Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

Recently, my husband, our three young ones, and I needed a break, so we decided on a beach vacation. To make it more enjoyable, we invited his sister Laura, her husband, and their two children, as there was an extra bedroom detached from our main rental. I had previously mentioned to Laura that I wanted a low-key vacation, especially since I am still recovering from childbirth and now juggling three kids.

Upon one of our beach days, I was surprised to see my in-laws, along with my stepson Alex and his girlfriend, arrive unannounced. They had driven three hours to 'surprise' us and had coordinated with Laura to find our location. While the gesture was sweet, things quickly became overwhelming. They had no arrangement for their lodging or meals and naturally expected to stay with us in our small, open-plan beach house, which barely accommodated doors, much less extra people.

Assuming they had no plans, we scrambled to prepare a meal using the extra food I had packed just in case. Faced with a lack of space, I had even settled the baby into one of the two small pack-and-plays in our only restroom. When I returned to check on him later, I caught Alex and his girlfriend using the glass-enclosed shower right next to where my baby was sleeping which was unsettling and inappropriate.

I quickly discussed the situation with Laura, emphasizing that we couldn't host everyone due to the constraints and lack of privacy. Despite my husband initially disagreeing, understanding the impracticality, Laura began looking for nearby hotels. Meanwhile, Alex's girlfriend had settled on using our only couch, which was my last refuge for a moment of peace with a glass of wine after a long day.

Eventually finding a hotel, the group didn't leave until midnight, further disrupting the night with loud poker games on our patio which led to an unpleasant exchange between my husband and his father. This incident has sparked ongoing arguments between my husband and me about family and boundaries during vacations. We even ended up footing half the bill for their hotel room, while Laura covered the rest.

Reflecting on this, if this entire scene were part of a reality show, I can only imagine the audience's reaction to the unfolding chaos and lack of consideration. The dramatic entrance, the tension over house space, and the late-night confrontations would certainly make for compelling television, but no doubt many viewers would sympathize with the struggle of maintaining order and boundaries in such a packed setting.

If this was on a reality show, would the audience rally behind us for enforcing boundaries, or would they support the surprise and spontaneity brought by the in-laws?

(TW for SH)

I abselutely despise school, because it's just a bunch of work being suddenly loaded onto your back which is really stressful. As much as I hate it, though, I'm only now realizing how much I relied on it as a distraction. Back in September I caved in under pessure and started self-harming. It's been a really long journey, but after being clean for some time, it just ended all of a sudden tonight. I don't know how; I had an amazing day hanging out with my friends and all of a sudden I get home and this happens?!

I wish I could go back to school, and I wish that summer break hadn't started so soon. I hate being left alone with my thoughts for this long because this is what happens.

I'm currently running on two hours of sleep, and not per night. Literally I have gotten two hours of sleep in the past like four days.

I don't know why. I'm really freaking tired. But no matter what, I just can't sleep.

I can hardly keep my eyes open in class, but I can't go to sleep either; believe me, I've tried.

I just don't know what to do because I'm afraid that if i tell my parents or my doctor, they'll dismiss it as the sleep problems I've had since forever and yes it's probably those sleep problems and if it is they've gotten a LOT worse.

I’m feeling worn out by this relationship. Lately, it feels like I’m losing patience and the motivation to keep going each day.

Last year, during the Thanksgiving season, my mom announced that the holiday would also serve as a reunion for her extensive family. She's one of many siblings, and the guest count hit 53 confirmed attendees.

The gathering was set at my mom's place. Luckily, her brother lives right next door, giving us the advantage of using two kitchens. She tasked me with devising the menu, a challenge I accepted but soon realized the complexity of. Considering the dietary restrictions alone was daunting. Our family is Jewish with varying degrees of kosher observance, half are vegetarian or vegan, some have allergies, three suffer from Celiac's disease, and a handful adhere to a keto diet. Plus, there's always a mix of picky children and adventurous adults.

After substantial planning, I shared the proposed menu in our family group chat, and the reaction was generally positive, except for a few minor adjustments like the need for a keto-friendly cheesecake and dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets for the finicky younger ones. However, my brother-in-law did not share the enthusiasm. He was notably upset over the absence of turkey from the menu. My suggestion was either to bring a turkey himself or settle for the alternatives provided. He wasn't pleased about the prospect of cooking after a long drive.

This led to a series of complaints via text from him, supported by further encouragement from my sister pushing me to take matters into my own hands and prepare the turkey. In response to continuous pestering, I made a cheeky post in the group chat declaring that he had volunteered to cook the turkey. This only fueled the fire, drawing my mother into the fray, chiding me for not handling the situation more gracefully.

