Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

It’s the worst feeling ever, loving someone who will never be yours. I never thought I’d be that girl, y’know? The one who falls for the wrong person, the one she can’t be with. But here I am, waking up every morning with him on my mind, going to bed hoping maybe tomorrow he’ll look at me the way I look at him.

He’s not mine. He never was. And maybe that’s what makes it all worse. There was no breakup, no real moment where things ended, because they never started. So I don’t even get the closure people talk about. All I have is this ache inside me, and the constant “what if” that haunts me like a shadow.

What if I told him? Would anything change? Would he laugh, or would he just smile politely and let me down easy? Or maybe he’d tell me he feels the same, but the timing’s wrong. That would almost be worse—knowing he could’ve loved me if life wasn’t so complicated.

Sometimes I ask myself if I’m just being dramatic. I mean, I’m seventeen. People will say “you’ll love again,” or “this is just your first heartbreak,” like that makes it easier. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t stop me from feeling like my heart’s been stitched together with weak thread and every thought of him pulls it apart a little more.

Is it wrong to still want to see him even though it hurts? When I know every time I hear his voice or see his name pop up on my phone, it’ll mess me up for the rest of the day? Like I’m setting myself up for pain on purpose. But I can’t help it. I’d rather feel something than feel nothing at all.

He’s so close but so far. In the same school, the same circle, sometimes even the same room. But emotionally? We’re on two different planets. He talks to me, yeah, but it’s casual. Friendly. And I sit there smiling, nodding, pretending like I’m not falling deeper into something that has no bottom.

Does he know? I wonder about that a lot. Is he clueless, or does he just not want to say anything? I try to read between the lines of every text, every look, every awkward silence. But maybe there’s nothing to read. Maybe I’m just making up a whole story in my head because it hurts less than facing the truth.

Am I not enough? That question has been eating me up inside lately. Like, maybe I’m not pretty enough or cool enough or confident enough. Maybe if I was different, he’d see me. Maybe if I wasn’t me, he could love me. And then I hate myself for even thinking that, because I know I’m supposed to love myself first. But how do you love yourself when you feel invisible to the one person who matters most?

I’ve tried to move on. I really have. I’ve talked to other guys, gone out with friends, even deleted our old messages so I wouldn’t re-read them a million times. But nothing works. It’s like he’s burned into my memory, into my chest, into everything.

Will it always feel like this? Will I always look back at this time in my life and remember the ache, the longing, the almost-love that never happened? Or will he just become another blurry face in the crowd one day, and I’ll laugh at how hard I used to cry over someone who didn’t love me back?

Sometimes I feel like I’m being punished for caring too much. Like maybe I gave too much of myself away without realizing it, and now there’s not enough left for me.

I wish I could go back to before I felt this way. When love was just an idea and not a knife in my chest. When I didn’t overanalyze every word, every text delay, every emoji. When I wasn’t stuck in this loop of hope and disappointment.

Loving someone you can’t have is like living with a ghost. You see them, feel them, ache for them—but they’re not really there. And deep down, you know they never will be.

But here’s the thing—I don’t regret loving him. Not even a little. Because even though it hurts, it also taught me so much. About myself. About feelings. About the kind of love I want and deserve. And maybe that’s the first step to letting go.

Maybe one day, I’ll meet someone who looks at me the way I look at him. Someone who doesn’t make me question everything, someone who stays. Until then, I’ll let myself feel this, cry about it, write about it… and eventually, heal from it.

I'm a 32-year-old guy whose girlfriend, who is 33, recently bought a quaint little house. I didn't sign the deed, and honestly, I’ve had no issues with that arrangement. However, things took a slight turn when she asked me to chip in about 20,000 euros for home renovations and new furniture. It’s true that I would enjoy the improvements as much as she would while we're living together, but using up a big slice of my savings for a property that isn't in my name feels pretty risky.

