Life Stories and Everyday Drama - page 2

I hate my life so fucking much.

For the last 4 months I have been feeling so depressed, numb and alone and every night I sittl in my bed thinking to myself what has my life come to and I in the last 3-4 months I have had at least 2 mental breakdown a week ( that isn't me trying to flex in any way ) and cryed multiple times some times to the point I can't breathe or I fall asleep. This has oveousley been since I started college last September and my mental health just went down hill as I wasn't and still am not going the right support at college for my mental health and just over all my other needs That are clearly stated in my EHCP . The only thing I actually asked for and got was a laptop which I have load till June and the only sort of help I get is on a Thursday and Friday form an member of staff . when I should have someone on a Wednesday which again I did. But sadly it only lasted till the October half term as they gave that person to someone else and lefft me with no one and the worst thing about this hole situation is the or staff members of the support system at the college have been lieing to the support person I have on a Thursday and Friday by saying that I have had help in my lesson when that particular starf members wasn't with me and that is all day every Wednesday. I know it's not there fault or mine but surely they know what students need help. I must admit that every Wednesday when I get home from college I end up helping my mum with jobs then I go up to my room and sit on my phone untill it's time for dinner then I do other jobs around the house then got back up to my room and sit on my phone until it's time for me to go to bed. But I don't full asleep straight away or at all as I'm normally up until about 1-2:00in the morning as I end up having more than one panic attack or a meltdown because I'm so overwhelmed or I will cry myself to sleep..

side note the reason I have an EHCP is because I have Adhd.

and as some of you may know 5days before Christmas I got the devastating news that my nan that live in Weymouth sadly passed away and it didn't hit me hard at first but it sertenly has now and I'm feeling so incredibly numb, depressed and lost. and I just can't amagen how I will get through this year and the coming day as we all find out when her funeral is going to be and how I will cope when I'm at her funeral or when I'm back at college.

not my typical post this is a horror but no option for horror

this is chapwr one lmk what u guys think

Chapter One — The Hollow Tree

I ran but she caught me when the moon slipped behind the clouds and the world went silent.

Her grip closed around my ankle with a strength that belonged to graves and forgotten things. I fell hard, the breath knocked from my lungs, my palms sinking into the cold mulch of the forest floor. Dead leaves clung to my skin like the hands of the unburied, and for one hopeless moment I imagined that I, too, was sinking—downward—into the dark earth they all returned to.

A low hum trembled through the soil. A voice without words. A summons.

I twisted to look behind me.

I should not have.

She emerged from the dark like a memory that should have died centuries ago—long limbs bending in wrong directions, bones clicking against each other like rosary beads in restless hands. Her hair, long and dripping, veiled most of her face, though the smallest sliver of a grin stretched beneath it, white as moonlit marble and sharp as split stone.

The forest held its breath.

Even the wind dared not speak.

“Please,” I whispered, though my voice felt like it belonged to someone already fading.

Her head tilted. Not with mercy—no creature of mercy would be found in this place—but with recognition. As though she had been waiting, patient and starving, for the moment I would return.

The stories had warned me. My grandmother’s voice echoed, faint and trembling, from the deepest corners of childhood: Do not run from the Hollow Woman. She will come faster. Do not speak to her. She will hear you for a century. Do not look back. She is always closer than you think.

Yet I had done all three.

Her fingers tightened, cold as river stones, and she dragged me across the earth toward the hollow tree ahead—a towering corpse of a once-mighty oak, its trunk split open by some ancient and merciless storm. The gap gaped like a mouth, the inside impossibly dark, impossibly deep, as though it tunneled straight into the underworld.

The closer we drew, the more the forest changed. The trees bowed inward, crooked like mourners at a funeral. A smell seeped from the hollow—wet soil, rotting bark, and beneath it something sweet, like overripe fruit left too long in the sun.

“No,” I gasped, clawing at the ground. My nails scraped through moss and root, catching on stones slick with dew. My body obeyed terror’s instinct, but my mind was trapped in the slow, creeping dread that had haunted me since I first heard her voice two nights ago.

It had come with the storm.

