Life Stories and Everyday Drama - page 40

I’m 32, been married to Jake for eight years now, and I gotta say, things ain’t what they used to be, especially when it comes to sex with my husband. Back when we were dating, and even the first couple years of marriage, it was like we couldn’t keep our hands off each other—stolen kisses in the kitchen, sneaking off during family gatherings, the whole deal. But lately, it’s like I’m invisible to him. I catch myself staring in the mirror, poking at the extra softness around my belly, the stretch marks from carrying our two kids, the way my boobs don’t sit as perky as they did at 24. I feel like I’m not as attractive as I was, and it’s eating me up inside. Jake’s still handsome as ever—those broad shoulders, that easy smile—but he barely looks at me that way anymore. We’re lucky if we have sex once a month, and even then, it feels like he’s just going through the motions, like it’s a chore or something. I try to spice things up, you know? I bought this lacy red lingerie set last month, spent way too much on it, and when I slipped it on and walked into the bedroom, he barely glanced up from his phone. “You look nice,” he mumbled, then went right back to scrolling. Nice? Nice is what you say about a new throw pillow, not your wife trying to seduce you. I felt so stupid standing there, like some desperate teenager. I don’t know if it’s me, if I’ve let myself go too much, or if he’s just not into me anymore. I mean, I’m not the same size 6 I was when we met, but I’m not a slob either—I work out when I can, chase our kids around all day, keep the house together. Still, I can’t shake this feeling that he’s comparing me to who I used to be, or worse, to other women. I’ve seen the way he lingers on Instagram models or those stupid ads that pop up, all flawless skin and tiny waists. It’s not like he’s cheating, at least I don’t think so, but it’s like he’s checked out. I’ve tried talking to him, dropping hints, even straight-up asking what’s wrong, but he just shrugs and says he’s tired or stressed from work. And yeah, I get it, his job’s demanding, and we’re both exhausted with a 5-year-old and a 2-year-old running us ragged, but shouldn’t we still want each other? I miss that spark, that heat we used to have, when he’d look at me like I was the only thing that mattered. Now, when we do have sex, it’s so… mechanical. No foreplay, no passion, just quick and done. I’m left lying there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what happened to us. I’ve read articles, listened to podcasts, even bought one of those “rekindle your marriage” books, but it’s hard to fix something when only one of you seems to care. I’ve tried initiating, but getting rejected—or worse, that pitying “okay, fine” vibe—hurts worse than not trying at all. I wonder if he’s bored, or if he’s got some secret resentment he’s not telling me about. Maybe it’s not even about me—maybe he’s struggling with something he won’t share. I know men can have their own issues, like low testosterone or stress, but he won’t talk about it, won’t see a doctor, nothing. I’m scared to push too hard and make it worse, but I’m also scared of what happens if we keep drifting like this. I love Jake, I really do. He’s a great dad, a good provider, but I need more than a roommate. I need to feel wanted, desired, like I’m still his girl, you know? I keep thinking maybe I need to do more—lose the baby weight, get a makeover, be sexier somehow—but deep down, I know it’s not just about how I look. It’s about us, about whatever’s broken between us. I’ve been thinking about suggesting counseling, but I’m terrified he’ll think I’m overreacting or that it’ll make things awkward. What if he says no? What if he doesn’t care enough to try? I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want to keep feeling like this either—like I’m begging for scraps of affection. I just want my husband back, the one who couldn’t wait to rip my clothes off, who made me feel like I was enough. I don’t know how to get there, but I’m not ready to give up yet. Maybe I’ll try talking to him again, really lay it all out, typos and all, just like this messy, aching heart of mine.

i’ve been holding a lot in for a long time. i don’t always know how to say these things out loud, but maybe you’ll understand. maybe you’ve felt some of this too.

i’ve always been different. even when i was little, i noticed it. i had meltdowns at school and sometimes i would run out of the classroom. everything got too loud and too confusing. kids stayed away from me. some were scared. i got bullied a lot. it made me think something was wrong with me.

i wanted friends. i wanted to be like everyone else. but i didn’t know how. it felt like i missed out on learning something everyone else just knew. people tried to help. i got put on meds and into therapy. i know they were trying their best. but it didn’t fix how alone i felt. it just made me feel guilty for being a problem.

growing up, i barely had any friends. most of the time, i was by myself. even in high school, when it seemed like everyone had groups and plans and people to count on, i had maybe two or three people i could really trust. and even then, i was scared. i felt like if people ever knew the real me, they might leave too. and if they did, i would have no one.

