Life Stories and Everyday Drama - page 15

It's currently 4.30 am. And i can't sleep because of guilt. Because i haven't done any of the things I was supposed to and i feel like i dissapointed myself and i'm afraid i'm dissapointing others too. I wanted this year to be different, to not get myself in the same mess, but i made and even worse mess in the end. I've been feeling so tired and burnt out for almost two years now and i've trying to get out of It since, i've tried routines, habits, apps, everything to be more productive and actually get back on track but It Just keeps failing. I feel tired, and end up procrastinating and then i get anxious, start pacing around or scrolling and hiding in bed, and then i can't sleep at night knowing i'm ruining everything. My grades are only getting worse and i feel like i'm failing. And i feel so stupid. Because It should be easy. It was easy before. But then i messed everything up. And now i can't fix. Now more and more things are coming up. People expect things from me, and i don't even know where to start. My Mom expects me to at least be decent in school but i can't even do that. There are lot of tests right now and their all going worse than the other. I was forced to make the PowerPoints in out study group even though i said no. Multiple times. And i got set up to do even heavier lifting in the journaling club of school, and now i'm supposed to set up whole thing. When my 'mentor', the one who's supposed to teach me, ghosted me and hasn't done anything to start or help at all. I know It's my fault but i Just feel so tired. It's all too much and i'm too stupid to handle It. I can't do this. I Just want to hide.

I feel like I don't like this new family I have. The term "family" and not being a family but rather a group of strangers, disconnected, are the same thing. It can't be that the term "family" meant the union of individuals where each one is in their own world and barely concerned about the other. It can't be that that was family for me. It can't be.

I came to consider family a group of individuals who had a vaguely close connection with me and with each other, practically only organizationally and moderately. I feel like I called them family, and I find it shameful. If I had told them we were family, they would surely have called me insane or something like that or demanded that I report this to a psychiatrist in some way. It can't be.

What I considered "family" was the height of remoteness from what we could consider a union of loved ones. In what was my biological family, we established our family through violence; that was the denial of our distance. We were all complete strangers to each other. What the hell were we doing living among strangers? No wonder we knew how to navigate the streets so easily, because after all, we didn't differentiate between the street and our homes. The streets seemed simpler, and that's why we were somewhat more adept at socializing there. However, there was always a strange quality about us.

It can't be that my family was a gathering of complete strangers where there was no love, sex only served to speed things up. I mean, what kind of family do I come from, for God's sake? Anyone who knows me with this story runs away because of the consequences it might have on me—something that apparently surprises one of the doctors who examined me because I didn't react the same way. I feel like it can't be that I came from an environment where there was no affection, no evidence of organization, but quite the opposite, and that everything that contradicted us as a family was precisely what we considered family. But what kind of world did we live in, for God's sake?

Did no one notice the friction we had with everyone else? Why were we always ostracized? Did no one question why people treated us the way they did? What kind of world did we live in? We were completely isolated from others, at the mercy of our prejudices, with no one daring to go beyond them, except me. In fact, my psychotherapist saw me as the only opportunity to break out. No one questioned why people acted the way they did toward us, what it was about us that made that happen, why we treated other people the way we did, if it even existed. The theory that we had come to Earth to suffer seemed ridiculous to me and was implicit in the family narrative.

I insist: What kind of thing did we have at home, for God's sake? We had nothing healthy. We couldn't go outside. Prejudices blinded us at all costs. We lived to survive in society at the expense of irrational fears. Our anxieties isolated us, and we believed them to be true. In fact, no one noticed that even among ourselves, we acted out exaggerated dramas. It can't be that we can only be among ourselves and that the people who touch us are violent, humiliating people—in other words, family members of the same ilk as us, where emotion blinds, and there's no balance at all with reason.

How hard was it for me to see this reality? I realized this was happening five years ago, and precisely because I saw a pattern among the girls I was looking for that was repeated, and people said it was a matter of letting it go. Everyone told me I was exaggerating; however, I had managed to be precise; I had found the point that would help me escape such situations. How many of my family members are still trapped in a strange, out-of-this-world world? For God's sake, I prefer to be with lucid people, given that these blind, blind people purposefully run over others. I was simply overrun with them. And the worst part is that this gang of beings lived off wanting me to be like them at all costs. That was their philosophy, because that way I would be safe, better, under their support, as if they were the perpetual caretakers. These beings are very adept at taking advantage of others' prejudices and social profiles. However, I always knew there was a way to bring them down, as I did.

