Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

I am a 13 years old girl, i basically have some problems related to porn. I do not regularly access porn websites but sometimes i watch sex scenes in movies, commercials or series and masturbate watching it, and the problem is sometimes I ignore if the scene has a problematic context if I think is ignorable or i think its too late. I already passed through that dillema before but i feel this time is different, cause i have stopped watching stuff to masturbate, but 2 days ago i did again after months. I separated the times these things happened in categories that are what was the problem, If i was aware of it and why i did about it. 1st time: a commercial, the problem was it was sexist, i was aware but just didnt think about it. 2nd time: it was an ecchi anime, the problem was there was a problematic episode in it (not that one, that one was quite normal in my opinion) i was aware again and wasnt considering it at the moment again. 3rd time: a sex scene in a movie, the problem was the woman was cheating, o was aware but i just ignored it. 4th time: a porn anime, we know what kind of problems are in those, but i thought it was just me being to overthinker, so i ignored it. 5th time finally, the most recent, a sex scene in a movie, the problem was a selfish man who stopped caring once he came, i thought about it but i wasnt really insterested in him so i just pretended nothing was happening and focused on the woman. I dont think any of these situations changed the way i think, i still know its wrong, i just thought it was irrelevant enough to ignore. Thoughts?

It’s really weird but for months now the only thing i’ve really been able to think about are just worries and this one show. I don’t know if this is the place to share this kind of stuff but i need to just say this. It feels like one of the only things i seem to talk about- everything is a reference. I keep catching myself in class not focusing because i’m thinking about the show and doodling the characters in my school books to help me understand the stuff. It’s mildly embarrassing now that i admit it, but it’s the truth. And it even MORE awkward since nobody i know irl likes it as much as i do.

I’m not sure why i can’t stop thinking about it. One of my friends suspects it’s like a hyper fixation, but i don’t think im neurodivergent. I don’t even know if hyper fixations are only for neurodivergent people (i haven’t done much research on it, sorry if i sound ignorant) but oh my goodness the show is EVERYWHERE. Is this just some sort of normal thing that happens? I mean, it’s not entirely bad, but i fear i’m annoying people around me with how much i like the show and i worry for my grades.

This may be a little embarrassing but im on my period and ticked the fck off. I am a transmasc male and a teen. I recently got some boxers as part of my gender affirming care. So i got like 6 pairs in the pack. There's pink, black, blue, dark purple and tan. And the black ones are the only ones that don't show when i accidentally bleed through my pad. But my annoying little sister has been wearing my fucking underwear???? Like what the fuck?? Its gross. Yea maybe she's like me and masc or smt but still, that doesn't give her the right to put on my fucking boxers?? And then when i confronted her, she hid under a blanket. I gave up and started ranting to our oldest sibling about it and she started repeating 'get out' over and over again, like who the fck does she think she is?? Its not even her room! And then, when I don't leave, she grabs some type of like coloring book and raises it like she's going to throw it and i flinch (duh) and i just absolutely lost it. I screamed at her. Shes fucking mental. She's batshit crazy, she would've thrown it too if my oldest sibling wasn't it the room. She constantly hits me, hits my oldest sibling. I'm pissed off.

My partner, who's 27, has been living alone in his apartment for around two years now. I am 26, and we've been together for about three years. During this time, I've been staying with my parents. Gradually, I started hinting at the possibility of us moving in together. Despite my hints and even outright discussions about possibly sharing a bigger space and splitting the rent - I usually stay at his place up to five days a week - he never seemed to take the bait and would swiftly change the subject.

Recently, things took a different turn. After many conversations and no definitive response from him, I decided to look for my own place. Before I started my search, I casually asked if he would be upset if I found my own apartment, to which he nonchalantly shrugged it off. When I finally found a great apartment, I sent him the link and even mentioned my upcoming tour. It was only after I affirmed my decision to lease the apartment did he suddenly express his desire for us to live together, apologizing for not bringing it up sooner and insisting that we could make room for me at his place. However, by then, I had to give the landlord an immediate response. His sudden change of heart left me feeling both hurt and frustrated due to his lack of communication despite my numerous attempts. In the end, I chose to proceed with my own apartment, and now, we continue to live separately.

