. At that time, I wasn’t even aware of the insurance policy. Now, as I struggle with my grief, her accusations of me being heartless only increase my pain.

I understand she is grieving too, but attacking me doesn't seem fair. I am merely trying to find a way to heal and begin life anew, something I believe is essential. Given all this, wouldn't paying her back seem like I’m just trying to appease her anger? Right now, I'm at my limit and need to focus on rebuilding my own life.

What if this whole ordeal was under the relentless scrutiny of a reality show? Considering how they thrive on conflict and emotional outpourings, the portrayal of our disagreements could potentially paint me in a terrible light or, conversely, rally support for someone trying to heal from such a substantial personal loss. The public's reaction could vary drastically—some might sympathize with my situation, while others might side with my mother-in-law, viewing my actions through a lens skewed by dramatic narratives.

I’m expectant, albeit somewhat anxious, about the reactions and perhaps criticism that might come my way from sharing this.

I wonder, if I refuse to pay her back, am I being unreasonable?

So, here I am, putting this out there because I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve always been a bit socially awkward, but lately, it feels like it’s getting worse. It’s like no matter what I do or where I go, I just end up embarrassing myself or feeling out of place. It’s exhausting.

Take last weekend, for example. I went to a party with some friends, thinking it would be fun and maybe I’d finally feel like I fit in. But the second I got there, it was like all my confidence disappeared. I couldn’t seem to keep up with conversations, and when I did talk, I’d say something weird or just... wrong. It’s like my brain and mouth don’t get along when I’m in social settings. At one point, someone asked me a simple question, and instead of answering normally, I just kinda froze and mumbled something incoherent. The look on their face was enough to make me want to hide for the rest of the night.

And don’t even get me started on small talk. I have no idea how people manage it so effortlessly. I either ask a weird question or end up making some offhand comment that just makes things awkward. I try to tell myself it’s not a big deal, but these moments replay in my head for days, making me wonder if I’m ever gonna get the hang of this. I mean, is there some secret trick everyone knows except me?

It’s frustrating because I want to be part of things, but my socially awkward side keeps holding me back. It’s like I’m constantly watching myself mess up from the outside. Sometimes, I wonder if this was a reality show, would people be laughing at my awkwardness or maybe even cringing? I just want to know if anyone else feels like this, or am I just alone in my own socially awkward world?

This summer, following a complex surgery that necessitated a lengthy hospital stay and extensive recovery period out of town, I found myself needing substantial assistance. To make the convalescence more appealing for those who were coming to aid me, I rented a spacious seaside house equipped with a swimming pool. It was my hope that this scenic environment would provide a comfortable retreat for my friends and family who volunteered to support me through my recovery. A roster was arranged where my helpers could simultaneously enjoy a sort of vacation while attending to my needs.

My late husband's sister, Janet, was the first to arrive, taking advantage of the luxurious accommodations. She came over while I was still hospitalized, but left abruptly on the day I returned home, without even visiting me once during my hospitalization, citing the nuisance of traffic as her reason. Essentially, she did nothing for me, spending her time enjoying the amenities of the home instead. Before my surgery, I had informed her I was leaving $1,500 in the house to cover the cost of necessary household items, cleaning supplies, and anything our dog might need upon my return. I was both hurt and astonished when I found out she had exhausted all the money in just under a week.

With my health as my priority and conserving energy integral to my recovery, I turned off my phone, cutting off all communication. Despite my critical condition and the support I needed, there was no effort from her side to understand or assist during this challenging time.

Several weeks later, Janet's husband weakly scolded me for not reaching out to comfort her—that I hadn't sent messages or made calls to check on her wellbeing. My answer was unapologetically blunt: "Sorry, not sorry."

When I was well enough to return home, Janet visited. Our meeting was cordial until I confronted her about the misuse of the funds. She defended herself by saying that she had left receipts for everything she purchased, claiming arbitrary expenses that began even before she arrived, which included body wash, breakfast items, and even chewing gum. She also claimed she had stocked up the kitchen, though it was unclear for whom since only leftovers were found. Furthermore, she mentioned some expenses were charged to her own credit card—without providing receipts—and absurdly stated that I had given her the money as a gift, or that it was her expense account. Her sense of entitlement baffled me, especially knowing she had boasted to friends about her upcoming 'vacation' at my expense.

Reflecting on this, the betrayal stings deeply making it clear this bridge is thoroughly burned. But frankly, what difference does it really make now?

One wonders how this situation might have played out under the public eye in a reality show setting. Would the viewers side with me, seeing Janet's actions as opportunistic and unsympathetic? Or would they find fault in my expectations and approach to recovery help? Reality shows thrive on conflict, and this real-life drama could certainly draw in viewers, sparking debates and discussions about family, responsibility, and trust.