How far would I go with these beings, for God's sake, if I didn't realize things? What kind of partner would I get to put a stop to this? What escalations of violence would I go to? And my parents despised psychoanalysis, psychology, and all that. It's something that fills me, it angers me, because they wanted to serve as an obstacle to me going out into the world and seeing them from there. Even my mother, quite bluntly, expressed this to me. They tried to hide this truth from me for their own innocence Conscience, and that's something that bothers me a lot.

How much did I suffer being part of this? When did I suffer living within this family's standards? It was the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. Furthermore, outsiders took advantage of the weakness they had implicated me in thanks to my rebelliousness as a child, which always persisted given that it made my father realize several things, made me have values, a series of things that he later betrayed. But thanks to him betraying his spirit under the influence of my mother, I didn't want to end up like him. That's why I am where I am today; something I know thanks to this writing.

How many times did they not want to stop me from writing? Stop me from researching? Even my psychologist served as an obstacle. Why did my own psychologist serve as an obstacle? The same people, my friends, everyone. I discovered that they were all made up of dysfunctional families, and no one had even realized this. I was alone in such a situation. In such an endeavor. Who supported me? Not even the girl I identified with at the time wanted to support me. It was all about staying with the family when I was going in the opposite direction. It was pesos, after pesos, after pesos. Even at my workplace, they tried to exploit that story, even at a university, but frankly, I made them pay by making them see the reflection of their actions before the law, which was quick to issue its immediate protection. I don't understand how there can be people who believe I'm going to treat them as family or something like that, something I didn't do internally, with my real family members, when I'm not going to do it. In fact, given the simple fact of abusing it, it already implies acting with restraint but without harming, given that it would be an extra effort that will be costly for my family member.

This society almost buried me with my family! Almost! And my family and my surroundings support me! But I didn't allow it. For some time now, I've been looking for tools to support myself by any means necessary. I wasn't going to allow myself to go under the sad fate that awaited me, where I even saw my own death. I deserved to live, I deserved to live what I loved, not at the expense of weight, of a darkness imposed on me by my family, under a clear deception that was the murderer in my life. I deserved a better life. That's why I fought so hard.

For God's sake, how much abuse did I endure because of my family's imposed interests? How much rudeness? How much mistreatment for not being well-educated, and which people responded with simply hidden and undisputed retaliation? How many moments of horrific loneliness? How many times did I need someone to be with me? How many games did my mind not play to survive? How many mechanisms did my psyche not use to move forward? How much writing? How much speaking into a microphone? How many walks? How many strange exercises? How many eccentric creative endeavors? How many betrayals? How many disappointments? I just wanted to stop once and for all. I wanted this journey to finally end. Besides, nothing's worse than getting used to being with your family and then being without them and still having all that weight on your shoulders.

so , yesterday was my so called best friends birthday , and i said hapy birthday and left them to enjoy there birthday , then i saw at 9pm at night them putting not just 1 status but 1 status and about on whatsapp saying i am done with fake people . On seeing this i messaged this person seeing if they where ok and what had gone on and the reply was i am off to bed , night . This seeming bit rude i left them to it and messaged them today again asking what had gone on , the question then still been ignored . so i was like i am trying to care but there not aloowing me too . Then got a 13 min voice note , telling me i have no respect for my self apparently that i wasnt communicating and that i seemed like a lowsy best friend .

Me being like the hell because this person allways thinks about geting her self invovled in my relationship stuff , she doesnt support what i do she doesnt like that i do what i wanna do and no one can change my mind . but if she wants help in her relationship i dont say basically dump him that she had no respect for her self ect. So i told them how i felt and said i wanted space as how upset this person made me feel but also how angry i was and tired of being made out to be the bad guy . its not the first time its happened either . its getting beyond a joke that is how they are being so yeah . i must be someone who has no respect for my self and all that . also while this person saying i am horrible i am on 3 days of migraines do they ask if i am ok nope they say i dont try hard enough

I feel like I have nothing to do with these new people who come into my life. I don't feel like I have anything to do; to me, they're complete strangers, people who disrupt my routine, and therefore, I don't want them around. It bothers me that they've shown up with their friendship, but at the same time, I'm grateful for it. I feel like I'd like to be with them, but I can't bring myself to leave my routine under any circumstances. I admit it, I'm terribly afraid of messing up their lives, of changing them, of making them feel bad.

I don't feel like it's right to just enter someone else's life. I can't. I feel like I'll make a mess of things. The same thing happened with my parents; I came into their lives and made a mess of them. Of course, they called me and were feeling unwell, and that's the paradox, because they could have made a mechanical return to me, giving me up for adoption or something like that. I feel that, in and of itself, that said, I'm not at all responsible for my parents' inability to respond to my needs from their routine. Initially, I wasn't suited to it, and upbringing is never temporary.

