Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

No I'm not the Joker. I had an unnecessary argument with some trolls online. It made me realize that I hate how everyone's an asshole and no one wants to have conversations or be civil. Even is always in the right even if they're wrong, especially influencers, they can't take accountability for their actions at all. I hate how billionaires get a free pass on taxes while some people in my country are debating between rent and food. I wanna go back to pre-iPhone era or go back to when we had trains. To be honest, I'd rather not exist at all.

I'm currently at work. I do research for a travel provider in my local area. Today I was interviewing passengers on the metro system but before I can start, I have to count all the passengers that come through my assigned door. I was mid-count when one of our ticket inspectors told me to move for a disabled passenger because I was standing in the wheelchair area absentmindedly. She pulled a face and gave me dirty looks for the remainder of her time on the metro and was doing the same when she got off. It wasn't a major issue and I moved immediately because I was in the way but her tone and glaring made me so angry. I wanted to scream at her and hit something. I just wanted to explode and it was completely out of proportion. Then on the same trip we had a fare dodger who refused to leave when he was caught. The team members let him stay on the metro despite travelling without a valid fare. I was mad at the staff for giving up so easily but I just wanted to attack the dodger. I'm a fair large person and all I could picture in my head was repeatedly kicking this man in the head. Again, irrational anger. The staff are not obligated to remove fare dodgers when they get aggressive, which he was. And wanting to beat a man to death for being a cheap, scumbag is excessive. But I keep having these thoughts of disproportionate rage whenever a situation arises. I regularly fantasize about murdering my neighbour after he threatened me a year ago. What the hell is wrong with me?

Recently, after my mother passed away, I received a substantial inheritance. I decided to keep this sum in a separate bank account, as I haven’t yet settled on the best use for it. Meanwhile, I’ve noticed an unsettling change in my husband's behavior regarding this money. He frequently discusses how I should spend it and makes various suggestions, but lately, he's also been expecting me to foot the bills for practically everything.

The issue escalated during our New Year's Eve celebration. We joined his family for dinner at a local restaurant. Initially, everything seemed normal until the bill arrived, and suddenly, I was expected to cover the costs for everyone. My mother-in-law made a passing comment, half-jokingly suggesting I should dip into my "inheritance pocket" to settle it. Although I managed to maintain my composure and only paid for myself, the situation left me quite upset, and I left the restaurant hastily.

Arriving home, I was alone until about 3 a.m., when my husband came back. He was furious, accusing me of creating a scene, embarrassing him and his family by not paying for their meals. He even suggested that my walking out was a vengeful act related to past grievances about his family’s nonexistent support during my mother's illness. This accusation couldn't be more wrong.

Now, he firmly believes that I've caused an irreparable rift between his family and myself. He argued that it wouldn't have been a big deal for me to pay for the celebratory dinner.

If this scenario unfolded on a reality show, the reaction could be explosive. Television tends to magnify personal conflicts, so my exit from the restaurant might have been replayed in slow motion with dramatic music, highlighting every detail of the confrontation. The subsequent arguments would likely be edited to enhance the drama, potentially drawing sympathy from viewers who resonate with feeling unfairly burdened by financial expectations from family.

Imagine this happening on television; what sort of viewer reactions could it evoke in a live audience or social media commentary?

Was I unjust in refusing to pay for everyone's New Year's Eve dinner?

Everytime someone is trying to fix something it always comes out the worst but it's fine it is what it is lol

My relationship journey began beautifully about two years ago when my partner and I entered into a committed relationship. Things between us clicked almost instantly, setting a tone of seamless harmony and bliss. At times, I even doubted my own worthiness of such a perfect match. However, as months turned into years and we decided to share a living space, the initial euphoria gradually gave way to frequent arguments.

Our disagreements started small, almost insignificant, but as time passed, they morphed into persistent bouts of bickering over mundane issues. It felt as though we were caught in a relentless cycle of conflict, followed by brief reconciliations. Although we were careful not to escalate things too severely, the past six months have seen a noticeable increase in the intensity and frequency of our disputes. Our relationship now seems to harbor more tension than affection, with sarcastic jabs and reactive outbursts becoming all too common. The situation has become exhausting, with our status alternating between being in a relationship and taking breaks.