I had been lying in my grandmother’s abandoned house—our ancestral ruin—when the lightning split the sky and the walls groaned like a living thing. A whisper curled through the cracks in the floorboards, thin as winter breath: Come back to me.

I thought it was grief. Or loneliness. Or the house settling around its last inhabitant.

But then the whisper came again.

And again.

And last night, when the moon was whole and bright, I saw her standing beneath the oak tree at the edge of the forest, her shadow stretching longer than her body should allow.

She had been waiting.

“Not yet,” I murmured, desperate, choking on soil as I fought against her grasp. “Please—not yet.”

For the first time, she paused.

Her grip, though unyielding, stilled. Slowly, achingly slowly, her face lifted, and beneath the curtain of her tangled hair I saw the hollow where her eyes should have been—deep, shadowed pits that seemed to draw in the light around them.

When she spoke, it was not with a voice but with a sound like roots cracking beneath frozen ground.

“You left me.”

My heart stuttered. A coldness spread through my chest, not the fear she inflicted but something older, deeper, something that knew her.

Because I had left her.

I didn’t understand why or how—but the moment she spoke, the truth whispered beneath my memory like something long buried scratching at the coffin lid.

“I don’t remember,” I whispered, and my own words tasted wrong, as if they were stolen from someone else’s mouth.

She dragged me another inch toward the hollow tree.

The moon finally slipped from behind the clouds then, its pale, shivering light spilling across us. For a moment—just a moment—she stopped moving. Her body stiffened. Her smile dropped into a grim line carved of stone.

The moonlight touched her skin, and she recoiled as though burned.

I felt her grip loosen.

Only a little.

Only enough.

With a cry torn raw from my throat, I twisted sharply, kicking with all the panic of a creature half-dead and unwilling to finish the job. My heel struck something soft—her face, perhaps—and her grip faltered.

I scrambled backward, breath ragged, legs shaking so violently they barely obeyed me. She hissed, a sound like a dying wind through hollow places.

But she did not lunge.

She watched.

The moonlight kept her rooted.

I staggered to my feet. Pain lanced up my knee. Blood soaked into my sock. Yet I ran—not with hope, but with the terror of someone who knows the night is far from over.

Behind me, her voice seeped through the trees like mist:

“When the moon dies, you are mine again.”

And above the forest canopy, the clouds thickened—slowly smothering the light that protected me.

Well, here I am again. This time I will talk about what happened to me a few years ago. I have three daughters, 17-year-old triplets. They are somewhat rebellious and rough, but they are also very well-mannered, respectful, and kind girls. Those who read my previous story already know what happened with the mother of my daughters.

But for those who haven’t read it, I kindly invite you to read the previous story so you can have context about my situation.

What happened is that after my daughters learned about my past and what happened between their mother and me, they noticed my loneliness, since I have always lived to raise them with affection and love, educating them and guiding them to always be better. Honestly, I was fine with how things were, but my daughters decided to sign me up on a dating site, and then they sent me on several blind dates. The truth is, it didn’t go very well… because I was still dealing with the trauma from my ex-partner, Ana.

The first date was with a woman around 32 years old, about my age. At first, we talked nicely; she was polite and everything. But the problem came up when the topic of women arose, because she was extremely sexist and very attached to that mindset. I became serious, because my daughters are actually taller and stronger than me. They go to the gym: the oldest does boxing, the middle one practices archery, and the youngest practices kung fu. When this woman asked me about my daughters, I told her everything without shame, because I am proud of them. She became aggressive and started yelling at me, asking how someone like me could allow my daughters to practice “men’s sports.” I got angry, because they can throw hate at me and curse me if they want, but if they mess with my daughters, I will never allow it. So I politely stood up, told her about her flaws and her lack of respect for others, paid for my meal, and left the place.

After that, my daughters sent me on another blind date. This time it was with a divorced woman who, from the very first second, seemed kind, respectful, and sincere. But at one point she asked me if I drank alcohol or smoked. I honestly have never drunk even a drop of alcohol, nor have I ever smoked, because I don’t like it. Even my daughters don’t drink or smoke. I kindly told the woman that I didn’t, and she looked at me seriously and started drinking and smoking. After a while, she stopped talking to me because she considered me boring and not adventurous.

