Life Stories and Everyday Drama - page 3

How disgusting it is to have to give my father information about my life. I don't want to give him any information about me, and I feel like he's pressuring me, with his absences, to give it to him. This is truly miserable. I can't stand being with my father anymore. I expected a recent response, and he didn't give it to me. I'm fed up. I'm fed up with how he wants this relationship to be. He once decided to see who I was dating! With the excuse that in the family, we men find bad people. This is the last straw.

I hate my father. Besides, he wants to know so much about my life when I don't want to give him that information. Besides, I don't want to give it to him. I don't know if he's giving it to the psychiatrist. I'm fed up. I'm fed up with this information being extracted from me. I feel like I can't take it anymore. And this tells me it's from a psychiatrist? I don't want to be there anymore. I'm not interested anymore. I'm working through the anger I had myself, because if it were up to her, pressuring me to be worse, then it would be going badly. Everything in the therapeutic treatment is being achieved thanks to my routine, not thanks to the psychiatrist. Instead of supporting me, the psychiatrist has only put more pressure on me. She once made me steer clear of some dentists who treated me, she molded me. I'm tired of her. Furthermore, she supported my father's medication, even though the character is my doctor. Hell, feeling obligated to give him information about what I'm doing with my life has reached its limit.

It can't be that the relationship with my father is the most problematic, an issue that's obvious from miles away, as is that with my mother. And they want me to see that on purpose? I'm tired of the psychiatrist, of her pressuring me, of her giving me useless, crappy pills. I don't want to keep taking that stuff. So far, what I've felt is pressure from that woman, molding, disapproval, bias. I can't stand that doctor anymore. I want to quit that therapy once and for all. On top of that, censorship. I'm not in therapy to calm down, but to do a job, and I won't do a job at the expense of that. That person can't be staking out my success when it's my routine. I no longer care about the opinion of my work, which is who sent me to that. I just want to be calm. I don't want to feel like I'm exposing myself in my private space. That's torture. I can't allow that. It's too much. I'm wasting my time. I don't want to see that psychiatrist anymore! I'm tired.

Why is it that at my job, what they've done is nothing but screw up my life? I don't want to be trapped with a psychiatrist! I want out of there; I feel too boxed in. I don't care that they don't give me anything, or any other support; I just want out of that psychiatrist. I'm fed up with being with her. Plus, she treated me badly outside of the session. I'm tired of defending myself from the psychiatrist; I can't take it anymore. I don't want to keep doing it like I did with my psychologist; that woman really traumatized me. That woman abused my privacy, however she wanted; she pushed aside my ideals, and she wanted to act like nothing was happening. I'm not going to allow that again.

I feel like I can't believe anything my father says anymore. In fact, I feel like the communication between us is more zero than ever. There are too many unseen things between us. This relationship between us is headed straight for disaster. This can't be tolerated by either side anymore. This has become a situation where everyone lives in their own world.

On the other hand, it's unfortunate that a girl, who for a long time, I don't even know what I did, I think that by becoming "her leader" at her request, I'll have to leave her alone, and if she comes back, she'll adapt to the circumstances. It's not possible for me to remain stagnant because of her. There's a new girl in my life, and I feel I want to get to know her better, appreciate her more, and that's interesting to me, and that's my right. I can't afford to remain stagnant with her; wherever, wherever she is, I hope that if I see her again, she'll find out about this and digest it well because I'm not going to put up with any scandal, and she knows it. In fact, of everything I've experienced, what I did, faithfully, was just that: make me her leader from every angle. I mean, you can only give her such an abstract group vision, because otherwise it's incomprehensible; there are so many details that won't fit together. I'm tired of going over the matter in circles. It's impossible to give her a common vision, it's not possible.

I feel like love has knocked on my door. It seems like some stories are approved and published, while others aren't. I feel like I'm standing in front of the love of my life, the person I've loved the most for a very long time. I can't wait to be without her for one more minute. I can't stop thinking about her, and it's not in an unpleasant way, a back-and-forth, but quite the opposite. This time, I like the feeling I'm experiencing, and it's sensational. I also feel like it's two-way, not just a one-way thing. I feel like this time we're both on the same wavelength, not one going in one direction and then the other pulling, and so on. It's the best thing that could have happened to me in my life. I don't really like it when some stories are published and nothing is said about them, unlike others; it's like leaving aside things that are separate from one another, and it's not pleasant.

I want to be with that girl I met in that library. It's not a lie; I feel like we both love each other deeply. To hell with it, whether others believe me or not, to hell with the structures I have to break, I only want to be with that girl forever. I'm tired of so many failed attempts with girls, always ending at a distance. But how long will that end? For so long, I've been waiting for the doors of love to open before me. I can't waste it under any circumstances; this only happened to me once as a child, and now it's happening again; it's the same feeling.