Rather than making a hefty one-time investment, I suggested paying ongoing rent instead. It seemed like a fair solution to me; I’d help with the living costs without tapping deeply into my reserves. But my girlfriend didn't take it well. She believes it’s unfair because she’d have to shoulder the renovation expenses alone, potentially straining her finances. She can’t seem to wrap her head around why I'd prefer renting over helping her directly with the cash. In her eyes, paying rent would ultimately be an expensive path, and she thinks I am abandoning her in a financially tough spot.

I want to be supportive and definitely see a future together, but I must think about my financial stability too. Contributing in a way that also safeguards my end seems reasonable—doesn't it?

Now, imagine if this whole situation were part of a reality show. Audiences might be split on this drama! Some might side with my girlfriend, seeing my refusal to invest directly as a lack of commitment to our shared life. Others could empathize with my need to protect my own financial interests, particularly since I don’t have ownership of the house. The debates would likely intensify in social media comments, making for quite the storyline that keeps viewers hooked and fiercely debating the roles and responsibilities in a relationship related to money.

Am I a jerk for opting to pay rent rather than a lump sum into a house that isn't mine?

My wife and I have been together for a delightful six years. When we initially became a couple, she was quite slender. Over the years, she's put on a little weight. Now, she has a fuller figure, which I personally find very attractive. To me, her size doesn’t matter; she's the love of my life, and I absolutely adore her.

Earlier this year, an excellent job opportunity arose in my hometown, offering nearly twice my current salary. Considering our goal to pay off our mortgage, I accepted the job. Since my wife manages our home full-time, we spent several months discussing how this change would influence our daily lives. By April, we had a plan established: I would reside with my parents during the week and return to spend the weekends with my wife.

The initial few months of this arrangement were tough, however, I cherished the moments spent with my wife. Unfortunately, it seemed the change was harder on her than anticipated. She began withdrawing socially, stopped wearing makeup, and swapped her form-fitting clothes for looser alternatives. While her change in attire didn’t bother me per se, it was upsetting to see her struggling.

Last month, I decided to take the first week of September off from work to surprise her for her birthday on the 4th. Prior to my return, I went shopping for her gifts, picking out a light pink corset lingerie set with a matching thong from Victoria’s Secret—light pink being her favorite color. I also bought her some jewelry, flowers, and a Ninja blender she had been wanting.

I commenced my drive home on August 31st, excitedly revealing to my wife that I had taken the week off to celebrate her birthday. I teased her about her gifts being in the car, and eventually yielded to her pleas to let her open them early. When she reached the last gift—the lingerie—her initial smile faded. Confused, I asked what was wrong, to which she retorted, “Are you serious? A small? Are you fucking serious?” I explained that it had always been her size, but we could easily exchange it if needed. Her reaction escalated quickly; she began crying, locked herself in our bedroom, and furiously told me not to touch her when I attempted to comfort her. Her accusations flew, asking if she was just an object or a plaything to me, which was never my intention. Hurt and bewildered, she demanded that I leave, claiming I had ruined her birthday.

Looking back, I can only imagine how this would play out if it were part of a reality TV show. Likely, the viewers would split, some sympathizing with my intention to please and surprise her, while others might criticize the choice of gift considering the sensitive nature of women's sizing. Reality TV thrives on such personal dramas, but the real focus should remain on understanding and communication in such situations.

all my friends are committed and/or got acceptences to colleges that are top 10 or so and im the only one who hasnt gotten any back yet. this wasnt an issue until they started asking me every single day whether i got any decisions or if ill just commit to a state school while talking bad behind my back about how im stupid for months and i didnt say anything. i dont think im stupid, ive worked incredibly hard i have a higher gpa and class rank then all of them and international ecs but ive always tried to actively help them out. today one of them called me to brag and gloat that they got in my dream school that i had gotten deferred from and made sure to reiterate it over and over in a 15 minute call before i had to hang up despite saying congrats genuinually for the first 10 minutes. i feel like an asshole for being upset about this and if i tell anyone how i feel i will be an asshole so im venting here, are my feelings even justified.