It's all rather bewildering. I'm feeling quite perplexed about the whole thing. Did I act unreasonably by choosing to get my own apartment?

Imagine if this whole situation unfolded on a reality show. Viewers would likely be on the edge of their seats, split in their opinions. Some might cheer for my independence and decision to move forward on my own terms after being seemingly ignored. Others might sympathize with my boyfriend, speculating that he might have been dealing with his own reservations or uncertainties about cohabitation, which he communicated too late. The reactions would be varied, with dramatic music swelling as each of us explained our sides to the camera, culminating perhaps in a heartfelt or heated confrontation that raked in record viewership for the show!

How should I feel about getting my own place?

Dear mummy,

words can't even begin to describe the kind of pain it is to be your daughter. I've known you my whole life yet I've completely failed to understand you and why you choose to be the way you are. I've failed to understand your refusal to take accountability for the problems you continue to create within our family.

I understand that you were born in a different time where abuse was a style of parenting, and where children were seen but not heard. I understand that you were raised to think that these sort of things were okay. but in your 50 years of living how have you failed to see that this behaviour you continue to do is exactly what's affecting your relationship with your children. A relationship you so desperately want yet refuse to fight for. I don't understand why you're afraid of your children leaving you when you're older, but you refuse to care and nourish them while they're still here with you. aren't you contradicting yourself mummy? why do you make it your life's mission to create division between the children in this family and the turn around and ask us to be united and love one another. are you not being a hypocrite mummy? why do you continue to coddle the boys in the family and forbid them from lifting a finger, and then turn around and blame us girls when they behave like selfish, inconsiderate bastards. Was it me who raised them mummy? I don't think you understand the kind of environment you created for us mummy.

I was raised in a house where I wasn't allowed to make mistakes. a place where my opinions didn't matter. a home where facts were void because you're the only one who could ever be right. I can't even count the amount of times where you made me feel so ashamed for existing in the body I do. If it wasn't my weight that was the issue, it was my gender, and if it wasn't that then it was the fact that I was unfortunate enough to look like my father. You quite literally raised me to hate myself! but on the few occasions you take an interest interest in what I have to say, you act surprised when I tell you that I don't really like the way I look. One time you actually had the audacity to ask me why I wasn't confident in myself like the other kids. I even specifically remember you asking me why we're not close, and why I don't tell you things. You expect me to behave like a child who was raised in a home where her voice mattered, a place where her questions weren't dismissed as disrespect. but honestly mummy your like a sculptor who never touched the clay but demands a masterpiece. And for that I will never forgive you, no matter how much I love you.

I used to believe you'd change, but time and time again you proved me wrong. I hope you know that all those times we argued and disagreed on what you were doing, I was trying to mend to our relationship. I hope you understand that all those times I was being a "disrespectful child" who "talked back to her elders", I was hoping you'd understand that I fought because I wanted a relationship with you. But now I understand that you are simply too proud to change. Too proud to even consider that maybe you went about motherhood the wrong way. But it's ok. Knowing this has honestly freed me. I'm no longer the girl who's filled with jealousy when I see my friends have fulfilling relationships with their mothers. I'm no longer the girl whose eyes fill with tears when I see someone on TV who reminds me of you. Because at least now I know where we stand.

Sincerely your daughter

[TW: Mentions of Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Verbal Abuse, Harassment and Politics.]

Hi. I'm an artist and aspiring author with a lot on my plate, so I'll cut to the chase; I'm angry, lost, frustrated, and I don't know what the hell do to with myself anymore.

I graduated high school right when Covid struck years ago, I never had a proper graduation and lost the chance to go on a class field trip to Paris. That was about the last time I saw most of my real life friends and former classmates until I moved further away in the state I live in. Since then, I've tried making a few connections online, and it went well for a good while, even allowing myself to earn a bit of a reputation as a former online creator who posted art and made videos.

After high school and my so-called "graduation", I took college courses online, since I had no other choice with Covid running rampant, and got a degree in graphic design. I had just entered my early 20s and I didn't know where to look in terms of a career at the time (I didn't even have experience with a part time job), and fear that I may have taken too long with AI taking over the world, art and writing jobs especially (should be noted that I absolutely despise AI by the way).

