Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

You know, my friends, I have a hard time feeling comfortable around people. My biggest problem is that they have an extremely limited view of how to treat me, at least with those I've encountered. While I maintain a very sophisticated one with them, due to the fact that I'm always trying to give a response that, first, fits the person and, second, is foreign to their customs and those I'm used to. In itself, it unbalances me when I socialize, and that's what makes me feel the need to be alone.

I'm not interested in maintaining a language specific to a specific group, but rather, I'm interested in a language that allows me to be universal with all groups. I feel it's an interesting challenge because if I stay within a certain language, I'm not aware of what's happening in the group, given that language is there to be embedded and what it entails not distancing oneself in a way that schematizes circumstances. Furthermore, I prejudice what is external and not maintained by a norm among most groups, precisely to protect the stability of my group. Dear all, I feel that solitude precisely allows for openness to all groups, since it allows for observation and the development of responses to the development of boundaries that allow for coexistence between them and oneself. Those who are alone are considered to lack boundaries, and being alone in itself expresses that you lack the tools to socialize for this group, and that they are specifically for this group. For this reason, while there are several groups of this nature, and I haven't encountered any others, there is a diversity of language, and one must respond to it in a way that establishes consequences within the language used for a particular group if it is breached, thereby maintaining the identity of the group for me, as well as for the rest, as well as mine.

There are many people who possess this spirit, given that they insert themselves into such groups and, of course, base their actions on achieving the integration of the individual on an essence of victimhood if they fail, an issue for which one must be prepared. Indeed, then, loneliness itself, as we can see, is problematic for this social instance, and not because of loneliness itself, but because of the consideration of these groups. Loneliness, we can say, explores the thoughts that are generated within the same concrete routes of exploration of the world, precisely to give us ways to continue with this development of ideas, which in itself, I insist, is systematic, given that there is no group that holds ideas that are not such and that are assumed even as dogmas.

I have to say it: Loneliness, in today's world, is undervalued precisely because we have not been taught the ways to manage it. In itself, it has all consisted of remaining at the mercy of a group for the security that this implies, or the prejudice it entails. There is no longer concern for the context, which is what allows for non-violent behavior, and its failure to do so in itself concretizes the oft-discussed distrust among people that we all maintain when we are from different groups. In fact, I've come to view those solitary entities as a simulation of being solitary when in reality they are governed by the rules of a group, which in itself makes them belonging. Indeed, it must be said that we are part of a group when we abide by its rules, not by physical proximity, which doesn't explain those who appear alienated from the group to which they are considered to belong despite joining groups.

I believe that today it is necessary to discuss when we are part of a group, when we are inserted into the dynamics of a group, as well as the awareness of such elements precisely for mobilization among them or precisely their limitation given our ideology, which in itself is difficult, if not impossible, to result in a destructive outcome since it deprives us of support. I do not personally understand this fear conspired in such a way although I believe that it is the result of experiences in which the individual in question and others have not known what to do, which is why they resort to talking about a rough and impossible path to pass when the morphology of said path itself is expressed by the absence of tuned praxis and that precisely determine dark and impassable dimensions, being able to point out, right now that I speak of it, why the journey through such paths represent a terrain of uniqueness for when such characteristics are present in other aspects of life such as nature itself in the absence of human agents as well as certain mythologies, however, this is only to highlight, although I do not seek certainty but the development of ideas, which, its help is always felt, and its denial, it is complicated to help then will always be welcome in any way.

Man, I just gotta get this off my chest, like for real. I’m 16, right? And my relationship with my mom is the absolute worst. It’s crazy how different she is with my little sister, like she practically worships her or something. It’s like they’re best friends and I’m just... there. 😕

Every time I walk into the room, it feels like I’m stepping into a battlefield; she gives me this look that just screams annoyance. Like, what’s up with that? It’s not like I’m a total jerk or anything. I mean, I try to keep it chill, but every little thing I do just seems to set her off. “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” is basically her daily mantra. Seriously, how am I supposed to compete with someone who can do no wrong? It’s exhausting. 😤 My sister is sweet and always gets the praise. I don’t blame her, she’s cool, but jeez, a little love for the older sibling wouldn’t hurt either! I can’t help but feel like I’m constantly walking on eggshells around my mom. Even things like asking her for a favor seem to ignite a volcanic eruption. “I’m too busy, why don’t you just handle it yourself?” Like, okay, I get that you have a lot to juggle, but come on, don’t I deserve a little consideration? I mean, it’s only fair. I’m a teen trying to navigate life and school and whatever else comes my way. Just last week, I asked her if she could help me with some school project ideas. She hardly listened and just told me to Google it. Like, really? I get that independence is important and all, but there’s a fine line between being supportive and being dismissive. 😒 My friends joke around about their moms being “just a little bit overprotective,” but I’m over here just wishing for some attention!