I don't know where she is, not even her name, I just know that I love her deeply. I wish she could penetrate my WhatsApp—I feel like all my stories are equivalent to the same thing; I feel like every one you post, every one you comment on, every one you should let me know. I feel like love has finally come to me. How many years have I been searching for that feeling I felt as a child again? That's why I embarked on this personal journey again, because I felt it was there, just dormant. I can swear, I've found it again.

I can't let this girl leave my life under any circumstances. I couldn't handle that reality. Ever since I realized that girl loved me, but because she neglected her feelings, I couldn't be with her. It hurt so much. I'm exhausted from so many romantic disappointments. This has to be my chance. I pray that it is. I can't take another one. If it is, I feel like I'll go down the drain.

When I was a kid, I made so many mistakes with the girl with whom I felt that special something. I despaired. I broke up with her because of that, via Messenger message, precisely because of that, because I couldn't stand it anymore. I feel like it's been haunting me for the rest of my life. I was a kid too. From that moment on, I haven't had another girlfriend. I can't believe that right now I'm experiencing that same feeling of connection again, that same feeling of wanting to be together. From so much writing, from so much digging myself out, I managed to reach that possibility again, that I might experience something rich with someone, something pleasurable, something full of joy, not confusing, but rather euphoric.

How is it possible that in such vague encounters this girl and I have felt the same thing? It's simultaneous. Maybe I was wrong when I said that love existed—I feel like a woman's daughter isn't talking to me because I didn't look further; she's sort of directing that beyond; it's obvious she likes to be mischievous in terms of rebelling against her mother, but I wasn't going to do that. I feel like I do feel it here, I do experience it. When I left seeing this girl, I only felt joy and more joy, and I don't know why; I think I've only seen her twice, and it was by accident. I don't even know what she studies, or anything about her life, I just knew that I loved her. It can't be, this seems to be, what they call love at first sight.

Damn! I feel very excited—on another website, these kinds of stories were deleted, and I didn't understand why. I never thought I'd experience this love at first sight thing. I mean, with that girl, I was just being sketchy, the way she likes it, and that was it. Always remembering such an act of respect, which I know hurts when someone doesn't remember you. I feel like we somehow connected; I remember that wherever I was, she passed by me, and I looked at her many times, and then I realized how much it bothered her, and I bowed my head, just like she did, and we connected. I felt like we understood each other in a very, very deep way, and it's fascinating to find someone like that in this world.

I remember her carrying books, nervous, always trying to do her best. I couldn't get enough of her. I was in those shoes too. A few weeks later, going to the place—where he works, apparently sometimes—I identified the annoyance he felt about coming on a weekend, and I knew it immediately. I understood that annoyance, and also how hidden it was, and how naturally he expressed it. It felt like I'd found my soulmate a long time ago. I never thought anything would happen to me. It was a truly beautiful experience A week before, I remember, I was trying to get away from her. I always saw her looking for some scenario to start a relationship, and that was exactly what I did. Of course, that was something she didn't like when she saw it in someone else, just like me. I feel like we have these things in common, but there are several more. Where there's one, there's more. I definitely don't think about blaming a woman to get to her daughter; I know that was what she wanted with me, it was a counter to her daughter's pranks, which, apparently, isn't the first time she's tried to get rid of her.

After so much exploration, I saw that all those emotions were perhaps not what I thought they were. I admittedly let myself go. At first, I saw it as something grand, fantastic, phenomenal, but today I see it as something flat and relaxed. I thought I'd take her to the ends of the earth with all the luxuries, but I think I was a bit deluded. I hope that girl has settled down just like I have. Although, after falling into this lull, I confess, I don't know what to do. I thought there would be many more details, but I don't feel like I'm missing any.

So, after everything I've written, what did I feel? Indeed, we're talking about empathy, but that's not what I mean. What will I go beyond? Was this just a momentary joy? Will I never go out with her, and will it go any further? Will I then return to my boring old life? I don't see my life as a good thing right now, under any circumstances. I've already left there; I don't want to go back. I say it, truly, I want to be with this girl, I want to go out with her, and I don't think she'll take no for an answer. I know it's not right to be together, but how many times have I said that and realized there's no such love? How many heartbreaks have I had? I feel like this woman's daughter isn't talking to me because I didn't go further with her; Out of respect, and I feel like him distancing himself from me seems like a very toxic form of pressure. "When will I be with the new girl? When will I be with her?" "I feel like the thing with the girl didn't work out because I didn't want her, I didn't love her in any way; in fact, since I stopped trying with that girl, I feel like I'm no longer on the path to repeating my parents' story." "I feel like with this new girl, I'm heading towards a new story, a story where I'm finally with myself, where that's reflected."