Honestly, I have been the father of three girls since I was 15 years old. I raised them completely on my own; I worked alone and never had the support of my family or my parents. I kindly told her, “Excuse me, miss, I am a father of three. I dedicate my life to raising them, educating them, spending time with them, and helping them with everything. If you are a party-loving woman who enjoys parties, alcohol, and smoking… and you have also made it clear that you don’t like children, I’m sorry, but I’m leaving. I will pay my part of the dinner. Have a nice night, miss.” I paid the waiter and left.

My daughters were always excited, waiting to know whether the date worked or not. Every time I said no, they got a little frustrated, but it passed, because I always told them what had happened. So they decided to keep sending me on blind dates, but it was terrible.

None of the women were my type, and many things happened. Once, a woman threw dessert in my face because she didn’t like me for being a dedicated father. Another time, a single mother slapped me because she didn’t like my hair color. Another was a feminist, but one of those who are very violent, and I am extremely respectful, since I have three daughters and even act as a homemaker. And so night after night of blind dates passed, and I never found a partner.

My daughters gave up for now, but I always cheer them up, because I am passionate about cooking and I always cook and prepare the food they like. That is life to me, and I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world, because seeing that smile of joy on my daughters’ faces gives me the strength to always keep moving forward.

i can't believe another year has come and gone, and here i am, 54 years old, sitting back and reflecting on the events of the past year. it's been a ride full of ups and downs, hasn't it? sometimes it feels like time just slips through my fingers, like sand in an hourglass. but guess what? i survived another one, and I have my health, my family, and somehow the world feels new again. seriously though, how good is it to be surrounded by your loved ones on new year's eve, right? we were all huddled up in the living room, telling stories and laughing like a pack of hyenas. you know those moments when you're just so happy you could burst? that's what it was like. everyone was in high spirits, and looking around, i couldn't help but feel incredibly blessed. and all of them were healthy, thank God! if i'm being honest, it's challenging at times not to worry about the future. there seems to be so much uncertainty, especially with everything happening around the world. you watch the news, and it's hard not to digest all the negativity that gets thrown at you. how many times have you caught yourself thinking, "what's next?" but then i remember the quote from that one song, "life's what you make it," and i think, if i focus on the positive, maybe, just maybe, things will turn out alright. 🙂 i'm sure you can relate. sure, i've got my fair share of regrets and wish i could hit rewind on a few decisions, but that's life, isn't it? you live and you learn. i remember my parents always saying, "don't sweat the small stuff," and i'm really starting to get that now. it's like, what's the point in stressing over things you can’t change? honestly, it's been eye-opening for me to just let things be and, as the classic beatles song goes, "let it be." there's a comfort in knowing that i'm not alone in my worries and thoughts. we’re all just trying to navigate this crazy world we live in, doing our best to put one foot in front of the other. and when you take a moment to step back and look at the bigger picture, you see the beauty in the chaos. speaking of beauty, i can’t help but gush about nature and how it's been my saving grace through all of this. you ever just go outside, take a deep breath, and remind yourself of all the things you're thankful for? i try to do it as often as possible. maybe i'm just getting sappy with age, but every time i hear the birds chirping or feel the breeze against my face, i can't help but thank the earth for its never-ending wonder. there's something so grounding about connecting with nature. it puts everything into perspective for me. you ever notice how everything just feels right when you're sitting under a starlit sky, lost in your thoughts? it’s like the universe is telling you, "hey, don’t worry too much." i guess what i'm trying to say is that, through all the uncertainties, I’m grateful for what I have. i’ve been blessed with a supportive family who lights up even my darkest days and friends who are like family, who always have my back. you can't buy that kind of love, you know? it’s priceless. when you strip away everything else, isn't that what life’s about? creating memories with the people who matter the most is what makes it all worthwhile. sure, i might not have all the riches in the world, and my bank account is nothing to brag about, but feeling this deep sense of gratitude is richer than any treasure could ever make me. the question now is, as we move forward, how do we keep this mindset? how do we keep reminding ourselves of what's truly important when life throws us a curveball? i know i’ll try my best, even if it means slipping up here and there. so, yeah, thank you, earth, for everything you've given me – more than I could ever ask for. here's to another year of figuring things out, loving the people close to us, and appreciating the small joys day by day. let's keep reminding ourselves to breathe and take life as it comes because it's the only way we’re truly going to make the most of what we have. what are your thoughts? looking forward to hearing your take!