My partner Eric, whom I've shared a loving companionship with for nearly a decade, has always been on the heavier side, tipping the scales at about 242 pounds (110 kg). He's sensitive about his weight and doesn't even like appearing without a shirt. We've been cohabiting for three years and his body image issues have always been a subtle undercurrent in our relationship.

Recently, I splurged on a pricey ergonomic chair that cost me over $1,500. It's a special chair designed for petite individuals like myself, and it comes with a strict weight limitation of 100 kg. Despite my repeated, gentle reminders, Eric sometimes uses the chair, which I reluctantly tolerate because he shares all his things with me without hesitation.

Today, however, when he once again settled into my chair, my patience waned. I usually avoid conflict, but being under the weather and slightly irritable, I explicitly expressed my concerns. I explained that my issue wasn't him using my belongings, but specifically the chair that isn't built to support his weight, emphasizing how expensive it was and the lack of remedy if it were to break under him.

This revelation upset him profoundly. Now, Eric is avoiding eye contact and ignoring my attempts at conversation. I might have been direct in my wording, but was striving to clarify the rationale behind my repeated requests rather than hurt his feelings.

If this scene were part of a reality show, imagine the dramatic music and tension as the camera zooms in on our faces during the confrontation. Viewers would likely be on the edge of their seats, split between sympathizing with my concern for the pricey chair and empathizing with Eric's hurt feelings. It would be discussed fervently on social media, with people taking sides and debating personal space versus sharing in a relationship.

Am I wrong here for insisting on my point?

My wife and I have been trying to conceive for over a year with no success. Our chances aren't great, so we're looking into costly alternatives.

As a scientist and engineer, I am naturally skeptical of unproven methods. I despise scams, especially in the realm of health, because they exploit vulnerable people. I trust conventional medicine and evidence-based practices, so we're sticking with those.

My wife, desperate to get pregnant, has friends urging her to try alternative medicine like acupuncture and herbal remedies. These options are expensive but still within our budget (though costs can escalate as they hook you in). There's no solid evidence that these methods work beyond the placebo effect. Some even seem like faith-based practices or outright scams.

I can't accept anything that lacks a scientific basis, something that can be proven or disproven. However, I also can't force my wife to think like a scientist. She believes that trying her friends' suggestions might make her feel more hopeful about our efforts.

I've advised her not to spend too much on these alternatives and explained that I think they're exploiting her desperation. She admits she's uncertain about them but feels they might offer hope. I told her that our very expensive fertility specialists provide us with plenty of hope. I said she can do what she wants and spend what she feels is right but asked her to be honest with me about it. I also mentioned I’d be disappointed if she fell victim to a scam.

Now, imagine if we were on a reality show, dealing with all this in front of cameras. How would viewers react to our different approaches to this sensitive issue? Would they sympathize with my rational stance or her emotional struggle?

Sorry if I sounded too blunt or rude. Anyways, this is a bit of an extension, but I have some questions. Do you guys hate neurotypicals? Do you guys hate all weird sounds or touch or smells? If I say something rude to you on accident in the moment will you leave me and be forever angry? Do you take everything very personally? Is it okay for me to focus on your needs more than mine and always be what you want? Does your mental disability excuse what wrong things you do, because I feel that as a NT, I should tolerate such behaviors I find annoying or uncomfortable because in the end, I'm a dumb neurotypical next to a person who is from a group who's been heavily stigmatized and abused for years, so maybe me getting hurt is alright. Do you guys always hate NT people's interests? Should I mask myself for you because if autistic people mask it's not good but if neurotypicals mask it's okay because they're not mentally ill? Should I feel like I'm walking on eggshells and inflating myself from anxiety I may hurt you in horrible ways? Should I change myself so you can feel comfortable, because if you change it's bad because autistic folks masking is bad, but if I do it it's good? Do you guys hate physical touch? When you have a meltdown, do you guys want everyone out of the room, and during meltdowns do you have every right to say mean things to me? Trust me, at 13, sometimes I feel like a rude jerk, and maybe that's why I don't have friends. During meltdowns, can you guys hit or yell at me? During meltdowns can you throw objects around? During meltdowns, should I stay quiet and leave the room? And when we're together, should I always choose to stay quiet? Because I heard that selective mutism can help in these cases? I feel if an NT person gets hurt or bruised, it doesn't count as bad because we're not disabled, we're very much okay and healthy and maybe just stronger, but if it's you maybe it hurts a lot. Maybe this full question is dumb, like me.