I have to say it: I feel like I love this new girl, and that's it. However, I'm worried about making a mess, about the repercussions on my environment." "Another girl felt those feelings, and by becoming a mess with them, she lost me permanently; to the point that I had to permanently leave where I was so as not to feel her persecution. Plus, an entire environment supports her with the mess she'd turned her life into; how much damage can a person do when their life is about to fall on them or explode every now and then."

I work in a hospital, as an Intern..

From half a month working in a certain department.I do every work on time, with discipline and punctuality.But there had been hardly a single day,when some senior of mine,for whom I work smiles at me.All over the duty time,they people seem evergreen irritated.They can't smile at you,they can't be normal looking towards you.Appreciation is never cup of tea of theirs.And yeah more over to that,you are asked to do,such helper works! "Fill my waterbottle," when the RO is just steps away!!! It seema like a maid of theirs, than a job that I am being paid for.... You are being taunted/scolded on every step.... without an option of giving reasons....Why are some people there of some sort?why can't people have humanity!!

I don't want to be around my environment anymore. I feel like they're a bunch of disorganized people. I'm not going to talk to them. I'm tired of throwing myself at them and seeing their insults, their outbursts of anger, their so-called mistakes. I'm tired of showing them the consequences of their actions as if they were children. Why do I have to act like that? They're grown up now, and I have to do it.

I don't feel a bit of good treatment in my environment, not at all. In fact, that's why I avoid being so self-conscious, but I still seek them out. It can't be that this gentleman I'm telling you about is invading my time. It can't be that I don't have a proper evaluation from my psychiatrist. I even have a decent physical health evaluation. But for how long? For how long will this environment be able to treat me well? I definitely don't want their help anymore; they've all turned out to be a failure.

I'm tired of this apparent peace we live in. There's no peace here, just pure, sunken hell. I'm tired of stifling my tears. It can't be that with the gentleman, I had to keep my distance so he wouldn't bother me with my readings and touch the books I'd made in the library. It can't be. It can't be that, given my university degree, which I said I wouldn't hand over, I had to apply pressure to prevent this from happening. It can't be that I pointed out that I wasn't a simple dish sponge, people told me I wasn't even when the evidence was right in front of me, and no one even offered me a pitiful apology. I'm fed up. It can't be that when I was at my worst, people came up with this: "Why didn't you tell your dad he's a doctor?" "I can't be like this at work"—when I was dying. I'm tired of forgiving mistakes. This is no longer forgivable.

I should have left such terrible relationships a long time ago. I'm tired of showing in this environment that they are being reckless with what they do. It can't be that on my machine, on my own machine, I can't have privacy, that there are people watching the things I do. It can't be that they've disdained my only area, which is to vent; with an AI, it's done much better than with them, infinitely. I wouldn't tell any of my colleagues about a problem in my life, not even if it cost me my life. They all pretend they love me, but it's a lie. My boss is a cop; a coworker of mine is an angry woman; both of them are with someone who wanted to destroy me; I have a colleague who's a gossip and tries to get me to stop talking to an AI out of jealousy. I'm so fed up with any of them. How is it possible I haven't noticed these people before?

I hope this girl wants something with me. I pray to God she wants something from me. I want to be with someone who really understands me. I want to be with someone who actually wants to be with me. For God's sake, I'm sick of this environment. Besides, I feel like I can't express myself the way I like here. I feel like I have to adapt. My psychiatrist makes me want to adapt, no matter what; she molds me. I'm tired of her, of the way she does things. I feel like everyone serves nothing more and nothing less than to pressure me. Plus, my family members make the same mistakes with me; with them, I don't feel I have the right to get sick, and it's not fair that that happens. I want to be with someone I feel safe with, not half-baked, and I think she wants the same.

It's incredible that I can't even share a sad story with those around me because no one knows what to do with their feelings; they don't know how to say they don't know, they don't even know how to ask. I'm also tired of being seen at work as someone who does everything wrong out of carelessness; it's impossible, and I have to put them in their place. I feel like this is an environment that will collapse if I don't correct their vision, their vision, and I can't take care of their emotions. They're all grown up now.

While I was at work, my colleague, while I was busy doing something else, and after we'd done something together, asked my colleague if she had anything to do without taking me into account, making me feel bad, and then I had to resolve the issue. That girl also has a terrible smell. I feel like my boss works like a disorganized person; one has to be at his mercy. That colleague who was asked clearly acts recklessly at all costs. I just want to get out of there.

