Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

She used to be outgoing, growing her confidence with dresses and feminine clothing again and taking me out places with her.. she even did her makeup again after years without it cause she was feeling herself, even getting her nails done. She even took me out on a girls day just me and her and we had a great time.

Fast forward, she got a boyfriend. Locked in her room 24/7, always on FaceTime or regular call with him, there’s a camera in my moms room now that was put there by her boyfriend.. a whole situation happened where my, my mom, and my grandma all stood at my aunts house for a couple of days because of my moms bf and “safety reasons”.. he was drunk on beer when he introduced me and his daughter, and there’s more but it goes on.

Since they got together I’ve I guess you can say “observed”.. or “eavesdropped” a lot on their conversations since they’re usually loud even on the phone since he’s not allowed at my house (we live with my grandma and she said he’s not allowed). Here are things I’ve picked up that I think are both concerning and childish. For the record I’m 15, turning 16 June 15th of this year.

1 - He constantly accuses my mom of cheating and even assumes there’s a guy with her even if it’s just me and he doesn’t know I’m there

2 - He seems constantly insecure, telling my mom to go to her room and stay in there. She can barely respond to my texts because he’ll assume that my mom is texting another guy even when it’s her own daughter.

3 - He’ll talk to my mom sexually even when I’m around but I sort of assume that’s normal since my mom does the same..

4 - I peeked over my moms shoulder when she was texting at my therapist appointment and the words said “I belong to you” “you own me” because he was assuming my mom was cheating even though we were waiting in the place I go for therapy.. and he said “have fun with him” or something like that and she said “what’s fun about being in mental health”. I feel guilty but I also know it’s not my fault.

5 - This one is connected to the reason I had stood with my aunt over the weekend. She texted her boyfriend saying “I forgave you the first time for choking me”. This was I think a month ago now?? Idk.

Those are only some of the things and here are things about my mother. (She only does this when talking to a guy she’s with)

1 - She’ll tell men she’s on call with if I’m about to get my period or if I’m on my period whenever I mention that I’m cramping or I need pads and taking some of hers..

2 - She’ll make sexual gestures, phrases, jokes, etc around me and I’m not sure if that’s normal or if she’s just comfortable enough around me to do that sort of thing with the guys she’s with or on call with whoever she’s talking to at the time.

3 - She’ll talk to me about her sexual experiences and had told me about it when I was I believe 14? I’m not sure.. it could’ve been just beginning of this year.

4 - She’ll put me in view of the FaceTime knowing I’m uncomfortable with it but just to show her boyfriend that she’s not with another man.

I miss who my mom used to be.. it felt like it was me and her against the world but now it’s like she doesn’t even respond to me unless it’s to unlock the door for her since my aunt changed the lock on my door and didn’t give my mom a key because she chose her boyfriend. I feel like she’s so blinded by the idea of love that it’s suffocating and it’s like she can’t see past that and realize what it’s doing to the family.. choosing your boyfriend just because what he’s a “middle school sweetheart”? Yeah a guy who also “allegedly” put his hands on you, a guy who won’t stop accusing you of cheating, a guy who has you on camera 25/8, a guy who can’t respect your privacy and has you showing your hands so he knows you’re not “texting another guy”, a guy who accuses you of being with another man even when I’m in the room, a guy who you told “I don’t even use my fingers that’s how loyal I am” when I was right beside you in the same room, a guy you told “I only trust you”, a guy who was drunk off of beer when he introduced me and his daughter, a guy you claimed to have broken up with because he accused you of cheating so much and told you to 💀 but then got back together with him because it was a misunderstanding. She won’t even come to my room anymore to see me. She only texts me to open the door for her or when I am around her she’s talking on the phone and not with me. And she always has her phone on the entire room so he doesn’t accuse her of cheating even when I’m visibly uncomfortable.

This is a long rant but I had to get it off my chest..