and the truth is, i love people. i love hard. i act fine because i don’t want anyone to worry about me. i laugh things off, i ignore my problems, and i show up for everyone else. because somewhere deep down, i’ve always felt like i can’t be loved just for existing. i feel like unless i achieve something, or do something for you, i don’t deserve to be cared about. i help so many people, and no one really asks how i’m doing. but that’s fine. that’s just who i am, right? i take care of others. i make people smile. i stay strong so no one has to worry. i guess i thought maybe if i gave enough, it would be enough to keep people around.

the only place where i ever felt like i belonged was baseball. when i played, i wasn’t different. i was just part of a team. i didn’t have to hide anything. all the stress, all the burden, all the overthinking — it would just disappear. for those couple of hours, all of my problems were gone. it was one of the only times in my life i could breathe and just be. no worrying if i was too much or not enough. no second-guessing every word i said. just playing the game i loved. it made me truly happy in a way nothing else did. i’ve played since i was a kid. no vacations, no parties, no normal stuff. just baseball.

when i played baseball, i felt like i had a purpose. it was the only place where things made sense. i had a job to do, and i knew how to do it. i didn’t have to guess what people were thinking or try to be something i wasn’t. i could just play. i belonged there, even when nothing else in my life felt right.

but i’ve also realized something. ever since i was 10, it’s all i did. every day. i practiced. i lifted. i threw. i hit. i spent every summer on the field while other kids went on vacations or hung out or just lived. i was out there in the middle of july, 100-degree heat, full catcher’s gear, sweat pouring off me, pushing my body harder than i probably should have. i was 15 years old, catching doubleheaders in the sun, going home sore and waking up to do it all over again. i told myself it was worth it. i told myself i was chasing something important.

but it also made me feel behind. and lost. because no matter how much i worked, i would see kids who were just better. they had the talent. they made it look easy. i’d put in hours and hours and hours, and they’d show up and still be ahead of me. i’d tell myself to keep going, to work harder, that it would pay off. but deep down, i started to wonder if hard work was ever going to be enough. if maybe i was just running in place, wearing myself out chasing something i could never catch.

and i think part of me knew that. but i was too scared to stop. because if i stopped, then what? without baseball, i didn’t know who i was. it wasn’t just a game. it was the thing that made me feel like i had value. without it, i was just that weird kid again. the one who didn’t fit. the one who didn’t know how to be normal.

so i kept going. even when it hurt. even when it felt hopeless. because being exhausted and left behind still felt better than being nothing at all.

now i know i’m probably not going to make it. i’m not getting drafted. i’m not going to play pro. and i don’t know what to do without it. it was never just a game to me. it was my whole life.

now i’m studying accounting. i’m good at numbers, maybe because of my autism. people say it’s a smart choice. they say it will get me a good job. but i don’t like it. it’s just surviving. working and paying bills and doing it all again the next day. i hate it. i hate that dreams don’t matter unless they make money.

i thought about coaching, but it doesn’t pay enough. so i have to give that up too.

i feel stuck most days. like i missed too much already and now i’m building a life that won’t make me happy. people told me i was going to do great things. and now if i’m not the best at something, i feel like i’m nothing.

i don’t know where i go from here. i don’t know what it looks like to build something new from nothing. i just know i’m tired of running from myself. tired of chasing things that were never meant for me. tired of believing that i have to earn the right to be okay.

I never imagined I’d find myself even thinking this, let alone writing it down—but lately, I’ve been wondering if my son truly loves me anymore. We used to be so close when he was younger. He’d run to me after school, tell me about his day, ask me for advice. Now, at 26, he barely picks up the phone. Messages go unread for days. If we do talk, it’s short, clipped, and he sounds like he’d rather be anywhere else. I know children grow up, I know they build their own lives—but this feels different. It doesn’t feel like distance, it feels like rejection. Like he resents me, or worse, doesn't care at all.

It’s in the little things that the pain creeps in. Holidays, for example—he’ll visit, but only because I ask, and he never stays long. He doesn’t initiate hugs anymore. There’s no warmth in his voice. Last Christmas, he showed up late, didn’t bring a gift or even a card, and spent most of the evening on his phone. When I tried to talk to him about his job, he just mumbled one-word answers. I used to know everything going on in his life. Now I learn about major updates from social media—after he’s told everyone else. When I mention feeling left out, he tells me I’m being too emotional or dramatic. That word—dramatic—burns every time.