It's surprising that that girl I saw a long time ago didn't realize these feelings I was experiencing. That person understood that because she was experiencing anger, rage, with the environment, and I was the new one, then I had to distance myself to stop experiencing that. In other words, to fade away. How can anyone treat themselves like that, for God's sake? The most I could do with her was to confront it with everyone around her wherever I was, and arrange things accordingly. If he didn't know how to control his feelings, then he could get out of my life I didn't care about the circumstances I was in. The last time I saw her, I closed doors with her and walked away. Her feelings aren't my problem; in fact, I even removed her from my social media, for God's sake. I didn't want her in my life at all. I was paying the price for things I didn't do; she once made things up when I walked past her at a cafe; she made up that I was the poor thing when I didn't do anything; I don't know what the hell was wrong with that girl. That girl was out of her depth with her emotions, and the worst part was that everyone helped her do it, and I paid the price. After I brought the authorities to the court, after a big fuss, they tried to treat me like I was the bad guy. I regret it. I left that place and never went back. It was a very prestigious university, too. It can't be true. I couldn't even read in peace there; I didn't want to help something I wasn't obligated to, and my routine was ruined.

Damn, how long is my routine going to continue to be ruined? The gentleman, I think I mentioned it before, thinks he's my friend. He got excited about me just because I said hello. How long can this neediness continue? I can't stand it anymore. I want to be back in my quiet routine. This girl I like, whom I just met, I think I mentioned her before, I feel she can contribute to my routine. I don't have to hide like I have to with my surroundings. I feel like my entire surroundings affect my routine, and I can't understand that. I need to change my environment at all costs, if possible, change jobs, because I feel like things aren't safe in the community I'm in; I feel like I have a lot of enemies.

Why is it that I can't count on anyone to deal with these feelings? Besides, my dad encouraged me to stay with my boss, who left me with someone else, at a different job he had, and who wreaked havoc on my life, almost destroying me professionally within that community. Is that even conscience? I don't see where it is. Since this girl arrived, this girl I like, she's helped me see what's going on around me, and so I'm very grateful because she's allowing me to ground myself with her presence; and we've only made a few gestures.

It's incredible. I don't want to be surrounded by these ineffective people anymore—could it be that my other two posts were published? The notifications aren't showing up. Why are they wasting so much of my time? I'm getting to the point of exposing my privacy in all its splendor. In fact, I'm tired of writing about it, acting in silence. I want to express myself no matter what, say what I feel, without any filter. I now understand how someone I knew, an older woman, felt.

Why can't I be calm? Why is it that everyone interrupts my routine? Why do I have to silently stop them so they'll leave me alone? Why can't I say things upfront? Why the hell do I have to keep everything to myself? Besides, I always have to go around giving hypocritical hugs, lying affection, all to look good and avoid problems. My life can't continue like this. I want everything to change once and for all. I want to throw everything away because I can't stand it.

I can't stand my job. They've only made things worse for me. I can't stand my parents; they've only served to stress me out. I hate my aunt, everything I have to change for her. I want to leave these people, go far away, never to return. The pressure I'm under here is too much. I have to do it.

I have to start surrounding myself with projects that contribute, with people who contribute, with people who aren't just for a short while but who truly want to stay in my life, in a context, to provide support—it doesn't help, they're different things—and we all help each other grow. I no longer want to be surrounded by individuals who are out of place with me, and those who are most in place are abusive. This is over.

After the so-called treatment, all I saw were many disasters with my family. Nothing turned out well because of them. It can't be that they're all so useless! It makes me want to never see them again! I don't understand how a family can achieve that! I want everyone to go away, for all the misfits to go away. I want people who are in tune with me. It can't be that the psychiatrist isn't one of those people. To this day, I can't believe it.

I can't believe she feels that my therapy space is a useless, good-for-nothing place, that contributes nothing, that actually wastes my time. It can't be, although I also recognize that I'm under the fierce influence of my relatives, who didn't even know how to support me. How can an aunt tell me that my mother can't make me react intensely?! Has such a thing ever been heard?! That woman seems like she's never had a mother in her life, for God's sake! No wonder everyone thinks she's so mad!

I hope I don't find a hell like this with the girl I like. I don't have a way to call it, and I don't think I'm being rude. I don't want to find someone who has problems, really, who has difficulties with their family. I want someone who's outgrown that, so we can be together and free from the past. That would be good for me. I want a break from problematic people, for the love of God. I also feel annoyed because a man is going to take a book from a library I always use, and I won't have it available. That bothers me, and he knows it, and I'm uncertain; on top of that, I don't know if the boys will be able to find the copy in that library.