I’ve been doing pretty well lately I was going though a hard time back in 2022 it started with my breasts being uneven and I noticed it but became very hyper fixated to the point I had to look in the mirror just to convince myself they were fine and not that big of a difference. I went to go see a therapist and a psychiatrist and got put on medication. At first it was still bad but now I barely think about my boobs but this morning I just woke up with this anxiety that I needed to look and I stared at them and now I’m having this worry about them being very uneven and drastic looking..

I have asked my husband and he has told me that you can barely notice but I just don’t know how to accept it and stop worrying about this kind of thing..

I’m 39, a mom of four, and today feels like every other day lately, heavy and slow, like walking through mud in sneakers!! I wake up before the alarm becuase my brain never really shuts off, thinking about lunches, laundry, and who needs what before school!! I work full time, same basic hours as my husband, and yet I’m the one packing bags, finding socks, and calming kids down when the milk spills!! I try to be polite about it, I really do, but im so tired of pretending this is just a phase or that it’ll magically balance out!! He leaves for work, comes home, and that’s kind of it, and I’m left wondering if this is normal or if I’m just bad at asking for help?? I remember when our first kid was born, I thought we were a team, and now it feels like I’m running a small company by myself, with no vacation days and no sick leave 😔

The hardest part isn’t even the physical stuff, it’s the quiet resentment that sneaks in while I’m folding clothes at midnight!! My husband has never changed a diaper, never cooked a meal, never handled bedtime on his own, and I keep asking myself how that even happened?? We both work the same hours, nothing extreme on either side, but somehow all the home stuff became mine without a real conversation!! I tell myself he’s tired too, that work is stressful for him, and that’s true, but so is mine, and then there’s everything after work that never seems to count!! Last week, our third kid threw up all over the couch at 2am, and I cleaned it alone while he slept through it, and the next day he asked why I looked so worn out, like it was a mystery!! I’m not angry all the time, just sad, and a little confused about how thier idea of partnership drifted so far apart

Sometimes I replay old moments in my head, like when I went back to work after maternity leave and cried in the car for ten minutes before walking into the office!! I remember thinking it would get easier once the kids were older, but now there’s homework, activities, attitudes, and so much noise all the time!! I do alot of small things that no one notices, like remembering dentist appointments or knowing which kid hates which cereal, and it adds up fast!! I’ve tried talking about it, gently, firmly, calmly, and it usually ends with him saying he didn’t realize, and then nothing really changes; I dont want a medal, I just want a partner who sees the mess and helps without being asked!! Do other tired moms feel this weird mix of love for their family and loneliness inside their own house??

I still care about my husband, and I know he’s not a villain, just stuck in habits that started years ago and never got challenged properly!! I wonder if I enabled it by trying to be capable and strong all the time, thinking I could handle it, thinking it was temporary!! Now I’m here, 39 years old, feeling older than I should, and questioning if this is just how life is supposed to feel for moms like me?? It feels polite to keep the peace, to not rock the boat, but it also feels unfair, and that thought sits heavy in my chest on long evenings!! I don’t hate him, and I don’t want sympathy, I just want honesty, even if it’s wierd and uncomfortable, and I want my kids to see something healthier than quiet exhaustion!! If you’re reading this and nodding along, please tell me, how do you fix this without breaking everything, or is that just something we tell ourselves to survive, becuase I’m definately running out of energy to pretend I’m fine!!!

Its been awhile, yeah it is. I learned knew things and overcame many problems, i broke up with my now ex boyfriend along time ago

yeah. i took a little break since then, now im dating one off my close friend. Yes i regret it? or do i?....he and i were together before my late ex, and he was obsessive, ...and creepy,...he hurted me 2 times before?...and he said he change but idek....i gave him a chance?, he loves me alot, and idk ....he is a hoe tho...like ...posting girls up on his insta, saying bae...and wanting to fuck his friends?...i dunno whats with my love life..an i dunno what to do.