Recently, my partner and I celebrated a huge milestone by bringing our newborn son, Noah Alexander, into the world. The journey to deciding on his name wasn't straightforward, but we immediately fell in love with the name Noah after considering various options on the day he was born. Just 24 hours after his arrival, we were thrilled to introduce him to our family members, including my partner's sister, Sara, who has two sons (Ethan and Oliver) with her husband, Chris. Chris also shares a daughter from a previous relationship.

During the introduction, Sara was among the first to learn our son's name. Her reaction, however, caught us off guard when she expressed, "I've always adored the name Noah, but Chris wouldn't let me use it for Ethan because his ex already named their son Noah. Could you possibly think about using his middle name, Alexander, as his first name instead? It really does sound lovely!" Firm in our choice, I reassured her that, while I understood her situation, we had decided on Noah and would be sticking to it.

I presumed that would be the end of the discussion, but to my surprise, the topic resurfaced when Sara visited us at home a week later. I pointed out that it shouldn't have deterred her from using the name she loved, especially since the two boys wouldn't likely cross paths. They don’t attend the same school, share the same last name, or have any direct link except through their shared half-sister. I even mentioned that using the name in the future still might be possible—it’s a common name in our culture, which traditionally strengthens the bond among children sharing it.

It's important to note that Sara and I had never spoken about baby names before, nor did we have any agreements concerning them. The only complicating factor seems to be Chris's challenging co-parenting dynamics with his ex, which understandably impacts Sara. Although Sara and I maintain a good relationship, she typically avoids discussing matters involving Chris’s ex, so my understanding in this matter is quite limited. Should I feel like I've overstepped here?

Imagine if all of this drama unfolded not just in our personal lives, but on a reality show. The intensity of the situation could definitely escalate with cameras rolling, capturing every expression and reaction. How would the audience perceive my insistence on the name? Would they side with Sara due to the sensitivity of her situation, or applaud our firmness in keeping the name we loved? Reality TV thrives on such personal conflicts, magnifying every detail and potentially swaying public opinion either way.

My family is oversized by any standard. Including me, we're a group of seven siblings: Bailey, Clara, Reece, Sophie, Mia, and the youngest, Evan. With an initial plan of only two, my parents clearly overshot. Their jobs aren't particularly high-paying, and space in our three-bedroom house was tight long before we filled it to the brim. When my school transitioned online, I took up small jobs at 13 because we didn't even have web access back then. Despite the struggles, after Evan was born, they promised no more surprises, ensuring that I wouldn't have to fend for school necessities by working odd jobs. As the eldest, I've shouldered responsibilities like babysitting during my parent's night shifts and managing household chores to ease their burden, but the financial strain and cramped living conditions continue to challenge us. Government aid helps, but it's never enough with my parents’ lackluster financial acumen.

I believed that after Evan we were through expanding our family, and I began to envision a future where I could dive into culinary arts rather than pursuing traditional college due to economic constraints and mediocre academic performance.

However, this Monday evening shattered those brief daydreams when my parents announced a new pregnancy—14 weeks along. They had sat on this news for seven weeks, waiting for the "right moment" to tell us. While my siblings digested the shock, I felt an overwhelming rush of despair—tears, an uncommon expression for me, betrayed my feelings. My outcry sparked a heated reaction; my parents accused me of an unwarranted attitude. I shot back, frustrated by their broken promises and the relentless financial instability. Their response was dismissive at best, emphasizing the unplanned nature of the pregnancy and their anti-abortion stance, further implying that my focus should be on positivity.

