Life Stories and Everyday Drama - page 46

Hi, call me sumaya. i have been struggling with my mh since year7, my teachers dont listen to me and i feel like that no one likes me and there is no point to life, i have been cutting and cutting and i js feel like doing it even if im 1month clean. i js hate my life and i always get bullied and teachers always think i "i kick off" well no, i am at my breaking point and all of the teachers dont like me and i js hate me, my timeout pass got taken away and all my support is going down the drain. and my wellebing is all scenes when it isnt. if its other ppl they mollycoddle them and i js wanna be loved and have friends and leave that skl.. i wanna be alone./ i have no friends and no one likes me. i am a nobody.

It’s weird to even say this out loud, but I got a tattoo to cover my self-harm scars. And honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. The whole idea started off as something empowering, like reclaiming my body, right? You know the line, “Your skin is your story”—some therapist threw that out years ago during one of my low points. It stuck. I thought maybe, just maybe, putting something beautiful over something so painful would help change the narrative. So I chose a design I’d doodled in a journal years ago—something abstract but meaningful, sort of a fractured mandala, each line connecting past and present. The artist was kind and didn't ask too many questions, just looked me in the eye and said, “We’ll make this a transformation piece.” That sounded nice. Better than what it really was: me trying to hide from myself in ink and pain management creams.

Now that it’s been a few weeks, I stare at it and feel conflicted. The tattoo is well done—technically clean, good contrast, smart shading—but the scars are still visible beneath it. Not physically, not if you’re just glancing. But I know they’re there. That skin holds memory like film holds shadows, and even the pigment can’t overwrite the fact that I hurt myself deliberately, over and over, for years. Sometimes I catch my reflection and wonder who I’m trying to fool. Is this ink for healing, or just another form of concealment? It’s a question I keep circling, like a moth around a porchlight. I'm 38 now. Not a kid experimenting with identity. Not a teenager struggling with trauma she couldn’t name. A grown adult who still can't quite figure out what to do with all this leftover pain.

The part I didn’t expect was how other people would respond. Friends said things like “Wow, that’s powerful” or “It’s so meaningful,” like they were in on some secret spiritual moment. I smiled and nodded and said things like “Yeah, it represents growth,” but I never corrected them when they assumed it was just art for art’s sake. One coworker even said, “That’s dope, did it hurt?” and I just laughed and said “Not more than the stuff it’s covering.” He didn’t get it. And maybe I didn’t want him to. The truth is, there's a whole subculture around tattooing over scars, and it's not always about covering things up—sometimes it's about honoring survival. But I’m not sure if I survived something, or if I just stalled it.

I know this might come across as ungrateful or overly cynical, especially since not everyone gets a second chance to rewrite their skin. But what if rewriting isn't enough? What if healing isn't about erasing the past but learning to live with it in broad daylight? Some days I think I did the right thing—turned something painful into something beautiful, like alchemy. Other days, I feel like I’ve just added another mask, one that requires constant touch-ups and explanation. I'm not embarrassed by the scars anymore, but I am tired of what they represent: all those years spent pretending I was fine, when I was really just holding myself together with caffeine and denial.

Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is—if you’re thinking about getting a self-harm tattoo, ask yourself why. Like really, why. Is it closure? Is it expression? Is it shame in disguise? Maybe it’s a mix of all those. I can’t tell you the right answer because I still don’t know mine. All I know is that ink fades slower than memory, and covering something up doesn’t always mean it’s healed. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe healing isn’t linear. But I do wish someone had told me that before I sat down in that studio, gripping the chair like it was gonna save me.

i hate that i still think about him every damn day. like seriously, what the actual hell is wrong with me?? it’s been almost a year now, and yet my brain still plays back the same damn memories like a broken-ass record. we broke up for good reasons—he was selfish, emotionally unavailable, and let’s be real, kinda manipulative—but here i am, stuck on this dude like he was the love of my damn life. i know better!! i tell myself all the time that it’s not love anymore, it’s just habit, it’s just comfort, blah blah blah, but none of that seems to help when i see something that reminds me of him and i instantly feel like shit. and what pisses me off the most is that he’s probably doing great, not even sparing me a single thought, while i’m out here spiraling over some random t-shirt he left at my place or that stupid playlist we used to drive around to. 😒

i’ve tried everything. blocking him didn’t help, just made me feel more pathetic because i still checked his socials through a fake account. going out with friends works... for like five minutes until someone mentions his name or something vaguely related and boom, my brain’s back in hell. even dated other guys and guess what? they all felt like filler characters in a story that’s already ended. like i was just going through the motions. one of them even told me i wasn’t really present and yeah, no shit dude. i’m trying but it’s like i’m stuck in emotional cement. and don’t get me wrong, i don’t miss how he made me feel like i was never enough or the stupid games he played when he was “too busy” to call. i miss the small, dumb shit like how he always brought me red bull without asking or how he said my name when he was half asleep. isn’t that just sick?? how can i know someone’s bad for me and still crave their attention like some love-starved idiot???