Reflecting on these events, I believe he failed to appreciate the effort it took to plan such a complex menu. Admittedly, my response could have been more tactful. Now, imagine if this scenario unfolded on a reality TV show. The drama would undoubtedly be amplified for entertainment, featuring tense music and close-ups of our frustrated texts. Would the audience see my actions as justified or deem them an overreaction? It’s an intriguing thought as the line between personal grievance and public spectacle blurs in the realm of reality television.

How would viewers react if this were a reality show segment?

I hate it when people tell me what a great person I am. I truly do because it's not true. I'm not a bad person per say but I'm not the great person they think I am.

My who always tells me how lucky she is and how I'm the best husband she could ask for. If only she knew that I had slight resentment towards her for using sex as a tool to keep me in the relationship until she felt we were close enough and in love enough that sex was no longer a want I would have. If only she knew that I have strong romantic feelings for one of my best friends, even while being fully dedicated to her as a husband.

My close friend who tells me how lucky she is to have me as a friend, even giving me a card for my birthday saying how I have given her back a feeling of hope in the world. If only she knew that I have strong romantic feelings for her, even though I'm in a dedicated marriage. If only she knew how often I think about her even though I shouldn't.

My other friends who tell me that I have such a kind and loving spirit. if only they knew how much I hated most people, to the point that I wish harm on them. if only they knew how I still haven't forgiven them for turning their backs on me so many years ago. If only they knew that sometimes I still think about it and wish I could hurt them back.

My best bud who tells me he couldn't imagine not having me in his life. If only he knew when allowed his ex (and mutal friend) to rent a room from me that I knew it would hurt him but didn't care because I still held a grudge against him for disappearing on me after high school. If only he knew that I have given up hope on helping him find love and peace because I don't think he'll ever let himself be happy.

My mom who tells me I was the best decision she ever made. If only she knew that don't trust her in any way. if only she knew that I don't have many kind words to say about her to others. If only she knew that was always happiest when she wasn't around.

If only they all knew. Then maybe they would get upset with me when I give a honest response to their compliments. I always reply, "No I'm not a great husband."

"No, you can do better then me."

"No, I'm not as good as you think."

"I give you new hope for the world? That's really sad."

"Your honesty just settling for less and can do better "

My responses are honest, sincere and mean them whole heartedly but they just think it's my lack of self confidence. Maybe it is but it's also just me knowing who I am.

If only then knew every time they tell me how great I am that I actually wanna cry then find a deep hole somewhere and die so I don't have to worry about hurting them.

lately, I find myself crying way more than I should. it's not like there's a specific trigger all the time, but sometimes it just creeps up on me, you know? I'm 27, and it feels like everything is just off track. There's this expectation by now to have it somewhat figured out. Maybe not the entire map, but at least a decent compass. But here I am, lacking a stable relationship, which feels more pressing because I have this deep-seated desire to have kids. It's like a yearning that's there, no matter how hard I try to suppress it. The biological clock is a very real thing, or at least it feels like one. Is that a silly thing to worry about?

my family doesn't seem to get it. They've always had this traditional view of what "success" looks like, and somehow, I've never quite fit the mold. An engineer would have made them proud, but here I am, a woman with creative aspirations that seem to always land me in unstable jobs. Every time I start a job, my anxiety peaks, worrying about whether this one's a keeper or just another gig I'd be dropping soon. Sometimes, I feel like I'm letting them down, which adds another layer to this emotional rollercoaster I'm on. Do you ever feel trapped in other people's expectations?

it's terrifying watching the advancement of AI technologies. There's so much talk about AI reshaping industries, automating jobs, and streamlining processes. While it all sounds incredible, it leaves people like me worried about our place in the workforce. I've read articles about how AI might replace a lot of professional roles, and while this innovation sounds great theoretically, in reality, it feels like a looming shadow. I want a fulfilling office job, one where I feel challenged and valued, but what if AI makes me irrelevant? Is it just fear-mongering, or is this something others are worried about too?

i've also tried talking to friends about it, some empathize, and others give me the same old spiel – that I'm overthinking. There's this quote I've come across multiple times that says something about how crying is an emotional release from the soul. I wish understanding that made it easier to handle. But, honestly, sometimes these tears is more about frustration and uncertainty than any soulful release. Like even though I'm not physically in danger, my emotions are on high alert most times, and letting them out just becomes a way to cope. Is it normal to feel this way in your late twenties?