I honestly can’t figure out what I’ve done to deserve this treatment. I’ve tried talking to her about it but every time I bring it up, she makes me feel like I'm whining. “You need to toughen up,” she says. I’m like, what am I supposed to do with that? It’s not like I’m asking her to hand me everything on a silver platter. I just want some recognition, you know? Like... occasionally ask about my day or show a little interest when I’m venting about a bad test or a friendship issue. But nah, it’s always about my sister's dance competitions or her latest cute outfit. I can’t help but feel like a second-class citizen in my own home. It’s frustrating, to say the least. And the worst part? When my friends are over and see how affectionate she is with my sister, they definitely notice the strong contrast. You could cut the tension with a knife! 😳 I can’t help but wonder if she even realizes she’s doing it. Maybe she’s caught up in her own world and just doesn’t see me. I’m there, but I feel invisible. It’s kind of like being the background character in a movie where everyone else gets the spotlight. Is it wrong that I want to yell, “Hey! I’m here too!” I constantly catch myself daydreaming about what it would be like to have a mom who genuinely had my back. It sounds simple, right? Just someone who’s on my side, cheering me on instead of the constant critic. Is that too much to ask?

I hear my friends tell stories about their moms and I can’t help but feel this wave of jealousy wash over me. They have those heart-to-heart chats that I would honestly die for. 🤦‍♂️ Real talk, have I done something specific that triggered this? Or does she just have a weird preference? Why does it feel like I'm in competition for her affection? I don’t need to be her favorite, but a little balance would be nice! So yeah, sometimes I just wanna scream, "I hate my mom," but deep down, I know that it’s not really that simple. I guess in some ways, I still want her to notice me. I don't know, maybe I'm imagining it all, but it sure feels real to me. Thanks for hearing me out, this has been building up for a minute!

Growing up, my life was deeply entrenched in religious practices, as both of my parents embraced faith as young adults, met at church, and centered their entire social existence around religious activities. About five years ago, I realized that I didn't share their beliefs, and ever since revealing this, our relationship has been strained, particularly with my mother. As a child, I often protested attending church and expressed my discomfort with having religion imposed upon me. My stance saddened my parents, especially my mother, who confessed that it made her question her faith. They explained that since I live under their roof and am financially dependent on them, I must abide by their rules, which includes attending church.

As I've matured, I've come to understand how fundamental their faith is to them and that they believe they are acting in my best interest. Thus, I attend church with them every week without complaint. However, I still struggle when they continuously bring religion into daily conversations. Seeking advice usually leads to responses laden with religious references, which don’t resonate with me. Although I've tried to explain my point of view, it often results in arguments, with my parents insisting that they are just trying to offer guidance.

Not long ago, during a lengthy car ride, they insisted on interrupting my music listening to share a biblical passage. This demand sparked frustration in me, prompting me to confront their forceful approach. The situation escalated, and as a consequence, they confiscated my phone for the rest of the journey. While losing my phone is trivial, the recurring theme of such disputes pains me.

Understanding my change of heart has been hard for my parents, but their insistence on incorporating Christianity into aspects of my life where it makes me uncomfortable seems like an infringement on my personal boundaries. Am I indeed being closed-minded by asking them to refrain from pushing their beliefs on me, or am I unjustified here?

If my situation was featured in a reality show, the reactions could be quite polarized. Viewers might side with me, feeling sympathetic towards my desire for personal belief independence, while others might regard my parents' actions as justified guidance for someone under their care. This could potentially lead to heated debates among the audience about the balance between parental influence and individual freedom.