The relationship with my parents did end in disaster, of course. It went from a small issue to a bigger one, and indeed, between parents and children, the question of waiting until they were little would indeed be a person out of touch with the development of humanity. I feel, I confess, that I'm ready to enter another person's life, for them to enter it. That is, I feel capable of achieving a perfect, at least approximate, contribution to my routine and theirs. I can't say I won't disappoint them, however, what I will say is that I will choose not to make that my relationship the way it was for my parents.

I confess, if I say it, I'd like to have a boyfriend. Why not say it? With one of the doctors who treated me, being friends with another of them, and being a friend to others. Why deny it? That's what I feel. I know the harsh reality is that it's impossible, that such feelings will only lead to disappointment. However, I feel that this time it is possible, despite my over-excited and uncontrollable actions, undoubtedly the product of my feelings for them. However, it's so good because I'm gradually seeking that support, and it's something, without fear of misunderstanding, that they have witnessed.

I'm frank; I haven't lied to them about not being able to control myself. It's true, for the love of God. I feel I couldn't do it, I couldn't under any circumstances, and I've experienced various feelings with them. I feel very sorry for the doctors for having upset them, for having made them see strange things that a psychiatrist could see, but let's be clear: These doctors, who are dentists, are not trained in this field. It's surprising that I behaved heroically in this regard because, let's be clear, they were absolutely free to respond with some kind of retaliation, since something beyond what was being asked of them was asking. It was beautiful that all of them, in the end, were with me, didn't abandon me. I can't help, and I say this from the heart, not considering them my friends, people who love me, people who go beyond what is professional, and I suppose it's because the case required it, which speaks, without fear of being wrong, to the fact that their profession is about them and not about fulfilling their job. It must be said, I feel loved, cherished, and, despite my behavior, where I showed rebellion toward my family, they still remained there. I can't say anything other than that I feel I'm serving them, whatever it may be, without even needing to set limits, because I'm in the presence of good people.

I have to say, these doctors deserve everything, and despite that, they don't want gifts, which even surprises me. It's obvious they don't seek rewards for their work, but I believe it's the right thing to do. How can someone have the heart to love me after I'd been rebellious toward my parents? Why didn't they want to go further? Why did they remain impartial? What a beautiful heart is that? I highly doubt a university would teach that, ever. The answer is that I did have a splendid team. I criticized them a lot because, in fact, the field of mental health wasn't approached with precision, as I think it should have been. However, I feel that this makes their efforts completely welcome to me. They excelled in something that not many people can. In fact, they fought for my health, for me to be well, and that's great.

Why did I have to have such good people in my life? Honestly, I don't think I deserve them, but that's how it was. I feel like I love them, from the bottom of my heart. I love them, I love them, and I feel like they never acted against me In fact, they resisted their own feelings, causing them to go elsewhere. I love them, I can't say otherwise. I wish my parents could have made this effort, I wish my family had been able to do it before, I wish my friends had done what these people did. I insist, these doctors touched my heart; they were more humane than I thought, and because of methodology, I dared to call them inhuman, but I confess I never saw what they did, which is what counts in the long run. Freud said that a few kind words are no medicine, and this has been my thing.

I don't know how to express my joy. It's immense. I never thought this was inside me. I knew I had to dig and dig and dig through my feelings, and I never thought I'd find such a beautiful feeling. In fact, one of them wrote me that they wished me well, another welcomed me with open arms, and the other still recommended appropriate medical procedures. In other words, even though I behaved harshly during treatment, they were still there, they're still there. I feel like I wasn't just another patient, a consumer product, and that's it, but that there was something more. Something very deep that came from within. How can I stop remembering such affection? And my family wanted me to forget it, absolutely not. They, less than anyone, deserve to be forgotten, under any circumstances, but to be remembered with great affection. In fact, I felt like there was a family with me, a family that cared for me and is still there. I love this family, even though they don't see it that way.

I can't believe it. I feel like I've had the opportunity of a lifetime: to have a family, and I may be the only member of my biological family who has had this opportunity. Of course! I'm not going to waste it!