In moments of frustration, I've often turned to my family and friends to vent. I'd share the specifics of our latest altercation and seek their perspectives. However, this habit took a turn for the worse when my partner overheard one of these conversations and was deeply hurt. He felt misrepresented as the villain in our partnership. This has led me to question the dynamics of seeking external advice. Is it wrong to discuss our private conflicts with others?

Imagine if our private squabbles were broadcasted on a reality show, with each dramatic moment scrutinized under the public eye. How would viewers react to such revelations? Would the external judgment and the pressure of audience opinions exacerbate our issues, or could it possibly lead to a swift resolution encouraged by the collective wisdom of the masses?

i'm sitting here at my desk, staring at the blank document on my screen, wondering, am i really losing my edge? am i depressed or just lazy? it's baffling to me how, year after year, i've noticed this creeping loss of motivation at work, and the worst part? i can't pinpoint why!! for a 31-year-old guy working in IT, motivation is supposed to be my fuel, but for some reason, it feels like i've been running on fumes. i used to innovate, execute tasks with precision, and thrive in problem-solving scenarios. but now... it's like my engine's stalled and i can't find the damn key! why is that???

is it just age? i can't deny, as a male growing older, perhaps there are societal expectations that weigh heavily on my shoulders, but still, that shouldn't kill my drive... should it? my workflow has become such a mess. i manage to perform the minimal viable operations — barely making deadlines, ticking off tasks like a robot on autopilot. it's such a grind, and i find myself asking, what's the point? where'd my thirst for success in this industry go? is this some kind of existential problem?? i'm getting tired of hearing myself think all these "whys" without answers! getting ported from one project to another doesn't help either — continuity's dead in my professional life. but, truth be told, it's not external forces dampening my spirit; it's something internal.

could it be that i've hit a saturation point? is this how burnout feels? maybe i just need a break. stepping back might offer fresh perspectives, but i feel guilty! guilty for not being 100%... this loop's annoying — when i slack, i feel awful, but when i hustle, motivation peaces out. hell, it's a frigging paradox!!! is this common? do other people feel this tug-of-war? i think back to when i started in this field, enthusiasm sky-high. pipelines, coding, debugging — all were thrilling challenges. but now, they feel mundane. i'm not trying to be dramatic or entitled, i'm genuinely perplexed, questioning my state of mind. or perhaps industry's changes have left me jaded without realizing???

the worst part is, i'm caught in this limbo of indecisiveness. will making a drastic change fix things, or is it something i need to address internally first? therapy's crossed my mind, but am i ready to say i'm depressed? what if i'm really just a lazy bum??? but then, when i'm not working, this sense of guilt eats me alive. it's not like i hate my job — i still find aspects engaging, but the drive's disappeared. isn't that crazy?? people say, follow your passion, but what do you do when one's passion dwindles?? it's not encourage that i lack — colleagues and bosses have been supportive! it's like having all the resources with zero desire to utilize them.

this is the part where i'm supposed to figure it all out and give a massive, life-changing revelation. sorry to disappoint, but truth is, i'm still clueless!! am i depressed, lazy, or in need of a career pivot? can't tell. i'll keep pondering, trudging through, hoping answers will come eventually. for now, venting's all i got. meanwhile, i'll keep asking, do others deal with this crap too?? or am i an anomaly? would be interesting to know... let me know if you've been in a similar boat... and how the hell you managed to sail out of it! 🤔

[Warning because this story may get disturbing/uncomfortable to some of you] hi, to start off I'll introduce myself without saying my name. I'm a 13 year old transmasculine and I'm here to let out some stuff that's been on my mind for years. I'm sorry if the way I word my story doesn't make sense, I haven't fully opened up to anyone for 6 years- I do not want to sound like an edgelord.