As I sit here reflecting on my life, I cannot help but confront the pervasive sensations of existential dread that have accompanied me throughout my existence. Being 31 years old, a male navigating the complexities of adulthood, has brought forth a cavalcade of thoughts that often orbit around philosophical quandaries and abstract concepts that seem to hold me in a vice-like grip, compelling me to analyze every facet of my reality, both past and present. In a world where the mundane often shrouds the profound, I find myself ensnared in an endless loop of ruminations, particularly those that provoke anxiety surrounding my own existence, the nature of reality, and the elusive meaning of life itself. For instance, I was recently walking in the park—a typical Saturday outing to decompress after a taxing week—when I stumbled upon a seemingly innocuous tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze, yet my thoughts spiraled into an intricate analysis of its existence: Was this tree merely a transient anomaly in the grand scheme of the universe, serving no greater purpose than aesthetic pleasure for the passerby? Or did it embody an essential piece of a larger cosmic puzzle, contributing to the ecological systems that sustain life on Earth? These dilemmas circulate in my mind like a hamster on a wheel, never quite yielding the clarity I so desperately seek. Coupled with these musings are the persistent obsessions that arise from my experience with OCD, a condition that amplifies my tendencies toward overthinking everything that might seem trivial to another—like the cycle of life and death, the inevitability of decay, and, perhaps most dauntingly, the question of whether I am truly living authentically or merely going through the motions dictated by societal expectations. I often wonder whether others grapple with similar sentiments; might they find themselves staring into the abyss of their own thoughts, lost in contemplation about the purpose of their existence? During one particularly trying episode, I recall sitting at a café, attempting to savor my espresso while the cacophony of voices around me morphed into a philosophical dialogue of its own, leading me to ponder the vastness of the universe and my infinitesimal, seemingly inconsequential role within it. Is it possible that I am just another fleeting consciousness amidst an unforgiving cosmos, merely existing rather than truly living? Yet, while these thoughts may initially seem daunting, I have come to realize that acknowledging such existential questions can catalyze growth and introspection. I have learned that challenging oneself to navigate through these labyrinthine thoughts can lead to an enriched understanding of my own beliefs and values, often prompting me to realign my priorities and appreciate the sheer beauty of fleeting moments—like the laughter of a friend or a stunning sunrise illuminating the horizon. Amidst this internal chaos, I find solace in the notion that there is something inherently human about grappling with uncertainty and the quest for meaning; it binds us together as we navigate a shared experience defined by our complexities. As I confront my existential OCD, I recognize the potential beauty in vulnerability, for it carries the promise of connection and growth. Whether through conversations with friends or moments of solitude, I have discovered that vulnerability can engender resilience, allowing us to confront our deepest fears and emerge stronger, even amid uncertainty. Thus, I encourage you, dear reader, to embrace the electromagnetic spectrum of emotions and thoughts that accompany the human experience; perhaps you, too, can take a moment to reflect on what it means to exist in a world that often feels overwhelmingly vast. In doing so, we might find ourselves embarking on a journey toward understanding and acceptance, realizing that even in the face of existential quandaries, there is hope and beauty to be found. In a strange way, is it not this very struggle that lends color and meaning to our lives, offering us the opportunity to define our own significance in this unpredictable adventure we call life?

I never really thought about how much of our lives bleed through screens until I ended up talking with someone online who felt like they knew me better than people in real life. Isn’t it kind of wild? You log into some random chat, or even just leave a comment under a post, and suddenly there’s this exchange that feels more authentic than what happens at the dinner table. I guess that’s what people mean when they say “we’re not really strangers” online. There’s this paradox: we are technically strangers, but then you share these raw pieces of yourself and, boom, the distance collapses. I told this person about how I used to keep a journal in high school because I didn’t have anyone to vent to. They laughed and said, “You’re still journaling, you’re just doing it here now.” That hit me, like maybe this random human behind a username gets it. Do you think it’s possible to form real friendships this way, friendships that last, or are we just fooling ourselves with illusions of connection? Some people warn about “parasocial relationships,” but honestly, isn’t every relationship a little parasocial at the start until trust builds?

