Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

It’s kind of stupid. I don’t even really know how to say it, or why I feel the need to throw it out here. But here I am.

Today’s my ex’s birthday.
We broke up over two years ago. We were together for four. And still, every damn year, May 16th hits me like a total bitch.

I try to carry on like it’s a normal day, but it’s not. It never is. I close my eyes and she’s *right there*. The memories come rushing back before I can stop them. Not really the good ones, even though there were a few, but mostly the bad. The heavy. The ones that never really let go.

It was the worst relationship of my life. I’m really not exaggerating it. I’m won’t get into the details—this isn’t the place, and honestly, I don’t want to go back there more than I already am. But it was toxic. Emotionally violent. Draining in ways I still don’t have words for.
And yet—part of me is *still* stuck there. Still trapped in a past I hate with every part of me.

I’ve tried to move forward. Tried to rebuild. And on the outside, it looks like I have. I’m stronger now. Sharper. She’s been gone from my life for ages; we don’t talk, we don’t see each other, we live in different worlds.
But today, I can’t fake it. I can’t pretend May 16th doesn’t mean something. That it doesn’t *still* mess me up.

I hate feeling this way. This ugly, twisted mix of pain, nostalgia, and quiet anger I don’t know where to put. It makes no sense. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want it. I don’t *deserve* it.
But it’s here. So I’m saying it. Because maybe it’ll helps.
Maybe dragging this invisible weight into the light makes it just a little easier to carry.

My wife Angela takes immense joy in crafting handmade experiences for our family. She hasn’t had the easiest of times growing up, so now it seems like she’s on a mission to provide our three children with a childhood filled with treasured memories. From baking every birthday cake from scratch and sewing holiday-themed pajamas to organizing themed movie nights each month, she does it all. Just last month for the movie night, themed around "Coraline," Angela went to the length of creating personalized dolls and preparing an elaborate spread of themed foods.

I appreciate her efforts and admire her dedication, but Angela expects my involvement in these projects, which is taxing. Considering we both manage full-time careers alongside our kids’ schedules filled with various activities, I feel she spreads herself too thin. We have the financial means to lessen this burden by purchasing these items, but she insists on creating them, asserting that these are the memories that will stick with our children.

Recently, however, our routine hit a snag. I had to travel for work for most of the month, so Angela was left to handle everything at home. As Halloween approached, it was clear she was behind on the kids' costumes and considerably stressed. She asked if I could pitch in and complete one of the costumes, even offering to guide me with the materials she had prepared. Honestly, I was exhausted and suggested just buying one instead.

Angela refused my suggestion and stayed up all night working on those costumes. The next morning, I praised the costumes' look but received only an eye roll. When I asked for a cup of coffee, her chilly reply was, "Go buy one." Her distant attitude lingered. A coworker later pointed out how I had failed to support Angela, emphasizing that while my children would remember their mother’s efforts, they’d also remember the burden I added.

Reflecting on that conversation, I feel troubled. Perhaps I am indeed in the wrong here. I usually do help, and I thought skipping once might not cause much trouble given our current exhaustion.

Imagine, if this was part of a reality TV show, the audience would likely be split. Some might empathize with my practicality, while others would likely root for Angela's heartfelt endeavors and criticize my lack of support during a crunch time.

Heyah👋🏻😄!!

I was in search of a pearl necklace for my cousin's Bar Mitzvah, so I could wear them. And I don't know anything about fancy-pants jewelry🫠. My cousins that I currently live with are fancy-pants people😅. So, they suggested something unusual🫥!! "Just don't look at the price tag"🏷️. Like WHAT😱!!! It's also difficult to find "real" pearls with a decent quality... And I found a necklace with a bracelet and earrings for $50, but my cousins suggested one that was $150🦪. I ended up getting the $150 necklace set, but I feel like I'm waiting their money, even though they offered to buy it for me🥹. They've done so much for me after my mom passed away, that I don't know how to pay them back😭!! Of course they keep saying that I don't have to pay them back... But I was raised to believe that there aren't any free hand outs😮‍💨. And I suppose my overall view of the world is based on logic and contractual beliefs. If there isn't a contract, or an equal way to pay someone back for kindness, then I just feel very uncertain🥺. I hope everything will be okay, but I'm grateful that I get to wear a nice necklace... Even if it's only for a bit, since I don't know when I'll get my next job, since I'm on a break🫠.