so yeah, tell me this—why the f*ck can’t i get over him?? is there some switch i forgot to flip? am i broken or just brainwashed from being treated like trash for so long that now i think it’s the norm? i try to analyze it, journal it, scream it into a pillow, and nothing changes. maybe i’m just terrified that no one else will get me the way he did... even if the “getting me” part came with a truckload of emotional damage. maybe it’s not really about him at all, maybe it’s about how i felt when i was with him—like i mattered, like someone chose me, even if he dropped me just as quick. i don’t know. all i know is this mess inside my chest won’t go away and i’m tired of pretending like i’m fine. if you’ve been through this—how the hell did you finally let go??? 💔

Literally whenever i try to comfort anybody they never respond or they just say something totally unrelated, which i dont mind but i wanna see someone happy, i wanna save someone, not for any selfish reasons, because it makes me happy when others are happy. (A picture of Kanade fades in/j)

So today was the day before my science exam, and I wasn’t ready at all. I did a mock test and apparently after I got out of shower, my mother didn’t look so glad. She had that look of disgust in her eyes— trouble.

She scolded me for getting 50% on my mock exam, it wasn’t even the real exam anyway :/, and guess what? She told me to die— like what type of parent does that? The exact line was “you’re lucky this is just a mock test, if it was real, then I would’ve killed you already” or smt I can’t really recall it;;

On the other day, she even got the house keys out and like— made me scared if? I forgot the word for it but i guess whoever is reading this gets it :(

I’ve been venting on my bed for the past few years, it started in 2023 when she grabbed my collar for going for a walk, and since then I would frequently write stuff on my bed— it’s double decked;; like in the corner that only shadows exist— hey my address is ********* you wanna see what I wrote? Nah jk… I’m lucky I grew up this bright right…

Hi, I'm unsure whether I can properly give this story a category. Anyways I'm 24 years old and very conflicted on what I want from life. I have workplace stress (I hate my job, I barely go and my savings are low because of it) which tumbles into other kinds of stresses because I'm worried about affording a down payment on my house. I'm worried about my weight, etc. I also dislike my family and want to be independent of them. Even writing 24 now I feel like cringing and ripping out my hair; I feel so old and so confused about everything.

Anyways my sister had an engagement party recently and I was in a pretty bad mood because of my workplace drama, I won't deny. I had an upset look on my face and didn't really talk to anyone. Beyond that I didn't argue or anything. I felt bad so I apologized to my sister and she claimed she was embarrassed (valid) and says that her in-laws say that I didn't greet them (big offense in my culture). I argued that was wrong, and I greeted everyone except the FIL--honest mistake. But she asked how she could take my word when so many people say otherwise. She said people say bad stuff behind my back all the time (didn't clarify who) and she defends me and my behaviour was a "slap in the face" (she also exaggerates a lot, I wonder how true this is). I promised I would behave better next time, asked if theres anything i can do now to make it up to her in laws (she said no, which is fine).

I feel genuinely bad for my behaviour and embarrassing her but at the same time I feel its unfair she's taking her in-laws side over mine. She decided to get married while she knew him under a year. So its strange to me that ive been her sister her entire life and shes automatically deferring to these people's words, but since im in the wrong already i didnt want to fight with her. The kicker is I now felt my shitty behaviour was justified bc how much of liars her in-laws are and I'm growing to resent her. I already don't really like my family (the only people that could have shit talked her behind my back, so I don't care, I shit talk them a lot), but my sibs have been the exception. It sucks because I feel the older you get the more complicated family dynamics become and I wish I could have the siblings from my childhood, but that's impossible. When her actual wedding and other events do roll around, I will definitely be good and make amends with her family (hopefully.. probably), but I'll personally never stop resenting her or her in laws for this. btw this was not the first time we met and i feel like i'm cordial otherwise.

i feel so sad and heavy writing this because as I get older, life just gets worse. Like i dont wanna be that cousin or whatever that cuts off their family but i dont really like these people. currently, i'm on whatever terms with my family because i need assistance/ advice to work out my life, but once i become established (hopefully when im 30), i wont talk to these people anymore. my sister can have her in laws and take their word. i have a few good friends so i wont be completely lonely, but what a silly trajectory of life.

you know, at 50, one imagines life with a bit more zest. instead, i find myself clocking in to a job where i literally have nothing to do. "getting paid to do nothing" is, strangely enough, as dreary as it sounds. don't get me wrong, i appreciate the paycheck arriving steadily at my bank every two weeks like clockwork, but, man, can you believe the drag of it? when you're expected to produce, to innovate, you feel like a cog in a productive machine. but here, it’s like waiting for a bus that never comes, you know? a project deadline that's perpetually "in-progress," that’s my life now. i've got all the time in the world to binge-watch every show on Netflix or memorize entire catalogues of podcasts, yet—spoiler alert—it does not fill the void.