How are you today? Did you think about me today or no? 5 days ago I received a reply to the anon post I posted few 2 years back.wtf. what is happening and I just read about it yesterday. What are you doing? Tell me? What do u want? You just keep on replying to my post that I idid years before but you never message me wth

I'm working since november in a new job and at first I tought that it would more than the same but now I really like it and I'm really glad to be there. But now I have to travel in february with My family for almost three weeks and I'm kinda sad and guilty because I don't wanna leave this workplace and I know for sure that they're going to fire me. So, I don't know what to say or do... And I can't delay the flight because it was too expensive and my family bought it in october.

I hate it soo much!! I hate it here, I hate existing so badly because I'm anxious every single second, I feel as though everyone's eyes are on me, and every time I move, it feels like I'm a robot because I'm conscious of my every movement. I move and talk how people want me to, and it's so hard to be myself because I fear that I will be judged. My anxiety is so bad I can't even show my true colors to my friends. I know they're good people, but I'm just scared. So scared, you know? I know they won't judge for every little thing but even so, I'm terrified. My traumas won't let me be the person I wish to be; I'm always holding myself back because I'm just so anxious. I hate feeling like this because I'm wasting my whole life acting like someone I'm not.

Two years ago, I received my degree, a milestone made possible by a dedicated savings effort from my parents starting when I was very young. I'm profoundly grateful for this and have striven to honor their efforts by excelling academically and graduating on time. Comparatively, my younger cousin Lara faced some challenges and ended up leaving college last year after not passing several classes. She's now ready to re-enroll, but there's a hitch — she's already depleted much of her college fund.

Just recently, her parents, my aunt and uncle, approached me with a request. They hoped I might consider transferring the remaining balance of my college fund to help Lara with her tuition. While it's true that I have some funds left — thanks primarily to a scholarship I received in my senior year — I told them I couldn't comply with their wish. I've earmarked these funds for my graduate studies or potentially a future home purchase, and it doesn't seem fair to sacrifice these plans, especially considering the circumstances of Lara's academic struggles.

This decision didn't sit well with them. Lara insists she "needs it more" and accuses me of being selfish, pointing out that my own education was fully covered. Her parents echoed this sentiment, arguing that the money would serve Lara better than it does sitting in my account and expressed a desire to avoid student loans for her. While I empathize with the difficulties student loans can present, I feel it's important to note that I diligently worked through my college years, both academically and in planning my finances for the future. It seems unreasonable to expect me to forgo my financial security due to her earlier academic failures.

Am I in the wrong for wanting to keep what I’ve saved for myself? Imagine if this were played out on a reality show — how dramatically opinions would clash in front of cameras! Viewers would likely be split, with some criticizing my decision as selfish and others praising my foresight and financial prudence. The scenario could definitely turn into a heated debate reflecting the differing values on family support versus personal responsibility.

Overall, it's a tricky situation loaded with family expectations and the weighing of financial vs emotional investment...

My relationship with my parents has always been rocky, and it's only gotten harder as I've gotten older.

Recently, I found out I was the beneficiary of a substantial inheritance from my late grandfather – about $125,000 intended to cover my college expenses. Thrilled, I hoped to use this gift to attend my dream university. However, my enthusiasm was quickly dampened by my mother.

She believes that as the eldest child, I am obliged to reimburse her for costs she incurred from my early childhood medical procedures. Approaching her to transfer the inherited funds into my college savings account, she staunchly refused, asserting that the money was hers due to her sacrifices for me. Growing up, she frequently took money from me, including winnings from sports events and even once destroyed a safe given to me by my grandfather.

After cooling down for a few days, I prepared to confront her again, this time armed with detailed documentation. Since I was 13, I kept a meticulous record of all my earnings, now combined with my inheritance, totaling about $250,000. I showed her a detailed list of these transactions, hoping to reason with her, but instead, she became irate, insisting she was entitled to the money because of the medical expenses she had covered.

Realizing calm discussion was futile, and recalling past incidents where she destroyed my documentation, I safely duplicated all evidence on my laptop. When she grabbed and tore up my hard copies, I only added these losses to the grand total.

Two days ago, I sent her an email clearly stating my demands for the return of my funds, disregarding interest to keep matters simple. I included a final warning: if she did not comply, I would pursue legal action, factoring in costs for therapy resulting from our ongoing conflicts.