It feels very uncomfortable when you had weeks (Eid Mubarak holidays) just being drenched in your room and not doing anything besides doom-scrolling on whatever the fuck sake platform you are on, I just felt like that because I felt so many things are so pointless whether I tried so many stuff so many stuff to do so I have some purpose, I don't really feel that my own self is very anxious, but generally I think I do because how many times I felt not being able to speak, but you know what I just found out I can really reach out to speak to any people, It's just I can't manage that how people would like to perceive myself, When I tried to be myself i just think that I am so fragile to being social 'cause of the words I am arranging that may be apparently awkward, this happens to so many groups of people I am trying to fit in, it turns out to be not so good, and all of these, me being very awkward makes myself being so outrageous and indecisive because I can't be better, I almost wiped out half of my house interiors because of all of the suffering, but I've had the chance of being serene for myself because I had this one girl I can be friends with, now I felt like me and her are just a distant acquintances because for some reason she's attracted with the group of boys in my class, this particular group of boys is the one I've tried to reach out with and felt so fragile because I cannot adapt with their behaviours and banter, that's why I didn't try to get to her again, and then I've tried to DM her, asking if we can be friends again like so back, she replied that we'll be friends no matter what, all the agony from myself got supressed after I chatted to her about this, but turns out it's just a short-term of cooling down, in the next few days I sent her messages that is left on read, now it gaves so much clarity that any of these being fit to the society shit are pointless, I've worsened myself because I am in the current phase of being indecisive because I'm tired of my attempts, But you know I would like to know if it keeps even getting worse so that I can enliven this shit instead of giving me frenzy BS that keeps make me despairing every hope, If you read this maybe you would be speechless because I may be typing shit, but if you understood any of these I'll be in touch for your insights whether it's a critic with blasphemy or not.

[Translated from Spanish. Reminder: IIWIARS is English only]

Friends, I feel deeply outraged at my community. How is it possible that the spirit of speaking out is not embraced? How can a society exist where wrongdoing is approved, accepted, and even—supposedly—tolerated? I am furious.

In my own home, speaking out was not allowed. Once, I reported my mother, and my father retaliated while my mother punished me. What kind of mother does that? She does bad things and then doesn’t want to be held accountable—instead, she conditions everything so she won't be called out? So that she’s protected and coddled? What kind of mother is that?

Tell me—what kind of mother encourages wrongdoing? When I saw that kind of behavior at home, it was the moment I realized things were very, very wrong. At first, I stayed quiet because I was confused about what “normal” parenting looked like. I thought violence, especially within the family, was somehow acceptable or even expected. But all I was doing was walking right into a dead-end that usually ended in a beating—just for reacting in ways they didn’t like.

Yes, maybe I responded harshly or impulsively as a kid—and I’m not trying to justify it—but today I understand those reactions were, in fact, justified. My parents were authoritarian. How the hell wasn’t I going to push back when I was trapped in their home during their toxic marriage? It made no sense to demand peace when their very demand was a gateway to more abuse. Their expectations were completely unfair. Completely.

When I finally realized all this, it hit me hard. For over 15 years, I carried the guilt of believing I had been the problem. But the truth is, I was just seeing myself through a lens of indifference—a reality where I wasn’t treated like a person, but like a toy they could manipulate however they wanted. I didn't even notice that I was being dehumanized. That’s why I developed such an emotionally distant way of being, isolating myself from others without understanding why.

In the end, that kind of upbringing—where reporting abuse was forbidden, and empathy was absent—destroyed my social life. People started drifting away from me, to the point where they’d only reach out when they really needed something. That was the only way anyone socialized with me, and I went along with it—just because I craved any interaction at all. I remember pointing this out to a friend once. I honestly feel like crying: an entire life thrown away because of those two core wounds.

