Life Stories and Everyday Drama - page 51

i’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to cut off contact with your own parents. it’s not a decision you make lightly, it’s not something you wake up one morning and decide “oh, i’m done with them now,” and it’s definitely not a thing you can explain to people without sounding like the villain. but the truth is, it wasn’t just one big fight, or a betrayal that led me here. it was more like a million little paper cuts that eventually made me bleed out. each conversation, each snide comment, each cold shoulder... they stacked up like bricks around my chest until breathing became a chore. and now, i’m at a point where silence feels safer than words ever did.

there’s this misconception that going no contact is an impulsive act, a dramatic outburst, but let me tell you – it’s calculated, it’s weighed, and it’s born from years of exhaustion. for me, it wasn’t about punishing them; it was about protecting myself. there’s a sort of peace in not waiting for a call that won’t come, in not bracing for the disappointment that hits you when you realize the people who were supposed to love you unconditionally... just didn’t know how. i still remember the last time i tried to explain my feelings to them, how i said, “i just need space,” and they responded with guilt-tripping and accusations like i was betraying the family code. maybe you’ve felt that too, the subtle manipulation, the expectation that no matter what, you’ll bend because “they’re your parents” – but at what cost?

cutting ties isn’t about hate, it’s about survival. sometimes you’ve got to ask yourself, “how much more of myself do i have to lose before i finally put up a boundary?” i used to sit in my room after those long, draining phone calls, wondering if i was being too sensitive, too dramatic, too harsh. but with time, i realized i was just human, and there’s only so much hurt you can endure before you have to step away for your own sanity. and yes, the guilt still gnaws at me, especially on holidays or when i hear from relatives asking why i’ve become so distant. but i remind myself that self-preservation isn’t selfishness; it’s necessary.

so, i sit here now, scrolling through old photos, thinking about what could have been if they had just tried a little harder, listened a little closer, or loved a little better. but i can’t change them, and i can’t keep sacrificing my peace to maintain a relationship that only drains me. i’m learning to accept that some doors are meant to stay closed, that not every story gets a happy ending, and that’s okay. sure, there’s a lingering sadness, an ache for what i wish i had, but there’s also relief in knowing i’ve chosen myself, finally. and maybe that’s the real takeaway here – that sometimes the healthiest love is the one you give yourself, even when it means walking away from those who were supposed to give it to you first.

does it ever get easier? i don’t know. maybe it’s just one of those things you learn to live with, like a scar that reminds you of a wound that’s healed but still aches when it rains. and when people ask me if i’ll ever reconnect, i just shrug and say, “maybe one day,” because who really knows? but for now, i’m okay with the quiet, with the space i’ve carved out for myself, and with the understanding that no contact doesn’t mean no love – it just means love from a distance. and maybe that’s enough; maybe that’s all i can give.

It’s not even like I woke up one morning and thought that... but yeah, I don't really know who I am anymore right now... It was a slow, agonizing realization, one that gnawed at the edges of my mind every damn day, like a relentless parasite. I’ve given up so much of myself for this relationship. My personality, my interests, my humor, my own fucking preferences. I remember how I used to laugh at stupid things, how I loved blasting heavy metal in the car and feeling the bass rumble through my chest. Now, I sit there in silence, pretending to enjoy his godawful indie playlists because, apparently, that's what "we" do. Do you see the irony? I don’t even know who I am because I’ve been eroded, worn down like some fucking rock in a stream. One little compromise at a time, I traded myself for this empty façade of “us.” But what about me?

I don’t even recognize my face in the mirror anymore. I used to wear bold makeup, vivid colors that made me feel fierce and powerful. Now, it’s all muted tones, subtle pinks, and nudes. Why? Because he said it was more “natural.” Natural? Who gives a shit? I used to stand up for myself, used to call people out on their bullshit, but now I find myself swallowing my anger like it’s some bitter pill I have to take just to keep the peace. I hate myself for it. I hate that I’ve become this quiet, compliant version of myself, a woman I’d probably roll my eyes at if I met her. And the worst part? He probably thinks I’m “happy” like this. Well, fuck that. I’m not happy. I’m trapped in a persona I created to survive this relationship, and I’m suffocating in it. How the hell did I get here?