I'm struggling through a break up. It was a three year a relationship with someone I thought I was going to marry and have a future with. We decided to remain friends because we still love and want each other in our lives, even if it means transitioning into a friendship. We are currently going through a period of no-contact to give ourselves a grace period before we try to make a friendship work. It's been hard. Although I love the freedom and flexibility I now have, thinking about them moving on and trying to move on myself hasn't been easy. I've been struggling physically and mentally. It's been affecting my work, not by much, but I do see myself making mistakes and slowing down drastically in terms of work ethic. I know this is for the better, but I still get moments of wishing I could go back and crying over this. It doesn't help that they make it look like they're having an easier time transitioning through this. I know that's such a selfish assumption and people grieve differently but I guess there's a part of me that feels like I'm the only one struggling. I don't know what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to get back on my feet at work and pushing through with enrollments for my master's degree. I'm scared I won't find love anymore after this, and honestly I don't know if I can do anything better than what I had with them. I'm just not doing so great. Unlike my other breakups though, this one has no hatred or anger involved, it's just the yearning and mourning over something I was building my life for. I don't know how to go on... I mean, I'm trying my best but I don't know...

Last night I was cheated on for the first time and I’m truly devastated…

Turns out the guy involved was someone I have a lot of drama/history with and I woke up to a message from him this morning…

He’s upload a clip to this website of him and my girlfriend last night and I’m just absolutely godsmacked 😕

At the moment I’m just trying to get the video taken down but I really need to focus on the reality and accept my girlfriend cheated on me with a guy she knows I dislike…

It’s over 💔

I feel right now that nothing about outside people holds any meaning for me, only my actions have meaning. I feel that what my father does no longer matters, nor the doctors who treated me, nor anything like that. I only seek to act meaningfully in accordance with my actions, not what others give them. I don't even care if they're in sync or not, beyond the agreements we make.

I feel like right now I don't care about anything or anyone, given that everyone's life is everyone's own life, and I can't do more than that. I'm not even interested in getting to know them in depth, at least those around me, since that's an activity they haven't delved into. I feel like I'm with people who have a vague interest in exploring themselves. Recently, my father was strangely reminiscing about one of my books, one of the things I like to read, saying he was going to give me this or that, spontaneously. I've always had the feeling that he was trying to keep me from reading those things.

For some time now, and I think this is why I'm like this, I feel like my father has wanted to attack my psychoanalytic readings. He's like my mother. This family doesn't want anything to be revealed under any circumstances. To the point that they resort to desperate measures. I hope that if I tell this to the psychiatrist, she'll at least let me finish the conversation instead of focusing on what is this and what is that, in depth; I can now understand a girl I knew who just wanted their conversations to flow; people interrupted her a lot. My family isn't interested in being discovered, neither on my father's side nor on my mother's side, under any circumstances. They want everything buried, and that seems irresponsible to me. To go so far as to attack Sigmund Freud? To attack Lacan as well? I think it's already reaching unhealthy extremes.

In fact, I feel that my father, being a doctor, is no longer seeing the limits of reality. Yesterday, she thanked me for reading her messages. She's reaching extreme levels of discernment, something I don't like; in fact, it horrifies me. My family is focused on re-educating me at all costs, on burden after burden after burden. They've become a group of people who are out of their depth. They simply think about our union without any measure. I see them as distrustful people; in fact, I've gone so far as to describe them as not acting normally. Their desire to be in control is excessive, as if something were about to break them permanently. And I understand because it was clear, and even I saw it that way, that I was going to stay with them permanently, serving them, and that didn't turn out to be the case.

I've been observing for some time now that I'm breaking their patterns of reality. That is, they no longer see me as how they used to see me, and they don't see that, and that's why they're always giving in, giving in, without realizing it, exhausted and without any reasoning. They're not well. It seems my behavior has gotten out of their hands, especially my father's. Since my change, the family isn't functioning as normally as usual, to the point where even family members are betraying each other. It's as if they can't process the weaknesses within their structure that I've been able to see. I insist, they haven't been well in their heads for a long time. In fact, they're not reasoning to the point where they judge how I speak, with the tone being what bothers them. In short, I've shattered the family structure, and they've made their lives hell, as if they no longer had a basis for life, simply giving rise to these behaviors.

All of them, I'm observing, now feel like they're without a family because there's no solid structure. It's always been this way, but now they're showing it. In fact, the simple fact that I've changed, from being the easiest to seduce to now the impossible, has completely changed their lifestyles. None of their manipulative strategies are working. It's as if they now feel the world has the opportunity to eat away at them, and they're taking advantage of it. They feel beyond their power and facing the worst of things: others supporting me because, of course, the outside now has power over them thanks to me, just as it always wanted, given that they always trampled on their surroundings.

I feel like everything has turned upside down for my family. They never thought I would rebel and succeed. I fell many times, and from those times they swore I wouldn't succeed, but they didn't count the constant attempts, and also that I wasn't looking for something immediate but gradual and this time effective, something not present in the other cases. None of their conditioning, nor can I believe it, has any effect on me now. They feel, I experience, that they have lost a family member even though they have them right in front of them, and they can't tolerate the feeling, and that their presence contradicts my own; that combination is too harsh for them, somewhat for which I wasn't prepared, and which is the cause of their instability.