I used to ask myself why everything at home was like that, and my parents would just tie me up in excuses, shaped by deeply broken identities. I’m scared to even express this—I’ve been censored before, especially for saying things like this on that other platform. But the truth is, what they called “help” turned into a sad form of isolation. And it makes me think of a doctor I once saw—her behavior seemed odd, almost abrupt in how she reacted. I get the feeling I might have unknowingly hurt her somehow... though maybe that’s just in my head. I don’t know where this conflicting emotion comes from.

All of this got reinforced by the biases I inherited from my family environment. I was completely lost back then—disconnected from reality, and I didn’t even realize it. How could this have happened to me? It tainted my elementary years, high school, and university, leaving me with almost no friends by the end of it all. That hurts. Because it wasn’t my fault—it was my parents’.

No wonder I’m so angry about what I said about my community.

My partner and I are stepping into a new chapter together as we plan our wedding. Initially, we hadn't thought about including a wedding brunch in our schedule, but my soon-to-be mother-in-law, eager to contribute, passionately proposed hosting one. Personally, the idea of hosting a brunch wasn't on my radar, but given her enthusiasm—and her willingness to finance it—I agreed to go along with the plan.

Both my fiancé and I have been committed vegetarians for years, avoiding meat and eggs for ethical reasons, but we are okay with dairy products. Our wedding menu reflects our dietary preferences, featuring indulgent vegetarian dishes absent of eggs like exquisite pasta dishes, bruschetta, salads with mozzarella and ripe tomatoes, as well as delightful desserts like poached pears and grilled peaches. Despite the thoughtful variety, we've heard a few complaints from our families about the lack of meat and eggs.

Unexpectedly, my future mother-in-law began orchestrating the brunch menu without our input and came up with an idea to have an omelette station complemented by sausages and assorted vegetables. We suggested tweaking the menu to something less meat-centric, maybe a selection of fresh bagels, a variety of fruits, and some yogurt options, arguing that more protein-focused options weren't necessary. However, she insisted, saying the guests might react negatively if the menu lacked substantial protein options.

I understand that not all our guests are vegetarians, but it's only for two meals of a major celebration that is deeply personal to us. I truly believe it’s not too much to ask for our wishes to be respected during our special event, particularly by someone who is also gifting us something for this occasion. If she remains inflexible on changing the menu, would I be wrong to either cancel the brunch or firmly request her to halt her plans?

If this scenario were part of a reality TV show, imagine how the audience might react. Cameras capturing every tense discussion and the dramatic climax of either modifying the brunch plans or possibly canceling it altogether could potentially become a focal point of an episode. Viewers might split into camps—some sympathizing with our dedication to vegetarianism, others siding with the mother-in-law trying to please the broader family. The dynamic could bring an unpredictable swirl of support and criticism, heightening the drama all the more.

Would it be unreasonable to request a vegetarian wedding brunch menu?

i have a friend, well, i guess you could say he used to be a friend, but he's been tangled up in this whirlwind of drug and alcohol issues for years now, and it’s just so hard to watch. he’s 36, but honestly, it feels like he’s aging in dog years, you know? every time we meet, i see this shell of the guy who used to joke around and have these wild ideas about starting a band or traveling the world, but now he just shows up looking disheveled, like life is just pulling him down deeper and deeper. i remember last summer when we had coffee, he told me, “man, i’m trying to get clean,” but here we are, almost a year later, and he’s still in the same spot, bouncing between rehab facilities and temporary solutions that don’t really address the underlying problems. My neighbors probably think i’m his babysitter! there’s been several times i’ve tried to stage an intervention, but he just brushes it off, saying stuff like, “i’ve got this!” or “don’t worry, i’ll be fine!” but the look in his eyes screams otherwise. it’s like watching someone play with fire and pretending they’re not going to get burned. i know people say, “you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help themselves,” but then what am i supposed to do? just stand back and watch? it feels so helpless when you see someone you care about slip away and you know the darkness is stronger than their willpower. sometimes, i wonder if i’m enabling him without even realizing it.