I tried to claw my way back to who I was. I picked up my guitar again, the one I used to play every day before this relationship turned my world into a grayscale. But the strings felt foreign under my fingers. I couldn’t even remember the chords to my favorite song. It was like trying to speak a language I used to be fluent in but had completely forgotten. Do you have any idea how terrifying that is? To lose not just your interests but the muscle memory of who you used to be? It’s like my brain was reprogrammed, overwritten by his preferences, his needs, his fucking whims. And the scary thing is, I let it happen. Bit by bit, I chipped away at myself until there was nothing left but a hollow echo of the woman I used to be. And he didn’t even notice, or worse, he noticed and liked it.

Sometimes, I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck I’m doing. Who am I? Am I even a person anymore, or just some prop in his perfectly curated life? I fantasize about walking out the door, slamming it behind me, and reclaiming my fucking soul. But then I think about the logistics—where would I go, what would I do, how would I even start over? I feel like a ghost, haunting a life I never agreed to live, and I don’t know how to escape. I don’t want your sympathy. I don’t even want advice. I just want to scream into the void: I don’t know who I am anymore. And maybe, just maybe, if I scream loud enough, the real me might hear it and claw her way back. Or maybe she’s already gone. Who knows? 🖕

i'm aware that there's a high possibility that most of this is my fault for not like expressing myself or whatever, so i am wondering if i'm 'crazy' - if i'm being reasonable. my friends aren't the most supportive people to me, but that can be explained by me not being a very open person myself. a lot of them have relatively big problems in their own lives and they come to others in the group to vent or cope, but i don't have those types of big problems, at least not anymore. but when i did (when a family member had cancer) i went through it basically alone as i, successfully somehow, trudged through other areas of my life like academics. it was never something that i would let get myself down. but the thing is my friends didnt really try to reach out? i know they knew i told them or my parents told their parents who told them. maybe they knew i wouldnt be so receptive, because i really would not have, but its the fact that it feels like they didnt even try. theres this sense of building resentment as it becomes easier and easier for me to notice their flaws, especially when they interact with each other, weirdly enough. i never point it out because the recipients never seem to have a problem with it but sometimes it drives me mad. one of my friends, she doesn't even notice it, but she turns almost every conversation to herself to talk about her problems. once, another friend was talking about her problems, very serious ones, and somehow she managed to turn the conversation completely around to her problems. but this other friend didn't seem to have a problem with it. but it really fucking pissed me off, even though i didn't say anything. it feels like i am seeing something that isn't there and i have to stay quiet because it looks like no one else notices or cares. am i crazy? do i have self centered friends? am i the self centered one? idfk but i feel isolated from this group and im wondering how much of it is my fault. oh also, they all forgot my birthday last year and i give them some benefit of the doubt because i didnt mention any plans or that it was coming but i have known them for several years, whereas several from my high school who ive known for like two at that point wished me happy birthday. honestly im waiting to see if they remember this year since its coming up. i think i might be ridiculous.

Growing up, I was used to being praised by my relatives. My aunts and uncles, and most importantly, my mother and father. I was the younger sibling, have an older and only sister, I was praised because I achieved far more greater things than my sibling had, as they've said really. I grew up having those expectations normalised towards me because I never had trouble keeping up with them. I also won those competitions because my mom wants me to and has me practice hard. With honours, first placer in poster making, the class and even the schools representative when competing with other schools in the district, once in the division level..

I was never the smart kid though, just enough, by fourth grade I entered every single poster and any art related contests and won the gold medal most of the time. I never connected it to the fact that those added points must've been what pulled my grades high.

My older sibling always had lesser grades than me, always berated and compared to my higher grades. I always preened on the compliments yet maybe I should’ve felt bad instead that my sibling was being judged and ridiculed for barely passing. I didn't know then what it felt like.

I never thought I’d experience those things, yet I did. Entering highschool, I never placed high expectations on myself. Why would I when big grades always came naturally to me even without the tiring studying back at elementary?

Yet now, lesson after lesson I fail to comprehend them, I barely understood the materials and repeatedly got less than good scores in activities and tests. I excel in project making yet pretty designs will never get me far. Now I barely hang on to my honour streak.