ever tried to detail your productivity in a team meeting, while knowing you have zilch to show? i sit there, nodding my head to folks discussing "quarterly KPIs" and "optimized strategies,” but inside i’m just hoping nobody asks for updates. a part of me thinks perhaps this is a lesson in patience or maybe even a karmic cycle from when i was overly busy and craved some downtime. irony, huh? sometimes i wonder if my situation is like one of those zen stories where when you seek nothing, you find everything. i mean, have you ever thought that maybe pointless tasks are just undiscovered forms of meditation? albeit ‘corporate zen’ sounds more plausible in theory, it doesn't feel entirely satisfying in practice. would love to hear if anyone else is dealing with workplace ennui. maybe trying to merge this twilight zone of nothingness with fulfilling activities outside work is the key. have any of y’all gotten out of a rut like this before? share some wisdom, would you?

so, idk if i should really talk abt ai art here bc i fear i might get witch hunted or anything. either way, i wanted to talk abt my so-called list vents. this started…idk when, probably many months ago, and i would write down the same phrase over and over again in an unordered list, talking abt things that i’m very tired abt. this is the latest list that i’ve written, titled after a song by tripleS. i hope that i could open up abt my feelings abt ai as a synthographer here, bc i’m sometimes tired of bottling them all up.

* i’m tired of people saying that it’s over or that we’re cooked

* i’m tired of people portraying us as villains

* i’m tired of artists wanting us to pick up a pencil or just about anything that draws

* i’m tired of artists poking fun at us when we can’t generate ai images offline*

* i’m tired of the backlash from an ai-generated comic about two fans and an aircon

* i’m tired of this one creator saying about the very first anime to be 95% generated with ai and it looks like garbage

* i’m tired of artists urging to find alternatives to ai art or death threats will come

* i’m tired of people saying that ai is [insert negative verb ending with “-ing”] the industry

* i’m tired of ai-generated videos abt the apocalypse or anything weird in general

* i’m tired of this so-called “prompt theory”

* i’m tired of not being able to try Veo 3 because it’s under a seriously exorbitant subscription**

* i’m tired of chatgpt being a yes man, as everyone says

* i’m tired of chatgpt poisoning my brain

* i’m tired of being the only person who knows about ai and messes around with it***

* i’m tired of animating a stick figure doing a baseball throw for an assignment

* i’m tired of seeking validation with a chatbot

* i’m tired of losing myself in this ai world

* i’m tired of being alive in this ai world

* i’m tired of these invisible bruises

* i’m tired of all this noise

* i’m tired of feeling like i’ve fallen

* i’m tired of going back to square one after everything works out

* i’m tired of saying “finals week or my final week”

* i’m tired of wanting to drown myself

* i’m tired of making myself write this every month, bc as ai improves, hate grows too

*good thing i have data duh!

**even if i can get it for free with an edu account, then what’s the point if i’ll never use it again if ever?

***i seriously don’t know anybody who does ai art as a hobby in my circle of friends

Im gna fucking lose my shit if my dad keeps talking to me. He expects me to study 18 hours a day and while he sits in the living room, no job, four kids and a wife to provide for. Its fucking crazy coming from him since he’s genuinely an idiot. He keeps saying he’s gna beat the shit out of me if i fail

This is a genuine cry for fucking help

Being gay is so painful; finding love feels like an insurmountable challenge. To those around me, it might seem like I lead a chaotic life, but they have no idea this isn't a choice I made; it just happened. Everyone has different perspectives on gay people, and I've even encountered some gay men who are homophobic, which still doesn't make sense to me. I'm not feminine, and none of my friends know about my sexual orientation; they all think I'm straight, and I've maintained that status quo.

I wish I could talk to them about my dating experiences, but I can't. It's equally difficult for me to find the right partner, and the world feels so harsh. I don't even know how I'll manage in the future. People call me 'hot,' but I don't understand why guys don't seem to like me that much; they often say we can't have a future, and I don't have an answer for that.

I just wish I was never gay. Would my life still be this difficult? My emotional health is suffering, and I have no one to talk to. I'm all by myself, trying to fix myself, feel better, and live a decent life.

Experiencing multiple betrayals and being left alone has made me lose faith in love, and I constantly wonder if I'll ever be normal again or find the right person.

I feel so wasted for giving my best to someone who didn't care. I've started to hate myself, questioning why I can't live all by myself, and thinking how wonderful that would be. I've begun to believe that people are heartless and don't deserve to be loved.