Anyway, I don’t want to romanticize it too much, because there are risks—catfish, ghosting, all that nonsense—but still, there’s a hopeful part of me that thinks maybe we underestimate the value of digital closeness. Once, I was ranting about my job frustrations, how the deadlines piled up and the boss barely acknowledged effort, and this online friend just said, “Take a breath, you’re doing more than enough.” Simple words, but I teared up. That tiny message carried more compassion than the HR department ever did. Maybe the internet, for all its flaws, creates pockets of kindness that we stumble into when we least expect it. And I like to think there’s meaning in that. Even if we never meet, even if I never know their face, isn’t there something powerful in recognizing someone’s humanity through their typed-out words? I hold onto that. And I wonder if you’ve ever felt it too—reading a stranger’s post at 3 a.m. and thinking, “Wow, I’m not alone in this.” That’s why I keep showing up here, because despite the chaos and the anonymity, there’s always that tiny flicker of connection reminding me the world isn’t so cold after all 🙂.

I’m put into a position where I have to choose who to live with. Either my grandma or my mom and it’s hard because I love them both and I hate that I’m forced here. My mom is going to move out because my grandma says that she brings trouble to the house and because my mom forgave her boyfriend after he hit her and took her car. So my grandma is making my mom move out so my mom and her boyfriend can live together instead of bringing him here to where I’m currently staying (which is in a home with my grandma and my mom). Today my grandma asked me “Your mother is looking for a place to live. I assume you’ll stay here with me, right?” <— (In Spanish) and all I did was look down. I didn’t give her a clear answer so she shrugged it off but it makes my chest ache, feeling like my family is falling apart and there’s nothing I can do. I don’t want to have to choose who to live with, I just want things to be happy.

And on top of all of that I just wish I could have a dad to go to. “Daddy issues” is so sexualized but it’s not my fault my own father isn’t there for me emotionally / mentally so now every time I see a dad and daughter having a healthy relationship it makes me cry and I get so jealous that it hurts. My mom doesn’t have her shit together, she’s always coddling her boyfriend and there’s no privacy with her or her boyfriend because of a camera I mentioned in one of my other vent stories. I just wish I had both of them, a mom to go to that respects my privacy and can just comfort me and a dad who can do the same. But I’m 15 and I’m already aware of the dangers online so I don’t trust easy anymore after having a couple online friends that talked behind my back to my boyfriend. My boyfriend also has his own things that he’s going through and I don’t want to burden him so I wish I could have my own online family. Like a little support system to escape reality.

I wish there was a way to factory reset my family, lol.

So, I just had the most confusing argument with my boyfriend, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. Out of nowhere, he tells me I’m "too clingy." Clingy?? What does that even mean in a relationship? I honestly don’t get it. We’ve been together for a while now, and I thought being close was a good thing. Isn’t that what being in love is about? Spending time together, sharing our lives, and, you know, actually being there for each other?

Look, I’ll admit I do like to know where he is, what he’s up to, and I text him a lot during the day. But isn’t that just because I care? We both work, and I miss him during the day, so a quick message here and there seems normal to me. I didn’t think it was something that would be seen as "clingy." He even said he loves how I’m always there for him, so now I’m just confused. How can it be both a good and a bad thing?

And, honestly, it's not like I’m following him everywhere or stopping him from hanging out with friends. I just want to be part of his life, and I thought that’s what he wanted too. So now I'm sitting here thinking, what is the actual meaning of clingy in a relationship? Does it mean I’m supposed to back off? Give him space? But then, where’s the line between showing love and being too much?

I guess I’m just frustrated because this word came out of nowhere, and I don’t know how to fix it without feeling like I’m not being myself. Has anyone else dealt with this? What’s the clingy meaning in relationships supposed to mean anyway? Am I overreacting here?