with everything being as it is, I sometimes wonder if crying is me just having my own coping mechanism, whether it's due to my unsettled expectations or anxiety about the future. It's just that crying doesn't always leave one feeling better; oftentimes, it just makes the sadness more profound once the tears have stopped. Sharing this feels like standing on a virtual street with a cardboard sign screaming for someone to understand. yet, there’s a comfort in anonymity and the hope that maybe someone will nod along, having felt the same weight at some point. Have you ever cried for reasons which seemed unexplainable once you tried to express them? 🤔

im 14 years old, and a queer with mental health issues and my mom doesn't understand that. im so done with her she keeps telling/calling me these annoying things, like she keeps telling me im boring, have no sense of humor, dramatic, no fun , etc and when I snap and say im not like that or that I have a different personality depending on who im with, suddenly im being a bitch. It’s so annoying cuz she calls me all these things and expects me to be ok with it and it’s so goddamn rude. At this point idk what I actually am like cuz she’s constantly telling me what im a terrible and boring wimp. She acts like she knows everything about me, then when I say she doesn’t know me at all (cuz she hardly does) she gets mad I just wanna tell her im gay but she always makes fun of the first time I came out and it just ugh. It’s so annoying and today I was talking about pjo and she laughed cut me off and was like “omg it’s always Percy jackson with you! Its like your only personality trait” like ik I talk about Percy jackson hoe its my fav/main fandom no shit I talk about it a lot. Then she gets upset when I set boundaries like im sorry I dont enjoy being told im a weird dumb nerd who cant do anything right, ik I am a nerd and I am weird but I dont wanna hear about that 24 fucking 7. I also hate it when she interrupts me and constantly tell her I hate it when she does that, but she never listens or learns, I get it she had a bad childhood and was treated badly by her mom but just cuz I vaguely act like her doesn't mean you can lass out at me you TEENAGE KID. I get it I make mistakes a lot and have a hard time with stuff and shit but goddamn I dont need a life fuckimg lecture about your fucking childhood and how im so lucky cuz I dont get beat, like ho im your kid and saying "your lucky cuz I dont hit you" is fucking crazy

Hey, I just want to talk about it because it really makes me upset at myself. Usually, there is one character who is quiet, depressive, and suicidal by default (I'm not judging- because that's me) I started feeling this way since kindergarten because wow, my family is- words cannot describe. Here's a list of the bad things I've experienced in my life: Abusive father? Yes. Rejected by my parents? Yes. Never appreciated? Yes. Humiliated in front of many people? Yes, s3xual abus3? Yes—both verbal and non-verbal, ik it's terrible but I'm chill w it rn... the first child who HAD to keep giving in? Yes, divorce parents drama? Yes, inheritance war between siblings? Oh yasss, and worst of all, I was born a girl in a patriarchal family (this is the worst). And what can a little kid do in a situation like that? Yep, become an adult with kids body. But ik all those problems faded away over time, I had a high school romance story like something out of a manga (had to mention it hehe) so even though my family felt like crushed me every second. I still had best friends (they're angels for me), and I felt like there was at least a drop of something that made me want to live. Now, I have a pretty good life, even though the trauma is still there. I can socialize, I have many friends, I can laugh more freely (kinda want to brag). But there’s one thing—my suicid4l thoughts won’t go away, they’re still there. Even if my day is filled with smiles, the voice telling me to di3 is still there. Maybe as a human being, I just want to live in the end. But my desire to di3 is still there. Tbh, I want to live. The thought irritated me so much, maybe you guys have some advice?

My therapist told me that it's pretty possible that I have some traits of autism, and I don't know a lot about it.

Yes, I know, "google it". But I wanna know if someone have some resources as books, movies, docs, or something about it.

Thanks.

hi! I'm Cara.

So for background, I have diagnosed minor depression and major anxiety, I have grades A's and B's, I have a 'good' relationship with my parents, but talking to them feels like a chore, I don't like any of the hobbies i used to adore, I barely have the motivation to do my makeup and i used to be such a girlie on that stuff. i'm an atheist, very pessimistic, and bisexual.

here's where my issue starts. when i communicated my suicidal tendencies to my parents, my mom just said it was a 'rough patch' and had the therapist/psychiatrist increase my Lexapro dosage(antidepressant). i think the root of my suicidal tendencies come from one of these few things. First, I feel in the middle about thinking i'm suicidal because i have an 'ok' life knowing damn well other people have it worse. Second, knowing i have many friends but i'm never the first pick. they aren't intentionally leaving me out, it's just i know im not their priority. it makes me feel so guilty knowing i have no reason to be mad they have their own life. Third, talking and texting people feels like a chore. When I talk to people, it feels like i'm just waiting for them to shut up so i can go back on my phone. even if im genuinely interested in what they're saying, i get bored so fast. i feel like such an asshole. thing is, people perceive me as a bright, loud, sometimes annoying person. but sometimes i wish i knew how'd they'd feel if i just.. stopped showing up.

if you made it this far, my heart goes out to all of you, and if you're lazy asf like me, just vote in the poll. Goodnight!(or good morning.) btw im going to translate the whole thing to spanish for the bilingual people.