Then that day came.

Our advisor posted the list of who made it to the honours list in our class gc. And for the first time I didn’t see my name. At most half of us didn't make it to the honour list so I rationalized that Im not an odd one out. I didn’t feel much, I didn’t let myself feel much, not while I was in school in front of my friends. I felt disappointed, sure but I let it go because I knew I couldn’t do anything about it anymore.

Then when I got home, I suddenly felt myself being nervous around my mother, she kept asking me and I relented and told her I failed for the very first time to be in the honour list.

What hurt more was that she didn’t scream at me. She usually does on smaller matters (she'd curse a lot) but now she simply sounded disappointed, berated me and told me how I would tell my hardworking father. What’s worse was that I was now the one being compared to my older sibling who was passing her classes.

I didn't cry, I didn’t feel like needing to cry even by then, I was ashamed but I didn’t cry, I felt numb that I didn’t cry, I kept quiet and took in all her words. She told me she expected better and that honest to god hurts most.

When dinner came around my mother told my father about my failed grades, he sounded disappointed and angry too. I didn’t cry. I expected and deserved it.

Yet. when I was alone, feeding the dog (she's tied outside by the shop where my dad fixes cars, he's a self employed mechanic) I felt my eyes water and tears started falling down, my chest tightened and I wanted to stop yet I couldn't. I hid behind our car that was nearby, ashamed to be seen crying over my failed grades. Now hunched over in the shadows, trying desperately to wipe the onslaught of tears, I took and shaky breaths and composed myself as best as I could. Finishing up with my chore and going to my room as if I hadn't been crying my eyes out.

i’ve spent my whole life chasing the dream of being a pro footballer, y’know? every day, training on my own, with the lads, at the gym, trying to push myself harder than yesterday. i’d wake up early, sleep late, never stopped thinking about the game. but now, i’m 23, and it’s finally hitting me that maybe, just maybe, i’m not good enough. no club’s ever taken me seriously, and i can’t even get a spot to earn a basic salary from this. it hurts, honestly, because i gave it everything i had. my parents, bless them, they’ve been my biggest cheerleaders, always saying “don’t give up,” but i can see it in their eyes too – they’re worried about what comes next. i should’ve studied more, kept my options open, but all i could think of was football. now it feels like i’m standing at the edge of a cliff, wondering what to do next. do i keep pushing for something that’s not happening, or do i finally admit i need a plan b?

the thing is, i don’t even know what i’d do if it’s not football. i’ve put all my eggs in this basket for so long, i can’t imagine doing anything else. i didn’t focus on school, didn’t get a trade, nothing. football was my life, my identity. now i feel like a fool, and it’s scary. but i guess life’s not over yet. there’s still time to figure something out, even if it means starting from scratch. i’ve been thinking about coaching, maybe working with kids, trying to pass on what i know. or i could look at fitness training or something else sporty – something that keeps me close to the game. it’s not the big dream i had, but it’s a start, right? i’m not gonna sit around and mope forever, i just need to get my head straight and make a new plan; maybe this was never meant to be my path in the first place. have you ever felt like your dream was slipping away from you and you had to start again?

sometimes i feel embarrassed talking about this, like i’m letting everyone down – my family, my mates, even myself. but deep down, i know they just want me to be happy. it’s not about how much money you make or the career you have, it’s about waking up and feeling good about what you’re doing. i don’t want to waste more years chasing something that’s breaking me down. i’m still young, i’ve got time to figure it out, and i’m not afraid to work hard – i just need to be smart about it. maybe i’ll find something that gives me the same buzz as football. maybe it’ll take a while. but i’m not giving up on life, not on my dreams either, just shifting them a bit. at the end of the day, it’s about finding your own version of success, whatever that looks like. so why am i not good enough? maybe i am – just not for the path i thought i wanted.

There's a guy I have met in dating app with him I wanna have romantic feelings with him but he has friendly feelings n said he wants to friends and slowly develop into something but idk how long will it take. He said his past was not good because of hurry relationship n stuff.

When he was online in app I was really jealous but he told it was because he saw old friend n chatted in his hometown.