Around the same time, my grandmother had been living with my family and I, and due to internal turmoil involving herself and my father, she snapped one day and was packing her things to leave, suddenly threatening to abuse me and send me to prison (for no reason) right in front of my youngest sister as she was leaving. She had never reached out to apologize. but instead sent gifts and letters to both my father and youngest sister, which speaks volumes about how she feels.

Not too long ago, I since cut ties with a long-standing online friend group because of my own mistakes that I made years ago. Mistakes that I was never directly told about until the moment everything went wrong. For the longest time I was under the impression that our past mistakes (from both myself and my ex-friends) were water under the bridge since we were getting along so well at the time, only to find out they had been keeping the truth from me and allegedly pretended to stay friends with me for several months (their words directly as we were cutting ties) before we separated. To my own fault, I hadn't been on my best behavior around the time either.

I felt lost for a year, and even now I still do. I've since gone to therapy for a year, have done everything I could to help support my family, returned to college (in person, for the first time since Covid hit) to take classes towards an IT based degree and made new friends both online and on campus at college thanks to common interests.

But now, I feel lost and overwhelmed. This one's a doozy.

My college work, specifically the IT material I have to study, has become too much to handle at times.

The country I live in is practically in shambles and falling apart no thanks to the government or the controversial president that both of my parents had voted for, with seemingly no hope for a livable future in my current condition.

My therapist could no longer provide for me due to an error on their part with the therapy providing company, resulting in me debating on whether I want to move on with my mental health or completely start over from scratch with a new therapist who knows nothing about me.

My ex-friends (I heavily assume) kept a hold of my old phone number and address when we were close, and have been using both to continuously harass and remind me of my past mistakes even after blocking multiple phone numbers, going so far as to attempt to doxx my location and taunt me on the recently popular wplace website.

My parents got divorced, leaving me with even more responsibilities after nearly having our current home sold to find a new one for the remainder of our family.

My current workplace (which is fine in general) unnecessarily stresses me out from time to time despite being a form of escape from both home and schoolwork.

And AI is, unfortunately, continuing to grow for whatever reason, taking away even more job opportunities in the creative sphere that I could've found and applied for if I took the chance after getting my graphic design years ago.

All this to say, I'm tired, stressed out, low-key depressed and have contemplated either disappearing or killing myself numerous times. But I haven't.

Despite me voicing these similar concerns to my own mother, she always assures me that I'll be just fine, but I find that hard to believe. I don't know what my future holds for me, or if I'll even have a future at all. I still love drawing and writing, and am even working on a Lord of the Rings-style fantasy novel that I'm hoping to publish one day, but the continuous push for AI to be the norm (despite sometimes motivating me to do better in my own work) is simultaneously bringing me down with how much the slop it creates is being accepted compared to human works, art and writing alike.

My pursuit for a better paying career (since most art and writing jobs nowadays simply don't pay a livable wage for whatever reason) has been stressful, and trying to learn IT in college through strenuous book reading, extensive memorization and less-than stellar exam scores has only been pushing me away from the career path than motivate me. It's not what I wanted to do. Creating things with art and writing is what I want to do, and it's unfair that wanting to be creative in this way is an extremely difficult way to live in comparison.

Even though the thoughts of suicide linger every now and then, I never feel the urge to physically do anything about it. Despite everything, I still love my family and want to be around to help them in any way I can. I can barely imagine how they'd react if they found out I was gone in any way. I also want to continue making an impact on the world with my works, past mistakes aside, and create both art and literature that people can enjoy and possibly find inspiration from, knowing I didn't give up when everything was difficult in my own life.

Which leaves me in a sort of limbo, to be perfectly honest. I really don't know what to do with myself, or how I can pick myself up from feeling down about life all the time, and continue existing like everything's fine.

Any help or advice, while not required by any means, would be greatly appreciated. Even reading through this means a lot to me.

