Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

So I met this Muslim girl online we were the same age practically and split by a month(13f) and 14f),

So she’s Muslim and I’m Christian (both girls). So we were talking for a while.. started to get closer and yk.. saying we loved each other and pet names. And honestly I loved her and I still do..?

Turns out she has a bf. But what we were doing wasn’t really dating? Dating without the label. So we acted like a couple and wanted to be one but we couldn’t. She was Muslim and a girl. And I was Christian and a girl. It was a SIN. So we just kept it “casual” even though we’ve been intim*te before. So after she told me she had a bf i obviously got jealous over time? She was my friend. I knew her better than him. I knew when she was unhappy, happy, depressed, bored, sad, angry, etc. and she chose to keep us both. So I was getting annoyed, I’m not your girlfriend but we act like it? That doesn’t make sense. But this damned religion is keeping her away from me.

So after a couple weeks she soon was acting different? She has a new boyfriend and still with me. She’s acting… weirder? Like s*xual and inappropriate, but with another person(not me or her bf) so obviously I’m annoyed??? So I start slowly cutting her off and hinting to her I don’t like this. So she listens and stops for a bit before randomly spiraling. This isn’t the first time this has happened. She’s thr*atening me to k*ll herself? So first of all. I’m freaked out and panicking to help her and convince her not to and she’s having flipped emotions. ||||||| after i calmed her down she soon starts flirting with me so i tell her to stop or she’ll regret it later(religion.)

So later on she starts acting s*xual to other people again so this time i cut her off. Because I’ve told her not to CLEARLY and it’s making me jealous. And honestly it was emotionally exhausting, but I still really liked her?

So it really ended suddenly and I hope she’s okay? But I’d honestly talk to her again. And I ended up friends with her boyfriend lol!! (ONLY FRIENDS.) and he’s nice! He’s got a new girlfriend with my other friend!! (It’s a whole gc with 10 ppl)

[Translated from Spanish. Reminder: IIWIARS is English only]

Friends, I feel deeply outraged at my community. How is it possible that the spirit of speaking out is not embraced? How can a society exist where wrongdoing is approved, accepted, and even—supposedly—tolerated? I am furious.

In my own home, speaking out was not allowed. Once, I reported my mother, and my father retaliated while my mother punished me. What kind of mother does that? She does bad things and then doesn’t want to be held accountable—instead, she conditions everything so she won't be called out? So that she’s protected and coddled? What kind of mother is that?

Tell me—what kind of mother encourages wrongdoing? When I saw that kind of behavior at home, it was the moment I realized things were very, very wrong. At first, I stayed quiet because I was confused about what “normal” parenting looked like. I thought violence, especially within the family, was somehow acceptable or even expected. But all I was doing was walking right into a dead-end that usually ended in a beating—just for reacting in ways they didn’t like.

Yes, maybe I responded harshly or impulsively as a kid—and I’m not trying to justify it—but today I understand those reactions were, in fact, justified. My parents were authoritarian. How the hell wasn’t I going to push back when I was trapped in their home during their toxic marriage? It made no sense to demand peace when their very demand was a gateway to more abuse. Their expectations were completely unfair. Completely.

When I finally realized all this, it hit me hard. For over 15 years, I carried the guilt of believing I had been the problem. But the truth is, I was just seeing myself through a lens of indifference—a reality where I wasn’t treated like a person, but like a toy they could manipulate however they wanted. I didn't even notice that I was being dehumanized. That’s why I developed such an emotionally distant way of being, isolating myself from others without understanding why.

In the end, that kind of upbringing—where reporting abuse was forbidden, and empathy was absent—destroyed my social life. People started drifting away from me, to the point where they’d only reach out when they really needed something. That was the only way anyone socialized with me, and I went along with it—just because I craved any interaction at all. I remember pointing this out to a friend once. I honestly feel like crying: an entire life thrown away because of those two core wounds.

I used to ask myself why everything at home was like that, and my parents would just tie me up in excuses, shaped by deeply broken identities. I’m scared to even express this—I’ve been censored before, especially for saying things like this on that other platform. But the truth is, what they called “help” turned into a sad form of isolation. And it makes me think of a doctor I once saw—her behavior seemed odd, almost abrupt in how she reacted. I get the feeling I might have unknowingly hurt her somehow... though maybe that’s just in my head. I don’t know where this conflicting emotion comes from.

All of this got reinforced by the biases I inherited from my family environment. I was completely lost back then—disconnected from reality, and I didn’t even realize it. How could this have happened to me? It tainted my elementary years, high school, and university, leaving me with almost no friends by the end of it all. That hurts. Because it wasn’t my fault—it was my parents’.