do you guys think that could be the case? i mean, when i look back, i’ve offered a place to crash, bought groceries when he was broke, even covered his bills here and there. should i just cut him off completely? it’s a tough call! one minute, i think, “okay, i’m really helping him,” and the next, i’m going, “no, this is not healthy!” i read somewhere that addiction is a disease, and while it’s hard to not take it personally, especially when he makes promises he can’t keep and then spirals back down, and i’m stuck over here being the ‘responsible one’ with my own life going just fine, then without my permission he drags me into his chaotic mess. i often find myself feeling resentful for the energy i’ve poured into this friendship, and then i feel guilty because i know he’s struggling. it’s like being caught in a paradox: wanting to help but also needing to protect my peace of mind! has anyone else dealt with this kind of friendship? it’s exhausting! some days i wish i could just mute the chaos, you know? then again, seeing him on good days gives me this flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll find a way out of this spiral. but those days are few and far between, often overshadowed by despair and anger.

every time i see him pick up a drink or light a joint, i just want to scream! like, can’t he see where this leads? it’s frustrating to see someone throw away their potential for a high that never lasts! i don’t want to be the one who walks away when things get tough, but how long can you support someone who continues to hit ‘restart’ on their life? does loyalty have a statute of limitations? one of my buddies said, “love them from a distance,” which kind of stuck with me because it feels like the right balance – keep your distance but don’t stop caring. but it’s so difficult! that wavering line between support and detachment is a tricky one to walk. every time i hear his phone ring, my stomach drops, wondering if it’s news of an overdose or something equally heartbreaking. and who am i to judge? it feels so unethical to condemn someone for their struggles, yet living in this state of constant worry is exhausting. do you think i’m overreacting? because honestly, at this point, it’s starting to feel like his addiction is my addiction. anyway, he was supposed to come over last weekend, but he canceled last minute, as usual, claiming he was “too busy.” but deep down, i know it’s just another excuse. how much longer can i sit on the sidelines before he pulls me under, too? maybe i'm just thinking too much about it? but, am i really?

I've been told how to live a life. I've been told the steps on how to have a happy life. I've heard stories of success. After following directions for so many years, I just can't bare it anymore. The things that I've once found joy are now just things to pass time. I can't even complain about my situation to close friends as there's nothing wrong with my life. The only thing that's wrong is me.

I have a family that takes care of me, but that just hurts me more. While I'm in their eyes, I won't let myself die for them. I've told lies to keep them happy and what they want to hear so they don't have to worry. Recently they told me that they were worried for my future as I didn't do anything for awhile. They aren't wrong, I didn't do anything but I just can't bring myself to do anything. I know the things that I'm supposed to do. The expectations that I'm supposed to meet. The person that I should be. I know that they are trying to look out for me but sometimes I wish they would just forget about me. I never have an answer for them when they ask about what I want to do. I usually tell a lie and count the time.

I just want something to bring everything to an end. Something to remove my existence. Something to free me from my own hell. I can see my self-sabotage but that's all I have. To continue doing the same thing that I've done for the entirety of my life. The pain isn't something healthy but it's something. Some days I wish I was numb and to do everything like a machine. How easy things would be to not feel anything.

What would be the thoughts if this was seen on a TV show? Probably mild resentment... "How could you be sad if everything was handed to you?" or "How can you be sad if you got everything that you wanted?"

I feel right now that nothing about outside people holds any meaning for me, only my actions have meaning. I feel that what my father does no longer matters, nor the doctors who treated me, nor anything like that. I only seek to act meaningfully in accordance with my actions, not what others give them. I don't even care if they're in sync or not, beyond the agreements we make.

I feel like right now I don't care about anything or anyone, given that everyone's life is everyone's own life, and I can't do more than that. I'm not even interested in getting to know them in depth, at least those around me, since that's an activity they haven't delved into. I feel like I'm with people who have a vague interest in exploring themselves. Recently, my father was strangely reminiscing about one of my books, one of the things I like to read, saying he was going to give me this or that, spontaneously. I've always had the feeling that he was trying to keep me from reading those things.