Furthermore, the following happens: How could I emerge triumphant from the treatment as usual if there was no support whatsoever from others in terms of the groundwork for maintenance, for stability? In theory, for them, everything should have been in favor, finally, of producing the extreme fatigue necessary for suggestion, but it's not possible. This is something that simply doesn't add up for them; it's as if they also feel that something in them was born different from them, that they developed differently, as if they weren't a member of the family, having been the fruit of a procreation in which their blood participated. Everything is out of whack for them, which is gratifying because it implies that their tools of family inclusion, which worked for me, no longer work for others, and consequently their dominance, even if sporadic, is weak and of no inspiration to the members trapped there. The family is therefore dismantled on my part, and it's the way for others to dismantle it. It's as if their own actions of uniting the family actually lead to the opposite, to the same thing they said, even as a child, would happen with the acts of suggestion they performed, swearing that things were different on the outside, but that turned out not to be the case.

I feel like I don't like this. I feel like I'm being dragged along by doctors, precisely for the purpose of getting them to lead me in my health care, which my father hasn't been able to do for reasons even he doesn't know. I'm very confused. My mother's power is being taken away.

In a way, I'm handing my life over to these doctors out of desperation. My parents, having failed to look after her, are instilling in me a deep distrust. In fact, I feel fear toward my family members. I don't know if my father, who is also a doctor, has hidden incidents regarding his profession with us, the family members. I feel like this family is capable of hiding anything to maintain the union, just as they do with my father. I hate that I can't express this with complete confidence elsewhere; my fear of censure is always there.

In fact, the last few times I saw him, my father was confusing treating me professionally with his desire to dominate me. In fact, I'm saying that he was more interested in possession than treating me as a doctor. He denied things. Indeed, my father had gone crazy. However, I feel these doctors are on the same path, that of being possessive rather than professional. In fact, I'm verifying it.

I'm currently in a state of urgency with these doctors to get them to stop being professional, to go further with me, to the point of treating me like a mother and a father. I don't know whether to obey the doctors because doing so would be betraying my father, and obeying my father would be betraying them. I find myself at a terrible crossroads. I wish things were simpler.

Why did my father throw me in with this group of doctors? The price is that there are many people out there seeking domination, by any means, and these doctors turned out to be one of them. In this sense, he exposed me to this happening. It was as if he was no longer interested in having me under his care, but instead exposed me to someone else, vowing to preserve me no matter what. During treatment, my father was so nervous, so indecisive, so sentimental that he didn't give me the chance to trust him with my life.

I feel that perhaps these doctors may be different, but the fact that they are taking positions in my life, regarding my health, is a very serious issue for me. This is playing with my health arbitrarily, just like he did with my father. There's no difference. They also don't take into account whether I want it or not. They exploit my desperation just the same. I keep insisting: I'm surprised by how many people are out there with a desire for power. Besides, it's even worse with the doctors because I can't repeat the attitudes I had, and I don't know what they're capable of, knowing their influence.

I don't know how my father could have exposed me to such beings. What a rootless behavior. It's as if he doesn't want to be with me; he's exposing me to someone taking me away just like that, and I don't like it. I wanted to stay with him, but at the same time, I feel like he made no effort to stay with me. He left me exposed to these kinds of people. Besides, how could he not be more attentive, or more attentive this time than with his friends? We're with people from the street, strangers; it was only natural that he would be attentive with these doctors. Why did he neglect me like this? I feel abandoned in my usual way, free from anything happening to me, without visualizing methods, ways of dealing with me, or anything like that. In other words, he also allowed my desire to leave his life to be satisfied.

I feel like this time my father didn't fight for me at all. In fact, he didn't even take an interest in how the doctors handled things with me. He wasn't able to go into details; he simply assumed things were done well without raising any questions. I feel like this means my father hasn't stopped loving me because he's supposed to take care of that, the medical side of things. Also, assuming things about the doctors when I told him not to interfere, I mean, my dad did everything possible to make this situation happen, to make these doctors take control of my life, even though I allowed it. He did everything possible, everything that bothered me and he knew it, to make me leave. It's as if nothing in our history had indicated anything to him, as if he had no capacity for reflection regarding the way I acted. It's as if he didn't want me with him.