I've had multiple close friends before. and we always break up because of me somehow.

here was one time me and two of my close friends were studying. one of them said she dreamt of me dancing, naked. I thought it was hilarious. but when we went to class the next day, mind you, I'm only close to those two I heard everybody laughing at the back and I heard someone laugh out loud talking about my naked body. at that time I was sitting alone to study the other two talking with others. literally the whole class was talking about my naked body I was offended I didn't want to talk to them anymore and blablabla. but they say that im heartless because they cried and said sorry but I won't forgive them

the next one I had another close friend. she accused me of ruining her project then said something that was totally out of her character that really hurt me because she would never say anything like that before. I had this one art book of mine she's also a talented artist so she likes to paint my drawing because she mostly does digital. I would lend her the book so she could color it. I NEVER once asked her myself to paint it but I let her since she wanted to. but then when we fought she ripped all of my drawing which I spent hours on because she said I she colored them so she has a right to take it without compromising with me first. then I cried because all of my hard work was gone just like that. she said I don't deserve to cry and that she's the one who's supposed to be crying

then another one, I started talking to her because she looked lonely then we became close obviously I would share my personal stuff with her but then she told people that I was after her money. the thing is she's never even bought me anything. and I'm the type of person that never asks anyone to pay for me infact I would pay for them. and she's not even that rich.

so is it really my fault, like maybe I'm misunderstanding things or like maybe I'm too sensitive? because everyone seems to think that I'm in the wrong.. there's more actually but I'm not gonna write all my experience am I haha😅

I've struggled with weight issues and eating ever since I was 9, I'm 15 now and I'm now kinda of aware I ain't fat but I feel it. It was never that bad but now the last 4 months it's gotten so bad, i eat a bit and feel like I've js ate a whole buffet and I get so bloated I geniunely feel like I could explode, the smells of my fav foods makes me feel sick, the sight, smell, even hearing ppl talking abt food makes me feel sick, idk if I have an ed but im struggling sm rn, I barely eat cuz I just can't, I had some watermelon like 6 hours ago I still feel bloated and sick as fuck, this first started when I wanted to lose weight but now I've lost some and I feel okay in my body but I js can't bring myself to eat. and then my mum she never understands istg she said "u cant js starve urself for 10+ hours (she said this bc from the time I wake up to coming back from school (5pm) I don't eat anything) and then go n drink energy drinks n chocolate" I bought chocolate today. it's been weeks. she's js making me feel worse saying I need to eat protein n not stuff my face in chocolate like what. she used to be so understanding n now she says this? ig what I'm tryna say is what can I do to feel normal again and be able to eat? even water makes me sick. idk what to do anymore.

I feel like I’ve fallen into another gaslighting-type relationship. My husband was so kind, sweet, thoughtful, and romantic when we were dating. Whdn i was sick, he'd bring my get well kits and help around my home. We were both upfront about who we were at the time and who we thought we’d continue to be, and I’ve definitely upheld my end of that—but I feel like he hasn’t since we got married

.

Due to circumstances outside of me being pregnant at the time, we got married pretty quickly, and I happily gave up my saftey, dreams, and career to follow his dreams and career. I love/adore my husband, do everything i can to make his life easy and comfortable, even keeping track of pretty much everything since he is forgetful.

Over this past year, I’ve been feeling more and more drained in our relationship. I’m carrying most of the weight at home while he does very little, aside from playing with our children. If I want him to do anything beyond just existing, I have to ask. This wasn’t what was presented to me when we started our relationship.

Honestly, if he were working his butt off every day and rarely home, I’d understand more. But most days he’s home all day on his phone, does a couple of work-related things at late night that he easily could have done earlier, the complains about being tired the next day. He’ll leave trash or dishes around, mess up things I already tidied, and sometimes get snippy with me when I bring up legitimate concerns—like updating our address through his employer so I can submit insurance claims and get our money back.

I’m feeling less and less loved and supported, and more and more like a “mommy bang maid” again like I was in my last long term relationship. The only difference is that my husband married me and doesn’t scream or break things like my ex did.

I’ve spoken to him, but all he says is that things will get better when he’s not as tired and he's further along in his career. Of and that the stay-at-home parent does EVERYTHING at home while the working parent relaxes when they get home. It’s frustrating because his parents had a similar dynamic when he was a kid, and they’re both very adamant that the work parent his more than capable of help and that he needs to be helpful—but he’s still a complete slob and do anything period unless I ask multiple times. On the flip side, when he asks me for something, I jump up immediately.