No wonder I’m so angry about what I said about my community.

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.

My husband, Ted, and I co-own a charming lake house on the shores of Lake Michigan. This place, while jointly ours now, was initially Ted's before we exchanged vows, a detail that becomes significant as this story unfolds. My sister, Eliza, has had the privilege of using our lakeside retreat since Ted and I began our romance. Eliza has always been the exemplary guest—tidy, respectful, and meticulously careful to leave the house in impeccable condition.

However, Eliza's relationship dynamics shifted when she started seeing her current boyfriend, Dave, around a year ago. Unlike Eliza, Dave lacks appreciation for cleanliness and order. Dirty dishes, empty drink containers, and miscellaneous messes seem to trail behind him, and he invariably relies on Eliza to tidy up after him. Dave also shares custody of two vibrant youngsters from a previous relationship, but places the majority of caregiving and housekeeping duties on Eliza, despite the children being his responsibility. Moreover, I've witnessed him demand Eliza fetch him a beer while she's busy, which leaves me worried about how he might treat her when we're not present to see. Given how chaotic their living situation sounds, due to Eliza's demanding 60-hour workweeks, I’m baffled yet touched by how deeply Eliza seems to adore Dave. She speaks of him with shining eyes and a voice filled with affection, as if he were her entire world.

Given this backdrop, when Eliza asked if they could use the lake house recently, I hesitated but eventually agreed, thinking, "What’s the worst that could happen?" Ted and I had plans to visit the house anyway, arriving a few days after them, which meant our paths would briefly intersect.

Upon our arrival, the scene was disastrous. The stench of decayed food hit us first. A mound of unwashed dishes occupied the sink, the floors were sticky, and crayon artworks adorned the walls. Walking into the living room, we found Eliza frantically trying to manage the chaos, while Dave sat passively, beer in hand. I couldn’t hold back; I snatched the beer from his grasp and confronted him about the mess. His indifferent shrug and insistence that one person’s efforts were sufficient infuriated me further. Outraged, I demanded that Dave and his children pack up and leave within the hour, threatening to involve the police if necessary. Ted supported my stance, dismissing Dave's glance for backup.

Eliza was visibly hurt by my actions, arguing that I had ruined their peaceful getaway and dismissed simpler solutions to the issue. She claimed I had no right to the house as I hadn’t purchased it myself. I countered that Ted, the rightful owner, backed me up. In the emotionally charged moment, Eliza decided to leave with Dave.

That evening, a heated phone call from my mother questioned my decision to expel them. She urged me to embrace new family members despite differing lifestyles. Now, with my mother displeased and Eliza avoiding my calls, I'm left pondering if I might have been too harsh.

Imagine how this story would unfold in a reality show environment! Cameras capturing every dramatic moment, the audience watching Ted and I arriving at the chaotic scene, and the intense confrontation that followed. Would viewers rally behind our demand for respect and cleanliness, or would they criticize us for lacking empathy and flexibility?

On the day of my birthday, my mother surprised me with six homemade cupcakes, knowing my fondness for her baking. I managed to savor two of them immediately, setting aside the remaining four in the refrigerator with the intention of treating myself to one each day after work. However, to my utter dismay, when I came home the next day, I found that all of my cupcakes had disappeared.

Confronting my roommate about the missing cupcakes, she reluctantly admitted that her boyfriend had come over and they ended up eating them together. I couldn’t hide my frustration and blurted out a shocked response. She casually mentioned that she would reimburse me through Venmo, but that didn’t soothe the sting of the loss. As I explained, those cupcakes weren’t just treats; they were a birthday gift from my mom, made special for me.

My roommate tried to justify her actions by saying that her boyfriend really wanted the cupcakes, and she found it difficult to say no to him as he tends to sulk when things don’t go his way. Frustrated, I advised her to reconsider her choice in men if such incidents were a frequent occurrence. Her response was to lament how harsh I was being, and soon after, she began sending me $10 repeatedly on Venmo with apologies. Despite her contriteness, she moped around our apartment, making the atmosphere even more uncomfortable.

Finally, I laid down an ultimatum: I wouldn’t renew our lease come September unless she broke up with her boyfriend. She accused me of being petty, arguing that I was overreacting about some “stupid cupcakes.” She even claimed that had she known my reaction would be so intense, she wouldn’t have let them eat the cupcakes at all. That, I pointed out, was precisely the problem.