I’ve tried to reflect on where I might have gone wrong. I wasn’t perfect. I yelled sometimes. I had rules, like any parent. I worked long hours when he was young, trying to provide. But I loved him with everything I had. I sat at his bedside when he was sick. I helped him with homework late into the night. I gave up so much so he could have opportunities I never had. So when he acts like I’m just some obligation now, it breaks something in me. I don’t need constant praise or attention—but I do need to feel like I matter in his life, like I’m still his mom and not some figure he’s trying to avoid.

The hardest part is that I can’t talk to anyone about it without sounding bitter. Friends will say, “He’s just busy,” or “It’s a phase.” But when that “phase” stretches into years, you start to ask yourself deeper questions. Like, what if he really doesn’t love me anymore? What if all the love I poured into raising him just... faded on his end? There are signs I can’t ignore anymore. No “I love you” at the end of calls. No interest in my life—he never asks how I’m doing. Birthdays are forgotten. He cancels plans without apology. It’s not just neglect; it’s indifference. And indifference hurts more than anger, because at least anger means they feel something.

What makes this worse is watching him with other people. I’ve seen him be so kind to his girlfriend’s family—bringing flowers, planning trips, sending thoughtful texts. I’m happy he’s found love, but it stings to know I don’t get that version of him anymore. Maybe he’s giving his best to others now, and there’s nothing left for me. I wonder if he sees me as just a reminder of his childhood or a source of guilt. I don’t want his pity, I just want a little of that love back. A phone call where he’s not distracted. A visit he actually wants to make. A moment where he looks at me like I still mean something.

I know I can’t force love. I know that adult children don’t owe their parents constant attention. But love shows up in effort, in presence, in the small gestures that say “you still matter.” And right now, all the signs point to something I never thought I’d face—a son who’s moved on from loving his mother. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m just feeling lonley, reading too much into things. But if you’ve ever felt this ache too, then you know it’s not easy to ignore. I just hope one day he remembers the woman who raised him, who loved him even when he pulled away, and decides to come back—not out of guilt, but because he wants to. Until then, I wait, and wonder if the silence is my answer.

i’ve been asking myself that question for a while now and i don't want to talk about that with my friends. like, i don’t do the stuff you see on tv or in movies, i’m not cutting or bleeding or anything like that. but sometimes when i get really anxious or angry or just... overwhelmed, i scratch at my arms or the back of my neck or even my legs, usually when no one’s around. i tell myself it's nothing, that it’s not serious. but then i look at my skin and it's red and sometimes raw, and i start wonderin if it does count. maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m scared to admit that something's not okay with me. cause if i admit that, then what? do i tell someone? what if they think i’m just looking for attention? what if they don’t take me seriously cause i’m not “hurting myself the right way,” if that even makes sense.

i started doing it more during exams last year. the pressure just got to me and i felt like i was gonna explode. i didn’t even think about it at first — it was just a way to deal with the stress. dig my nails in, press hard, breathe, repeat. sometimes it helped me feel like i was in control, like i could focus my brain on that instead of everything else spinning around. but then one of my friends saw a mark on my wrist and was like “dude what happened there?” and i panicked. made up a story about my cat scratching me. i don’t even have a cat. i laughed it off, and he didn’t push, but afterward i felt so ashamed. like what the hell am i doing to myself? why can’t i just deal with life like a normal person?

it’s not like my life is that bad. i mean, i got a roof over my head, food, i’m doing ok in school, my parents are around even if we don’t talk much. but i just feel... numb half the time. and then randomly i’ll feel too much, like someone plugged my brain into an amp and cranked the volume up to 100. that’s when i start scratching. i guess it’s my way of trying to feel something real, or maybe it’s just a distraction. i don’t even know anymore. sometimes i do it and then sit there staring at the red marks, thinking “wtf is wrong with me.” other times i do it and just move on like nothing happened. like it’s normal. but it’s not, right? this can’t be normal.

i googled it one night and found people asking the same question. “is scratching yourself a form of self-harm?” and the answers weren’t super clear but most said yeah, it can be. self-harm isn’t always about blood. it’s about intention. and that kinda hit me. cause even if i’m not trying to “hurt” myself, i am trying to punish myself in a way. or escape something. or maybe both. i don’t know how to talk about it tho. i don’t even know if i want help or just someone to sit with me and say “i get it.” not fix me, not judge me, just get it. cause honestly the silence in my own head is sometimes the scariest part. i keep wondering if anyone else around me is going through this and just hiding it like i am.

so yeah, maybe scratching is a form of sh. maybe it’s not about what you’re using to hurt yourself but why you're doing it. i don’t want to keep doing this forever. i want to find a better way to cope. but for now, writing this is a start, i guess. if you're reading this and you’ve done the same thing — if you’ve ever sat in your room scratching at yourself and feeling like a freak — just know you’re not alone. i’m out here too, still figuring it out. still asking the same questions. and maybe, just maybe, that means we’re not as broken as we think.