[Translated from Spanish. Reminder: IIWIARS is English only]

I have almost never spoken about this. I always hid it from everyone, especially from my daughters, but not long ago I had to tell them the truth.

I was 14 years old when it happened. I was young, very kind, respectful, and always smiling. I was the classic kid with a thousand problems at home: family fights, beatings from my family, sleepless nights, things like that. I always looked for refuge in others. I was shy and had a stutter, and even so I never had friends… until she arrived, the girl who changed everything.

I’ll refer to her as Ana to protect her privacy. Ana was older than me; she was in her last year of high school. We met because I was being bullied at school and she was always the one leading it. One day she made me her boyfriend. How and when it happened, I still don’t know, but it happened out of nowhere without me realizing it. I guess the lack of affection and love I never had from my family didn’t let me walk away. Ana was 19, and even so we kept our relationship secret. I couldn’t do much—I was small, and even now I’m still only about five feet tall. Ana was tall, strong, dominant. She was about six foot two. She was mean to me and very strict. She always yelled at me and hit me, but because of my fear of being abandoned and being alone, I endured it.

Until one day she forced me to do it with her. It was… painful, but at that moment I saw it as affection and love. I was in a very bad place, and I know that now.

After that, Ana disappeared. A few months later she came back, and that’s when I saw her belly—six months pregnant. We did the tests and yes, I was the father. We hid everything. I ran away from home and moved in with Ana to a very cheap, run-down apartment. She always threatened to have an abortion if I didn’t obey her, and so I did, enduring everything because deep down I needed to protect that baby.

The day the birth came, I was already 15. Endless minutes passed until they finally let me in… and there they were. The doctor handed me my three daughters—yes, beautiful triplets with their mother’s features. Ana pretended to be happy but never held them. She refused to do so and always showed her contempt for them. And then it happened, once we got back home. Ana hit me, but I never let her touch the babies.

One day Ana came home from work. I stayed home taking care of the babies, feeding them with what little we had. That day she didn’t complain or say anything, and I wasn’t prepared for that infernal night.

Ana got up and took a knife. I didn’t sleep all night. I pretended to, and then I saw her, lifting the knife and pointing it with a psychopathic look at the babies. I reacted on instinct and blocked the strike—it hit my face. She cut me from my chin to my forehead. The cut went over my right eye but, by a miracle, it didn’t damage it. There was blood—too much blood. I screamed at her to stop, but she didn’t listen. She tried to stab me, but I pushed her and knocked her down. I reacted fast, moved the wardrobe, and it fell on top of her.

I didn’t stop there. I grabbed my daughters in my arms however I could and went out through the open window.

I ran like I never had in my life. I didn’t stop or look back. The cold hurt; it was snowing, and I couldn’t see out of my right side because of the blood. My daughters cried nonstop. I kept running without stopping. My feet hurt, and after hours of running, I collapsed.

I fell to the ground, covering my daughters so they wouldn’t get hurt. My chest burned with pain and I couldn’t feel half my face. I walked, limping, in the middle of the night until some police officers found me. I told them what had happened, and at least they were discreet—they didn’t force me to go back to my family or to Ana. They were kind enough to take me to the hospital, and when the doctor wanted to treat me, I ignored my own pain and insisted that he take care of the babies first. He did, because I wouldn’t stop insisting.

When we were discharged, I spent a few days on the streets with my daughters… We spent about three months homeless. I gave them what little I had to make food so they could eat, and I went hungry, but for them I would do anything, no matter the cost.

After that, I got a job as a personal secretary to a woman who was a CEO of a company. Then I was able to start paying for things and buying what we needed, always making sure my daughters were comfortable. I raised and educated them with the love and affection I never had.

Years passed, and now my daughters are 17—rebellious teenagers, but good girls. And the only thing I am grateful for from that horrible night is the honor of being a great father.