It's like, ever since the treatment, I feel like he doesn't want me with him anymore, as if he wants to kick me out of being with him, and he doesn't realize it. My sister had the same feeling. It's gotten to the point where I don't recognize it. Yesterday she told me about a subject I liked, and he still hasn't sent me any materials. I feel completely abandoned by my father. In fact, I feel like he could have dealt with the treatment completely, calmly, without any problem, but he just put it aside. It's already happened I've done this several times. I notice that he's just thinking, and it's something that doesn't just happen with me. When something bothers him in his routine, he simply tries to get it out of his system, no matter who it is. Indeed, he's an extremely indolent person. Why does my father have to be like this?

I feel like my father, for a long time now, hasn't known what to do with his life. He's left it behind and simply prefers to focus on his job, which is where he does things well because all he does otherwise, given his lack of empathy, is destroy things. My father tries to get back on track, but it's always useless; he always achieves the opposite. I feel like he's never going to leave that comfort zone in any way; in fact, he never did since he became a father. None of us, let's be clear, care about his feelings, let alone support him in anything. He's carrying a very heavy burden, although that's also because he doesn't want anyone to interfere. Indeed, my dad will never get out of that, and hoping for change is unnecessarily giving me hope.

This same reasoning applies to my mother. That is to say, she will never leave, like my father, her job, her family, the prison walls. She's only interested, and since I was a child, it's always been that way: calm. This is the ultimate goal for both of us, and nothing more than that goal, using the tools that belong only to them and nothing more than theirs. Indeed, I recognize that I do this; however, I deny that it's my reality, given that when I leave my comfort zone, I seek an effective way out so that I can be supported by my routine. Unfortunately, this isn't the case with my sister, given that it's exactly the same with my parents, with the only difference being that she seeks to be Machiavellian, while I don't. My path through life is through good deeds without expecting anything in return, which in turn opens doors for me, although that's not why I do it. This is why my parents attacked me as a child, and I felt my sister was loyal to me in times of conflict. However, their preference for success was me, not my sister, since she was rejected because she was their faithful reflection.

I somehow feel that this was latent since I was a child, of chasing doctors, of going to another caregiver. It was always latent because I didn't have the tools for life, and now it's not much different. I don't have a life made up of friends; I am absolutely dependent on others, practically on others, since nothing is mine, except for some transportation issues, note-taking supplies, and electronic equipment, and I buy junk food since my father provides me with food. In fact, I feel at home, with the only difference being that I am alone and face life's challenges. However, this was already the case since I was a child, and I am also very careful not to get into trouble.

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

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

What’s the point of doing it. Everytime I make one simple mistake it leads up to another one hour lecture. And I’m done I’m done living with my parents and I’m done being called lazy. And I’m done with being said to grow up every single time despite the fact that I’m trying to do that. But apparently it’s not enough. Apparently you can’t like Thomas the fricken tank engine despite there being other people at my age who like it as well. I can’t even breakdown anymore because I won’t get a hug or a I’ll help you all I get is a “you’re too old for this” I don’t even have anyone else to vent to other than my grandma. I just wanna scream I just wanna break something. I just don’t know what to do man

I feel I can't just leave my father like this. He's my doctor, and he doesn't deserve what he's going through, what I'm doing to him, leaving him, being at the mercy of such a huge mess because of me, and having to tolerate it. It's incredible how others want to take my parents' place at all costs. In fact, they don't know how to maintain it either, resorting to confusion worthy of the most serious and justified accusations.

In fact, I feel I can't allow my father to cease being my doctor because neither he nor anyone else has seen what caused my somatization. In fact, no one has been able to pinpoint the cause except for the therapist, who has been the most qualified professional. He, along with the other doctors, have applied desperate measures to resolve the situation, completely ignoring the psychological aspect. This has resulted in a sad, unsettled fishing ground, where everyone has tried to gain ground. In fact, I fear the doctors fueled this, and so did my father, an attitude that is immature from every point of view on both sides.

I don't feel either of them acted well. In fact, I'm open about going with one of them; I would definitely go with my father. If I go with another, the issue would be more complex, in principle, because there isn't the same structured trust that has existed for many years. On top of that, another person won't be willing to listen and sacrifice as my father does. In fact, the ground where everyone has their own life is at the mercy of being exposed. Indeed, the other professionals' fight for me is touching, but if I stay with them, it's detrimental to me in the long run.

The attempt to seize power by any means is impressive, even in the field of medicine. These professionals, including my father, should be ashamed. My body can't be a seizure of power, nor should any patient's. Truly, it's disappointing. Frankly, I don't want to speak to any of these professionals again. They don't measure the impact of their actions. In fact, they should have been even more cautious than my father if they wanted to win me over. I find them all worthy of distrust.