I, 14F, live in a household with my dad, 52M, and my little brother, 11M, who suffers from developmental disabilities (one of the types of autism). My sister, 19F, has moved away for university. Both my sister and I agree that getting away from our family by graduating is the best and most pacifistic solution. Growing up, my mom (I don't remember how old she was and is) was both physically and mentally abusive. She left a lot of issues for me to handle. Technically, she is the reason why I hate myself, body and soul, in this day and age. I found myself at 9 years old, begging my dad to divorce my mom, thinking that everything would be over. Guess what? My dad had to see his father dying from COVID-19, and TWO WHOLE MONTHS LATER, after lots of incidents, he filed a restraining order and a divorce. Of course, he had to see his children crying and begging him on their feet to do it. Yeah, of course, I had to see my newly bought clothes by my godmother with scissors because my mom and godmother/aunt were beefing at that time. Of course, my mom had to pull me by the shirt and drag me upstairs because she found me eating at my aunt's when she refused to cook for a whole week. I was just thankful that my mom would go away. Long story short, the court drives weren't amazing. The judges would side with my mom and use false information against us. I was just a kid, and the judge was treating me like a middle-aged criminal. Anyway, people started seeing the truth, and my dad won custody of all three kids. We live in a small village therefore everything is easily shared. Today, my dad is kind of... overprotective. Which eventually becomes unnecessarily annoying and very disturbing. I never actually had a boyfriend until I met Kanye on Instagram. He is three years older than me. I've been rejected twice (to be honest, kind of harshly since the last guy threw my card to someone I hated because they made dirty jokes about me and then said that I'd probably have a chance with the dirty guy instead), and I didn't give much thought because I liked him. We were in a relationship for two and a half months. Until my dad found out and went berserk. He deleted my Instagram accounts and blocked all my apps on my phone through parental control. I eventually broke up with Kanye because my dad threatened to fly to Kanye's home country and file a restraining order against him. I had to break up with the one guy I could talk freely about my situation without being judged and the only guy that loved me for me and not for my talents to brag about. I'm seriously debating life at this point. Kanye kept me alive. Now Kanye has to go. What's left? Nothing. What does my dad do to help? Make everything worse. "I don't have a favorite kid," he says as he suggests that my brother will use MY PHONE to watch YouTube because my brother's phone was out of battery. Yeah, okay, my brother has autism, I respect that. But god damn it. If you're going to use it like that, you're just not cool. I have trouble waking up because even my nightmares are better than this. I can't even pick up my ass to do basic things like shower or eat. But in my dad's mind, I'm just lazy. I don't want to keep living at this point. As my mom once said, "It should have been you instead of my miscarriage the year before your birth". Man, I know, it really should have.

I never thought my life would end up like this—fighting over every little thing with someone I used to love. The divorce has been dragging on for over a year now, and it feels like I’m stuck in a nightmare I can’t wake up from. At first, I was angry, then sad, but now? Now I just want to know how to stop caring. How do you let go of something that consumes your every waking thought?

It started off civil enough—or at least, that’s what I told myself. We agreed to “keep things amicable” for the sake of our kids, but that plan went out the window as soon as lawyers got involved. Suddenly, it wasn’t about splitting things fairly—it was about who could one-up the other. I can’t even count how many sleepless nights I’ve had, going over emails from my lawyer or replaying arguments in my head.

The worst part is how personal it’s become. It’s not just about the house, the finances, or custody. It’s the way she twists every little thing I’ve done into some grand narrative about how I’m the villain. At first, I tried defending myself, writing long rebuttals to every accusation, hoping to prove my side of the story. But no matter what I said, it didn’t matter. The attacks kept coming, and all I got in return was more frustration and legal bills piling up.

My lawyer told me the same thing over and over: “Don’t let it get to you. Focus on the facts.” Easy for them to say—they don’t have to live with the emotional fallout. But they’re right. The constant back-and-forth has been eating me alive, and it’s gotten to the point where I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I’ve become bitter, snappy with the kids, and consumed by stress. This isn’t who I want to be.

So, how do you stop caring? I wish I had a perfect answer, but I’ve been trying a few things. First, I’ve stopped reacting to every little provocation. Not every battle is worth fighting, and sometimes, silence really is the best response. It’s not about letting her “win” but about protecting my own peace.

Second, I’ve started focusing on what I can control. I can’t change her behavior or the things she says, but I can choose how I respond. Instead of dwelling on her accusations, I’ve been trying to put my energy into being there for my kids. They don’t need to see me angry and broken—they need a dad who’s present and strong.

Lastly, I’ve started therapy. I was hesitant at first because, honestly, I didn’t want to admit I needed help. But talking to someone who isn’t involved has been a game-changer. It’s helped me process my feelings and realize that letting go doesn’t mean I’m giving up. It just means I’m choosing to move forward.