The notion that a loving family trumps financial stability might hold for some, but for me, love feels eclipsed by the burdens of responsibility. It’s daunting, to say the least. Thoughts of potential financial crises, such as unmanageable bills or essential yet unaffordable repairs, haunt me daily. It's not just about immediate needs; it’s about the absence of security or predictability. Is it so wrong to feel burdened rather than blessed?

Imagine if this scenario unfolded on a reality TV show. Viewers would likely be polarized. Some might praise my resilience and condemn my parents' decisions, while others might criticize my perspective on family and obligations. Cameras amplifying every emotional response could sway public sympathy towards either the plight of a struggling youth forced into premature adulthood, or toward parents grappling with life’s unpredictable challenges.

Is it wrong to feel overwhelmed by familial obligations?

After dating for three years and facing financial difficulties that forced us to live separately with roommates, my partner (32F) and I (27F) are thrilled to finally move in together. This marks the first time both of us will create a living space that's entirely our own, without having to share it with others.

Raised in a staunchly Catholic household, I was exposed to rigorous religious practices from a very young age, which included church every Sunday and frequent prayers. Despite resisting confirmation and enduring my mother's disapproval of my bisexuality—strangely enough, she seems more accepting of homosexuality generally—I eventually moved out at 18 and maintained a cautious relationship with her. She has somewhat softened over the years but still persists in inviting me to church weekly, even though I've expressly asked her not to.

She's polite to my girlfriend largely because she knows I would prioritize my partner over her, especially after my girlfriend was unjustly labeled as a predator due to our age difference. My girlfriend herself has had a painful history with religion, having suffered abuse at the hands of her family after being outed at a young age, all justified by religious beliefs. Her faith in a higher power remains, although she rejects organized religion and worship.

Our collective experiences have led us to establish our new home as a sanctuary free from religious influences. This includes prohibitions on praying, displaying religious symbols, proselytizing, and even discussing religion-related topics. This decision is particularly irksome to my mother, who finds it difficult to abstain from sharing church-related stories with us, and bristles at our rule to conceal her cross necklace while visiting. She accuses us of hypocrisy, but I've stood firm, reminding her of her fortunate position in my life despite our strained relations. Even some friends suggest we might be acting excessively, twisting our traumas into a form of retribution.

Imagining if our life was a part of a reality TV show, I wonder how viewers would perceive our strict no-religion policy in our home. Likely, it would polarize opinions, with some sympathizing with our need to create a safe, secular space due to our past traumas, while others might view us as overbearing or intolerant towards my mother's expressions of faith.

Is the no-religion rule in our home too strict?

And wish it'd been an actual bicycle instead. I'm a bisexual man living in an authoritarian homophobic country. A few years ago I experienced a heart-shattering breakup, as my only soulmate and only physical relationship I've had (a girl) left me over something stupid I did (got expelled from university and hid it from her; it was more the broken trust aspect of it to her than anything). I hadn't been a very happy man before that either. All my life I've felt isolated and alienated, being bisexual, overly sensitive, overweight, nerdy, introverted, and teetotal. I grew a thick shell around me to silence my inner child/core being and reduce the sensitiveness, and it worked. But it turned out that love brings it all back out, the good and the bad.

My soulmate was the only person I've ever felt a deep connection to, who felt like someone who really understood me or at least parts of me better than anyone could. With her gone, and most of my immediate family dead to cancer, Alzheimer's, heart attacks and whatnot, I was at a complete loss. I retreated back into my shell, and it was all extinguished again, the good and the bad. My capacity for tender, genuine love - which she'd been surprised greatly by, only knowing me as the sarcastic jester - and my oversensitivity, which sometimes caused me to read too much into some poorly communicated words or actions. I was in great pain for a few months and slept a lot, until the death throes ceased, and I went back to this bland apathetic existence of a dead inside sarcastic cynic.

Until a few days ago, when it felt like some kind of other person took control of my body. I'd been noticing it for a while, the ever-increasing buildup inside of me towards homosexual attraction. While normally I was more interested in women, I'd been noticing more and more attraction to men these last years. It lasted longer than usual and felt much stronger. And finally, something within broke and gave in to the urges. I found the two biggest underground resources for gay dating that still remained in my country and posted a profile there. I knew it was stupid, with every ounce of my rationality remaining, but I couldn't help but watch from the sidelines as the other me was overtaken by the fantasy of someone replying to my profile, and me getting to kiss a boy for the first time in my life...