Then he compared his friend with me I was devastated.

I told him i will move on clearly but in reality idk what to do.

sometimes i just wake up feeling like the weight of the whole world is pressing down on me, and it feels like i can’t catch a break from it all. i’m 28, and i guess i’ve reached that point where everything in life seems heavy; the bills, the job that never gives me peace of mind, and the constant pressure to be more, to do better. even though i try to keep my head up and push through, it feels like every step forward pulls me two steps back. i look at myself and wonder if i’m really doing what i was meant to do, if this struggle is supposed to be my reality. i mean, why should i keep going, right? but then, there’s this tiny spark inside me that whispers maybe it’s worth seeing where it leads, maybe there’s something ahead i haven’t seen yet. sometimes it’s not about the big achievements, but the small wins, like making a stranger smile or finishing a book that lifts me up just a little bit. i wonder if that’s enough to hold onto.

there are days when i sit quietly, sipping my coffee, and the silence feels louder than a crowd, but i still choose to show up for the day; it’s not easy. there are moments where i feel like i’m stuck in an endless loop of trying and failing, trying and failing, and it’s exhausting. but when i look around, when i see the sun peeking through the blinds or hear my neighbor’s dog barking like he’s calling out to me, i remember that there are little things that make life less unbearable. it’s funny how those tiny, seemingly insignificant details can pull me back from the edge of giving up completely. have you ever thought about that? how the smallest thing can spark a feeling of connection, even if just for a second? i’m not saying it fixes everything, but it’s enough to keep me from falling too deep. i try to remind myself that feelings, even the overwhelming ones, come and go; maybe that’s what makes them bearable in the long run.

i guess the real question is, am i willing to keep trying despite it all? it’s easy to think about quitting when the weight feels too heavy, but then i remind myself of the people who care about me, even if i don’t always see it. i think about the future, the chance that maybe one day i’ll look back and realize this was just a rough chapter and not the whole story. do you ever think about that? that maybe the bad days don’t define everything? i know it’s hard to hold onto that idea when everything feels like it’s falling apart, but i’m trying. i’m trying because deep down i believe that tomorrow could be different, that there might be a reason to smile, a reason to breathe deeply and say, “i made it through this day.” maybe that’s why i should keep living, because there’s still a chance for things to change, and i’m curious to see what’s on the other side.

As an insecure 15 year old girl, I am very confused rn or maybe just in denial.

There was a guy that I met online and he lovebombed me. He was weird and perverted but I didn't care because he expressed that he wanted me.

I don't think all of this anger and sadness that I'm feeling rn is because of him but because of myself. I didn't like him romantically but I kept talking to him because he fed my ego... he made me feel wanted.

Ig I want to date especially when prom is coming up this year but I have a delusional fantasy that someone sweet and kind will just suddenly pop up and like me like those corny romcoms.

My head keeps on telling me that I'm not good enough to have someone want me. That I'm too ugly and uninteresting to even pique someone's interest. (I mean a part of me thinks I'm good looking, my friends assures me and people online too but I just can't trust it because you know!? Would you actually tell your ugly friend that their ugly?? ) ( Irl people don't look at me for my looks but in socmed they do)

I hate how I have my hopes up when someone even just looks at me for a sec.

I do get stares when I go out, I mean duh!! it's normal because humans have eyes so they obviously will use it. But I'm just curious on what type of stare it was... Like a stare that I look pretty or a stare that I have something on face.

I'm going to share an emberassing thing that sometimes when I accidentally get stolen glances from a guy his girlfriend shows up ughh so emberassing!! Ik I shouldn't hate myself for it but!!