I don't feel good about what I've achieved. At the cost of scandals and failure, I've made friends, my father succumbed to giving me money, to having everyone under my thumb, and it's very unpleasant. I don't like being on top of the world. How can people find that funny? I don't find it funny at all.

They always make up any excuse to accept the fact. I mean, they do everything, they knock down expectations for whatever reason, and as a result, they fall flat. However, if it's someone who respects them, then no. They kick the guy, they do everything to him, they demean him. I was in this guy's shoes. Why? The world seems upside down.

I don't like the way things are. I went crazy with a girl, and now she's accepted me on Instagram. I was rude to a girl, and she reacted unconditionally. These are just some examples. I called my father shit, and now he's opened up. All of them in an effort to do things right, to avoid disappointing me.

Why should I make a fuss to gain respect? I don't think this is in any way a measure of self-respect; I don't like it this way. I feel like everything should have been carried out calmly, but I'm already worried that things aren't going to happen this way. On both sides, it's detrimental to my health, except that if I make a fuss, I get social approval. In other words, what I'm doing to myself becomes more unconscious.

I don't feel right. Frankly, I wasn't taught to put this into words. I was always taught to boast about it. I feel like I'm on a kind of throne from which I want to step down. I don't know how some people can tolerate being at such heights. Why do we fight to be there? It doesn't feel good at all. I feel like I'm a kind of tyrant, and justified, too. I don't know; it's a feeling that I'm being led to my own death.

When they were bad, at least they gave me the chance to escape from what was affecting my health. In this case, when they are good, the chance is smaller; I feel restrained, forced to comply, and to continue harming myself. I feel I was better off in the first case, where I saw how people, under their freedom, appreciated my respect. In this moment, when they are no longer under the same deception, I only see a downright lie, an even more selfish desire to please me. In the previous case, this is not the case.

How ironic the way things are. I, who deep down so much wanted to be one of those who had others at their feet, a whole world supporting me, find that no, that in the end, such a world is nothing more than a lie. And now that I think about it, I think it's crazy to think that there will be many who are good to you and few who aren't. I think this is a bad sign, but the opposite is true, when we act in the name of respect, justice, and also peace, which I believe not everyone knows how to navigate in such a terrain.

In short, if everyone likes us, then they're not seeing us because, in principle, not everyone has the time to see us in detail. It seems like those exceptions are miraculous because if they see us, even if it's in a detached way, in contrast to the others, it just allows them to visualize things. When a few people like us, then they do look at us, but at least they do so in profound detail, while the majority, it seems to me, usually don't see us and therefore act with a certain indifference. However, all of this is within limits; that is, I'm speaking of a good case, a case with details, of a majority that isn't violent and of a few who are so little fanatic; it can't be the other way around either. I feel that when we reach extremes, there's only so much trouble in our lives, regardless of the modus operandi of the majority and the minority.

I don't feel it's right—I'm thinking of some kids who remain distant when I greet them, and when I say goodbye, too, and I don't like that; I feel like I'm adapting to something I don't like. I feel like I'm abandoning that kid who felt others treated me unfairly. However, it seems to me to be the right thing to do because I rightly saw others' treatment as unfair when in fact it was the opposite. What else are people going to do? How many have had the opportunity to appreciate what respect is? I prefer to wander through life and find someone who, in fact, sowed such a question and reaped the same rewards. I think I should give myself the opportunity to find tremendous treasures and also give hope that it can be done to those who have been in my shoes.

I don't know why I feel like I'm thinking in a haphazard way. I can't really organize my thoughts. It just happens that I feel like there can't be a precise rule or something like that. Maybe I'm looking for ways, references, to get to know people. I feel a bit confused. I was never taught to understand how to understand Including people in my life. It was all about working with what I'd already done, with what was already there, but never forging new relationships. My parents didn't have the capacity; they scared them away. In fact, they managed to scare me away. I think my parents succeeded, or the best they could do, was to distance themselves from me, as was the case with my family in general, because I felt they wouldn't appreciate me. I don't know, I don't feel healthy, or entirely sane with these words, but well, speaking at length is a start.