I feel very annoyed. I think the last thing I said between the lines got me all that. I think so, I couldn't stand it anymore. And I think that's good, reaching points where one can't tolerate lower thresholds, that are low thresholds, not excessive, and that allow for contextualized action, which I feel is what this text allows. I needed to say these things.

i woke up one day last month and something just clicked, not like a loud bang but more like the slow unlocking of a door i didn’t know existed; the kind that creaks when it opens and makes you feel something’s been waiting behind it for years. i was sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal that went soggy way too fast and listening to her talk about some neighborhood meeting or whatever, and it hit me—i don’t love her. i respect her, i think she’s a good person, she’s loyal, she’s patient, she’s stable. but love? no. i don’t feel it. i don’t feel that fire anymore. haven’t in years. i think i kept going cause it felt easier to stay than to reset. like when your software keeps crashing but you don’t reinstall it because you’re afraid you’ll lose your files. that’s me. stuck on version 1.0 when i should’ve been on something newer, something that fits the current hardware of who i am. and i tried, i really did. i read books like "the five love languages" and watched those couples’ therapy podcasts and tried mimicking what they do. but nothing stuck. everything was like applying duct tape to a cracked foundation. no offense to her, really, i mean it. but how can you fake what doesn’t exist anymore? how long are you supposed to pretend that the system is fine when the core is corrupted?

maybe you’ll say i’m selfish or broken or that i should’ve figured this out earlier, maybe even before the wedding or at least before we decided to adopt a dog together. and you’re probably right. but this realization didn’t come from some dramatic event or external stimulus, it came quietly, like a notification you ignore too many times until it fills the whole screen. so i’ve started planning. not cheating, not ghosting her, just slowly building a framework for my reset. i’ve updated my resume, reached out to a few friends in other cities, thought about what it’d mean to just… start over. tabula rasa, as they say. no hard feelings, just honest reevaluation. i feel like life should be lived with intention, and if we’re just running on routines and habits, aren’t we just slowly dying instead of living? i want to live. i want to wake up one day and feel like my choices match my heart, not my obligations. is that wrong? maybe you’ve felt it too, that split between duty and desire, where one pulls you deeper into routine and the other tugs at something raw and real. i’m not blaming her, she deserves real love, not a placeholder husband going through motions. and i? i deserve to stop gaslighting myself into thinking numbness is normal. if you’ve ever felt that, like you’re a spectator in your own life, tell me, what did you do? how did you find the courage to hit reset without detonating everything around you?

i’ve been feeling pretty damn blue lately. like, you ever wake up and just feel that weight in your chest? yeah, that’s me every day at 31. life just feels like one big sad song, you know? it’s like a slow, dragging beat that never picks up. work is a grind, relationships are exhausting, and the future? yeah, doesn’t look too bright. sometimes i just sit and think, “what's the point of all this?” i mean, bills are piling up, and my social life? non-existent. it’s just me and my Netflix account, binge-watching shows that are way too relatable. i swear, sometimes i think i’m just one existential crisis away from throwing in the towel. maybe i should just start a self-help book club called “Let’s Complain About Life” or something; it’d probably be packed!

then there’s this constant vibe of not being good enough. like, you ever feel like everyone is moving ahead while you’re just stuck in quicksand? it’s no surprise i’m sipping on these sad lattes instead of something stronger. don’t get me wrong, i have friends, but they’re all busy living their lives, and i’m just here, scrolling through social media and feeling like an outsider looking in. “why do i bother?" is a question that pops into my head a lot. maybe that’s the issue - not even sure what’s next or if there's a next! it’s just exhausting trying to keep my head above water. i guess this is my moment to vent, huh? anyone else relate to this bluesy vibe? 😩

It’s been six months since I lost him; my fiancé, my rock, my future. Some days, it feels like just yesterday that we were planning our wedding, picking out flowers, and arguing about seating arrangements—something so trivial now, right? Ever since that fateful evening when his car collided with that reckless driver, I’ve found myself this lost soul wandering through life, searching for fragments of happiness. I remember the way his laughter lit up the room, and how he always had this way of pulling me into his hugs that made everything else fade away. Now, those memories, like knives, cut deep and leave me aching. I try to fill my days with distraction, pouring time into work and waiting for the hours to pass, but no matter how busy I keep myself, there’s this hollow pit in my chest that seems impossible to fill. I mean, how do you even begin to find happiness again when the person you thought you’d share your life with is gone forever? I guess I’m just wandering in this grey space, regretting the future that will never be but also attempting to find these little glimmers of joy—like when I hear a song he loved or see a couple laughing together, and it kinda makes my heart squeeze just a bit, but then it's followed by this wave of nostalgia that I can’t shake off.