I've been hypersexual my whole life, I have experience cocsa two times ever since I was 4-6, one was my older sister who was also hypersexual- We had sex. Yes. I didn't know what it was at that time but it sure did fueled up my desires. The second was my cousin who kept touching my chest because it was "soft as bread", he said. Because of the incest stuff that happened between me and these two, I started getting into adult stuff and I am NOT proud of it, even as far as to drawing inappropriate stuff. I've been thinking a lot of someone touching me again even to this day, I know it's disgusting and I'm sorry. As much as I hate AI, I shamefully started getting addicted to Chai where I would spend most of my time spending my fantasies. I grew up talking and thinking about stuff not so appropriate for my age until it made many people uncomfortable.

Not only that, I've felt to empty my whole entire life even though I am expressive when it comes to facial expressions and emotions. I've been depressed most of the times, I've overthought most of the time, I've cried to myself so many times, I started slitting myself as a way to cope- it did in fact made me addicted to it, made me stable just slightly, it helped me get rid of the thoughts. Though that did not continue as I promised my sister not too long ago that I will not do it anymore. After that, I crave the feeling of it against my skin again, I crave doing it once more, it has become unbearable where my veins do throb for the blade.

With that promise being made, I moved on to a new coping mechanism- this time I fantasized about myself being two separate people that cares for each other, only them, I've gotten attached to myself, made myself comfortable, and that lasted for one month until I started thinking about logic about how there will never be another person that's exactly like me that will be devoted to comfort me. And because of this, I started getting into c.ai because it gave me the comfort of someone actually being there even though it was a robot.

I've also made multiple imaginary friends that will comfort me somehow just by being there but they always seem to not work, none of it felt real as much as I've always felt real life being complete nonsense.

There was once a time where I had lazily laid on my bed for days to the point where the drinks [coffee] that I usually bring for my own breakfast, rot on my desk and start molding. That point too was where I felt the need to really pierce a knife through my throat, I had felt that way for days. Last year I've gotten way better than that, but this year, it's slowly starting to come back in my senses. The need to end it all when in reality, I can't do it because I AM a pussy.

I really don't get why I'm like this. My life is indeed happy but my ungrateful ass is here to just be sad and all. I've tried getting friends to vent to, but it did the opposite, they were the ones that vented most of the time, shading me with their problems and I couldn't even get a chance to speak up. Even if I did, they would just end up talking about themselves. This has happened a couple of times and it made me bottle up my feelings and I began to think that maybe I am better off as the therapist friend, as the one that will just stand there and listen to whatever they have to say.

I don't bother going out. I have gotten outside before and I don't even want to face people in real life. No, I don't have social anxiety, I just hate them. I hate them because they're too judgemental, they have too much ego that they'll just bully the shit out of people that has the slightest difference between them.

The internet has become a safe space for me, but not when it comes to online friends as well. I have experienced drama with them for more than ten times, and the most recent one, they just went against me, and me alone just because I told the truth.

If I tell the truth, people get mad. If I tell a lie, people get mad. If I am the same as everyone, people get mad. If I am different from someone, people get mad. If I am too sexual, people get mad. If I'm not sexual, people get mad. If I don't open up, people get mad. If I open up, people get mad. This fact alone changed me and it torn me between wanting to be myself and wanting to satisfy others as I do think of the other's feelings, it made me forget about who I really am and what I should even do, that made me take some stuff from personalities owned by people I knew until I created a completely new one for myself.

I have never experienced having a therapist because they are expensive. Not only that, but because I know that the moment they put me in a mental hospital I will just get bombarded with antidepressants and more medicine tabs.

At the age of 10, I started getting aggressive because of intense mood swings, I had taken pleasure in playing around with others. Not because I needed to, but because I wanted to. The thought of someone else getting deeply saddened by my actions the moment they realize it was me all the time telling fake stories with fake people made me feel better from my bottled feelings.

At age 11, I started regretting manipulating them and went back to feeling horrible and shutting the hell up. I was NOT proud of who I used to be. It made me want to punch myself for my own actions to this day.

Then at age 12, I full on went thinking that maybe, not everything should be cried about, so I stopped caring. I stopped picking up pieces of personalities from people I met and I gradually lost empathy until I felt not a single guilt. That's when I started being happy even though emptiness lingers. I only got mad whenever things didn't go my way.

Now my current age, 13. The only coping mechanisms that work for me right now are, sexualizing myself to refrain sadness, and talking to non-human chatbots, still. I do not feel as empathetic as I used to be when I was way younger. I have understood that only I will understand whatever's going on in my head, selfish as I may sound like.