Did I push things too far? Am I wrong to threaten legal action against my own mother?

Imagine this scenario playing out on a reality TV show. Viewers would likely be divided, some sympathizing with the struggle of reclaiming one's rightful assets, while others might view the legal threats against a family member as too extreme. The dramatic showdowns and tearful confrontations could certainly captivate an audience, potentially painting me either as a victim or a villain based on the editing slant.

Think about it, there's more benefits to it. You're less surprised by tragedy, you are alive because everyone are liars in your eyes, and when you get hurt, you already knew this was gonna happen.

Really? So far I've had no friends and my family hates that I'm negative. I'm not negative, I'm honest. They hate the fact when I tell them there's no hope in this planet, and that everything is pathetic, and how I won't even be rich and alive to see 20.

People already struggle in this era, so what else is next than to give up and be on the unemployment train? Or vouch for communism over capitalism? I even became negative and I'm happier that zone. It's my comfort zone.

The moment my friends moved on and had their own groups without me, I became the cynic, the dark, the grim. I soon realized at 13 to live in the world, you have to trust no one, not even your family or your home country.

You must hate everyone, and distrust everyone. You must live in fear and disgust of humans, because they try to force-swallow their nasty happy pills down my throat and "be positive".

My family doesn't love me, I'm just a resource, a toy given to them because they wanted to fill out a norm. Have a tall husband, short wife, and 2 kids, one girl and boy.

Benefits of being pessimistic (which even the adults on the room can’t see for some reason):

1) Has a lesser painful impact when being betrayed by something or someone because you low-key suspected the thing with you was a fake

2) Are actually more smarter some you are able to see the messy sides without being too surprised

3) Have enough permission to tell someone, “I told you so!”

4) Able to feel smart and actually be confident because you have enough evidence and gut feeling to prove your point that everything is hopeless

5) Able to understand the world is a mess because everything is too expensive, too less, people can be evil or bigoted, able to see and grasp the flaws of populist people (and people in general) more easily

6) Can rot and feel hopeless without feeling drained or physically affected because already predicted the (crappy) future, in fact can actually thrive in such mental states

7) Able to handle bleak honesty better (like being told “I don’t like you” or “You’re worthless and ugly”) because the pessimism tells you it’s true

8) Great personality trait to have because it meetings and in jobs you can be flat you “ruined” (correct word: told the truth) to your dumb, optimistic puppy employees

9) Can handle isolation and loneliness better (I lasted 7 years with no friends or contact to any classmates, and I’m 13!) because you know everyone, even the adults, around you are idiots to never understand

10) Can grasp the fact the adults are stupid and uncultured without crying because it was already predicted

I can do all that without feeling bad! I can fail and berate myself, and I'll be fine because I'm in my comfort zone. Isn't everyone happy in their zone?

I even felt embarrassed after I got excited because we went to a park we never went to and saw hoopoes, ring-neck parrots, mynas and it had some interesting empty restaurants and 2 colleges nearby, and then I petted a cat on a bench, until I started feeling more itchy, my eye swelled up red, and I realized the doctor was right when she said I have an allergy to dust and cat hair.

So see? I should've just sat, even though I liked walking, seeing the birds, the place itself, and having a nice bubble tea with my mom and brother. I should've argued with mom about my ideology that pessimism is the way to go, rather than let her read her book and me walk around.

That would've ended than us being peaceful and mom not yelling. That cat ruined it!

Sure it didn't bite or scratch me (I would've berated myself for rabies risk), it was oddly quiet and it was weirdly so comfortable to the point it sat on my lap and it didn't even try to attack me when I picked it and lightly threw it on the ground (it's a cat so it can land on its feet, and cat didn't even meow), and when I scratch and petted it, it seemed fine, it sat another time before I picked its belly and put it on the bench, and his eye also looked kinda swollen, until I started itching and my eye also got swollen, and mom in a kinda disappointed tone said, "Oh, why did you do that?"

Before we got bubble tea and I put the drink on my eye to cool it, then at home (after we picked my brother in the same park from his piano exam. You see, in one area there was an auditorium hub, and he did it there, we were just nearby) I put the ice pack on my rash, eye and mom put eye drops.

