Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

Growing up, I was used to being praised by my relatives. My aunts and uncles, and most importantly, my mother and father. I was the younger sibling, have an older and only sister, I was praised because I achieved far more greater things than my sibling had, as they've said really. I grew up having those expectations normalised towards me because I never had trouble keeping up with them. I also won those competitions because my mom wants me to and has me practice hard. With honours, first placer in poster making, the class and even the schools representative when competing with other schools in the district, once in the division level..

I was never the smart kid though, just enough, by fourth grade I entered every single poster and any art related contests and won the gold medal most of the time. I never connected it to the fact that those added points must've been what pulled my grades high.

My older sibling always had lesser grades than me, always berated and compared to my higher grades. I always preened on the compliments yet maybe I should’ve felt bad instead that my sibling was being judged and ridiculed for barely passing. I didn't know then what it felt like.

I never thought I’d experience those things, yet I did. Entering highschool, I never placed high expectations on myself. Why would I when big grades always came naturally to me even without the tiring studying back at elementary?

Yet now, lesson after lesson I fail to comprehend them, I barely understood the materials and repeatedly got less than good scores in activities and tests. I excel in project making yet pretty designs will never get me far. Now I barely hang on to my honour streak.

Then that day came.

Our advisor posted the list of who made it to the honours list in our class gc. And for the first time I didn’t see my name. At most half of us didn't make it to the honour list so I rationalized that Im not an odd one out. I didn’t feel much, I didn’t let myself feel much, not while I was in school in front of my friends. I felt disappointed, sure but I let it go because I knew I couldn’t do anything about it anymore.

Then when I got home, I suddenly felt myself being nervous around my mother, she kept asking me and I relented and told her I failed for the very first time to be in the honour list.

What hurt more was that she didn’t scream at me. She usually does on smaller matters (she'd curse a lot) but now she simply sounded disappointed, berated me and told me how I would tell my hardworking father. What’s worse was that I was now the one being compared to my older sibling who was passing her classes.

I didn't cry, I didn’t feel like needing to cry even by then, I was ashamed but I didn’t cry, I felt numb that I didn’t cry, I kept quiet and took in all her words. She told me she expected better and that honest to god hurts most.

When dinner came around my mother told my father about my failed grades, he sounded disappointed and angry too. I didn’t cry. I expected and deserved it.

Yet. when I was alone, feeding the dog (she's tied outside by the shop where my dad fixes cars, he's a self employed mechanic) I felt my eyes water and tears started falling down, my chest tightened and I wanted to stop yet I couldn't. I hid behind our car that was nearby, ashamed to be seen crying over my failed grades. Now hunched over in the shadows, trying desperately to wipe the onslaught of tears, I took and shaky breaths and composed myself as best as I could. Finishing up with my chore and going to my room as if I hadn't been crying my eyes out.

So I've recently joined a new workplace, and it's a hotel. NGL, I got the job because I know the General Manager and was offered an opening due to my circumstances. Even though I have no prior experience in the industry, I did have experience with customer service and I'm totally willing to learn along the way.

Granted, it's six-day work-week and lower payment for me, but I get meals, a uniform with laundry benefits and a travel allowance. The best part is that it's close to my place and pretty safe for me to work in.

Also, everyone's been really friendly towards me.

This issue is that, despite being offered the job TWICE, once I finally accepted (I was reluctant because I didn't want take advantage of knowing the Manager, it felt.... I dunno, weird to me. But my situation made me accept), I find out that they don't have a workstation available for me. Not even a laptop. They were ok to have ME bring my own laptop and convert it to be used only with their applications, but wouldn't get me my own. They wouldn't repair a desktop they had literally sitting outside the Manager's office. And I'd brought it up multiple times, including to the Manager but after some half-hearted checking, it went back to the default of "You need to adjust". Nevermind that that new guy who came after me got them working on a setup for him (I wondered for a moment if it's because I'm a female that I was ignored)!

Additionally, the ones who've been assigned to supervise me/ use my talents have no idea what to do with me.

One of my supervisors is a lady who's so used to working alone that she absolutely won't budge or co-operate with me to get work done.

A major part of her reporting is extracted from an Excel sheet she uses to keep track of her work. She assigned me the task of helping her using that same sheet. That's on her computer. That can't be used by 2 different users at once.