On top of that, I’ve noticed our sex feels very one-sided, focused on his needs. The last time we had sex, and I'm not kidding, it lasted maybe two minutes before he was happily fast asleep leaving me with a mess to clean up.

Our house is nearly spotless all the time, I make good home-cooked meals, and I never turn him down. I stay put together and hygienic, and despite all this im treated like Dobby. I keep asking myself: "Why am I not enough to be loved the way I love my partner? What’s wrong with me?"

What's wrong with me?

Yesterday, I ventured out to a Vietnamese eatery and decided to order a bowl of the traditional noodle dish “Pho”. I made a point to ask the staff to skip the spring onions since I really can't stand them - it’s not an allergy, I just dislike their flavor intensely. When I was younger, around the age of 10, my mother made numerous attempts to get me accustomed to eating spring onions because she didn't want me to be fussy with food. Unfortunately, each attempt ended with me feeling sick.

However, despite my specific request, my dish arrived dotted with spring onions. This was not the first time this issue occurred at this restaurant; last time I ended up picking the onions out by myself. After that experience, the noodles were too soggy from soaking up the broth and the overall flavor was compromised. This time around, I opted to not repeat the ordeal. I politely called over the server, explained the situation and handed back my bowl to have it corrected. The server was understanding and took it back to the kitchen, asking me to patiently wait for a corrected bowl.

In contrast, my sister immediately voiced her frustration, pointing out my fussiness especially since the restaurant was quite busy. She argued that I should have just dealt with the unwanted onions rather than causing additional trouble and potentially wasting food. Her comments certainly made the remainder of the meal uncomfortable.

Reflecting on the situation, I can't help but wonder if maybe I did overreact slightly, especially since I had been having a really tough week and might not have been in the best state of mind. However, I'd genuinely appreciate others' thoughts on this. Was I really being unreasonable?

Imagine if this incident had taken place on a reality TV show, with cameras capturing every moment and audiences tuning in from their homes. The tension and drama would certainly be heightened. Viewers might sympathize with my aversion to onions or they might align with my sister, viewing me as overly particular or disruptive. It's interesting to ponder whether public opinion would sway in my favor or if I'd be criticized for my insistence on removing a simple ingredient.

I used to try to be a good daughter for my parents, but everyday they were sending me to the edge , Im not gonna talk about details from the past ... But now all I can see and understand is that im a worthless piece pf garbage, I've been neglected my whole life , noone ever tries to listen to me or understand me , I always tried to be an easy going person , only for tem to step on me . Ppl always disrespect me at the slightest chance , in ways I would never do , and that hurts me because I try to make ppl feel welcomed and safe , but noone has ever cared about how I feel , or the fact that I have feelings, I dont remember someone asking me "are you alright" , I've been going through intense depression since i was 13 (im 19 now) , but I never done smth to deserve all the hate I get from my family , I tried to be a good person and neglected myself for that , I never go out , only to school ,never cause problems or anything , and on top of that "used" to have the best grade in my class every year , but never made me feel like I did smth good , I always wanted to hear my dad say smth nice or call me "daughter" but he never did . Now back to the present, i forgot to talk about abuse , but I've been and still get verbally and physically abused by both my parents, it's so ironic how mu dad who cant say "daughter" doesn't hesitate to call me a bitch for no reason , he who never hugged me , doesn't hesitate to hit me with metal objects and leave bruises on my skin for weeks , I just tried ... And tried to understand what i did but never knew , i feel like im going to explode, It's not fair , Im a good prsn , I tried my best , but everyone hates me , I dont know what i did , why are they treating me like this , is it because im always depressed ? Because i dont laugh or cheer up ? How is this my fault? Im both mentally and physically sick because of these ppl , thwy arch to see me fall and never get up , they wante to depend on them so they can easily let me down and break me , i just want for my dad and mo to stop hitting me this bad , and to stop cursing at me and wishing me death every single day . I never asked to be born

This summer, following a complex surgery that necessitated a lengthy hospital stay and extensive recovery period out of town, I found myself needing substantial assistance. To make the convalescence more appealing for those who were coming to aid me, I rented a spacious seaside house equipped with a swimming pool. It was my hope that this scenic environment would provide a comfortable retreat for my friends and family who volunteered to support me through my recovery. A roster was arranged where my helpers could simultaneously enjoy a sort of vacation while attending to my needs.