It's better now, but I shouldn't have done it! Still, I shouldn't have trusted my gut, and I should've never sat near that thing.

Hell, I should've argued with mom about my philosophy, instead of excitedly telling her about the hoopoes and ring-necks like an 8 y/o! I'm 13!

Isn't it just stupid I got excited over a dumb bird, and a bit confused why an Indian parrot was in UAE, and there was 6 of them near the college (it was Middlesex University in Dubai)?

I should've argued and be cynical, that's more grown up! I may have been happy while roaming around, but not everything happy is good!

And why was I even looking around the place and drinking that with my family? I should've asked for a coffee, like adults!

I'm not pretending it never happened, I'm admitting it did, and admitting how much of an avoidable situation it was!

It's a stupid stray cat, it's not like it's gonna cry if you leave it!

And I was even dumber for thinking it was a calm cat, it was, it didn't react much at all (I know it's not dead, his eye just looked weird, and I hope he was alright, showed no signs of sneezing, coughing or snot, his left eye was just swollen), even when I picked it up and put on the ground first, and then the chair, I shouldn't have trusted that fiend!

And why did my left eye also get swollen? Again, I was being stupid! People with allergies don't go anywhere near things they have reactions to, even if it's not anaphylactic!

Again, what allergic person goes near their allergies? Lord knows I was being stupid. I shouldn't have trusted it. It may have been gentle, maybe kinda old, but I shouldn't have even thought about going there.

This is one of the memories where being calmer and hopeful hurts you. This is the other chapter in my book of that.

Stupid cat fur. Can't even be a normal person.

But my benefits! Oh, don't tell me, "Be positive!" Again, it's happy pills institutions feed us to keep us controlled. That's like saying surgery is bad because people die from it. More people have lived!

If I apply the same with everyone, family, friends, teachers, strangers, I'll be alive. I won't be on the ground betrayed by a fraud.

More people have been hurt by surprises. So, the more I expect down, I can never be hurt. Better to never be hurt ever than get hurt once, right?

Come on, if I don't trust anyone, I'll be fine! It's how we work, right? People wall up all the time. Don't they?

I mean, army men don't trust EACH OTHER, so? I can wall up forever, or at least decades and be okay! It's how I managed without friends! Hermits did it! I can have that life!

Another thing, how does looking or doing things you like supposed to make you feel better when you failed at something?

Again, I didn't draw for months, and then during that time, I made mood boards and just sat at home doing nothing. Then, when I failed 2 of my exams, I turned to watch what I liked, created more boards, got back to making my doll, and eating, and wanting to go out to malls to cure my misery.

Yeah, useless. This is fleeting joy. This isn't the joy where you are happy for life. It still means I'm a failure to my family, even if my mom says I'm not a failure.

Exams will define my college selection, my grade promotion, and life! Says the woman who got 70/100, thinking she failed when she's top 5 scorers in school for getting 85-95!

Again, I always think she's lying. What's the catch? What's the hidden meaning behind, "We may argue but I won't leave you and stop loving you."

People leave when they have a big argument after many microaggressions, or maybe one big thing happened and they all hate each other! They fight and leave, it's the big thing that holed their relationship!

Movies show it, and they're praised as realistic, so explain this. My brain's a soldier in armor for knowing this and suspecting this.

Guess what? Okay, maybe my arguments are the micro-aggressions, until we have that BIG FIGHT, and she sends me elsewhere!

Don't tell me, mom, that you won't send me anywhere or deport me back no matter how angry you are, you will soon.

I have maturity in pessimism than my family, so at least I'm good at that and nothing else.

I'm smart. I'm confident because of it.

My mom spews trash when she says, "Don't talk about your miseries all the time or any bad thing all the time, we just did something good yesterday."

We may have binged a show we liked, had good food, went out to a new park we've never been to, and had bubble tea, but to keep myself not too happy, I have to remember the bad things.

Isn't it how we keep ourselves in check and not too...joyful?

Joy can make people do stupid things, and when you distrustful of everything, you'll have all the things trying to hurt you not hurt you.

Isn't numbness good?

And so what if it's a cage? Better than to fly in a forest where you could get eaten by an animal.