Ok.... SO, I made a copy of the same sheet in Google sheets and shared the access with her. Her response? "I can't use this. I'll just use my Excel sheet".

............... Brilliant.

Ok, attempt #2 - I copy her sheet into a shared folder and update THAT for her. All she needed to do was use Ctrl+ A + C in the copy sheet and then paste the data into her own Excel sheet in her computer. Easy right?

Not for her! She said it's "double work" for her and she doesn't have the time.

I've asked her MULTIPLE times to give me just 5 minutes with her sheet to update it (I used the Google sheet version, so I can access it on her system.

She keeps refusing, saying she has too much work to do. BUT THEN, she complains that the sheet isn't being updated.

It is. Just on my Google sheets.

She only leaves the system when she's at a meeting with the Manager or at lunch. I've tried accessing her system then, but multiple times have been interrupted by guests and by the time they move on, she's back and I'm evicted.

As for my other supervisor, he had me working in the restaurant in the mornings, (nothing bad, just some waiter stuff that I was ok with) and wanted me to acquire feedback and contacts from event guests (pretty tough as I hadn't gotten the uniform then). BUT THEN, he said he wanted ME - a lone female - to go on what's called "sales/marketing calls" here. Basically, I've got to drum up new clients by visiting businesses in-person, like a door-to-door salesman. But alone.

I wasn't comfortable with this and I've repeatedly told him that I had no experience with such things (being raised abroad in a different culture, I didn't even have the language down pat). I couldn't outright tell him I didn't want to do it or even know HOW to do it, because it would bring trouble to the Manager. As usual, my concern was ignored and I nwas just given an EXTREMELY basic, almost Cliffnotes style instructions on what to do. When I asked to accompany one of the employees who actually does it as part of their job, I was rejected with a lame excuse. I was even told by multiple people that sales calls weren't supposed to be part of my work.

But, hey, no-one who was actually in charge of my work cared. So I stopped caring.

One time when I asked for access the excel for my female supervisor ( I framed it I her as taking a 15 min break while I updated the sheet) her response was she can't give it because her work keeps her at the office upto 2 hrs past her shift end, but if I was willing to work extra time, she'll give my the system.

I just "Ok" and walked away.

She's been upset about my choice to leave on time as much as possible ever since she sprang an overtime request on me and I informed her that I had other plans and couldn't work late. Even though I ended up cancelling the plans because she asked, she was sour about it, asking why I was there after my shift end, and I had to point out that SHE asked ME to stay behind to help her..... And it wasn't even for anything that urgent. It was a task that could have been easily solved with a simple message forward. Even she knew everyone else had gone, but still wanted me to stay back.

So here I am. Trapped and trying very hard not to muddy the waters of my existence. While everyone's polite and friendly (upto a point) , I don't have any actual friends here or anyone who even understands me.

I'm just looking for advice o. How to survive working here without having a breakdown or pissing someone off till I get a better job.

I wil ltry to be short and clear :)

Is it wrong that I'm thinking of skipping my family's upcoming trip to Europe? Originally, I was on board when the idea came up, but after giving it some thought, I'm leaning towards not going. I prefer traveling with my fiancee, especially since we've discussed taking a significant trip together. Although I grew up traveling with my family almost every year until I was about 22, those experiences were mostly within the United States or North America, featuring low-key vacations with a few adventurous activities thrown in. Since everyone in my family is working full-time, our trips together have become quite infrequent.

The issue is, one of my parents is likely to take my refusal pretty hard. It could become a lingering topic of conversation and might even cause ongoing tension. While I cherish the bond I share with my family, I feel that at this point in my life, I’d rather explore new places with my fiancee. Am I being unreasonable?

Imagine if this scenario were to unfold on a reality TV show. How would the viewers react? Likely, there’d be a mix of support for my desire to travel with my fiancee, and sympathy for my family, particularly the parent who feels hurt by my decision. The dramatic element of family discord might even become a focal point of an episode, bringing its own twists and viewer engagement.

My husband often speaks in an angry tone. A Bit too loud, staccato. Just sounds pissed. When I ask, he never tells me right away whats wrong. I Need to did and dig. Sometimes he answers honestly, but often Not. Just a quick „no it’s ok“.