¡Hola! Soy Cara.

Para ponerlos en contexto: tengo un diagnóstico de depresión leve y ansiedad severa; saco calificaciones de A y B; tengo una relación "buena" con mis padres, pero hablar con ellos se siente como una obligación; ya no disfruto ninguno de los pasatiempos que antes adoraba; y apenas tengo la motivación para maquillarme, a pesar de que solía ser muy coqueta y femenina con esas cosas. Soy atea, muy pesimista y bisexual.

Aquí es donde comienza mi problema. Cuando les comuniqué a mis padres mis tendencias suicidas, mi mamá simplemente dijo que era una "mala racha" e hizo que el terapeuta o psiquiatra me aumentara la dosis de Lexapro (un antidepresivo). Creo que la raíz de mis tendencias suicidas proviene de una de estas pocas cosas. Primero, me siento ambivalente respecto a mis pensamientos suicidas, ya que tengo una vida "decente" y sé perfectamente que hay otras personas que lo pasan mucho peor. Segundo, saber que tengo muchos amigos, pero que nunca soy su primera opción. No es que me excluyan intencionalmente; simplemente sé que no soy su prioridad. Me hace sentir muy culpable saber que no tengo motivos para enojarme, pues ellos tienen su propia vida. Tercero, hablar con la gente —ya sea en persona o por mensajes de texto— se siente como una carga. Cuando hablo con alguien, siento como si solo estuviera esperando a que se callen para poder volver a mirar mi teléfono. Incluso si estoy genuinamente interesada en lo que dicen, me aburro rapidísimo. Me siento como una auténtica imbécil. La cuestión es que la gente me percibe como una persona alegre, extrovertida y, a veces, un poco molesta. Pero, en ocasiones, desearía saber qué sentirían ellos si yo simplemente... dejara de aparecer.

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.

Is it me or are some song lyrics more relatable than others. One of the song lyrics I relate to is

"It was never to end like this"

"so go ahead and tell me what I did to deserve this " From Hurtlees by Dean Lewis. 🎵

This can be related to your mental health struggles or friendship that has ended.

So, I'm an alter in the head of someone with DID. And today is my first day fronting. Stupid host made me do it during SCHOOL. I AM NEVER LETTING HIM MAKE ME DO SCHOOL AGAIN. I DON'T CARE IF THAT MEANS I NEVER FRONT AGAIN, I AM NOT DOING SCHOOL ANYMORE.

I never thought I’d be the guy who had it all together. And to be honest, I still don’t feel like I do. But when I look at my life—my wife, my kids, our home—I know I’m lucky. I have a good job, a healthy family, and a reason to wake up every morning. I remember being younger, picturing what adulthood would look like, and this was it. The stability, the love, the feeling of coming home to people who actually want to see you at the end of the day. Life is good. But at the same time, there’s this nagging thought in the back of my mind that I can’t shake: it can be better.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not unhappy. It’s not like I want to run away from my responsibilities or trade any of this for something else. But sometimes, I feel like I’m just going through the motions. Work, bills, fixing things around the house, making sure the kids have everything they need. Then it’s bedtime, a few hours of quiet, and we do it all over again. And I love my family more than anything, but I miss something I can’t even put into words. Maybe it’s freedom, maybe it’s excitement, maybe it’s just the feeling of being more than just a dad and a husband.

I see other guys chasing their dreams—starting businesses, traveling, picking up new hobbies—and I wonder if I’m supposed to be doing that too. Should I be pushing myself harder? Should I be taking risks instead of playing it safe all the time? There was a time when I had big ideas, when I wanted more than just a comfortable life. But now? I’m not even sure what more looks like anymore. And the weird thing is, I feel guilty for even thinking about it. Like, shouldn’t I just be grateful for what I have? Shouldn’t this be enough?

Maybe part of the problem is that I don’t really take time for myself. I’m always in “dad mode” or “work mode,” and when I do get a second to breathe, I don’t even know what to do with it. I used to love playing guitar, used to spend hours drawing, used to actually read books instead of just scrolling through my phone. But somewhere along the way, those things stopped feeling important. Now, if I do anything that isn’t productive, I feel like I’m wasting time. And there’s always something else that needs to get done.

But I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I let myself disappear. I don’t want to be that guy who only existed for his family and forgot how to be his own person too. My kids are gonna grow up. They’re gonna have their own lives, their own problems, their own dreams. And when that happens, who will I be? Just some guy who works and pays bills? That thought scares me more than I like to admit.

So yeah, life is good, but it can be better. Not because I want more money or a bigger house or some crazy adventure. But because I want to feel alive in my own life, not just present in everyone else’s. I don’t know exactly what that looks like yet, but I know it starts with me. And maybe that’s enough for now.