But of course, nothing happened. I know, I know, it's even dumber to expect results in just a few days. However, there are a few things you can't escape from. A few people left comments like "well damn" and "pfft, good luck with that". I also met a guy online who is, unlike me, young and thin and feminine, and using those same resources, he struggled to find love for years, because apparently most people just want an ONS or FWB. If he didn't have a chance, what could I possibly hope for? Look at them, so young and pretty, most of them attracted to each other. Even if some of them want genuine love, what do I bring to the table? An unemployed overweight loser with a crappy apartment, approaching 30. I felt creepy, and sick, and like an abomination. Who cares that you want to kiss a boy and hold him forever and tell him how precious and sweet he is. Who do you think you are to deserve that?

I spent the entirety of yesterday in feverish, sleepy anxiety, so reminiscent of the worst days of my depression, and eventually went to sleep early and slept for 12 hours. I felt better the next day, sleep does help, but some fear, anxiety, and disgust was still there. People who hear my story always tell me how strong I am that I carry on despite everything. Bullshit. I've never felt strong. I just have extreme thanatophobia and anhedonia, not to mention being teetotal, so it looks like I'm strong from the outside. Still alive, and not drunk in a ditch, what more could you ask for. So don't worry, dear reader. I'm not gonna go and off myself after this - Death does not deserve such a gift, and never has, especially after all it's taken from me. But I do feel a part of myself dying again. Love and desire and the desperate scream of a child who didn't get to grow up properly and who's more touch starved than a pharaoh's mummy slowly evaporating and drowning out. Come tomorrow, I will be a functioning adult again. A husk of a man in reality.

Despite this, I will continue to do what I can to improve myself, of course. I will try to shut up my anxiety attacks, clean up the most used areas of my apartment to the best of my ability, and even eat less and go at it on my newly bought exercise bike - a poor man's Ozempic called willpower, that I'd always been sorely lacking, but anhedonia makes it much easier. Maybe, just maybe, years later, when I'm yet older, I'll have a chance to try again. Maybe I'll have a better body and financial situation. I don't know if I'll want to try. I'm so fucking scared to end up like Stephen Fry and start dating again when I'm already 57 or something. And I feel sick to the bone at the cruelty of this world, for putting me in a body full of desires that can't be fulfilled and fears that can't be avoided. Whatever. Life is unfair. Come nightfall, and take it all away. Shed a tear for me, dear reader - mine have dried up a long time ago.