I cant bear it, especially when he used this tone with my 15 year old son. Of course the boy reacts and them it just takes off from there. I am fed up

Tw mentions of suicide and grooming

I feel like there are people predisposed to being good, then there are people like me who have to fight with every fiber of their being to go against who nature has clearly destined them to be.

I love my partner and people close to me, at least I should and there’s no reason not to, but god I think I hate them too, it’s recurring the wish that they would just die because it would make my life easier. Everytime they talk to me it’s a chore. Not that this reflects on them, they’re like a perfect person, but it’s just how I am seemingly naturally.

Other times im on the edge of my seat using every ounce of self control not to cut everyone off, run off into the woods and get myself killed because the thought is so tempting and I really wanna do it, or cut off all of my friends so I can get with another groomer because that’s really the only thing that will make me happy.

I know very well these are evil things to think very very evil selfish things that would ruin my relationships and the trust I’ve built with everyone I love , but that doesn’t change how they are the only things that feel rewarding to me like AT ALL. But on the outside I have to consciously remind myself of who I am supposed to be, a kind and perfect person that loves other people, as is the only person worth staying alive. So when they vent about how they deserve to die alone, instead of going with how I want to reply and watch them shatter ‘well yeah, you do deserve to die alone’- I go, ‘I’m sorry :( do you wanna talk about it? Im here for whatever you need.’ Because that is the normal reaction to have and the care I should have hardwired automatically, though it’s so drastically different to how I feel inside because it just????? Does not come naturally to me??? I have to wonder if literally everyone feels this way because it’s absolutely unfathomable to me why anyone would want to be alive if that was the case. People apologize like ‘sorry if im being a burden’. I’ll tell them ‘no way! Nothing can be a burden to me.’ And sometimes that’s true and I feel I can practically understand where anyone is coming from without judging. But on the other hand people having a bad day is a burden to me, people having human emotions is a burden to me, the fact I have to think about bad things happening to anyone but me is a burden to me because I want everything bad to happen to me. This is to the point I genuinely get jealous and frustrated when I see other people being abused (though ofc I know it’s not their fault and I try to help relieve their emotions and get them out of the abusive situation as a way to relieve my own unbearable jealousy. But evidently that’s not pure intent). In short, what im trying to say is everything is a burden to me, I’d rather either them die or I die than sit through another day in this shitty world that does not seem to change, and as of now I’ve lost hope in being fixed because well… my entire person is the problem . Though I proceed to go about my cheerful exterior and try to live kindly. Does anyone else feel like this or have a perspective on it? This is probably some form of derangement or something, having absolutely no selfless care for anybody, I’ll talk to my therapist about it on the 22nd. But jeez does it suck to live like this.

I have no idea what to do. Like, I swear, my brain has been looping this same question over and over for weeks, and I still don’t have an answer. Do I break up with him? Or do I stay? I keep going back and forth. One minute I feel so sure that I need to end it, that I can’t do this anymore, that I’m just not happy. But then the second I actually think about saying the words out loud, I freak out. What if I regret it? What if this is a huge mistake? What if I let go of something that I’ll never find again? I feel like no matter what I do, I’m gonna end up hurting—either I stay in a relationship that doesn’t feel right anymore, or I leave and then spend months wondering if I made the worst decision of my life. And yeah, okay, maybe I’m being dramatic, but it feels dramatic. It feels like my whole world is balancing on this one choice and no matter which way I go, I’m gonna mess something up.

It’s not like he’s a bad boyfriend. He’s actually really sweet. He tells me he loves me, he texts me good morning and good night, he’s never done anything to hurt me. So why do I feel this way? Why do I feel like something is missing? I keep thinking that maybe I just got too used to him, that maybe I’m just bored, and that’s a me problem, not a him problem. But at the same time, shouldn’t I be excited to be with my boyfriend? Shouldn’t I want to text him, to spend time with him, to tell him things? Lately, I just… don’t. I see his name pop up on my phone and instead of getting happy, I feel tired. And I hate that. Because he doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve to be with someone who isn’t fully into it. But then I think about actually telling him, about actually breaking up, and it hurts. Like, I can already imagine his face, the way he’ll look at me, like I just shattered his whole world. And the idea of being the reason he’s sad? The reason he’s heartbroken? I don’t think I can handle that.