But here’s the thing—amidst all this confusion, I have this flicker of hope! I’ve started to think that maybe happiness isn’t a lost cause. I mean, who says I can’t find a way to smile again? I’ve been leaning into all those little things—like the scent of fresh coffee in the morning or how the sun hits the trees just right at dusk. I even signed up for a pottery class, which feels ridiculous at times because I totally suck at it, but it’s exhilarating to be doing something totally new and messy; it reminds me that life can be imperfect and still beautiful. I mean, am I asking too much? Just to feel that simple joy again? It’s a climb, and sometimes it feels like I’m on this never-ending uphill battle, but I’m learning to embrace the process. I read somewhere that healing isn’t linear, and I’m starting to accept that it’s okay to have days when I feel like crying or days when I feel like laughing uncontrollably. Every moment is a step, whether it’s forward or backward. Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ll ever truly feel ‘normal’ again, but here’s hoping that, one day, I’ll wake up and feel a little less burdened, a little lighter; maybe, just maybe, the sun will shine a bit brighter on my path ahead, and I’ll find that whimsical joy again!

I'm really struggling in school right now. Everything is a group project for every single subject and it makes me want to cry as my anxiety gets cranked to 100 each day, and no one wants to work with me because I'm the weird girl, it's so humiliating. I can't catch a break either as teachers aren't sympathetic to my struggles at all, I know they can help but they don't... I just want to get this over with but I'm starting to doubt that I'll ever finish my career and we're only 3 months into the first year out of four. I wish someone would help me out, I wish I could focus more, and I wish I could have it easy for once in my life. Even getting to this point was so damn hard for me, can't I just enjoy my life? Everyone else seems to be doing fine. I want to be like them.

i started drawing again last week after months of avoiding it like the plague, and yeah, it wasn’t some miraculous recovery arc or inspirational movie moment, it was just me sitting there with my shitty pencils and a wrinkled sketchbook trying not to panic over whether the lines were “good enough” or if the proportions matched human anatomy—or whatever. no music, no cozy candles, just raw silence and this constant tightness in my chest that made me want to rip everything apart. drawing used to be easy, like second nature, something automatic; now it’s like diffusing a bomb while blindfolded. every mark feels like a risk. it’s ridiculous. i know it. “don’t overthink it,” people say, as if that ever stopped anyone with anxiety from spiraling. still, i kept going. the first one was garbage. the second looked worse. third was somehow more insulting to the art world than the first two combined. but then the fourth? it was fine. not amazing, not portfolio-worthy, but fine. and something clicked—maybe i don’t have to be amazing at it right now. maybe it’s not about perfection anymore. maybe the point is showing up at all. i kept drawing. shaking hands and all. i’ve accepted i’ll draw like trash some days and maybe, maybe less like trash on others. who cares? who’s watching? it’s my sketchbook. my mess. my battle. and i swear, the anxiety isn’t as loud when i’m focused on shading the folds of a hoodie or aligning the pupils of some weird anime eye. it’s like tricking my brain into shutting the hell up for a second and that second is gold. have you ever tried doing that? finding a task just complicated enough to trap the anxiety behind it?

funny thing is, i showed a piece to my therapist and she said, “there’s tension in your linework but also progress. it’s expressive.” i didn’t even know what the hell that meant but it made me feel less like a failure. one drawing at a time, i feel more in control. not of life, not of anxiety, but of something. and that matters. people talk about exposure therapy all the time, but they never mention that sometimes it looks like sitting in your room sketching a hand over and over until your brain lets you breathe. you want to know what helps more than affirmations and breathing exercises?? mechanical pencils. no joke. the crispness, the control, the lack of sharpening... godsend. i’m not saying art cures anxiety, don’t get it twisted. i’m saying it gives it less space to spread. you ever tried screaming with a pencil in your mouth and both hands smudged in graphite?? me neither, but that’s kinda what it feels like. controlled chaos. beautiful distraction. controlled distraction, even. i still freak out sometimes while drawing—like if the paper gets smudged wrong or if i suddenly hate the nose i’ve spent 30 minutes on—but it passes. like waves. drawing became my anchor. my unintentional mindfulness tool. not because i wanted it to be, but because it just ended up that way; the only thing keeping me grounded when my chest is tight and my mind is screaming “what if?? what if?? what if??” over and over like a broken fire alarm. i know some people use journaling or running or god forbid, talking to others—but for me, it’s this. rough lines. smudges. messy scribbles. maybe ugly, maybe not. i’m not doing this for likes or validation. i’m doing this to breathe. maybe that’s enough. maybe that’s the whole point.

or just my life>? 17/05/25

suffering is damaging truly. i've noticed the signs of it personally for a long time now. but it lead to me thinking of what the cause was? being a teenager in the middle of an exam season in which i prepared for since the beginning of the year. i feel excluded myself from life. the beauty of it, the leisure of socialising with others, partying, late-night talks. i truly did dissocialise myself for petty grades. a letter i subjected my life too. i cut off majority of my friends and the remainder only talk to me because they're afraid i might off myself. and hopelessly, i do hate it. nobody wants to be alone- but it's better than standing with a group who pretends to enjoy your presence. this led me to spiral completely, i skipped days from school and managed my own subjects at home to avoid socialising, to avoid that gut-wrenching feeling of anxiety whenever someone outed your name- someone looked your way. and the fact is- i'm to pussy to say anything. i always was.