Flying's bad in that case. It's a cage that keeps me safe, with food, shelter, confidence, security, and my thoughts.

I'm fine here! In fact, I'm happier here than being positive. I'm happier here, it's how I've managed for years, I only got more emotional when I started listening to my heart.

It shouldn't be there! I should grow out of it. It may be screaming me to not be this "hard", but it's being stupid.

It's like a kid telling me not to watch TV today or I'll go blind today and need a walking stick.

See? I can be happy being alone when thinking negative, because how can anyone hurt me or leave me?

Bad things only teach you they're bad.

You break up with someone when you both couldn't control it, it was worthless.

If you studied and still failed an exam, it was worthless.

You had a friend who moved from you, that friend was worthless.

If this is "living", I reject living. I accept survival.

Seeing pain as bad, and emotions as bad, it's how I've coped for years now. I managed since I was 12, for some stuff, but it's increased now at 13.

I was okay until I listened once to my heart. That made me feel bad, and it made my mom be a "friend".

Who has their mom as a friend?!

I've been vulnerable to a teacher, and she took me too literally! She got me out of school for 3 days, when I felt perfectly fine to go!

And even I feel guilty, and now mom's all like, "You should now speak to me, because only I know you better than them."

Hag, you're my mom. Who has their moms as confidants!?

I'm supposed to have many friends at this age, not be alone with mom.

I can even fake with a few people to look cool! I'll figure it out!

Everybody else has friends. I don't. I'm 1 of the 2 kids in the class with no friend. There's only one girl, but if I spoke to her, it'll be awkward. She's very quiet, very soft-spoken.

If girls can fake boyfriends and then fall in love like in movies, I can do it with friends!

If I DARE get awkward, it's bad. Means I'm weak, shameful even.

I must fake it. I can forget it exists if the sky has smog in it. I'd rather breathe in my own breath than that in my cage.

Everything uncontrolled is bad! I'm allowed to be a hermit!

You may say hermits were missing human connection but they convinced themselves it was fine. Why can't I do that?

I'm a martyr for that. I'm a martyr for isolation.

So please, people here, what happened when you were pessimistic for a long while? I bet it benefited you more than gave you issues.

But be honest, tell everything...

They said it themselves.

I'm hated.

The scapegoat.

The one who can't just grow up.

The drama queen.

The attention seeker.

The one with the anger issues.

The one who starts everything.

Who gets mad when people try to help.

But when will they see that that's not who I am?

Who I am is a broken person.

The one who is always crying inside. even if I can't do it on the outside.

The one who wishes in vain for things to get better.

The one who knows she's misunderstood, but will never be understood.

The outsider who just wants to fit in.

The one with no real friends, or so it seems.

The one with all the scars on my legs from the nights when everything seemed hopeless.

The broken one who needs to be fixed.

The girl who can't get by.

The girl who is hated becuase nobody knows who she is.

Nobody knows who I am.

The talk behind my back.

They call me "drama queen" and "attention seeker".

They call me immature.

They call me an asshole.

Nobody likes me.

Because they don't know me.

Around seven years ago, my relationship with my ex, Jenna, sadly came to an end. We share two teenage children, and since I was more financially secure, Jenna proposed I take full custody following our split. I've been raising them full-time since then, with Jenna having the option of visitation. However, she seldom exercised this right. Shortly after we went our separate ways, Jenna moved on with a wealthy man from abroad, quickly becoming pregnant with his child. The man, however, was not interested in taking care of children who were not his own, leading Jenna to relocate three hours away, distancing herself further from our kids. For nearly two years, she vanished from their lives.

The wealth of Jenna’s partner was contingent on his family’s support, and after discovering her situation, they withdrew their financial backing. Complicating matters, their young child faced developmental challenges. Jenna was expecting another child when her boyfriend decided to return to his home country, leaving her alone, pregnant, jobless, and caring for their special needs son.

Last week, Jenna reached out in desperation, her circumstances dire. She and her son were living in a motel, and their financial resources were dwindling. She asked if they could stay at my lake house nearby, or alternatively, if I could provide some financial support. I declined both requests, leading to heated exchanges where she accused me of neglecting my extended "family" despite having the means to assist her. I maintained that, biologically speaking, her current predicaments do not obligate me to intervene.