And then there’s the whole what if I never find someone else? part. I mean, sure, I’m only 15, I know that logically there are gonna be other people in my life. But what if no one else ever treats me as good as he does? What if I’m just being selfish and expecting some unrealistic movie kind of love that doesn’t even exist? What if I leave and then realize I just ruined something that could have lasted forever? And then I think about being single and it terrifies me. Not just the being alone part, but the whole starting over part. The thought of having to meet someone new, go through all the awkward first conversations, figuring out if we even like each other, getting used to a whole different person’s way of texting, of talking, of being… it sounds exhausting. And at least with my boyfriend, I know him. I know how he is, I know how to be around him, I know he loves me. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe I don’t need butterflies or whatever, maybe I just need to appreciate what I have. But what if I’m just forcing myself to stay because I’m scared of leaving? And if that’s the case, isn’t that kinda worse?

I wish someone could just tell me what to do. I wish I could fast forward to a year from now and see if I’m happier if I break up with him or if I’ll just be sitting there, crying over what I lost. But I don’t get to know that. I just have to decide. And I don’t think I can. I don’t think I’m ready. But how long can I keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not?

I'm a 48-year-old father who has been trying to navigate parental waters with my daughter, Lisa, who is now 15. She is my child from a previous marriage, and unfortunately, the relationship with her mother isn't great. This strife between her mom and me has unfortunately spilled over into my relationship with Lisa, tainting our interactions with underlying tension and resentment. Lisa has a sharp tongue similar to her mother's, often appearing rude and entitled, which she directed fully at my current wife, Rosemary, during our wedding a few years back, which she chose not to attend.

Rosemary, who is 38, and I later had a son and then not too long ago unexpectedly expanded our household to include her nephew Blake, a 17-year-old who had a tragic car accident leaving him with a disability. He's an incredible young man, integrating well into our family life despite his challenges. Originally, I had planned to give Lisa an allowance and a Cadillac Escalade for her 16th birthday. However, given our strained situation and Blake's necessity for transportation due to his mobility issues, I redirected this support toward him instead.

When Lisa learned about the discontinuation of her allowance and the redirect of the car to Blake, she reached out after months of no communication. Explaining to her that financial strains made it difficult to maintain the allowance stirred a cauldron of anger, leading to harsh words from her and involving her mother and stepfather, who threatened legal action. Despite knowing Rosemary's lawyer background offers some comfort in these threats, it's disheartening that our already fragile relationship might be heading towards permanent estrangement.

Adding to the family drama, if this scenario were to unfold on a reality TV show, it definitely would add another layer of intensity and public scrutiny. Viewers could be split in their reactions, some perhaps empathizing with Lisa’s sense of feeling replaced, while others might criticize her entitlement and lack of compassion towards Blake’s situation. The public loves drama, and this situation has it in spades, making it a potentially viral storyline that could significantly sway public opinion based on each episode’s portrayal of our family dynamic.

What do you guys think about my situation?

hey, so I wanted to share something that's been keeping me up at night; it's about these dreams I’ve been having, all stemming from that carjacking I somehow survived. it's not the typical nightmares people talk about; these are vivid, relentless, and they cling to me long after I've woken up. you know how they say dreams are manifestations of our subconscious processing trauma? well, mine are like a non-stop highlight reel of that day’s terrifying events, played on a loop, with every punch, kick, and tug echoing in excruciating detail. imagine being trapped in a film you can’t pause, one where you're not in control, every scene as clear and vibrant as reality, and you're forced to relive it each night! it all started right after the incident; occasionally, the setting changes, but the core theme remains the same. is it normal to feel the physical impact of dream events upon waking? my psyche seems to be stuck in a feedback loop, desperately trying to make sense of the chaos; the slightest sound jolts me awake, my heart pounding as if the entire attack were happening all over again.

sometimes I ask myself, why does my mind replicate such suffering rather than letting it fade into obscurity? it's like my brain has switched to disaster mode! I read somewhere that this is my amygdala going into hyperdrive, but knowing that doesn’t exacty bring comfort when the flashbacks hit harder than a sledgehammer to the chest… and here's the thing, everything is intensified in those moments; street lights turn glaring and blinding, voices around me warp and distort as if trying to mock me, taunting me with fragments of past conversations that twist and churn my anxiety like a blender on high speed; emotional regulation goes out the window, and the normalcy I crave remains tantalizingly out of reach! funny, isn't it, how during daylight I can rationalize and compartmentalize, but as soon as the lights go out, I'm triggered by any sound or shift? have you ever felt your mind betray you like that, caught in a battle it keeps losing nightly? it's a solitary fight, when the darkness turns friend to foe, and I find myself awake, heart racing, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline. seriously, what’s with the hypervigilance? am I forever destined to navigate the world whilst walking on eggshells, second-guessing even the neighbor’s dog barking?”