Any advice? Or maybe people who also relate 🥹

so... my wife of 25 years suddenly tells me she wants to see other people.... now, i ain't saying i'm the most open-minded guy on the planet, but this really left me scrambling for answers. i mean, after a quarter of a century of marriage, are we really doing this? is sharing my wife something i should even consider? i'm a guy who appreciates loyalty and commitment, you know? i always thought those things were the bedrock of our relationship. we were the couple who finished each other's sentences and could talk without speaking a word. now i find myself wondering if all those moments meant the same to her as they did to me. she tells me she still loves me, that this isn't about replacing me, just about exploring new experiences. but let's be real, how am i supposed to process that? is it unreasonable of me to expect exclusivity in a marriage? am i being too old-school here? now, i'm no prude, and i know times are changing, but this kind of feels like exploring new territories when i'm comfortable where i've been planting my roots. i find myself asking if sharing my spouse is really something people do in a healthy relationship. i guess it's a matter of perspective, right? i've read about open relationships, and some people swear by them, saying it brings them closer and all that jazz. but let's be straight here: sharing your partner ain't everyone's cup of tea. there’s an insecurity that bubbles up just thinking about it. like, how does a guy not worry about being pushed aside or becoming the plan b? talking to some buddies about this hasn't exactly put my mind at ease either. one of them said, "dude, if it makes her happy, maybe it's worth considering." sure, i get that making your partner happy is important, but what about my happiness? is it selfish of me to feel anxious and uncomfortable with the idea that she might find something - or someone - better? and then, what about trust? sharing her means putting a helluva lot of trust out there. what if trust turns into jealousy? can our marriage handle that test? then i think about all the years we've spent building a family, raising kids, and i wonder what it says to them if we embark on this route. is it saying, "hey, devotion isn't that big of a deal after all?" maybe i'm overthinking it, but what message does that send? it’s just that the thought of her with someone else—it’s unnerving. i always figured marriage was a two-person gig. so, am i wrong for feeling territorial about my wife? i thought we signed up for a lifetime of commitment, not a lease with renewal options. perhaps i'm just trying to hold onto a notion that time and society have evolved beyond. i still don't know if i have the emotional bandwidth to share her affection. so, i'm reaching out into the anonymous void looking for advice or perspective. how do i get my head around this without losing it? i mean, i wouldn't mind hearing some realistic takes or personal stories from anyone who's been down this road. have you ever been asked to share something you couldn't quite let go of? not sure where this will lead, but it’s a conversation i can't have with her just yet. life at 52 sure is throwing its challenges, and maybe it's just another lesson i'll look back on someday. but for now, anyone willing to share their two cents?

Its about my boyfriend. I dont want to talk bad about them because they're dealing with some stuff mentally and emotionally, mostly anxious problems. But I just hate hate it when I spend an hour waiting for him. I would be ok if the cafe was a one off thing but no. We've had multiple dates where I waited for him for an hour or almost an hour. Its not like I go on time sometimes, even I am late on the agreed time, mostly 5-10 minutes late because I really dont like making people wait for me. but when I get there he isn't there yet.

Its just... Once I managed to wait an hour on the mall we agreed to go to, walk all the way to his home, its quite close maybe 10-15 minutes with the pace I was going, and wait for more time before I even saw him get out of his house hair wet from shower. I understand he also has chores but that was just ridiculous.

But since my parents dont really know about us.. I always had to be creative and set time that wont be too late or too early, reasoning it as me needing to buy something for school, so the time is even more needed to be followed if you get me. His parents also dont know so we usually agree on a set time the day before. Rarely we agree on hanging out on the same day but when we do ita usually atleast 3hrs before..

But really I should've known better after dating him for almost 3 years now. He's the type to be late even on our own graduation, he barely made it with his mom before his name was called.

What's more upsetting about the cafe this is that its currently summer, that means I don't even have that much excuses to go out because I dont have projects to buy supplies for or no study groups to go to. We had a meeting for our school's journalism club for some reason which was, although cancelled, was a good excuse to leave the house.

I just feel like I should be more understanding but it's really upsetting checking my phone every five minutes for a text that says he'd be late or something. Sometimes I even get worried he wont show up at all.

Soo.. I'm gonna be on my last yeah of hs this year. And the pressure is high.

So growing up i've been getting average and sometimes higher than average grades. In my country although 75 is considered passing in special science schools 85 is the passing grade, with 90 being the average and therefore the grade every student sought after including myself.

90-93 has been my consistent grades throughout elementary, my mother didn't really push me to study because as she said I was smart enough that I only need to listen to the lesson and be good to go. And it worked at first.