My late husband's sister, Janet, was the first to arrive, taking advantage of the luxurious accommodations. She came over while I was still hospitalized, but left abruptly on the day I returned home, without even visiting me once during my hospitalization, citing the nuisance of traffic as her reason. Essentially, she did nothing for me, spending her time enjoying the amenities of the home instead. Before my surgery, I had informed her I was leaving $1,500 in the house to cover the cost of necessary household items, cleaning supplies, and anything our dog might need upon my return. I was both hurt and astonished when I found out she had exhausted all the money in just under a week.

With my health as my priority and conserving energy integral to my recovery, I turned off my phone, cutting off all communication. Despite my critical condition and the support I needed, there was no effort from her side to understand or assist during this challenging time.

Several weeks later, Janet's husband weakly scolded me for not reaching out to comfort her—that I hadn't sent messages or made calls to check on her wellbeing. My answer was unapologetically blunt: "Sorry, not sorry."

When I was well enough to return home, Janet visited. Our meeting was cordial until I confronted her about the misuse of the funds. She defended herself by saying that she had left receipts for everything she purchased, claiming arbitrary expenses that began even before she arrived, which included body wash, breakfast items, and even chewing gum. She also claimed she had stocked up the kitchen, though it was unclear for whom since only leftovers were found. Furthermore, she mentioned some expenses were charged to her own credit card—without providing receipts—and absurdly stated that I had given her the money as a gift, or that it was her expense account. Her sense of entitlement baffled me, especially knowing she had boasted to friends about her upcoming 'vacation' at my expense.

Reflecting on this, the betrayal stings deeply making it clear this bridge is thoroughly burned. But frankly, what difference does it really make now?

One wonders how this situation might have played out under the public eye in a reality show setting. Would the viewers side with me, seeing Janet's actions as opportunistic and unsympathetic? Or would they find fault in my expectations and approach to recovery help? Reality shows thrive on conflict, and this real-life drama could certainly draw in viewers, sparking debates and discussions about family, responsibility, and trust.

Two years after my divorce from my husband of 26 years, the situation remains complex, especially since we share four children. Our divorce was friendly enough, considering he revealed he was gay and we both agreed to separate amicably. Changing my last name after the split didn't seem necessary; imagining the hassle of updating IDs, legal documents, and bank accounts was too daunting, so I kept his surname for official uses but reverted to my maiden name socially.

Things took an unexpected turn when my ex-husband recently got engaged to a lovely man. I've been nothing but supportive of their union. However, during a recent celebration for my grandson's birthday, my ex—out of the blue—suggested I should consider dropping his last name. His fiancé added to the conversation, expressing his discomfort with me retaining the name, which was quite surprising.

I tried to lighten the mood with a joke about the bureaucratic nightmare it would involve, but they didn’t seem amused. My ex pressed on, suggesting that my clinging to his name hindered them from fully moving on and starting a new chapter. The request seemed odd since this had never been a problem over the past couple of years.

The tension escalated after the party, with my ex insisting that my keeping the last name was problematic for his fiancé, portraying a struggle to begin anew. I argued that our children also bear the same last name, and changing it would make me feel disconnected from them. The most painful part of this ordeal was my youngest son telling me that the fiancé feels threatened by me holding onto the last name, viewing it as if I still harbored some claim over my ex.

My ex even claimed that his fiancé saw my retaining the name as a "power play," which struck me as unfair. I feel torn between maintaining peace and being coerced into relinquishing a part of my identity to appease his partner’s insecurities. Though I’ve agreed to reconsider the situation after their wedding, my ex has labeled me as petty and selfish, escalating the conflict.

The irony is, my friends believe I should maintain my stance, but my children are split, creating further discord. The situation seems absurdly trivial to be causing such unrest. If this dispute were aired on a reality show, I imagine the audience would be polarized but likely sympathetic to the absurdity of being pressured over a name that ties me to my children, not just my past.

Should I cave to maintain harmony, or should I stand firm in my decision to keep the last name until I’m ready to change it, if ever?