no, I haven’t tried group therapy yet; honestly, the idea of reliving the trauma in front of others doesn't sit well with me, not when even privately, the memory looms larger than life! yet something's got to give, right? because even the smallest things might set off a chain reaction leading me straight back to those horrific moments. but understanding and dissecting it cognitively is only half the battle! have you ever tried to catalogue experiences only to have your mind slip into overdrive trying to make sense of it all? because that’s precisely what I've been tackling. even sleeping pills feel like cheats, granting oblivion but never resolution, a band-aid on a gaping wound; the experts talk about reconsolidation therapy, exposure therapy, but where do you even start when every night's a battlefield?! you have to wonder if resolving such deep-seated trauma requires accepting that vulnerability first; dialing down the hyperarousal one step at a time; retraining a mind that's gone rogue and wild in survival mode.

there's something fundamentally unsettling about being unable to trust your own mind and the manner in which it processes past terror… the dichotomy's stark: a life of logical intelligence clashing against primal instinct! so, where's the balance, and is resolution even possible when you're eternally questioning if your defenses will crumble again under pressure? at the end of the day, the essence of these dreams feels not just like a punishment, but a reminder bestowed against my will, and confronting that without letting it drown me remains the hardest endeavor. so if you have any suggestions, maybe you've been through similar? I’d genuinely be open to hearing how others tackle such pervasive, all-consuming tension that manages to infiltrate the most sacred space of rest! just want a semblance of tranquility where each night doesn't have to mean revisiting hell, and isn’t that something we all deserve?

I couldn't finish 3 of my exams. I couldn't the last 2 questions of biology, I couldn't finish 1 section in Hindi, and I couldn't finish half the paper in maths. I will fail even all the subjects. Maybe I didn't study enough for all of them. I'm a failure to everyone. I'm a failure in life. I don't have friends, I studied but I didn't have practice, I'm apparently rude to everyone and everything, I can't even draw like my beloved artists, I can't do art in the future because you'll replace me, and I won't pass school next year. It may be the second term and I have one more, but it's not enough. I'm not enough. I've never been. The list should've helped me because I would've been a great human, not the defective fetus my parents were given. That's all I am. Failure. Always will be, unless I figure out a way to just stop. Stop harming others with this mess, because my existence of failing alone is bad.

Nobody wants a failure, nobody wants to fail. Because look where failure got others. People failed to check the reactor core of Chernobyl, many people of Ukraine and other countries died. Someone scored very low in school, he was held back a year and continues like that, even though he's happy now. Someone failed a driving test, so they never drive again because they probably ran over someone. Someone failed an exam, and their parents beat the hell out of them or they get horrible treatment. Someone out there failed to get his family any food in a poor village and they die. See? Failure hurts and it destroys. I hate it when books tell kids in school failure should help you learn. It helped me learn to not fail and resent it. My parents may have been fine, but I don't care. I'm a failure, and I should leave the house because I said so. Dad's right when he says lots of Indian families hate failure, I should too. He's not right when he says it's not good.

Look where it fucking got me. I feel like I failed in everything. How am I gonna make it in this world? I won't. If I fail in one more thing, I'm a useless child. I hate it when they say you can learn and do better from failure. I hate it when dad says not to fear failure. Look where failure got others in the real world! Death! Destruction! Famine! Held back a year! Abuse! More death! This will happen to me. It will. Didn't failure hurt them?

That's why I'm a problem. I may have been born by loving parents, but right now I feel like they secretly hate me, even though they seem fine. I burnt everything I touched, maybe this fail is it. I failed at maintaining 1 friend, at succeeding exams, at being nice and humorous, at being smart, at looking good and being in the trend, many things. I'm pathetic. I'm the worst thing ever to happen. Why even though I studied I couldn't finish the paper? I'm too slow like a snail, that is! I hate it when my mom said not to think on her behalf. Making predictions is what we do. So even if she scored 5th topper IN SCHOOL, why is she telling me she also failed? It's a lie! Farce! She's lying that she failed. She's not showing love, it's a story she cooked out of her ass. If I hate myself, I'll get better. I'm a worthless, useless, piece of shit, vagina candle smelling, stupid, pig-like, hairy, baboon-ish creature who deserves to not live for all her fucking failures.