Entering Highschool I didn't really have to learn to study because well it was online and I just searched up the answers. By 9th grade when we had our first face2face I barely got 90. It didn't serve as a wakeup call, nore did 10 grade when I graduated with 91%. At senior high, in the first semester midterms, they gave us the grades we got. i got 88%.

Still passing I know, but my parents, my mother especially, started this whole thing.

For context my sister is in college, tuition is barley covered and my dad works his own business that isn't getting much customers. Although my sister got a scholarship that gives her free tuition, the school was too far my sister would have to live with my grandma. Which made my dad worry about her health, i don't really get the reason.

So now it's my responsibility to get a good scholarship. My parents are ok with sending me to that same school they didn't want my sister to go to because 'I can handle myself'. But still since my 88% I've been pressured to get better grades. After a shit ton of studying I got 92%in my first sem grade. With my second sem being 96%, mostly with the help of joining a contest which the training lasted the whole first half of the second semester's midterm, then a big dance contest against other schools that got me pulled out of class and me and the other dancers got a grade no lesser than the previous. So because I got 96 in my previous I also got 96 if you got what I mean.

Anyways I understand why my parents are stressing over college, sending two daughters would not be possible with my dad's income. But I kinda blame my dad for not sending my sister there.

Idk, im already looking through scholarships on different school, started studying now too. But i also dont like that I'm reminded everyday that if I dont get a good scholarship one of us would not be able to go to college at all. Suddenly I want to go to school agshahahhahah

so I've been dating this awesome girl for about three months now and everything is freaking great. Like, honestly, I've never been this happy. But here's the catch - my parents don't have a clue that I'm into girls. Yup, I'm a lesbian, and trust me, coming out to your folks ain't a walk in the park. I'm 19, so I guess it's high time I spill the beans, right? But seriously, how do you even approach this whole "hey mom, dad, I'm lesbian" chat without having a mini heart attack? They're pretty chill folks but still, the fear is real.

I mean, we all know how these conversations usually go down. It's not like I'm gonna bust out guitar and sing "I'm Coming Out" by Diana Ross. It's more like an intense, awkward movie scene where everyone freaks out. Plus, there's always crap like the possibility of them flipping their lids or, worse, looking at you with that disappointed expression that's scarier than hell. But here's the thing, you gotta own it, right? You're responsible for your happiness and whatnot. And if someone suggests shoving this truth under the rug, eff that noise; this is your life. So, do you wait for the perfect moment, or just rip the bandaid off and let the chips fall where they may?

so like, here's the deal, my pet died, and seriously, I just can’t stop crying. it feels like my whole world has come crashing down. I know, it sounds dramatic, right? but hear me out, when you’ve had a pet for over a decade, they’re not just some animal you feed and clean up after; they're family, a piece of you if I’m being honest. I'm 29, yeah, a freaking adult, but you'd think I was a kid the way I've been bawling my eyes out lately. it’s been a whirlwind of emotions, both overwhelming and downright exhausting. it sneaks up on you, the grief. one minute I'm fine, pushing through my day, masking the pain with fake smiles and casual banter, then the next moment I see their favorite toy lying around or their pawprints on the carpet and—bam!—I’m reduced back to a blubbering mess. ever had those moments? you know the ones where your chest feels so tight it’s like you can’t even breathe? that’s me, every damn day since the incident. I'm not trying to make a mountain out of a molehill here, but it's like a constant reminder of the emptiness lingering in the spaces they used to occupy, the silence that's suddenly too loud. I swear, I never realized just how quiet a home could be until they weren’t around to fill it with their quirky antics or those endearing little sounds that used to annoy me sometimes—crazy, right? it’s funny how in all my naive optimism, I never really prepared for this moment; I mean, who does prepare for losing something they love as much as I loved them? who can genuinely be ready to say goodbye forever?