For some time now, and I think this is why I'm like this, I feel like my father has wanted to attack my psychoanalytic readings. He's like my mother. This family doesn't want anything to be revealed under any circumstances. To the point that they resort to desperate measures. I hope that if I tell this to the psychiatrist, she'll at least let me finish the conversation instead of focusing on what is this and what is that, in depth; I can now understand a girl I knew who just wanted their conversations to flow; people interrupted her a lot. My family isn't interested in being discovered, neither on my father's side nor on my mother's side, under any circumstances. They want everything buried, and that seems irresponsible to me. To go so far as to attack Sigmund Freud? To attack Lacan as well? I think it's already reaching unhealthy extremes.

In fact, I feel that my father, being a doctor, is no longer seeing the limits of reality. Yesterday, she thanked me for reading her messages. She's reaching extreme levels of discernment, something I don't like; in fact, it horrifies me. My family is focused on re-educating me at all costs, on burden after burden after burden. They've become a group of people who are out of their depth. They simply think about our union without any measure. I see them as distrustful people; in fact, I've gone so far as to describe them as not acting normally. Their desire to be in control is excessive, as if something were about to break them permanently. And I understand because it was clear, and even I saw it that way, that I was going to stay with them permanently, serving them, and that didn't turn out to be the case.

I've been observing for some time now that I'm breaking their patterns of reality. That is, they no longer see me as how they used to see me, and they don't see that, and that's why they're always giving in, giving in, without realizing it, exhausted and without any reasoning. They're not well. It seems my behavior has gotten out of their hands, especially my father's. Since my change, the family isn't functioning as normally as usual, to the point where even family members are betraying each other. It's as if they can't process the weaknesses within their structure that I've been able to see. I insist, they haven't been well in their heads for a long time. In fact, they're not reasoning to the point where they judge how I speak, with the tone being what bothers them. In short, I've shattered the family structure, and they've made their lives hell, as if they no longer had a basis for life, simply giving rise to these behaviors.

All of them, I'm observing, now feel like they're without a family because there's no solid structure. It's always been this way, but now they're showing it. In fact, the simple fact that I've changed, from being the easiest to seduce to now the impossible, has completely changed their lifestyles. None of their manipulative strategies are working. It's as if they now feel the world has the opportunity to eat away at them, and they're taking advantage of it. They feel beyond their power and facing the worst of things: others supporting me because, of course, the outside now has power over them thanks to me, just as it always wanted, given that they always trampled on their surroundings.

I feel like everything has turned upside down for my family. They never thought I would rebel and succeed. I fell many times, and from those times they swore I wouldn't succeed, but they didn't count the constant attempts, and also that I wasn't looking for something immediate but gradual and this time effective, something not present in the other cases. None of their conditioning, nor can I believe it, has any effect on me now. They feel, I experience, that they have lost a family member even though they have them right in front of them, and they can't tolerate the feeling, and that their presence contradicts my own; that combination is too harsh for them, somewhat for which I wasn't prepared, and which is the cause of their instability.

Furthermore, the following happens: How could I emerge triumphant from the treatment as usual if there was no support whatsoever from others in terms of the groundwork for maintenance, for stability? In theory, for them, everything should have been in favor, finally, of producing the extreme fatigue necessary for suggestion, but it's not possible. This is something that simply doesn't add up for them; it's as if they also feel that something in them was born different from them, that they developed differently, as if they weren't a member of the family, having been the fruit of a procreation in which their blood participated. Everything is out of whack for them, which is gratifying because it implies that their tools of family inclusion, which worked for me, no longer work for others, and consequently their dominance, even if sporadic, is weak and of no inspiration to the members trapped there. The family is therefore dismantled on my part, and it's the way for others to dismantle it. It's as if their own actions of uniting the family actually lead to the opposite, to the same thing they said, even as a child, would happen with the acts of suggestion they performed, swearing that things were different on the outside, but that turned out not to be the case.