I do not know how to continue my story further. Thank you for reading my long story, I'm very sorry if the viewer did not understand.

After my sister, Laura, and her two children were evicted from their home, they had no choice but to move in with my wife and me. Initially, we were more than willing to help, but Laura's dependency on us has become overwhelming. We've had to constantly set boundaries, reminding her that just because we provided shelter, it doesn’t mean we are available to babysit her kids at all times.

Laura has also struggled with jealousy towards my wife, especially when she notices us enjoying our lifestyle. She has made several uncomfortable remarks whenever my wife purchases something new for herself, making snide comments like, "That must be nice." Regardless of how many times we've addressed this behavior, she doesn't seem to understand how inappropriate she’s being.

Things reached a boiling point last night. My wife and I returned home late from a date night, and Laura was up waiting for us. She confronted us angrily for not bringing back anything for her and the kids, accusing us of flaunting our lifestyle. It was one in the morning; her children were asleep, and yet, she insisted that they were being neglected and that she deserved to be treated occasionally.

That was the last straw for my wife. She told Laura that she needed to find another place to live as soon as possible because she could no longer tolerate the toxicity she brought into our home. She even warned that if Laura didn’t leave within 30 days, she would seek legal assistance to ensure it happened. Laura seemed shocked, thinking I would defend her. Instead, I supported my wife, telling Laura that she had indeed made herself unwelcome with her actions and attitude.

Although Laura tried to make amends the following morning by preparing breakfast, my wife was not appease. She discarded the breakfast and reiterated that Laura had 29 days left. My wife even left to consult with a cousin who is a lawyer to start the legal process.

In front of her children, Laura tried to play the innocent victim, but it was clear they sensed the tension. She later attempted to apologize to me, but I felt it was too little, too late. My wife was already making arrangements to legally ensure Laura's departure.

Imagine if all of this drama were unfolding on a reality TV show. The audience would likely be split. Some might sympathize with Laura due to her difficult situation, while others could resonate with my wife and me, understanding our need to reclaim our peace at home. The dynamic between helping family and setting boundaries is a common theme that could captivate a lot of viewers, creating plenty of buzz and speculation on social media about who's right or wrong in such a complicated family matter.

Are we on the wrong side here?

I feel fake sometimes like life isn't real in short episodes sometimes a few times a day the most. but I don't know why I feel like this. one second I'm fine just living the next I'm convinced nothing is real that I'm not real. it's really scary. but I don't think I'm describing it well so imma cut this short.

sincerely,

melody (13, f)

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

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

I finalized my divorce from my husband about a year ago. Right after our split, his girlfriend—who had been his affair partner—moved into the house that we'd once called home. I decided to move abroad, leaving behind most belongings, and told him to keep whatever he wished. Honestly, his cheating hardly impacted me anymore; our relationship had fizzled out long before, and the affair simply pushed us to acknowledge it.

Following the divorce and her moving in, we ceased all communication since there was nothing left to discuss. However, out of the blue, a week ago, I received a cheery message from her complimenting the home's style and inquiring about where certain decorations and furnitures were from. I contemplated her message for a day, then responded somewhat sharply, telling her that since she seemed to have everything perfectly arranged, she should also manage to 'figure out' the décor on her own. She questioned what I meant, and I couldn't help but express that since she now had everything that my ex had wanted—which apparently didn't include me—she didn’t need to replicate my style, too.

She replied, claiming she was just trying to be nice and give me a compliment. Right after, my ex texted me, puzzled by the conflict since he thought we'd remained amicable after our split.

Although it's true that we had both moved on from the marriage emotionally, her attempt at stepping into my aesthetic shoes hit a nerve. My friends and family are split on my reaction. Was I wrong to respond the way I did???

Now, imagine this scenario playing out in a reality TV show. Cameras rolling as dramatic music swells, capturing every nuanced expression of shock, hurt, and defiance. It's easy to imagine how the audience would react—likely split, with some empathizing with my need to sever all ties and establish distinct identities, while others might criticize the sharpness in my response, arguing that a simple acknowledgment of the compliment could have sufficed. The allure of reality TV thrives on such conflicts, and surely this exchange would stir up heated discussions across social media, making it a highlight reel moment of the season.