I used to date this girl, but we broke up cause she didn't really like me, but we stayed best friends. I've only had one person i've ever had a crush on like me back and that's my current partner. I first got a crush on one of my guy friends, but never told him. Then one day, he told me he had a crush on her and I acted normal about it, but I actually wanted to cry. Then, I knew one of my other guy best friends liked her. but I couldn't help. but catch feelings for him. I feel like I should be angry, but i'm not. I can't help how I feel, but everyone else has told me I should be mad at her, but I'm only mad at myself.

is it true when someone tells you life gets "better." as for a while now I have been struggling with my mental health and especially now I'm in college and fighting to get the help I need with my learning and with my mental health.

As at this very moment in time I feel so lost and depressed and alone. I've also had issues with sh in the past and these issues have come up again and I sh 2 nights ago . And I've also struggled with suicidal thoughts in the past as well. they were really bad whilst I was still at school as I was getting bullied and I also have really bad anxiety and that was making school harder for me as I would have to take time outside of the classroom to calm down and I also would disappear to the toilets to run my hands and wrists under cold water.

I then started couslorling and that helped as at that point I was no just struggling to stay in class I was also struggling to get into class as I was having really bad panick attacks.

And throughout my counselorling setting I learnt new way to help myself get through the panic attacks.

That was untill one day where I was out of class because I was struggling with my anxiety and was in fact having a panic attack and my form tutor saw me and she said you look stressed and then she also said to me about trying some ways to calm down and I'd all ready tried 2 and they didn't work and then she said to me about her taking me to sit I'm her classroom as she wasn't teaching and at this point I had my head phones on listening to music to try and calm myself down and come out of the panic attack as I know that worked for me and she had my try one other way to come out of the panic attack which did sort of help it wa the s deep breathing trick nixed with listening to music and the 5.4.3.2.1 track that got me out of the panic attack then it was lunch time so I spent it with my helper and tryes to explain to her what happened but I couldn't so I just started to talk about something else.

hello I'm just here to rant honestly, lately I've been feeling like I wasn't as loved as my siblings...? maybe its only a matter of POV but after hearing things of their childhoods and witnessing my younger sibling's it feels like I was never treated like that, I'm a middle middle child if that helps.

All of them has at least one picture up on our wall and I don't have one that was really specifically just me apparently they lost all my childhood photos but still has my older sibling's?? I know it's stupid im already in my late teens and jealousy is eating me up, they're all talented and smart at whatever they do too, I have multiple hobbies but I wasn't exactly that great at all of them and it just made me feel even worse.

I used to be able to hold in my feelings and emotions but as I grew older I just became more sensitive and everyone noticed, I feel like im just wasting their time and all, they've always been disinterested in me anyways.

I've always found my gifts for them (flowers i found, drawings, origami) in the trash, and it really confused me to see that they still have my sibling's art even if it's just one, was i really that bad? I used to wish i got hit by a car or get sick so they can actually pay attention to me i believe the earliest was by age 6, I can't even communicate with them properly now, I just want myself to be acknowledged not just the lazy, moody, sensitive kid they have including everything I do, I've always pushed myself to atleast have a talent im good at, I've joined many clubs and activities but that's not enough I guess. I've sacrificed sleep for tests to get scores they'd be proud of, nothing.

i think I'm just stupid at this point.

My sibling's felt similarly to what I've felt but it really didn't look that way honestly :( maybe it's just me I'm not sure.

I've been compared to my siblings ever since i grew up by alot of people. i only realized now how lonely i felt as a kid, I never had anyone that close back then and I was just the annoying noisy younger sibling towards my family and distant relatives that are close in age.

I hate whenever they tell me I'm talentless compared to my siblings, they sugarcoat it but I know. They love me, but sometimes I feel like I don't know them and they don't know me.

Sometimes I wish I can have a long deep sleep and forget about everything.

When I was in middle school, I got a guitar as a present. My parents got it for me after I begged for months. I practiced every day, all throughout high school and into college. I loved it. I love music. Music, in general. I didn't have it easy, and music had been such a present and poignant way for me to process my emotions and my experiences. I really, truly loved the idea that I could express myself in such a pure way. In the way my idols had expressed themselves to me. And so I practiced, and I almost got good. I could play Hallelujah almost right, so close to right.