I have a lot to do and not enough time to do it I get paid once a month by UC and I might possibly be pregnant but with my income I have no idea if I can raise a child

My son’s father and I began dating in 2019. We were happy, no fights. I got pregnant and had our son in September of 2022. I broke up with him shortly after the birth because I didn’t want to raise two kids if I only gave birth to one. He’s a decent father, I can’t say that he doesn’t love our son and that he won’t do anything for him. My issue with him is his parenting style. He doesn’t really know what to do, and I can’t fault him for that because we’re both figuring things out as we go.

Our son lives with me full time. He has never had an overnight sleepover at his dad’s . I arrange all childcare while we work. I buy all of his clothes, food, diapers, arrange all play dates, doctors appointments, etc. I have the insurance, i paid for any and all cribs, pack n plays, car seats, etc. This isn’t to say that his dad isn’t supportive and won’t provide financially. I’m certain that if I asked, he would give (I just don’t ask). The problem is, he doesn’t think about any of this stuff. So why should I let him sleep over.

**Backstory** He lived with his parents when we were dating and just lived out last November. He never told me he moved. I found out because he posted something on social media and my brother privately texted me asking when he moved and I knew NOTHING about it. And I know there’s a new girlfriend in the mix that he’s probably living with because he accidentally called me her name when we were on a family ice cream date together. I’m not stupid, I can put two and two together.

Am I wrong for not allowing my two year old to not sleep over at his dad’s house when I don’t even know where he lives or who he’s living with?? (He did give me the address finally but I haven’t been over to check the place out).

There is a cosplay event I wanna go to, and I'm excited because I've never cosplayed. But mydad may be in Qatar soon, so when mom says "I don't know", I'm the smart one for saying "It can't happen". She says he could come back earlier, but for the moment, I give up. Actually, for the next 3 months, I'll quit before I try. It's best anyways. Mom can't drive to Abu Dhabi on her own, she's too scared. It's pointless, anyways. I've failed far too many times, in a few years only, I'll reach 0. there may be creeps or someone who could do bad stuff to me, and Abu Dhabi is 1 hr away from my house, she's scared of driving that far, and who knows, maybe Joseph's hair is too tough even with hairspray and styling, and even then, I don't think I can go anyways because a disaster may happen. It's okay. I've failed exams, I've failed 2 art competitions already, I lack friends even though it's been many years to even have one, I look bad anyways, I'm stupid, so the best thing is to just wake up, brush my teeth, watch YouTube, and call it a day. I'll not even watch JoJo with mom, it's a dumb anime anyways.

I'll do what other kids do on weekends, wake up, brush teeth, watch videos for hours, eat food, watch some more videos, sleep, walk around in the house, watch some more, eat snacks, watch more. I did it for 2 months of summer break, and even though I hated it, I'm used to it. There's no use wishing for a unicorn, especially when a horse feels impossible too. Johnny Joestar became below 0, he was in the negative, he hated it, but he's used to it. It's impossible to even have a cow, that's how stupid this shit is. It's okay, I'm a failure anyways. I thought life would be more humble because I wasn't very successful, just decent, so it's fine. Failure becomes painless, and painlessness increases when you don't hope and you don't even try. My Johnny doll will probably suck in the future when I finish him, so I won't finish. Johnny at least had Gyro. I've never had anyone my age for 7 years, so why bother trying to dress up, trying to succeed in exams this time, finish Johnny, or even try anything new? It's pointless, anyways. Life becomes so unpredictable, doing nothing feels like a nice change. I don't even have 1 Gyro, 1 friend who tries to care.

If I'm worth nothing, I'm in peace. The acceptance of nothing is peace

I mean, one book said people are allowed to think low of you, so I can do it as well. I have no idea why mom cares so much. Her daughter failed her exams, can't go to IGCSE for that reason, failed 2 art competitions, looks hideous, has no friends, has no outstanding achievements not even one, I spend her money on figures and books, with dumb comics or dumb art instead of successful business books for the future, so why does she still care? Now living is the only dumb thing I'm good at. DIO was right about "Heaven", if I knew my fate, I'd have accepted my fate to the negative numbers more easily.

I haven't changed. I'm convinced I'll never change. That's fine. Change is meant to be scary anyways. Stagnancy is sometimes the best outcome.