This divorce has taken so much from me already—time, money, and peace of mind. I don’t want it to take any more. Learning how to stop caring doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything. It just means I’m choosing not to let this define me anymore. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the first step to really moving on.

alright fam, i gotta put this out here coz my brain's been cookin' on it for way too long. ever since i heard that 'if you think you might be gay, then maybe you are,' i've been questioning myself like crazy. mostly about how i'm supposed to even know, ya know? like, i get the attraction part, seein' a cutie walk past and thinking daaaamn... but what does it REALLY mean? 🤔

one minute i'm chilling watching netflix just vibing by myself and the next something pops up in the show and boom! i'm all tangled up in thoughts about whether or not it's normal to feel stuff about both dudes and chicks. it's like being stuck with dialup internet when everyone else has WiFi - slow as hell connectivity between my heart and mind.

i've read some studies from reputable places saying sexuality is fluid blah blah but let's be clear: studies ain’t getting involved in awkward convos at picnics with your fam about “why dont you have a gf yet?” or having mates assume you're into someone coz they're body type instead of their gender identity. it messes with your mojo man!

every time i try shar-ing this with someone comfortably close (my best bro knows shit), they throw sayings like 'you'll figure it out'. ugh thanks buddy...valuable input right there! trying labels feels weird too man - bi, gay, undecided technicolor dreamcoat maybe?! who knew discovering personal truths doubled as athletic endurance training?

do you guys also ever read countless articles n forums to explore solutions for this scenario? after losing hours hunting clues on late-night info benders without confessing indecisive-doom-timelines spirals turning minds turbulent? feeling distant due another human-made cloud hovering over headspace blocking fresh sunlight rays filtering opportunities tender clutches interpersonal intimate communion longtime far-off hoping heights meeting horizons together unsaid connections ever-changing manifestation holy roller disco unity surprise entrance existence disclosing characteristics previously overlooked hidden depths impacting upbringing relationships satisfaction otherwise unattainable triggering parts self no doubt unfamiliar partnership exciting happenings landscape changing joys anxiety laced speculation heart types stress therapy considered complex nature web proclaimed bond divine secret serendipitous tenant interior deterministic expression babble go figure careforeanyways just super confused guy asking ground bases reflection requesting honesty simplicity faithful dedication awaiting assurance ultimate unfurl opponent sound off solitairtune right refine soul aloud peace harmony comfort delightful whirlpool experimental acceptance contagious longing adapt consequential ambiguity freak existence cherished encompass perspective entertaining growth centric secure...

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?

Recently, a coworker from my office, whom I wouldn't consider a close friend but more of an acquaintance, invited me to a celebration for his new home purchase. It was an impressive property, complete with a sprawling backyard, a swimming pool, and even a decorative waterfall cascading into the pool. Although we mostly exchanges pleasantries at work and don't spend time together otherwise, he generously asked me to bring along my girlfriend.

The gathering was quite large; close to forty guests were there, and I only knew a handful of them. As the evening unfolded, my girlfriend started airing her grievances about the party in Hunsrik, a Germanic dialect spoken in our region of Southern Brazil. She criticized everything from the food selections, which she claimed did not cater to her dietary needs, to the host's choice of decor and playlist. Assuming no one else at the party would understand, she didn't hold back on her harsh remarks.

However, unbeknownst to her, my coworker approached and responded in fluent German, offering sympathy for the dietary incompatibility and even suggested a nearby store where she could find suitable food. He also invited her to choose some music if she wasn't enjoying what was played. The look of disbelief on her face was unmistakable, and a few snickers from other guests didn't help the situation.

Flustered, she retorted in Portuguese, questioning how they understood German. My coworker explained that he and a few others at the party had spent time working in Germany. Feeling utterly embarrassed, she urged me to leave, but I was enjoying myself and suggested we stay longer. Reluctantly, she agreed but kept to herself for most of the night. The ride home was tense, filled with arguments about whether I should have supported her or not. She blamed me for not disclosing my coworker’s fluency in German, although it was something I hadn't truly appreciated myself.

Imagine if this whole debacle unfolded on a reality TV show—no doubt it would've made for some cringe-worthy yet highly engaging television. The cameras would've captured every awkward expression and sharply whispered aside, amplifying the drama and, perhaps, adding a provocative twist to explore cultural assumptions and mishaps in social etiquette further.