I insist, everything feels confusing. I feel like maybe I'm using those filters my parents taught me to have people by my side. I feel like everything I've said, as funny as it may seem, I don't like it, I don't feel it's appropriate, but maybe it is. I don't know how to go out into the world. The successful things I have as a reference for going out into the world are people who were like a kind of wolves, perfectly selfish people who achieved great success among the masses. I feel like maybe some of that has rubbed off on me, or maybe not. I don't know, but I don't feel like I know who I am, specifically, because I feel like I haven't fulfilled my role, either with my family or with those people, but with myself.

I'm noticing that when I don't fulfill my creative goals, I don't like it; people reject it fiercely. But when I do, I feel like I don't know who I am. I don't find myself in others, and I was taught to find myself through others. By the way, I don't know when to go to a psychiatric emergency room. The thing is, there are no emergency numbers in my country, and I think that's the first thing I want to discuss with my therapist. I can't always be perfect, and I feel like I sometimes fall apart. I don't have their number and no one else to turn to. I also don't know how to manage my current situation with what I have. I know what I have is useful, but I don't know how or what things. I feel like I'm really fading precisely because of this belief that I find myself through others. Also, I don't want to create a personality, an imposed concept, because I feel it's limiting, it doesn't allow me to broaden my horizons, or well, at least not in terms of what could describe a process, a continuity.

I don't know what's happening to me, honestly. I feel like I'm more processing who I am right now, ceasing to see myself in the past.

i hate my body right now. i don't know if there's any way out besides starving myself. it's the way I was able to lose fat in the past. working out or eating healthy takes too long and too much discipline. i hate hating my body. i want to love my body. i have before. i used to be in love with it, but suddenly I get a little bit bigger on literally JUST MY WAIST AND I HAT E IT> how is that possible. how is it possible that I only grow in one spot. it's making me so upset. it's not fair. nothing else growns. my hips don't grow, my arms don't grow, my legs don't grow JUSt my waist. it's so upsetting. it's so upsetting. it's so upsetting. i just wish I could personify my torso and then hurt it. i don't want to hate any part of myself. i want to love myself as I am .

Where do I look? I don't know where to look. I confess that I have a hard time looking at myself much. I have so many things scattered throughout my life that I don't know. I confess, and I must be clear, that I've completely abandoned my life. It's true; I feel like I know nothing about myself, absolutely nothing. I don't know what conditions I live in. I feel like I'm constantly carrying all that weight. I have a hard time looking at myself. I feel like it's strange for me.

In principle, what does it mean to look at myself? I don't know. I haven't asked myself how I am for a while. I just follow a vague routine and that's it. I don't know about my life. I've never asked myself how I am with my relationships. I feel like I've neglected that because I don't nurture them; I think that's why I don't possess them, unless they really catch my attention. What is it like to look at yourself? How is everything structured? Where do I start? What does it mean to be with yourself?

I have a hard time looking inside myself because, even though I don't know, I don't know why there are so many things. I feel a sovereign distaste for such a depth. It bothers me that I can't tap into it immediately. What questions do I ask myself first? Am I good? Am I bad? Am I this or that? I have no reference to refer to myself. It's scarce. I've always been concerned with measuring myself through others, so that their comments, due to their very content, don't affect me, and that's precisely why I maintain a limiting dependence on them.

I feel like I've never reached myself. I have depth in my words, but I feel like I've never penetrated myself. I feel that, to begin with, it must be said, I'm disgusted by my life because I don't take care of my hygiene. I tend to be lazy with it because of the tiredness it causes me to go through the motions of maintaining it. I dislike it, but at the same time I like it because it allows me to live far from how I lived at home.

I feel like my life is precisely a radical escape from the life I had with my mother and father, especially during my upbringing. I had a very heavy life, and now I try to make it as light as possible, unfortunately, going to extremes, apparently. In fact, I don't even want to have clean clothes. I only live for the sake of no one noticing what's going on. Now that I think about it, the mere idea of ​​living with myself makes me hide.

Also, I feel like I wouldn't live with myself because I feel like I'd point out things about myself, highlight strange things that I don't want anyone else to see, including, apparently, me. I just let myself go and I'm not aware of what I'm doing. Deep down, I feel like I'm bathing in a deep sadness and I play with it. In a way, I feel like I'm overcoming it, challenging it, even though it's there. It's an attitude that wasn't allowed either.