I’m done and convinced nothing will change. I'll still fail miserable until I decide my life is pointless, therefore I'll die somehow.

Why do you still care? I’m worth as much as fucking dog-shit, anyways.

Dad will leave, “I don’t know” will become “we can’t go”, and I’ll never succeed in anything. Mom should accept the fact she has a daughter who’s gonna be a failure in the future. They say failure helps you learn, instead, I feel as if I'm going from 0 to -1. I feel more useless than ever. Why try again if all I get is just bad outcomes. It hurts, it hurts too much and it's a pain I'd rather die than live with it. How does my family even live with this...leech? The fact that all their kid does now is fail, fail, fail. They should give me away. They should honestly, HONESTLY, tell me I'm a disappointment to them, and wish I died. Life would be better if I did. Failure has hurt me too much, and the only way to stop this pain forever is to sit down, scroll, eat, sleep, and so on until I'm 30, which is my death date. What's the point of trying to help a useless person, what's the point of being nice to yourself when you know you could've done better in LIVING? Fucking cunts.

I have a gf, and we've been dating for a couple months. I'm kinda uncomfortable with the lovey dovey things but sometimes I'm cool w it. Today I visited her place and told her that I wasn't ready for a relationship and that I may be aroace, this wasn't the first time this happened tho (Our relationship has been an off and on switch mostly because of me, I keep telling her that I'm not really ready for a relationship or that I'm not attracted to her but I still get into a relationship w her just bc of a "feeling").

I don't know why she still wants to be in a relationship with me, it's so obvious that we won't work out. I'm such a jerk really. I hate seeing the look on her face when I tell her that were not gonna work out. I hate it, so so much.

Ignore my grammar mistakes :')

I recently celebrated my high school graduation, which should have been an incredible milestone. My mother, keen on commemorating the occasion, organized a party in June. However, my mom's side of the family, particularly her relationship with her sister, is quite strained. This tension has repeatedly placed me in the awkward position of being my mom's main source of emotional support during family gatherings.

At my party, instead of enjoying the event with friends and relishing the moment, I found myself embroiled in family drama. My mom constantly pulled me aside to comment on my aunt's demeanor, alleging she seemed "jealous" or "disinterested." This not only dampened the festive spirit for me but also kept me from fully engaging with friends and other guests. The joy of my graduation was overshadowed by an air of unease that my mom projected as she fretted over possible confrontations or remarks from her sister.

Looking ahead, another family function is on the horizon, and my mom has already set the expectation for me to be her emotional pillar once more. She reminded me, "You know how these things go, I need you there." This time, however, I decided to stand my ground. I expressed my unwillingness to partake in the ongoing drama between her and her sister, emphasizing my desire to enjoy such events without being caught in their longstanding feud. This did not sit well with her, and she accused me of being selfish and ungrateful, especially after the graduation party she hosted—which, ironically, she spoiled with her behavior.

Now, we're not really speaking, and to complicate matters, my aunt texted to advise me to be more lenient with my mom due to her emotional struggles. While I understand the complexities of their relationship and my mom's feelings, I am frustrated and exhausted from being placed consistently in the middle of their issues.

If my life were part of a reality show, viewers might be divided. Some might sympathize with my plight of being thrust into adult conflicts, while others might argue that familial loyalty should prevail, compelling me to support my mom despite the personal toll it could take. It's curious to consider where public opinion would lean and whether the heightened visibility would amplify the family drama or encourage quicker resolutions.

Am I wrong for refusing to serve as my mom's support in these family dynamics, despite her feeling abandoned by me, or is it reasonable to protect my own emotional well-being during such gatherings?

not my typical post this is a horror but no option for horror

this is chapwr one lmk what u guys think

Chapter One — The Hollow Tree

I ran but she caught me when the moon slipped behind the clouds and the world went silent.

Her grip closed around my ankle with a strength that belonged to graves and forgotten things. I fell hard, the breath knocked from my lungs, my palms sinking into the cold mulch of the forest floor. Dead leaves clung to my skin like the hands of the unburied, and for one hopeless moment I imagined that I, too, was sinking—downward—into the dark earth they all returned to.