I just need to yell at something right now in the middle of my ELA class and this is the only way I can figure out how because all the stress relief websites are blocked, i cant stab myself with pencil, yell at a teacher or blow up, and I need to look like i'm doing something. I am so unbelievably angry with my grades on an essay. everyone hates my teacher because he is super strict, crushes dreams and gives a lot of homework. I don't HATE him because I don't hate anyone and like to think of myself as a very empathetic person, but I am THIS close to pounding my head against a table because it is finals week and I had accepted the uselessness of this school support system months ago, yet here I am growing more frustrated. Between the repetitive mental health presentations, blaming of social media and high expectations, I have been stretched as thin as everyone else. Grades aren't bad in my family. They can't be. In middle school I worked extra hard to get straight A's, and was almost done with eighth grade when I learned that those grades don 't even count for anything on the long run. By then It was too late to change the way of existing that was drilled into me, and I even felt glad that I would have practice for high school, when the grades would go on my record. well here I am, halfway through the year and I have never been more tired. in addition, my grades have never been worse. Since the year began, I have volunteered twice, helped out at a bake sale, got first chair in band, learned to play hockey from the ground up, written 26 essays, ACTUALLY studied, prepared a duet piece with my friend for a competition, signed up for an extra online class outside of school for credit, joined weightlifting and marching band, stopped my friend from unaliving herself, gave up art for college credit classes, privately entered a short story contest, and not missed a single day. not when I got sick, not even after a car crash we got into on the way to school. I don't skip. I do my work. I have supportive friends. And here I am, wishing I could die. I think my body is trying to kill me. My stomach turns at the thought of eating anything, but I force myself to anyways because I need to have enough energy for hockey and dragging my backpack around, and I can't help but fight against my melatonin each night to stay awake for hours because my head keeps rushing and it's the only time of day when I can actually relax. I have to drag myself into the shower, and stopped wearing earrings, which sounds dumb and small but for me it feels noticeable. I am known for my giant, unique earrings, or at least i was, and they were one of the only things that made my feel like myself. Now, things like that don't feel worth the energy. But despite being exhausted, despite wishing I could end it all, I just can't. I know it would devastate my family and friends, and I just feel too busy to focus on any of that. I hate living, I hate trudging through the day, I hate working so hard I want to cry, and I hate that i'm failing anyway. I have A-s and B-s, which will never be enough to get me into a good college or have a meaningful future. My grandfather wants me to go to Cambridge or some Swedish university, and I want to make a difference in the world or something idk, But even if I had a 4.0, I would have to stand out somehow to be accepted anywhere. I've never been good at remembering or getting things in on time, but it's caused me to become a genius at lying. Excuses. Gaining sympathy. Taking advantage of my charm and empathy. I can get teachers to really like me without being a suck-up, and when I forget to turn something in, all it takes is a creative and specific story about a computer problem or something that is somehow their fault. I won't say I wish I didn't do it, but I can't, because it works and the extra time makes decision paralysis a little more bearable. AND YET STILL. STILL. I'M F*&KING FAILING AND NOTHING I DO SEEMS TO HELP! nothing I sacrifice, nothing I skip out on, nothing I do to myself helps. not even the "giving yourself breaks" things helps, because it never makes me feel any less tired and just sets me back. Even now, I am spending precious time in class to write this instead of editing a failed essay because I feel like it's the only way I won't scream. a 30/50. Handwritten, three-page report on irony used in To Kill a Mockingbird. Last essay, he told me to divide into more paragraphs. Now, the paper is covered in barely-readable scribbles that say things like "why did you indent again?" "dividing information makes it confusing" "And... WHAT?". The worst part, he acts like HE IS THE VICTIM! I have never met a more bitter man. He spends all class long harping about how the system has stuck him in a thankless gob where we stupid kids don't even listen to him after spending his whole life in school, like a martyr. He tells us that maybe if we studied instead of playing games on our computers, we would be as good as his AP class, or make an essay that was actually readable. It makes me fume. Infuriated at the way he doesn't seem to understand that we are fighting just to stay alive and people like me can't even have fun anymore, even if we had time. The worst part is that even if he did understand, I doubt he would care because this is the bare minimum for everybody. Dying every day and running on 5 hours of sleep. hating yourself and constantly competing. Sinking into depression in the back of your mind without having a minute to spare on escaping. There is no escaping. This is our reality. Our lives. Our fated failure. This is what they have made for us, and yet we are still told we aren't good enough.