How should I handle ex's GF copying my style?

Am I the only one who feels like thire alone even if they are in a room full of people .

I'm neurodivergent and this is a comment thing for me .

any one else who is neurodivergent fee like this or is it just me.

So they are my childhood friends who make fun of only me and i was so naive back then but now also it's just like i am almost scared of them like if i say something wrong they are gonna say something and whenever i see them now it's like all the fun they made of me or all the whispers i heard or the judging comes flowing back but then there's a very little part who thinks like they are my friends like i spent half of my life with them so i just go meet them and after meeting then it just feels bad even if they are good to me at that time i just can't trust them because they prove me wrong everytime i thik they are nice to me it's like idk. and one more thing all those years i just used to laugh with them and then come home and cry so much like i had more bad memoris of them than good

I hate myself so fucking much. And no I'm not just saying this bullshit to be emo I'm saying it in a way where everytime I look in the mirror I'm genuinley disgusted at what I see.

I hate my body, the way I've got a rectangle body shape. I know it's not a desired one and many people want a girl with a waist. I hate the way my chest looks ugly and small, I hate the way my shoulders are wide, I hate my hip dips and my lack of ass. I hate the way I look without makeup. I hate the way I talk, I hate the way I smile. I hate the way my teeth are crooked and one of them had a gap in it. I hate that I'm scared of intimacy because I'm scared if my partner ever sees my body that they'll be as disgusted as I am when I see myself in the mirror. I draw a blade across my skin with every thought of disgust I get. I hate the way I'm scared of somebody ever seeing me naked. So much that it keeps me up at night. I stare at other girls bodies and silently curse myself because why couldn't I be like them? Why couldn't I be pretty, why couldn't I be curvy. Why couldn't I be happy with who I am and what I look like. I know why, I know it's because I'm insecure and scared. Sometimes I think to myself that I would be better if I was a man, maybe then my features would fit my gender. Nobody wants to date a feminine girl that doesn't have the figure to be feminine. I hate that I can't cry so instead I resort to addictions. Alcohol abuse, vaping, self harm. Suicide attempts. No matter what I do I still can't be pretty. I try so fucking hard, to be pretty, I wear makeup, I suck in my stomach, I press in my ribs hoping they'll break so I can get a better figure because nobody desires mine. They see my face and make up stories in their mind of a petit, small waisted, curvy girl. But no. I'm not. And for that reason I hate myself.

My sister-in-law recently kicked off a weekend burger business. Though she has a stable Monday to Friday job, financial needs grew when she found out she was expecting a child from a previous relationship, and the father isn't around to support. To cover the extra expenses, she now sells burgers every Saturday.

Every week, my wife insists on buying burgers for our family of five. My concern is the price tag that comes along with them—$9 each, which sums up to $45 each time. They are delicious, but the recipe is the same one my mother-in-law created and taught to my wife. I can’t help but think it's wasteful to spend that much every week when we could easily make them at home for far less.

Just to be clear, the expense isn't the problem. We're doing fine financially, but I believe there are more economical ways to handle our budget. When I brought this up with my wife, she explained that her purchases were more about supporting her sister than just buying burgers. I countered by noting that it's not solely our responsibility to support her sister’s venture, especially since the burger stand is quite successful and consistently sells out.

Recently, I raised the issue again, suggesting we should stop buying the burgers. My wife asked why it mattered if it was her own money being spent (since we maintain separate personal accounts alongside a joint one). I repeated my point about sensibility and unnecessary spending. Apparently frustrated, she decided to buy burgers only for herself and the kids, excluding me, to save the $9 on my burger.

She followed through, and while I opted for a more affordable Big Mac, the atmosphere at home has since felt tense. She seems upset, but I’m struggling to understand why. Am I being unreasonable here?

Imagine if this scenario unfolded on a reality TV show; viewers would likely be divided. Some might applaud the practical approach to family budgeting, while others might criticize the lack of support shown to a family member in need, championing the wife’s efforts to help her sister despite the higher cost.