A low hum trembled through the soil. A voice without words. A summons.

I twisted to look behind me.

I should not have.

She emerged from the dark like a memory that should have died centuries ago—long limbs bending in wrong directions, bones clicking against each other like rosary beads in restless hands. Her hair, long and dripping, veiled most of her face, though the smallest sliver of a grin stretched beneath it, white as moonlit marble and sharp as split stone.

The forest held its breath.

Even the wind dared not speak.

“Please,” I whispered, though my voice felt like it belonged to someone already fading.

Her head tilted. Not with mercy—no creature of mercy would be found in this place—but with recognition. As though she had been waiting, patient and starving, for the moment I would return.

The stories had warned me. My grandmother’s voice echoed, faint and trembling, from the deepest corners of childhood: Do not run from the Hollow Woman. She will come faster. Do not speak to her. She will hear you for a century. Do not look back. She is always closer than you think.

Yet I had done all three.

Her fingers tightened, cold as river stones, and she dragged me across the earth toward the hollow tree ahead—a towering corpse of a once-mighty oak, its trunk split open by some ancient and merciless storm. The gap gaped like a mouth, the inside impossibly dark, impossibly deep, as though it tunneled straight into the underworld.

The closer we drew, the more the forest changed. The trees bowed inward, crooked like mourners at a funeral. A smell seeped from the hollow—wet soil, rotting bark, and beneath it something sweet, like overripe fruit left too long in the sun.

“No,” I gasped, clawing at the ground. My nails scraped through moss and root, catching on stones slick with dew. My body obeyed terror’s instinct, but my mind was trapped in the slow, creeping dread that had haunted me since I first heard her voice two nights ago.

It had come with the storm.

I had been lying in my grandmother’s abandoned house—our ancestral ruin—when the lightning split the sky and the walls groaned like a living thing. A whisper curled through the cracks in the floorboards, thin as winter breath: Come back to me.

I thought it was grief. Or loneliness. Or the house settling around its last inhabitant.

But then the whisper came again.

And again.

And last night, when the moon was whole and bright, I saw her standing beneath the oak tree at the edge of the forest, her shadow stretching longer than her body should allow.

She had been waiting.

“Not yet,” I murmured, desperate, choking on soil as I fought against her grasp. “Please—not yet.”

For the first time, she paused.

Her grip, though unyielding, stilled. Slowly, achingly slowly, her face lifted, and beneath the curtain of her tangled hair I saw the hollow where her eyes should have been—deep, shadowed pits that seemed to draw in the light around them.

When she spoke, it was not with a voice but with a sound like roots cracking beneath frozen ground.

“You left me.”

My heart stuttered. A coldness spread through my chest, not the fear she inflicted but something older, deeper, something that knew her.

Because I had left her.

I didn’t understand why or how—but the moment she spoke, the truth whispered beneath my memory like something long buried scratching at the coffin lid.

“I don’t remember,” I whispered, and my own words tasted wrong, as if they were stolen from someone else’s mouth.

She dragged me another inch toward the hollow tree.

The moon finally slipped from behind the clouds then, its pale, shivering light spilling across us. For a moment—just a moment—she stopped moving. Her body stiffened. Her smile dropped into a grim line carved of stone.

The moonlight touched her skin, and she recoiled as though burned.

I felt her grip loosen.

Only a little.

Only enough.

With a cry torn raw from my throat, I twisted sharply, kicking with all the panic of a creature half-dead and unwilling to finish the job. My heel struck something soft—her face, perhaps—and her grip faltered.

I scrambled backward, breath ragged, legs shaking so violently they barely obeyed me. She hissed, a sound like a dying wind through hollow places.

But she did not lunge.

She watched.

The moonlight kept her rooted.

I staggered to my feet. Pain lanced up my knee. Blood soaked into my sock. Yet I ran—not with hope, but with the terror of someone who knows the night is far from over.

Behind me, her voice seeped through the trees like mist:

“When the moon dies, you are mine again.”

And above the forest canopy, the clouds thickened—slowly smothering the light that protected me.