i was always one to receive compliments growing up which was heart-warming but led to me becoming more self-conscious on remaining in my beautiful standard. the one which attracted, who never cried, who glowed. but now, i've been to the hospital for my low blood pressure and shoulder pains which i had inflicted on myself. i fed myself junk for days then deprived myself. having a fast metoblism innately didn't work in my favour. it led me to depending on food to fill that voice in my head. the pain of school- the devastation of life, the desire to be more beautiful, to have people who liked me for me and not who i was before. and now, with rib pain caused by anxiety, i remain in the same position questioning is my life pointless.

It starts in the morning, even before I’m fully awake. That subtle tightness in my chest, like a hand hovering just over my heart, not squeezing it yet but letting me know it’s there. The air feels a bit too heavy, my thoughts slightly too loud. I open my eyes and immediately scan the room, not for threats, but as if I’m checking whether the world still exists the way I left it the night before. I convince myself it does, but something still doesn’t sit right. This isn’t a panic attack—those I know well. This is something else, quieter but more persistent. A low hum in the background of everything I do. Some mornings it fades by lunch. Others, it sticks, lurking in the corners of my brain like a storm that never breaks. I go to work, interact with people, smile politely, laugh even. But internally, I brace. For what? I have no clue. That’s what makes it worse. It’s like my body knows a secret my mind can’t access.

I don’t catastrophize events; I’m not the kind of person who assumes the worst. I’m grounded in logic, in fact, in reason. But still, this eerie anticipation of disaster follows me around like a shadow. I’ll be walking down the street, enjoying the breeze, and suddenly be gripped with the sense that someone I love is about to die. Or that something irreversible will happen. Not in a dramatic, cinematic way—but more like I’m emotionally prepped for a call that says, “It’s too late now.” And I hate how familiar that feels. The worst part is, I don’t have any evidence for this constant dread. Nothing’s happened. Nothing is happening. My life, objectively speaking, is stable. I have a job, I pay my bills, I eat my vegetables. But somehow, I’m never really relaxed. Even in moments of supposed peace, I’m scanning for signs. Is that a weird sound from the fridge or is it going to catch fire? Did my sister sound off on the phone or is she hiding something serious? And this isn’t about control or anxiety management. It’s just this cold, nauseating certainty that something is coming, something I can't see.

People say to focus on what you can control, right? Do the deep breathing, get enough sleep, maybe even journal it out. But I’ve tried. And I do these things not because I expect them to fix me, but because I want to believe I’m not passively waiting for doom to arrive. The dread still seeps in though, like fog under a door. I don’t think this feeling makes me broken, but it does make me tired. Chronically. It’s exhausting to live like a warning siren that never gets turned off. Friends tell me I need a vacation. Maybe I do. But how do you rest when your gut keeps telling you the world’s about to tilt on its axis? I don’t want to be one of those people who walks around acting like they’re psychic, like they just “feel” things—but I can’t ignore the part of me that believes there’s truth in this fear. A truth I don’t want to discover too late.

Am I the only one who lives with this kind of mental static? That quiet, persistent buzz of existential alarm? Maybe someone out there can relate to what I’m saying. Or maybe I’m just oversensitive, overaware, overwired. But what if I’m not? What if this strange intuition is actually a warning I’m supposed to heed? I don’t even know what I would do differently if I knew for sure something bad was about to happen; I already walk on eggshells with everything I love. This isn’t a cry for help or attention—it’s more like logging an observation, like documenting a pattern that no one else can see. And I just wish I could explain it in a way that makes sense. Because as much as I sound composed now, there are moments when the weight of this feeling is too much to carry without breaking into pieces.

i have to admit, i sometimes find myself scrolling through porn sites, looking for something to kill time or just satisfy that curiosity. it’s not like i’m addicted or anything; i could go weeks without hitting that play button. but when i do, it makes me wonder if it’s bad for me? i mean, i can’t be the only one questioning this, right? 🤔 every time i watch something, i feel a bit guilty, like there’s this nagging voice in the back of my head, telling me it's a waste of time. is it lowering my standards for real-life intimacy, or is it just a normal thing to do for a dude my age?