I live to do what my system of rules, with which I was raised, breaks down completely. In fact, I feel like I'm still a teenager, I confess. I dislike it partly because I'm getting bored of being in constant conflict with it. I feel it's time to stop fighting that upbringing. I don't feel like it's doing me any good, and in fact, I feel like it's causing a lot of noise right now.

That is to say, I feel like I have a life, or I've reached a structure, with which I like and dislike. Again, on the terrain of rebellion. I feel like I don't know, I must say, what I really want with my life. I've reached a deep stagnation. When will I get out? I don't know, in principle, what my tastes are. I feel like I haven't fully emerged.

Nothing has come out of that struggle with my belief system yet. It used to be that it brought me tremendous benefit, however, I've reached a point where it's no longer necessary. In fact, in the environments I frequent, it's no longer necessary; rather, it's superfluous. It's become dispensable. I need to know what can emerge from this struggle, a dialectic, as they would say in philosophy.

I've reached the point of reflecting on: Who am I? I swore I had that answer a long time ago, however, I've only explored what I had to say about the things I experience, which has given me the ability to be at this point where I ask myself that question: Who am I? What do I do in this world? What purpose can I serve society? Why do I exist? Why do I spend time with the people I spend time with? Why am I alone and not accompanied? Would I be better off being accompanied than alone? Why is it worth continuing to live? I feel like I have so many questions to answer; I'd never asked myself them, and during my upbringing, they were truly unthinkable.

The one that stands out most to me now is: Why don't I pursue what I love? Right now, I see myself in the worst voices, but they come from voices that aren't mine, but rather my parents', so they aren't guiding. Why do I do what I do? I feel that, essentially, I don't have a reason for what I do, something that gives it meaning. I feel like I live without knowing why I act, what drives me, and I confess, I'm totally unaware of that. I see myself acting, simply, based on maintaining the organic relationship between things without actually going anywhere beyond that.

I think the question that plagues me right now is, and I think it encompasses everything: Where do I have to go? What is that place? What do I have to follow? I find myself without that reference. Why have I allowed myself to go so long without that reference? I don't understand. How have I been able to live without one? Now the question is: Is it a reference? Or is it admitting that no such reference exists? Personally, I think the most important thing is to unburden this area, which, in effect, I think we can talk about as an existential crisis.

Work was a little bit better today, yet I can’t see how some people think I can do everything when I’m trying to do one at a time. I know they say you can’t be in two places at once but it feels like they think I can. I know my coworkers are trying to bass especially the last few months but with summer coming in everyone’s going crazy I don’t know how I can last. Plus I don’t know if my coworkers are thinking right I’m doing what they want me to do but at the same time They are not doing much either. I’m not saying they’re their work clothes too much for them but when you have people thinking you can do everything for you it does not help. I might be whining a bit, but that’s how I feel right now.

i dont even know what i did wrong to make people hate me this much, like fr i wake up every morning already feelin sick cause i know what’s waiting for me at school, it’s like a warzone where i never get to win, i walk in and people already lookin at me like i’m some kind of freak or like i don’t belong there, nd maybe i don’t idk, maybe i’m just weird or my face looks dumb or i wear the wrong shoes or whatever stupid reason they decide is enough to mess with me every day, they say stuff under their breath when i pass by, throw little pieces of paper at me in class, call me names like loser, creep, sometimes worse and the teachers don’t even do anything about it, they just say “ignore them” like that’s gonna make it stop, like i haven’t tried that a thousand times already, and the worst part is that it’s not just random kids, some of them i used to be friends with in middle school and now they act like i’m trash, like they’d rather die than be seen talkin to me, nd it hurts so bad cause i didn’t change, they did, or maybe i changed and i just didn’t realize it, i try not to cry but sometimes i do when i get home, and even then i hide it cause my parents don’t get it either, they just say stuff like “it builds character” or “they’re jealous” but jealous of what??? i got no friends, no style, no confidence, i eat lunch alone in the corner of the cafeteria hoping no one notices me cause the last time someone did they dumped ketchup on my backpack and laughed like it was the funniest thing ever, nd i had to pretend it didn’t matter even though it totally did, like everything they do chips away at me little by little and i’m tired of pretending it’s fine, cause it’s not, and the worst part is when i try to act normal or be nice people just laugh harder, like they can smell the desperation or somethin, and i just wanna scream why are people so mean to me, what did i ever do to deserve this, i try to keep my head down, i don’t start stuff, i just wanna survive school without feeling like garbage every day, but apparently that’s too much to ask, nd sometimes i think about just disappearing, like not dying or anything extreme just… not existing for a while, like vanishing until people forget i was ever there cause at least then i wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore, like maybe in another school or another life i’d be normal and ppl wouldn’t hate me for no reason, but right now i just feel broken, like everything i do is wrong and no one wants me around, and idk how long i can keep acting like i’m ok when i’m clearly not.