But I am tone deaf. I always have been. And I can't stay on the beat to save my life. I had to play one song over and over again, recording and listening and rerecording. I had to learn each note one at a time and be sure I had it right. I learned how to disregard the sound in my ear and feel the vibration in my jaw. You can feel when that vibration inside matches the sound outside. I had to listen to the song second by second to see if I had the rhythm right and learn where each note lined up. I could almost play well, and I knew I hit notes wrong, but I was proud of that. But it was never what I wanted it to be. And I never got better than I did after a certain point.

I had to take a few years off. I didn't have the time to practice. Maybe once a month. Sometimes less. And now I am trying to get back into it, and I am so much worse than where I was in high school. Every time I play a song I used to know, I am jarred by how much I've lost. I told myself I'd play one song until I got it right again. One song until I could strum and sing at the same time, even if I couldn't do it well. It's been months, and I still can't.

I think it's time to accept it.

I can't keep hurting myself to do something I cannot.

I am from Philippines and I struggle with depression. I'm currently pregnant now, I'm 23 years old. I have finished my studies, I have now a profession, and a regular job. But my parents are disappointed in me by being pregnant because my boyfriend didn't finished his studies yet, he is a graduating student now. I feel depressed. Even I put up with my parents need of money they always see me as if I have committed the greatest sin on them. I don't want to abort this baby, also here in Philippines abortion is illegal. I can't really sleep because it bothers me a lot, I'm 6months pregnant now (25weeks and 2 days) and I'm depressed for everything my parents have made me feel, they told me things, very hurtful things because I am pregnant now

I am so mad at myself for not doing my best and being disappointed.

My mom told me that she dreamed about me where she tries to wake me up but i would not and that moment i tell to myself maybe it's about to happen.

so i just wanna clarify, i'm a minor and i'm not straight. or cis for that matter. i'm a homo in a family of phobics. whatever, my family doesn't support me. and uhh kinda off topic for being gay, but my mom takes all my stuff and goes through all of it, which pisses me the fuck off because if she didn't do that back when i was like 11 i would probably be fine. she went through all of it. messages, school notes, i even found her logged into my school email account. she then confronted me with "why do you say you're a boy? only sa'd people can be queer!" and then that's around the time i got really suicidal and started sh. which is obviously not okay with someone who had just come out of elementary?? and she always says that i learned what being gay was from social media, which is totally bogus because she taught me what that was when i was six! lady wants to blame everything on anything but herself. she also says that when i was little and she used to lock me in the closet it was because i was her first child and she didn't know that was wrong. fuck that shit she was the oldest child in her family and she basically raised my uncle. she never locked him in closets for shit he didn't even do when he was 3. she also thinks my friends are bad influences. sure, some of them have their own issues and addictions and other stuff, but they stopped me from killing myself when my mom didn't even know i wanted to die. she thought i was just a weird kid with weird interests at the time. i dont think it crossed her mind that i was the one who was taking all the pencil sharpeners and stealing the blades. i mean, why else would i have a screwdriver in my room? strange how she wasn't too concerned when i wouldn't go into the pool and wore sweaters all summer. not weird at all. oh! and recently she was telling me how i was pretending to be gay and that i dressed "weird" to impress my friends, and that i wanted to be just like her. first of all, i lost a ton of 'friends' for being gay and for dressing alt. second of all, shes a forty two year old woman. im a teenage loser. i dont wanna be like her at all. i hate her. she always goes to the extreme and expects me to be a little version of her and thinks that im pretending to wanna be a boy. but i DO wanna be boy. i wish i was born a boy. i wanna look like one, sound like one, be treated like i'm a REAL boy. im sick and tired of people treating me like i'm some fragile little creature who's "just confused". it's not a fucking phase i wanna be a boy i hate being called a girl i wish i was born a boy why did i have to be born a girl. and uh yeah. so fun wanting to be a boy and having that struggle of being called a girl on top of shitty classmates and a mom who genuinely makes you wanna relapse every two days.