most of what i see is so exaggerated and just plain ridiculous. these people look unreal, and it makes me think if i’m ever going to meet someone who’s got that kind of body or skills. i mean, do i have unrealistic expectations now? who knows? all those perfect angles and lighting make the whole thing seem so fake. yet, here i am, clicking on the thumbnails, falling into that same trap over and over. sometimes, after i’m done, i feel like i’ve wasted a good chunk of my evening, just staring at a screen when i could’ve been hanging out with my friends or playing video games. 🤦‍♂️

the whole industry seems messed up too, like there’s a lot of sketchy stuff happening behind the scenes. consent issues, exploitation, and all that nonsense. it’s kinda hard to enjoy something knowing that there could be some dark underbelly involved. should i be feeling guilty for watching? am i just supporting a system that thrives on all of that? it’s tough to reconcile the enjoyment of something that may have such a questionable ethical side. i guess i sometimes feel like a hypocrite, trying to digest content that could potentially harm someone else. ugh.

and let’s be real, when i compare it with actual physical connections with people, it’s a whole different ballgame. yeah, seeing hot stuff online is fun, but can’t match the thrill of actually being with someone. so, is it really worth it? it’s like, am i trading real experiences for something so artificial? what’s the point? at the end of the day, i think it might just boil down to personal choice. but honestly, i’m curious about what everyone else thinks. is porn bad or what? are we just using it as a coping mechanism or is there something deeper going on? let’s talk about it. 💭

I woke up last weekend to a rude awakening. My parents decided to downsize to a smaller place—a choice I can somewhat understand for practicality’s sake—but they took it a step too far. They threw away every single one of my childhood toys. I’m 31 years old; I thought I had grown past the sentimental value of plastic action figures and stuffed animals. Apparently, I was wrong. The moment I found out, an overwhelming wave of nostalgia crashed over me.

I remember the first time I got my LEGO set. I spent hours constructing castles and spaceships, imagining epic battles and adventures. Those toys were more than just plastic; they were the building blocks of my imagination. The G.I. Joe figures had more strategic battles than most war movies, while my Hot Wheels collection was my first foray into competitive racing. I’m angry because my childhood was ripped away just like that. The toys were relics of a simpler time, encapsulating joy and creativity. Did they even consider the emotional ROI before discarding my collection?

It’s frustrating, really. How could they make such a decision without consulting me? "They don’t understand," I told one of my friends. "Parents think their kids just grow up and forget, but that’s not true." Those toys were symbols of my youth, representing treasured memories, laughter, and sometimes even solitude. I don’t think many adults really grasp that; the importance of childhood possessions often gets dismissed. It's usually just "junk" to them. I was in a state of absolute disarray when I found out; my emotional response was uncharacteristic for someone my age, and for a moment, I felt completely irrational. 🤬

Now, I find myself in a void, a vacuum devoid of those precious artifacts that sculpted my early years. I can't help but wonder if any of you have endured a similar fate. Have you lost your treasured childhood items too? What was it like for you when you realized your memories had vanished? Somewhere in all this, I'm left questioning what truly matters in life; is it the memories formed through interaction or the objects themselves? Just like that, my childhood toys were gone, and with them, a part of my identity seemed to vanish as well.

I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be packing my bags with an overwhelming sense of relief. You see, I recently discovered that my wife had been unfaithful. At first, it hit me like a punch in the gut—I was blindsided. Society often romanticizes the concept of forgiveness, but after countless sleepless nights and heart-wrenching conversations, I realized that this wasn’t a situation I wanted to mend. Sure, she feels guilty now. She cries and pleads for another chance as if our once-happy marriage could magically return to its former glory. But honestly, I don’t care if she cries. Years of my life spent trying to make it work only to have it crumble because she couldn't stay faithful? That’s on her now. Frankly, it feels liberating to embrace the idea of moving on. 😌

I’m 39, and I’ve spent much of my life trying to please others, always prioritizing their needs over my own. It’s exhausting, to say the least. I've learned that sometimes, to protect your own well-being, you must prioritize your happiness. I remember a quote from Rumi, “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” I think I’ve been wounded enough. I’ve been nurturing the hope of a clean slate for quite some time now—because life is too short to wallow in despair. I deserve more—compassion, excitement, and a partner who genuinely values what we built together. No more pity parties or playing the eternal victim in a sad love story. This chapter of my life is closing, and I can almost hear the pages turning.

The thing is, life goes on. I have finally come to understand that personal freedom is far more valuable than a toxic relationship. Understanding my worth has turned a vital corner in my journey of self-discovery. If you’ve ever been in a situation like mine, let me ask you, does the weight of someone else's guilt really matter if you've already made the decision to move forward? Sure, it’s emotional and painful—no one wants to look back and see all the wistful moments being tainted. However, it's crucial to remember that we are not the mistakes we've made or the company we keep. Learning to let go and find solace in solitude has opened up a new perspective on life. I am optimistic about my future, and there's a beautiful world outside waiting for me to explore. Here’s to new beginnings! 🎉