I study international relations at university, and every day I feel like I'm not smart enough, I feel stupid. It's hard for me to read and understand the material, it's hard for me to learn English (and after all these years of studying it, I still don't fully understand how to use different tenses, etc.), it's hard for me to gain the knowledge that I will need in the future. I can't read and memorize material, I have some kind of concentration problem I don't know, and any noise distracts me. I read the material, but it doesn't stick in my head. I don't know how to write reports properly, I use artificial intelligence and hate myself for it, I want to stop, but I don't know how, I was never taught this, and I don't know how to learn to write them myself. I don't have time for anything. The last time I allowed myself to really relax was in the summer, almost two months ago, because since September I've been completely immersed in my studies. I spend all my time studying, and even so, I get minimal results. I have a group of friends, and for the second year (because I've been studying here for two years), I feel like the dumbest one in our group. I always get lower grades. They have more knowledge, and they study for free because they scored high on the national test, while I failed it, and now my mom has to pay for my education, and I feel guilty about it because I let her down, since she is the only one who earns money. Today we had to pass a document (we had to translate excerpts from the UNESCO Constitution from English into our native language and vice versa). I prepared for this as best I could, considering the amount of other homework I had. I tried very hard, and I was so exhausted that for the last few days I started crying over anything, especially because of fatigue. I thought that I would pass this test today and be able to relax with peace of mind over the weekend, finally letting go a little. But I failed. 7/10, although I really hoped that the teacher would give me an 8,( I don't think I translated that badly). What also upset me was that he said in front of my classmates that he wouldn't give me an 8 because, frankly, I did much worse than Vika (my classmate who doesn't like me very much and we are like rivals). I was so ashamed, I begged him, humiliated myself, asking to retake the exam, take another test and translate, anything, just for an 8. But he said to try my luck next week, on Thursday, with the other part of my group. I left so upset because this had already happened in my first year — I got a 7 and had to retake the exam (I could have stayed with that grade, but I have a perfectionist syndrome kinda, partly because of my family, so I also spent my time then in hysterics over that grade). Then I saw that my friend had written in our friends' chat that she had gotten a 9/10. That broke me. I'm happy for her, really, I just don't understand why I can't be the same. I don't understand why I couldn't get the same satisfactory grade, why I'm doing something wrong, why I'm never good enough, why I always come across as stupid. And I'm sick of how they (my friends) try to convince me otherwise. When they always get everything right. Never once did they needed to retake the exam. And then they tell me that the grade doesn't describe me. I would say the same thing if I had such knowledge, such grades. I don't want to talk to them now, I start crying when I go into the chat and read how great my friend feels now after the exam and how good she feels, how everyone congratulates her on her good grade, when I spent the day crying and thinking why I couldn't do the same. Did I not study enough? I don't get enough sleep because of my studies, I'm not hanging out with my friends (on the internet, we usually got together to watch a movie) because I'm busy studying all day long. And now I not only have to be ashamed next Thursday and retake the exam, but also do piles of homework. There is really a lot of it, every single day, and even several pieces, and now I can't take the burden of this document off my shoulders. I am very tired, in fact, I want to rest, I want to sleep well, I want to enjoy my life, but I can't. I no longer believe that I can achieve anything in life, that this is for me and that I will be successful, I no longer believe in anything. And I don't want anything. I pray to God every day that he would just take me while I'm sleeping, or even not necessarily while I'm sleeping. I just can't take it anymore, and I don't understand how others do it, how they manage. And now, even now, I can't relax, I'm doing my homework, and on the weekend I'll be doing work for the institute. And we don't have vacation until January. I don't know if I'm strong enough to handle this.

I'm in my early 20's. Yet I've wasted my life. As I've moved from the place I've called home for many years. I realized that everything I did there was for other people's approval, appreciation, and opinions. Now, as I'm not there, I just feel lost. I don't know what I want for my major, nor what my interests are. I know damn well what I don't like, and many people say that that's a start. But I'm honestly worried that I'll never make any friends due to the fact that I honestly don't know what I like. I have no passions. No interests. And it's hard for me to be interested in other people on a genuine level, since I don't know what I'm interested. Most people wanna be friends with others with the same interest. But how do people become friends with someone who lacks interests? And I mean genuine interests. As I've said, I've lived me life for other people, and I don't know where to start for myself. Trust me, I've try many things, but again, they weren't for me, but for others. I guess I could list the things I've tried, but it would make it seem like I'm a lost cause! I've tried, hip-hop/crump dance, jazz dance, 4 years of ballet, tap dance, painting, drawing, pottery, singing, playing guitar, playing the djembe drum, playing the ukulele, playing the harmonica(I only tried that one 3 times, and never again), baking, cooking, paper mashé, learning ASL(American Sign Language), fashion design, jewelry design, makeup stuff(I didn't like it after a while), math at one point(never again!!!), proper ways to clean, learning about different books(even though I haven't read them)... Simply to interact with those book lovers, same goes for movies and TV, there's a lot I haven't seen, but I can somewhat carry on a conversation with the same conviction that the fans of those franchises do. And the list goes on of what I've tried and ended up not really liking. The only things that I refuse to engage in are horror movies, books, and TV, spicy food, sea food, winter sports(other than ice skating), and anything to do with Winston Churchill. Other than that, I really don't know what I enjoy.