I'm almost 18 and I lost my dad during January, 2024. He apparently died overnight due to a complication of diabetes. I don't remember what day it was, I just know it was the day we all went back to school after winter break. Our relationship was never good. I was his only daughter and he was raised with unhealthy viewpoints on women and their roles in society. Not a great combo. I was ridiculed by him often for my shortcomings, or just for nothing at all to be honest. Everyday was a constant battle with him and the other members of our family living in the house. I mostly took care of everything leading up to his death. My mother was a recovering drug addict, so she did not have custody of me or my brother. The only mother figure I had was my grandmother, who would endorse my father's negative behavior and scratch it off to him being stressed or unhealthy, which was true but not justifiable. Custody was given to my aunt.

My aunt and I were close, and I always dreamed of living with her. But now that I am, I'm indescribably lonely and I don't know how to deal with this. It's like I'm stuck in some weird out of pocket void that no one knows or acknowledges, because they're too busy revolving within their own lives. That sounded cringey but you get the point. My friends have moved on and I'm witnessing my aunt interact with her own biological children and it just makes me so...angry. I know thats wrong but I honestly just feel so frustrated. I wanted this love. This love that can only come from a mother or father. But I was cheated out of it by both parents. My aunt claims she loves me as one of her own kids but I know thats not true. I should just be grateful that she loves me, shouldn't I? Why isn't that enough for me? Why do I want to go and be jealous of everyone around me and make myself miserable in the process? But that parental love I want just can't be mimicked or replicated. There will always be differences between the love for ones own children and a relative. And I can't explain the pain that eats at my chest whenever I witness these imbalances. It's suffocating but its no ones fault. I think thats the worst part for me, that there's no one I can blame for this.

That's why I came on here for the first time. I need advice or just someone who can relate to me. How do you deal with this loneliness? How do you deal with the absence of a true parental love? Will this feeling ever go away?

I appreciate anyone who sees and reads this post, especially those who take the time to offer me some insight. May you all have a good day/night.

I don't know where to start, but it feels heavy, and it always happens quite sometimes now. Am I the problem? Am I the bad daughter? Please enlighten me and give me some advice, I'm a working student, I work at the university, and in exchange, I'm only paying my tuition fee of 1,000. So that's why I can't no longer help with the house chores anymore, but I will help once I get the free time. Sometimes I do all of our laundry on Sunday so that I can at least help. But I think it wasn't enough because all of what I heard from my mother is always nagging and telling me that I no longer help with the house chores, and now I'm lazy. It feels heavy right now because my mother and I is fighting as a while ago

it’s been eating at me for years now, this thing i carry around, like a rotting piece of fruit in my pocket—i can’t just throw it away, but damn if it doesn’t stink up everything. i cheated. not once. not even just a fling that came and went. multiple times, over the years, with different women, for different reasons, and none of them were good enough. i never told her. my wife, the one who still looks at me like i’m the guy she married twenty years ago. the guilt didn’t hit right away; it crept in slow, like fog rolling over a field, and now i can barely see who i am anymore. forgiveness feels like a word other people get to use, not me. i tried everything—therapy, journaling, praying (and i’m not even religious), but none of it sticks because the truth is still there, hidden and heavy. i know people say “forgive yourself or it’ll eat you alive,” but they never talk about how to do it when the person you hurt doesn’t even know they were hurt. is it even forgiveness if there’s no accountability? or is it just denial dressed up as healing? i don’t want to confess just to ease my own conscience, that feels selfish. but doing nothing, pretending i can move forward while dragging this corpse of a past behind me, doesn’t work either.

i keep asking myself, “what would i tell someone else in my position?” i’d probably say, “you’re not the worst thing you’ve done.” but when it’s you, when you look in the mirror and you see the choices etched into your face, that’s a whole other story. i’m trying to show up every day as a better man. i do the chores without being asked, i actually listen when she talks, i plan date nights—stupid little things that don’t erase the past but might just build something better today. but it’s not really for her; it’s for me, trying to prove i’m not a total piece of shit. the worst part is knowing she might never find out, and if she did, it would destroy everything we built. i don’t want to confess just to clean my soul at the cost of her peace. so where does that leave me? stuck in this weird middle ground between shame and pretending. it’s like trying to fix a leak with duct tape—you know it’s not gonna last, but you keep using it anyway. sometimes i wish she would find out on her own, just so the weight would fall off me without having to make the choice; that’s cowardly, i know. but feelings aren’t always noble. “we are more often treacherous through weakness than through calculation,” montesquieu said. maybe that’s me. maybe that’s all of us. 🥀

I LITERALLY HAVE NO HOBBIES, I FEEL LIKE MY FRIENDS HATE ME, IM BAD AT ART, WHEN IM IN FANDOM SPACES IM SCARED TO TALK TO ANYONE CUZ OF MY SEVERE AHH SOCIAL ANXIETY BRO💔 also my family is broken apart ahahahhelpme