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

This is probably going to be my final post anyway let me get into it.( for my context check my last post) Currently I’m just in the idgaf stage Ive truly lost pretty much lost a lot of hope almost all of it. I’m also just at the point where I don’t care to get better, I don’t want to get better, and I don’t want better for myself. I’m considering distancing myself from everyone(including friends,family, even teachers) and potentially cut off people as a whole. I’m also going to refrain from making new friends and telling people how I feel period it’s no one’s business. Honestly my plan going forward Is to just turn myself in and do my time and then after I finish my time I’ll kill myself. And my goal for being an astronomer is most likely dead at this point I’ll probably be dead before then and not do I really want to put in the effort to achieve it and improve my math skills so basically I’ve given up on it and to be honest it’s upsetting to think about. I’m also pretty apathetic and resistant to the idea of therapy now I’ve accepted that I don’t want to get better and it would be a waste of money for my family members to even pay for it because I wouldn’t cooperate and I would be hard to work with and it would also be a waste of time for the therapist. Anyway that’s all I wanted to say and I appreciate those who gave me support on my last post.

(dont mind my terrible spelling)

My inner void

By: Samuel Ison

And then i fall. and fall. and fall. and fall. and fall. death isnt what i thought it would be. my life isnt falshing before my eyes. im not crying. im not angry that this is how it ends. th whole world is burning around me. we fucked up the whole world. for once i dont feel what i used to feel. i dont feel angry at myself. i dont feel gultiy about things i couldnt change. for the first time im not wondering about what death feels like. im not wondering anything. im not wondering why im falling for so long. i dont know what this feeling is. falling. forever. it feels nice. death isnt what i thought it would be. I dont see 'the light'. i dont see all my memories replaying in my head. I dont see my dead loved ones. i dont see a glimpse of heaven. or hell. I cant hear anything. the wind is rushing all around me. and then. nothing. peace. i dont wake up as a new person. i dont see any ghosts or people. i dont see heaven or hell. i dont see god. i dont see jesus. i see fog. all around. i cant see whats behind me or in front of me. except a road. im walking down the road. the road seems to go on forever. i keep walking. its peaceful. its just me, the road, and the fog. who am i? do i really even care? where am i? i dont really care. what is this place? i really dont care. what did i leave behind? choas. i always wake up from this dream right about now. I dont wake up crying or screaming or sweating. i wake up perfectly fine. i think my body makes me wake up befor i truly walk into the unknown. death perhaps. maybe if i keep walking...i wouldnt wake up again. now tell me this. why am i not scared of that?

I want someone to text me everyday 'are you ok?' and if i reply with 'no' then they simply say 'ok'. thats it. i dont want them to have pity on me. i just want somone to know. i want someone to want to know and when i tell them they dont pry. they dont ask anything. they just say 'ok'. is that to much to ask?

you know whats funny? when i cut myself the first time i wasnt crying or having a mental breakdown or at my lowest. i was watching fucking desendents at midnight and i had just thought. 'i wonder what it feels like?' so i grabbed a thumbtack and sratched my skin until it bled. i didnt feel anything. it didnt hurt like it should have. i didnt cry afterwards either. i didnt regret doing it and i still kinda dont. i didnt even flinch as i scraped off my skin until it bled. then i just stared at it. i didnt have any reaction to seeing my blood on that thumbtack or the blood coming from my arm. another time that i cut myself on my thigh i didnt have a reaction then either. i didnt even flinch the tiniest bit. and thats what keeps me up at night because i know that if i did that to anyone else. even a stranger. i would do anything to take it back. i would say im sorry until i couldnt speak. i would cry and scream at myself. i would hate myself forever for doing something like that. but if my best friend held a gun to my head i wouldnt even flinch. i would apoligize for doing something that made her have to go to all the trouble of having to kill me. and then in the end i would probably ask her to hand me the gun so i could shoot myself so that she wouldnt be charged for murder or have the burden of killing me. like the song goes 'you could slit my throat and in my my last gasping breath i would apolgize for bleeding on your shirt- your so last summer by taking sunday back'

its 4:34am right now. im so tired. but sleep isnt an option anymore. im haulcinating. bugs. bugs everywhere. STOP. LET ME SLEEP. and my brain says "no." my brain says "not until the sun is up." stop. let me sleep. and my brain says "no."