With my father, at least there are some comforts already established, even though the bond is the same as I would have with these professionals. That's why I see myself with this one. But, if I'm honest, I wish I wasn't with either of them because neither of them is committed to being in complete harmony with me. It makes me wonder: When will a mature person come into my life? In this case, I can't take care of myself as a doctor; in fact, I don't even like that question. That's why I say there must be someone who can at least adequately assist me in this. I don't know if I'm asking for some kind of guardian angel or something like that.

Why the hell should I depend on a third party? Why me? Why can't I depend on myself? Frankly, I don't understand. I wish things were different. I wish it all depended on emotions, but that would be like living in a daze and closing the door to that person if they came along. Why can't I trust any professional to help me?

In fact, I have to confess, I feel like the psychiatrist isn't helping me. She's not doing anything. I feel like therapy is just serving as a show for the professional. I hate that I'm serving that purpose. I would like a serious professional to treat me. When will that professional arrive, for God's sake? With which professional will I ever feel truly safe?

With which professional will I ever feel truly welcomed? With which professional will I feel they are leading me in the right direction? I feel in some way that I'm searching for my father in some professional, for someone outside who resembles him, given that I no longer seek him. However, that doesn't mean I've stopped searching for his personality in another person, just as it happens with my mother, and I hadn't realized it.

I have to say it: Where will I find the model of father I want? Where will I find the model of mother I'm looking for? Does it exist? Could it be that I'm there somewhere? I have to say it: Where will I find a substitute family model for mine? Whatever it is I want? Where will I be able to live in that family I so wanted? It was always my dream to live those years that I couldn't live and that I feel I deserve to live, that I feel that life owes me no matter what, because I feel that under no circumstances was it fair to have had a family so uprooted to the point of questioning whether there really was a family and not some kind of apartment with people who were living there by pure coincidence and by the grace of fate, which is how I felt at home, with no chance for anyone to leave.

Where is that house I love so much? Where is that home I long for so much? Where will there be that place where I feel I can live my childhood again? With whom will this be possible? With whom? Who will be able to make me fulfill that dream? Will the answer exist? Will it be worth it? Is it something I could regret? Damn.

I'm tired of searching outside for that childhood I couldn't experience with others around me. Although I confess, I feel I've achieved it, and that's precisely what my submission to my father was, the debt he considered he owed me, and I can understand why he pays it today, precisely for bringing me life and for having me live all these things when the conditions weren't favorable under any circumstances because, in the beginning, there wasn't anyone stable enough to help him with his, and that was exactly what he needed. I understand the financial support, the unchecked freedom, and the heightened restraint of my feelings; These were precisely the three missing elements he always wanted to give me, but for fear of the consequences of his environment, he never succeeded. These were devastating consequences that attacked him as the family's financial supporter. These extremes weren't something he should take into account.

I have to say it. After this text, I feel like I now understand my life as it is.

Context: I was with my ex-boyfriend for a little over 2 years. It was definitely rocky, especially toward the end, but the break up hurt. It hurt so bad because it was abrupt, and it was like right when I started liking him again. I became the desperate ex for like a little just trying to get back with him or at the least stay friends. It didnt work after he asked me for advice on how to date a new girl like 3 days. I blew up on him for being an asshole and he blocked me.

Fast forward about 3 months later and I started dating again. I accidently got into a serious relationship while in retrospect, defintelly still having feelings for my ex. I declined my feelings and moved forward with the new guy. Fast forward to this past summer and I cannot stop thinking about my ex. I wasnt happy in my current relationship so I didnt care to hide it. I told my current bf and said I need to reach out to him. He allowed it and things did not go well with my ex. I end up blocking him. Fast forward about 6 months and again he consumes my mind. I dont reach out as I know theres no point but I still want to.

I want so badly to be as connected as we were. He was funny, playful, cocky, but most of all real (or atleast it felt like it). Ive come to understand that I dont like him, but l miss the way I felt.

Today, I feel so empty. My current boyfriend just makes me anxious and judged. I dont love him but I want to because he is a good guy.

Yesterday I asked him, if I dissapeared, do you think I've made an impact on you. He said no. Hes told me he doesnt think I'm funny, he doesnt think Im smart, he just does not like me.

I want so badly to leave him. With college coming up, I told him I want to break up and he said no. I tried to pushback but it was still no. With me being such a coward I took his answer. I should stand on my ground but I dont.

Ive put myself in this situation and I just want advice.

I feel like I havent explained my situation the best I could and definitely left some things out. But, how do I get the ex off my mind. How do I salvage or break off this relationship.