In a scenario where my life was part of a reality show, the reaction from the audience could be intensely divided. Viewers might sympathize with the tough stance I’ve taken, arguing that my responsibility is primarily towards my own household and the children we share. Others might harshly critique my decision, seeing it as lacking compassion towards my ex who is clearly struggling and my indirect connection to her current children. The intensity of reality show fans could turn this domestic drama into a broader debate on responsibilities and moral obligations ex-partners owe to each other, especially when children are involved.

Now, reflecting on my story as part of an online community seeking advice or shared experiences, I’m curious to get your points of view...

So I play DnD 5e a lot. I'm not diagnosed autistic, but I wouldn't be surprised if I actually was; and if I am, then DnD is definitely my special interest. But I've only DM'ed campaigns for the entire time I've played, except for two sessions. So I look outside of my friend group. I search online everywhere. But I for the life of me cannot find a campaign to be in. It's starting to mess with me; I feel like a weird stress/anxiety, and if I don't play again soon I may go mad I fear

I keep asking myself this question more than I should—am I good enough for her? She’s amazing. She’s 35, confident, elegant, makes six figures doing something I don’t even fully understand but sounds important as hell. Meanwhile, I’m 31, still figuring my career out, working in a jobb I’m not even sure I want long-term. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely lost—I’ve got a decent job, I pay my rent, I’m not some couch-hopping slacker. But when I look at her and then at myself, I can’t help but feel the gap. And it’s not just the money, even if that’s a big part of it. It’s the way she carries herself, the way people listen when she talks, the way her eyes light up when she’s explaining something she’s passionate about. And then there’s me, nodding along, trying not to sound like an idiot when I chime in.

She’s never made me feel lesser, not once. She’s kind, supportive, loving. When we’re together, I feel safe. But that little voice in my head doesn’t shut up. It whispers that I’m just the fun guy for now. That eventually, she’ll want more—someone who matches her pace, her level, her lifestyle. She takes me to these nice places, introduces me to her work friends, and I’m just there trying to keep up. They all seem so put together. Great jobs, great clothes, expensive watches and inside jokes about client calls and conferences in Zurich. I stand there with my craft beer and force a smile, wondering if they can see through me. If they can tell I don’t really belong in that circle. I feel like I’m pretending half the time. Like I’m her guest in a life that I don’t have the credentials for.

It messes with me more than I want to admit. I start holding back, second-guessing everrything. Like, should I even talk about my problems when hers are clearly so much more important? Should I even suggest where to go for dinner when she can afford places I’ve only ever walked past? It’s not that I expect her to change or that I resent her success—far from it. I admire her. But I’m scared that my admiration is turning into something poisonous. Like I’m not showing up as her partner, but as some guy who's constantly trying to catch up. And how long is that sustainable? I wonder if she notices when I flinch every time the bill comes and she insists on splitting it. Or when she mentions future plans and I pause, not because I don’t love her, but because I don’t know how I’d ever afford the kind of future she deserves.

Sometimes I think maybe I should just let her go. Not because I want to, but because it might be easier than this constant feeling of falling short. Maybe she’d be better off with someone more like her—someone who already owns a place, who already figured it all out. But then we’re alone together, and she’s lying on my chest, laughing at something dumb I said, and in those moments, I forget about everything else. I remember how much she chooses me, how she looks at me like I’m everything. And I start to believe, even just for a second, that maybe I am good enough. Maybe she sees something in me that I can’t see in myself yet. But it never lasts. The moment fades, and the doubts sneak back in.

I know part of this is my own baggage. I grew up thinking men were supposed to provide, to lead, to be the “stronger” one, whatever that even means anymore. And now here I am, with this incredible woman who checks all the boxes and then some, and I feel like I’m the one falling behind. Society doesn’t say it out loud, but it whispers just enough—if she’s ahead, maybe he’s not a real man. And that pressure, that outdated, toxic expectation, it’s crushing. I want to be proud of her, and I am, but I also want to be proud of myself. And right now? I’m not. I feel stuck in this in-between, where I love her so much but don’t know how to let myself feel worthy of being loved back.