Hey everyone, my name's Mike. I don’t really know if this is the right place to ask, but I’m kinda desperate for answers. How long does it actually take to get over someone? I know, it probably sounds like I'm overthinking, but I honestly can't seem to shake it. I broke up with Sarah almost three months ago, and the feelings just won’t let up. Every time I try to focus on something else, she just pops back into my mind. I feel like I’m stuck in this loop where I can't move forward, but I also can't go back.

We were together for almost two years, and we had so many plans—vacations we wanted to take, moving in together, all that. It wasn't a perfect relationship (not by a long shot), but it felt real, you know? Even the little things, like grabbing coffee on Saturdays or having movie marathons on rainy days… they’re haunting me now. I’m not sure if it’s the routine or the actual person I miss.

It’s not like I haven’t tried to move on. I’ve been going out more with friends, hitting the gym, and even focusing more on work. But somehow, it feels like nothing quite fills the gap she left. I thought about dating again, but even just thinking about getting to know someone new feels exhausting. What if it takes forever to get over her? What if I’m just going to feel this way forever?

People say that time heals all wounds, but is there some kind of timeline I’m missing? Some people seem to move on in a month or two, and here I am, still struggling. It’s hard not to feel like there’s something wrong with me. Anyway, if anyone has been through something similar, how long did it take you to finally feel normal again? I just want to know that there’s some light at the end of this tunnel. Thanks for listening.

Do you know that feeling when you’re dreaming, and suddenly you’re falling, then you jerk awake like your whole body just snapped? I want to know if anyone else actually experiences this because lately it’s happening to me several times every single night, and it never used to be like this. I’m not talking about that occasional twitch most people joke about—you know, when your body jolts once and you laugh it off. This is constant, it’s repetitive, and it’s so intense that it feels like my brain has turned into some kind of defective machine that keeps hitting the emergency eject button. I wake up with my heart racing, drenched in sweat, like I just got thrown off a building mid-dream. And it’s not once, it’s not twice, but six, seven, sometimes eight times per night. It destroys any chance of real rest. I’ve done the basic checks: no late caffeine, no screens blasting in my face, no major stress spike, not even any alcohol. None of that matters. It still happens. I’ve been reading around—doctors and articles love to call it “hypnic jerk,” or they classify it under parasomnia or throw in phrases like “nocturnal myoclonus.” All that jargon does is dress up the fact that your body decides to violently boot you out of sleep like a system crash. One medical review I came across said, “most individuals report these episodes as harmless,” which is honestly insulting. Would you call it harmless if your own body tricked you into thinking you were dying by falling every night? That word doesn’t fit at all. It feels hostile, rude, and like my nervous system is playing a sick joke at my expense.

And the more I think about it, the angrier I get. On one hand, I can go all technical and detached: it’s probably my nervous system misfiring, some mix-up between the vestibular system in my inner ear and the brain’s perception of stillness. I could cite “Mahowald and Schenck (2005)” or the International Classification of Sleep Disorders, which catalog this crap like items on a warehouse shelf. But honestly, that doesn’t help me at 3 a.m. when I’m yanked awake for the fifth time in a row, staring at the ceiling and wondering if I’ll ever sleep like a normal human again. One paper described it as “heightened sympathetic activation,” which is medical speak for “your fight-or-flight system won’t shut the hell up.” Great, thanks, I already knew my body was panicking. What I want to know is: does anyone else deal with it this often? I don’t mean occasionally, I mean systemically, like it’s been programmed into your nights. Do you just accept it, or does it drive you as crazy as it drives me? I feel detached even as I write this, but the truth is that it’s wrecking me. It’s ruining my ability to get restorative sleep, wrecking my circadian rhythm, and making me wake up already exhausted. I’m not here to be sentimental or dramatic—I’m just being direct about how much this is screwing with me. And yet, it still feels absurd to even type this out, because how do you complain about your own body deciding to simulate free-fall every single night? But here I am, frustrated, pissed, and stuck with it. If you’ve felt the same, you know exactly why I had to vent it out here. And if you haven’t, lucky you. For me, the best I can sum it up in one image is this stupid emoji: 😑.