the loss hits different when it’s someone or something you cherished beyond words, especially when you’ve shared special moments that are now etched into your soul permanently. they were there for all the highs and lows of my 20s, curled up in a comforting presence when life decided to throw me a few curveballs. you never really appreciate the little things until they’re gone, and those little things, those day-to-day interactions, are what I miss the most. from the way they’d follow me around to how they’d snugly fit right beside me on a lazy Sunday afternoon watching TV, it’s those memories that catch me off guard and push me under a wave of grief. it's not just sadness, there’s honestly a speck of anger seeping in too, and let me tell you, feeling pissed about something you have absolutely no control over is one hell of a sucky feeling. part of me keeps yelling internally, 'it’s not fair!'. I mean, how do you move on from feeling robbed of more time, those fleeting moments that seemed insignificant always meant the world to me, especially now when they're no longer attainable. maybe they’re in a better place, maybe they’re frolicking somewhere free of pain, but damn it, I wanted them here, now, with me. is that selfish? should I be content with the memories and grateful for the time we had? perhaps. but, like, grief isn’t a straightforward path. it’s a tangled mess of emotions, regrets, what-ifs, and unexpressed love. times like these make me question if getting another pet would help fill the void, or if that would merely be a placeholder for the space they once filled; would moving on too quickly be doing an injustice to the love I held for them? or worse, would it make me forget? wrestling with these questions is an emotional rollercoaster, one that I wish I could just get off of already. truth is, I have no freaking clue how to stop this perpetual cycle of weepy outbreaks and melancholic episodes. a part of me is starting to accept that maybe, just maybe, healing doesn’t mean I'm forgetting or erasing their presence from my life but rather finding a way to live with their memory integrated into my everyday existence. slowly, ever so slowly, I'm starting to recognize it’s okay to be a mess right now, to not have all the answers, to feel all these feelings so intensely. will I stop crying soon? who knows? but what I do know is they brought so much joy into my life, and for that, I’ll always be grateful, even through the tears. guess I just needed to pour all this out, let the emotions run their course, and see where I land when the dust settles. is that okay? because, honestly, talking it all out helps, even if it's just to this anonymous void. 🐾

My husband and I had an our baby four months ago. The entire time I was pregnant he acted like he was so excited and going to be such a good dad. Everyone had such high expectations for him. Now that she’s actually here, he’s just mean to both of us. She’s a really easy baby and isn’t fussy very often, but the moment she does anything other than smile he gets annoyed. He’s constantly in a bad mood and when I ask why he always says it’s because of her. He’s started taking it out on me and is so short tempered and distant with me. He doesn’t ever really hold her or interact with her unless I downright force him to and even then he just puts her in her swing/bassinet/etc. within five minutes. It’s to the point that both of our families have asked if he even really holds her or pays attention to her. It’s making me really second guess the fact that I married him and feel guilty for choosing him as the father of my child. To make matters worse, he wants more than one kid.

About a year ago, I discovered my boyfriend—who isn’t diagnosed but shows strong signs of narcissism (his father is clinically diagnosed)—was masturbating to photos of his high school classmates and, heartbreakingly, to my best friend. I was devastated, but I ended up forgiving him. I was deep in trauma bonding, and he knew exactly how to manipulate me.

Throughout our relationship, the only thing that ever truly bothered me was his emotional unavailability. Besides that, he felt perfect to me—caring, attentive, and present in ways that made me believe he truly loved me. That illusion stayed intact until I stumbled across those messages in their group chat.

Last week, I caught him again. Same girls. A few new ones. Still my best friend. He’s obsessed with her style—she’s the complete opposite of me: gothic, bold, and conventionally sexy. I’m struggling right now. I feel lost, broken, showing signs of depression, and I’m undergoing lab tests for a possible autoimmune disorder.

Here’s the twist—he has no idea that I know everything. I’ve decided to keep playing the game, feeding his ego because he thrives on admiration. I do everything he wants, all while preparing to shatter his illusion. In a week, I plan to confront him with the full truth. I know he’ll panic and try to chase after me, but I’ll make it clear: if he tries anything manipulative again, I’ll expose everything—his messages, the videos, the disgusting things he and his friends have said about unsuspecting girls—on Facebook and Instagram. When I first caught him I read that his friends were scared that I would also tell their girlfriends but I didn't.

I won’t lie, I still have feelings for him. Part of me still believes he cared, that maybe there were moments of real love in our 2.5-year relationship. But this has to end.

I don’t know—does this make me the villain for planning to call him out like this? I feel stupid even writing this. He wasn’t always bad… but now I can’t unsee the truth.