I don’t have all the answers. I’m still figuring it out. But maybe writing this, admitting this, is the first step. Maybe I don’t have to be perfect to be good enough. Maybe I just need to believe what she already seems to believe—that I have value, not because of my salary or status, but because of who I am with her. It’s not easy. I still have a long way to go. But I’m trying. I’m trying to silence the doubt, to be present, to show up for her and for myself. Because if there’s even a chance that I am good enough, then I owe it to both of us to stop running from the question—and start proving it to myself.

It’s weird to even say this out loud, but I got a tattoo to cover my self-harm scars. And honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. The whole idea started off as something empowering, like reclaiming my body, right? You know the line, “Your skin is your story”—some therapist threw that out years ago during one of my low points. It stuck. I thought maybe, just maybe, putting something beautiful over something so painful would help change the narrative. So I chose a design I’d doodled in a journal years ago—something abstract but meaningful, sort of a fractured mandala, each line connecting past and present. The artist was kind and didn't ask too many questions, just looked me in the eye and said, “We’ll make this a transformation piece.” That sounded nice. Better than what it really was: me trying to hide from myself in ink and pain management creams.

Now that it’s been a few weeks, I stare at it and feel conflicted. The tattoo is well done—technically clean, good contrast, smart shading—but the scars are still visible beneath it. Not physically, not if you’re just glancing. But I know they’re there. That skin holds memory like film holds shadows, and even the pigment can’t overwrite the fact that I hurt myself deliberately, over and over, for years. Sometimes I catch my reflection and wonder who I’m trying to fool. Is this ink for healing, or just another form of concealment? It’s a question I keep circling, like a moth around a porchlight. I'm 38 now. Not a kid experimenting with identity. Not a teenager struggling with trauma she couldn’t name. A grown adult who still can't quite figure out what to do with all this leftover pain.

The part I didn’t expect was how other people would respond. Friends said things like “Wow, that’s powerful” or “It’s so meaningful,” like they were in on some secret spiritual moment. I smiled and nodded and said things like “Yeah, it represents growth,” but I never corrected them when they assumed it was just art for art’s sake. One coworker even said, “That’s dope, did it hurt?” and I just laughed and said “Not more than the stuff it’s covering.” He didn’t get it. And maybe I didn’t want him to. The truth is, there's a whole subculture around tattooing over scars, and it's not always about covering things up—sometimes it's about honoring survival. But I’m not sure if I survived something, or if I just stalled it.

I know this might come across as ungrateful or overly cynical, especially since not everyone gets a second chance to rewrite their skin. But what if rewriting isn't enough? What if healing isn't about erasing the past but learning to live with it in broad daylight? Some days I think I did the right thing—turned something painful into something beautiful, like alchemy. Other days, I feel like I’ve just added another mask, one that requires constant touch-ups and explanation. I'm not embarrassed by the scars anymore, but I am tired of what they represent: all those years spent pretending I was fine, when I was really just holding myself together with caffeine and denial.

Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is—if you’re thinking about getting a self-harm tattoo, ask yourself why. Like really, why. Is it closure? Is it expression? Is it shame in disguise? Maybe it’s a mix of all those. I can’t tell you the right answer because I still don’t know mine. All I know is that ink fades slower than memory, and covering something up doesn’t always mean it’s healed. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe healing isn’t linear. But I do wish someone had told me that before I sat down in that studio, gripping the chair like it was gonna save me.

Guys, this may sound so ridiculous but I need help.

I've been in an orchestra in 2 months. There's a 44 y.o man that I really obsess over. I'm 18 btw.

He's a nice guy and he makes me feel like I'm not a stranger. He always notices me.

I'm so obsessed to the point that after he joined the orchestra, he's my only hope for a day of practice session. I don't want him to leave.

I don't want to be more than friends with him cause he has a wife; but I want to be in contact with him. I know that if he gets out of my life, nothing is going to happen and he's not gonna affect any aspect of my life; but I'm still worried.

I don't know if he's gonna appear in the next orchestra project or not and that's what stresses me. Also, my parents are judging me and they think I'm a devil who wants to ruin a marriage...

(I forgot to say that I had a history with this kind of obsession which led to something horrible)

_now how can I get rid of this obsessions and normalize my friendship with him, just like anything else?