It started off with a small crush—an innocent one. We started talking; she started flirting with me, and I went along with it. She saw me as an object. We fucked, looked at each other in the eyes, laughed together, laughed at each other. We call every day. She watches me eat because I have an eating disorder. We fucked again—maybe it was lust and her emotions taking over her, but it was a genuine connection to me. She started controlling what I wear and who I talk to. She’s always mad and cold towards me. She started texting me less. Her replies were always dull and distant. She hurt me. She would tell me to do things that aren’t appropriate, but whenever I say no, she guilt-trips me. She’s always the one who makes decisions for me. She started pushing me away; I tried making her stay. I was truly the happiest when I was with her. She saw me as something temporary. I thought we could’ve been something more. After fucking me, she got distant.

My mom recently told me to “save myself” and get out of my relationship — essentially, to run. Ever since, I can’t stop thinking about it.

My partner and I have been together for just over 4 years. He proposed about a year ago. We’ve had highs and lows, but now I’m wondering if the bad outweighs the good.

He has long-standing mental health struggles: specifically, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Complex PTSD, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. He’s been slowly learning to manage them better. And to be clear, I don’t think mental illness excuses poor behavior, but I do believe it adds context.

I also have my own issues — I have an anxious attachment style, and while I’ve never been formally diagnosed with anything else, I know I carry some of my own trauma.

My mom knows about some of the incidents we’ve gone through. Sometimes, when he’s triggered or overwhelmed, he shifts into a cold, mean, and distant version of himself. He feels like a different person — which makes sense, given the DID. I try my best to support him and stay patient, but when these episodes last for days, it really affects me. I stop feeling loved or even seen.

He also sometimes talks to new people — sometimes romantically, sometimes not. We’ve had an open relationship on and off because his personality changes have made consistent boundaries complicated. But it’s hard not to feel insecure or like I’m being replaced, even though he says he loves me deeply and always will.

When he shuts down, he leaves. He won’t respond to texts or calls for hours or whole evenings. During the worst of these, I’ve called my mom in tears. Once, I asked him about someone he was messaging, and he exploded. He called me stupid, said I wasn’t “evolved enough” for him, and that he needed someone who trusts and motivates him. That crushed me — I was only asking for reassurance.

After these moments, he usually comes back, apologizes, and says he’s working on changing. He’s loving again, and we go back to “normal.” But it’s a cycle. The dark side always returns.

My mom thinks this is manipulation. She says he’s using me — I pay for most of our life right now, since he’s in school. She believes he apologizes just enough to keep me around because I support him financially and emotionally. She hasn’t seen the best parts of him… but she also hasn’t seen the worst. And if she knew everything, I think she’d try to physically get me out of here.

So now I’m left wondering:

• Is he being emotionally manipulative and possibly abusive?

• Or is this just a deeply broken person doing his best and deserving patience?

• Is my mom being overprotective, or is she seeing something I’ve been too close to recognize?

I’m stuck between wanting to support the person I love and wondering if staying means abandoning myself. What would you do?

It’s been 7 months since we broke up and I still miss him. Like really miss him. And it’s not just at night when everything’s quiet and the world slows down, it’s in the randomest moments too. Like when I’m walking home and pass that pizza place we used to go to, or when a song we both loved comes on shuffle, or when I hear someone laugh that sounds like him. I swear I’ve tried everything. I deleted our pictures, muted him on socials (I couldn’t bring myself to block him yet), threw away the hoodie he left at my place… but still, he’s in my head like a ghost. I don’t wanna be that girl who’s stuck in the past, who talks about her ex like she doesn’t have anything else going on. But no matter what I do, he keeps comin back in my thoughts.

We were together for two years. And I know, that might not sound like forever, but when you're in it, it feels like forever. He wasn’t just a boyfriend—he was my best friend. The person I texted about everything, the one I wanted to see first when something good happened, or when my world was crashing down. We had inside jokes and stupid routines and all the things that make you feel like this is it, this is the person. And then suddenly, it wasn’t. We broke up because we wanted different things, or at least that’s what we told ourselves. But I think deep down it was just that he stopped trying, and I got tired of begging for effort. It wasn’t one big fight. It was a slow death.