So like, my ex has been acting weird lately and I don’t know if I’m reading too much into it or if he’s lowkey trying to come back. We broke up three months ago, wasn’t even that messy but we both kinda agreed it wasn’t working. But now he’s liking my posts again, watching all my stories the second I post them, and even replied “lol” to one like bro what’s funny? He NEVER used to watch my stories before unless I made him. And suddenly he cares now? Idk if it’s guilt or he’s being nosy or if he actually misses me. One of my friends said he asked if I’m seeing anyone now and I’m like—why the hell would he care? We not together anymore, you don’t get to ask those questions.

Then this one time, I was walking by his group at school and he literally went silent, stared, and did that half-smile like he didn’t know if he should say hi. Didn’t say shit though. I’m not saying he’s obsessed or anything but if you don’t want to talk, then don’t stare. Just turn around or keep walking. Like stop being a coward. Another day, he texted me “hey” out of nowhere at midnight. I didn’t reply. What was I supposed to say? Hey back and pretend like nothing happened? He dumped me because he said he “needed space” and now he’s crawling back with one dumb word? Get the f*ck outta here with that. Boys are so confusing, they want you until they have you, then when they don’t, they suddenly remember how good they had it.

I swear, it’s giving “I miss you but I’m too scared to say it.” But then again, I could just be imagining all this and he’s just bored or playing around. Maybe he wants attention, maybe he regrets stuff, maybe he just likes messing with my head. I don’t even know what I’d do if he said he wanted to get back together. Part of me would wanna slap him and the other part would probably melt; and yeah I know that sounds pathetic but whatever. At the end of the day I’m human. Do I still have feelings for him? Not really, but also maybe a little bit. Sometimes I do miss the way things were when it was good. Not the drama though. Never that again.

Anyway, what do y’all think? Are those signs or am I just being dumb? Would you say anything if your ex started acting like that? I feel like I’m going crazy trying to figure him out. Should I just ignore it and move on or call him out and be like “wtf do you want?” I don’t need games, I just want peace. If he’s trying to get back together, he needs to say it with his chest. I’m not gonna sit here and guess feelings like I’m on some reality TV show. I just hate this limbo sh*t. Tell me what’s up or go away. Simple.

hello. I honestly am writing this to just vent. I don't have anyone in my life who I can talk to about this.

I have two best friends. They are my only friends really. I have known them since I can remember, our families are all friends.

I am 22 and all I have known my whole life is that they are my best friends.

I won't go into detail but our friendship has had its ups and downs over the years; largely to do with being left out and ignored, them mad when i would attempt to make other friends or even just talk to people they wanted to be friends with, them keeping things from me and gossiping.

Don't get me wrong we have also had amazing memories made. Them and their families feel like my own relatives and are such prominent people in my life. I honestly can't imagine having grown up without them. And I have so much gratitude towards them for making my youth so memorable and important.

Recently one of my friends got married and the other is engaged. I however have never been in a relationship or anything romantic at all.

My friends are drifting away from me. I will try and organise to spend time with them which they will either ignore or say they want to then never follow through. I find out weeks later that they spend a lot of time together just them. I live just over an hour away so I just always tell myself it's just cause it's harder for me to go to them and them to come to me. But lately they just don't tell me anything. I am constantly updating them about my life and asking them and trying for them to tell me about theirs but they don't say anything just a casual 'all good'

I can feel myself chipping away and I feel so alone. I'm not close to my siblings for certain reasons and the only parent that cares about me is my mum.

I've dedicated my whole life into trying to be the best friend for them and now I'm realising that I have no one else. They are pulling away from me and have each other and their other friends. I'm all on my own.

Ive asked them before if I am doing anything to upset them or make them not want to be friends with me. They constantly tell me that im sweet and kind and I'm their bestest friend.

So I just don't understand how or why they put no effort to stay friends with me. I'm tired of being the only one who seems to care about our friendship. I dont want to end our friendship though because they mean so much to me and I don't want to be alone. But I don't know how to keep going like this.

Constantly feeling unwanted and unneeded.