its 4:44am right now. im so tired. but sleep isnt an option anymore. im haulcinating. bugs. bugs everywhere. STOP. LET ME SLEEP. and my brain says "no." my brain says "not until the sun is up." stop. let me sleep. and my brain says "no.

Hello. I lost my pet pig almost a year ago and am still dealing with feelings of regret and guilt, as well as loss. He was the closest thing I could call a child and a big part of my life for three years.

He was sickly a few times before he died, with loss of appetite and energy. I took him to both a clinic and got a vet to look at him, but didn’t get a lot of answers and was just told to try to feed him. So I did, and most of the times he got better, but then got sick again.

Then he one day after getting a lot better (I thought) got REALLY sick and I panicked since I was sure he was dying. I still lived with my parents then, but they weren’t as panicked as me and said they would help me take him to a clinic in the morning. The vet on call (night shift) also said we probably could wait till the morning. It was Sunday night and I was thinking more about the money than I now wish I did. He died after a few hours of me trying to keep him warm.

I am now learning after researching what I think was his cause of death, that I could have saved him if I gave him early treatment. And pretty easily at that. That has been haunting me since he died, and I can not stop feeling like a horrible human being, and selfish person that cared more about the money than take him to a clinic again after a unhelpful experience.

I felt like I was dying the first week and literally could not sleep because I was crying so much and saw him every time I closed my eyes. I still cry when I see his photos, and more than anything feel like it’s my fault that he died, and that he would have had it better if someone else was his owner.

I’m mostly here to vent, since I don’t really feel like I have anyone to talk about this with. It’s my first time using this site, so I don’t know if this is the correct way to post. If anyone has some tips for getting over mostly the guilt, I would appreciate it. Thank you for reading.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Growing up, I always sensed a strange tension in my family, but I never quite understood it until I pieced together old memories and stories told by relatives. My mother, who had always dreamed of having a household bustling with daughters, was disheartened at my birth purely because of my gender. I am a 16-year-old male, the unintentional foil to her fantasies. It was evident from day one; she wept in the hospital when she learned I was a boy, even momentarily resisted holding me. All of this was inadvertently recorded and it's painful to watch. During those first crucial days, it was my paternal grandmother who stepped up to nurture me, featured in most of my early baby pictures cradling me in her arms.

My grandmother essentially raised me until she tragically passed away from a brain bleed when I was eight. After that, I was left in the care of a mother who had finally received her wish—a daughter, my younger sister Lily, born two years after me. The difference in treatment between us was like night and day. Lily became the center of my mother's world: the bigger room, elaborate birthday celebrations, and a mountain of Christmas presents exclusively for her—sometimes as many as 25 gifts sourced from my mom alone, while I would receive a solitary, often lackluster, present.

Interaction between my mom and myself dwindled to the bare minimum and often flared into arguments fueled by years of pent-up frustration and neglect. My father, who played the traditional role of the aloof provider, rarely intervened or even noticed the palpable disparity in affection and attention.

During a recent family gathering at my maternal grandparents' home, Mom couldn't stop lauding Lily for a school project and bragging about the new scooter she bought her, along with a custom helmet and a personalized lock. Unable to hold it in any longer, I let my feelings be heard. I openly criticized her for her blatant favoritism, which only led to a scolding from my grandparents. They described my issues with my mom as "little troubles" stemming from her initial gender disappointment and labeled my outburst as a lack of compassion.

Imagine if my situation was played out on a reality show. Cameras capturing my mother's enthusiastic pampering of Lily contrasted sharply with her mechanical interactions with me. Would the audience empathize with my feelings of exclusion and neglect, or would they criticize me for antagonizing a clearly biased mother? How dramatic and telling those episodes would be, highlighting the raw emotions and complex dynamics of our family life.

Would viewers at home understand the strain of being less favored merely because of gender, or would they side with my mother, assuming I should simply get over it and show more understanding?