Even though I know the relationship wasn’t healthy near the end, I still miss the good parts. The way he held me when I cried, how he remembered how I took my coffee, the little drawings he’d leave in my notebook when I wasn’t looking. And yeah, I miss the physical stuff too—his arms, his smell, the way he’d kiss my forehead when he thought I was asleep. It’s like I’m grieving someone who’s still alive, just not mine anymore. And that sucks more than anything. Cuz he’s out there, probably fine, probably moved on. And I’m still here wondering if he ever thinks about me like I think about him.

I’ve gone on a few dates since, tried to put myself back out there, but it all feels... flat. Like I’m comparing them to him without meaning to. I don’t want to do that, it’s not fair to them or to me. But my heart still has his fingerprints on it, and I don’t know how to wash them off. People keep telling me time heals, and maybe they’re right, but no one talks about what to do during the time. The hours that drag. The nights you wake up hoping it was all a dream. The urge to text him “I miss you” even though you know it’ll only make things worse. I’ve typed that message more times than I can count and deleted it every time.

So if you’re askin how to stop missing your ex, I don’t really have a perfect answer. I’m still learning. Still tryna unlearn the love I gave so freely. What I can say is… let yourself feel it. Don’t rush to fill the space with distractions or someone new. Sit with the ache, ugly cry if you need to, write letters you’ll never send. Talk about it. Get it out. But also, don’t let it define you. You’re still whole, even without them. You existed before them, and you’ll exist after. I’m starting to remember who I was before we met, and even though that girl feels far away, I’m trying to reach her again.

Some days are better than others. I still miss him, but I also miss me. The version of me that wasn’t waiting for a text, wasn’t second guessing her worth. So maybe the trick to stop missing your ex isn’t really about them. Maybe it’s about finding yourself again, piece by piece. And maybe one day, I’ll look back and smile, not because it didn’t hurt, but because I healed anyway.

Let me start with a little background. I used to live in a small town, this is where I met my best friend- let’s call her Purple cause her favorite color is purple. I’ve known her practically my whole life. Her family moved pretty far away in my 8th grade. I have since moved from this town as well in my 9th grade. But we still live really far apart. So a lot of our relationship has been over the phone. We made an effort to visit one another once a year. And we’ve been pretty good about it. In college, we became busy and not able to talk as much, but we were still besties. We have both graduated college, and while I’m working to go to grad school, she went on a mission( Mormon). And I’m proud of her for following her heart, but I have long since left the religion. It’s never been a problem in the past. And it wasn’t a problem until a few weeks ago. Cause even though we aren’t directly related, she would still call me occasionally on their P-day. This is technically against the rules. She said I was basically her sister and family and that it was fine! That made me feel really special. And so we would chat on Monday! But then one day she sent me a voice note saying we couldn’t call anymore because she felt she wasn’t progressing as a missionary and that the spirit told her she was breaking the rules. So we could only send voice notes. And I know it’s not personal- but it really hurt my feelings. I have since told her it hurt my feelings and that I’m scared we’ll grow distant if we can’t call for a year. She says it’s just as hard on her but there’s nothing she can do about it and that she still loves me and is there for me. But I can’t help but still feel like she made an ultimatum that was unnecessary between me and religion. And that I wasn’t as special anymore. I’m not sure what to do with these feelings. I know she’s not going to change her mind and I’m kinda angry at her for even doing this, but I don’t want anything to change between us. Any advice?

so I have a lil crush on my friend Katy (I swear I've vented about her too much)

today she emailed me

and...

she asked if I would want to kiss her.

I do like her, but not THAT much, like I'd be fine with a kiss on the cheek but anything else is just a no for me

I'm just not ready for that

but Idk how to say it bc I don't want to upset her...

what do I do?

So on Saturday I went to Solo and Ensemble (music event) (I GOT SUPERIOR) and when I went into the high school's gym to practice my friend W was in there. We started goofing off, and he connected his phone to my speaker I was using for my piano accompaniment and started playing a song called "Brain Implosion Energy".

I added the shortened version to my playlist and have been listening to it on loop.

BIG mistake.

It's stuck in my head.

Just imagine, talking to your friends, but your head is playing over and over: "brain implosion energy ten thousand grams of pure caffeine cuz you cant overthink if your heart stops brain implosion energy ten thousand grams of pure caffeine just drink and drink and drink until you drop I love my brain implosion juice it makes my brain go RRRRRRR" For all eternity. Just playing over and over in that high-pitched bubbly vocaloid voice.

IT'S DRIVING ME INSANE.