I wake up every day and look in the mirror, hoping for some sort of miracle to happen overnight. I still see the same tired eyes staring back at me. At 48, I thought I would be in a much better place in my career. Instead, I find myself stuck in a role that feels beneath my capabilities. I’ve always been a driven person, but lately, I feel like I'm just going through the motions. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even meant to be in this industry anymore. There was a time when I felt passionate about my work, but that fire has dimmed and it's scary to think that I might not be able to rekindle it.

My colleagues are mostly supportive, yet I often catch them rolling their eyes at my ideas in meetings. It stings. I pour my heart into every proposal, only to have them brushed aside without much thought. I find myself hesitating more and more to speak up, fearing that my voice doesn't carry the weight it used to. I question whether I’m bringing value to the team or if I’m just a relic of the past, clinging on to a role that doesn’t need me anymore. And that thought – the one where I picture myself as an unnecessary part of the equation – eats away at me. Should I swallow my pride and look for something new, or am I just being dramatic? How do you even know when it’s time to leave versus when it’s time to fight for your place?

Then there’s the ever-watchful comparison to my peers. Some of them were in the same position as me just a few years back, but now they’ve shot up the ladder like rockets. Promotions, raises, moving to other companies that seem to value their hard work while I’m still here, stuck in the same spot. I sometimes hear whispers about how I'm "overqualified" for my job, which feels like a backhanded compliment. On one hand, it’s nice to know people recognize my potential; on the other hand, what does that say about my current situation? Why am I not progressing? I wonder all the time if my age is catching up with me. Are younger, more energetic employees overshadowing me? Shouldn’t my experience count for something? But instead of naming my strengths, I focus more on my weaknesses, and that seems to cloud my judgment more than ever.

I had a performance review recently that only compounded my feelings of inadequacy. My manager acknowledged some of the projects I handled but stated I need to show more “initiative.” The word rings in my ears like a haunting reminder that I’m not doing enough. Instead of using it as motivation, I turned it against myself and have been replaying that moment in my head in an endless loop. “Why can’t I be more proactive?” I ask myself. “Why can’t I seem to innovate?” I left that meeting feeling like a shadow of the ambitious woman I once was. Have I become complacent? Or have the challenges of my personal life drained my energy to push forward at work? I’m constantly torn between wanting to be a high achiever and wrestling against feelings of being overwhelmed. How do you work through that? It's hard not to spiral into self-doubt when it feels like you're not reaching your full potential. I want to change the narrative, but where do I even start?

So, I’ve been in a relationship with my boyfriend for a little over six months now, and I absolutely adore him. He’s sweet, funny, and we have a solid connection most of the time. The only small issue that keeps creeping up is our conversations. I feel like we sometimes run out of things to talk about, and it gets kind of awkward, you know? 😂 Am I alone in this? I can’t be the only one who sometimes stares at their boyfriend, waiting for some sort of magical topic to pop into my head.

I think part of the issue might be that we both tend to be a bit shy, or maybe we just don't know how to dive deeper into certain subjects. Like, we can chat about our favorite movies or what we did over the weekend, but when it comes to more meaningful conversation, it feels like we kind of hit a wall. Does anyone else feel like they struggle with this? I mean, I want to get to know him better, but sometimes I just don't know what to ask. Should I be throwing random questions at him, or would that feel too forced? There are only so many times you can ask someone, “What’s your favorite color?” before it feels like a game of 20 Questions for kids.

The other day, I decided to try something new. While we were chilling on the couch, I brought up some topics from a random "get to know you" list I found online. I started with something easy, like “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?” He laughed and shared this hilarious story from his childhood that involved him tripping over his shoelaces in front of his crush. It was such a genuine moment, and it made me realize how important it is to ask the right questions. Why is it so easy to default to small talk when there’s so much more to discover about each other?

After that conversation, I wanted to keep building on it. I started asking him about his goals and dreams, his thoughts on relationships, what makes him feel secure, and where he sees himself in the next five years. It got surprisingly deep really fast, and I felt like we were connecting in a way we hadn’t before. However, I also wondered if I was pushing too hard or if it’s just good to be open about these things? Do you all think there’s a balance between playful banter and serious talk, or am I overthinking it?

At the end of the day, I’m really eager to make our conversations more meaningful but also keep the lighthearted vibe we both enjoy. I’m also curious to know if anyone has any tips on topics that work well for their relationships? That would seriously help me out. I think it’s just a bit of a learning curve, and I’m willing to put in the effort to deepen our connection, but I genuinely wonder if other people have similar struggles too. So please, share your stories; are there certain questions you’ve found helpful or fun when talking with your partner? I’m all ears!

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

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