My father passed away not too long ago, and his death brought not only sorrow but also unexpected pressures from my family. My parents divorced when I was young, after my father discovered that my mother was having an affair with who now is my stepdad. My mom and stepdad married, and my stepsister, whom I'll refer to as Stella, became part of my life through this union. Frankly, my relationship with them has always been strained, as I couldn't shake off the role they played in disrupting my family's harmony.

My dad was quite successful and managed to save a considerable sum intending for it to support significant milestones in my life such as college fees, wedding expenses, first home, etc. Everything, including his estate, car, investments, retirement funds, and even his cherished cat, was left for me in his will.

A week ago, Stella came to me with a request that left me irate. She asked me to help out with her college fees, citing the usual dilemma: our parents earning too much for government aid but not enough to comfortably cover tuition costs. I refused unequivocally, stating that she should wait for her own inheritance if circumstances permitted. This didn’t sit well with her or our parents, who later confronted me to plead for financial assistance on her behalf. The argument escalated, and I was frankly told to leave if I could not "act like a generous sister."

Acting on their ultimatum, I moved back into my dad's house, taking with me all personal belongings I had at my mom's place. Since then, I’ve received numerous texts from my mom, stepdad, Stella, and other relatives, all painting me as selfish and heartless for not supporting Stella’s education.

Contemplating over the heated exchanges and the outright demands, it feels surreal, almost as if I am cast in a reality show. If this were a televised drama, the audience might be divided. Some viewers might sympathize with my commitment to honor my dad’s wishes, while others could vilify me for not aiding my stepsister. The tension, emotional outbursts, and moral dilemmas would certainly make for engaging TV, but that doesn't simplify my turmoil in real life.

Am I wrong to stand my ground on this?

Experiencing multiple betrayals and being left alone has made me lose faith in love, and I constantly wonder if I'll ever be normal again or find the right person.

I feel so wasted for giving my best to someone who didn't care. I've started to hate myself, questioning why I can't live all by myself, and thinking how wonderful that would be. I've begun to believe that people are heartless and don't deserve to be loved.

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

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

Ugh, this is so annoying. I swear, I don’t even want to think about him but my brain just won’t shut up. Like, I’ll be doing the most random thing—scrolling on my phone, eating cereal, literally trying to do anything else—and boom, there he is. Just pops in my head like some kinda glitch. And it’s not even always something big, sometimes it’s just like… the way he smiled that one time, or how he said my name in this certain way that made my stomach do that dumb little flip thing. And then I sit there, thinking about it, replaying it in my head like a freaking movie, like why am I like this??? And the worst part is, I don’t even know if he likes me back. Like, yeah, he talks to me, yeah, he laughs at my jokes (even when they’re not funny lol) but does that actually mean anything? Or is he just nice?? I hate this, I hate not knowing, I hate how one person can just exist and suddenly I have zero control over my own thoughts anymore. Like bro, chill, I’m tryna live my life, not sit here daydreaming about some guy who probably isn’t even thinking about me rn.

And then there's the overthinking part. Like, every time we talk, I analyze everything. Did he mean something when he texted first? Why did he take five hours to respond? Did he look at me longer than normal today, or am I just insane? Like I swear, my brain should come with an off switch. And don’t even get me started on social media. One second I’m just casually checking my feed, next thing I know, I’m on his profile, scrolling waaaaay too far down, like some kinda detective, tryna figure out who that girl in his comment section is and why she’s reacting to his stories with heart emojis. And then I get mad at myself cuz why do I even care?? It’s not like we’re dating, it’s not like I have some claim over him, but still, the idea of him liking someone else makes me feel weird. And it’s so dumb because if I just knew he liked me back, all of this would be so much easier. But nope, instead I’m just stuck in this cycle of thinking, overthinking, trying to ignore him, failing miserably, then thinking about him even more. It’s honestly exhausting. Like, how do people just not care? How do people just move on with their lives and not spend half their time obsessing over every little thing?? Cuz at this point, I feel like my brain is basically holding me hostage, and the only way out is if he either confesses his undying love for me (lol as if) or I somehow figure out how to delete my feelings. Either way, I just wish I could stop thinking about him for like, one second. Is that too much to ask???