Imagine if all of this drama unfolded on a reality TV show. Given the way reality shows thrive on conflict and emotional outbursts, the camera crew would have likely zoomed in on each outraged expression and every heated exchange. Viewers might have even been asked to vote on whether my reaction was justified or if my roommate’s apology should have been enough to mend the situation. The dramatic flair of reality TV could amplify even a dispute over cupcakes into a full-blown crisis, possibly painting me as either a sympathetic victim or an overreactive villain based on the editing choices.

So at our school we have this morning holding thing where we go in the gym and sit and socialize before class starts. I was sitting in the bleachers with my friends (none of the names are real) Katy, Ella, Barley, and Harley. (no I did not rhyme that on purpose). Harley was talking about some Dan Bull song she hates, and I mentioned that Dive Into the Madness and that one Minecraft skeleton song by him are actually pretty good. Barley agreed, saying that not all Dan Bull songs were bad. And then the madness.

See, I don't know what's wrong with me, but if I think of a movie line or a song lyric in the middle of a conversation, I HAVE to say it. It takes a lot of willpower not to.

So the first line of the chorus of Dive Into the Madness came to mind as we were discussing Dan Bull, and I sang it. Barley, who was sitting kind of in front and to the right of me, turned and said, "This isn't high school musical!" because he gets annoyed when I do my song thing. But I can't not do it. He doesn't know that it's something I don't control. He thinks it's just me.

But anyway, it still hurt. And now I don't really want to talk to him because he says a lot of things that make my "playlist brain" go crazy for some reason and I don't want to annoy him. Not that he even ever really talks to me much anymore anyway.

Ben and I were partners for 15 years, having begun our relationship during our senior year of high school. Tragically, a few months ago, he succumbed to bone cancer. Although we lived in a country where same-sex marriage is unrecognized legally, it wasn't a major issue among the general populace. Ben’s relationship with his parents deteriorated after he openly declared his homosexuality at 17, leading them to expel him from their home. In contrast, my family welcomed him, supported his education, and provided the nurturing environment he needed.

I'm employed in Human Resources, and Ben was a talented IT professional. His skills in the field allowed him to earn a substantial income, enabling him to buy a house ten years ago, for which he single-handedly paid the mortgage. When he was diagnosed with cancer four years ago, he had to cut down on his work hours. Given the circumstances, I began to contribute towards the mortgage payments.

His battle with cancer was strenuous and painful and in March, we lost him to the disease. After his passing, his estranged family reappeared, expressing regret over their lost connection and the missed moments of his life. Things escalated when, a month ago, they asked when I planned to hand over the house keys to them, insisting they had legal rights since same-sex partner rights are not established here.

I informed them that the property was legally under my name, having purchased it from Ben shortly after his cancer diagnosis. This was also to secure that financially, everything would be clear and straightforward. They accused me of being unreasonable and claimed that Ben would have wanted his parents to have the house. Indeed, Ben had hoped the home might mend his fractured relationship with his family and even brought up giving them everything if it meant their reunion.

I suggested to his parents that I could transfer the house ownership to them if they compensated me for the four years of mortgage payments I made and agreed to take on the remaining debt. They reacted badly, indicating they couldn't afford it. They even proposed just taking over the mortgage without compensating me, which I refused. This ended in them threatening legal action against me, alleging that I had manipulated Ben, an accusation that they couldn't substantiate legally.

Since then, they haven't ceased contacting me, insisting it would betray Ben’s memory if I retained the house. While I understand they can’t reimburse me for the investments I made in our home, my conscience is conflicted. Some friends have suggested I should let the house go to find peace, but that just doesn't sit well with me. I know Ben might have desired to give them the house, yet now their demands seem driven not by sentiment but by opportunism. Truthfully, I don’t need the house, yet relinquishing it to them feels fundamentally wrong.

We hadn’t discussed what should happen with the home after his passing, which leaves me wondering: am I wrong for wanting to hold on to it?

If this story were featured on a reality show, the public reaction could be intense and divided. Viewers might sympathize with the emotional and ethical dilemmas I'm facing, yet others could criticize me for not prioritizing what Ben would have likely wanted for his parents. The drama and moral complexities could certainly captivate an audience, leading to hot debates on social media platforms and possibly influencing the viewers' perception of the rights and struggles faced by same-sex couples in similar legal situations.

My wife Angela takes immense joy in crafting handmade experiences for our family. She hasn’t had the easiest of times growing up, so now it seems like she’s on a mission to provide our three children with a childhood filled with treasured memories. From baking every birthday cake from scratch and sewing holiday-themed pajamas to organizing themed movie nights each month, she does it all. Just last month for the movie night, themed around "Coraline," Angela went to the length of creating personalized dolls and preparing an elaborate spread of themed foods.

I appreciate her efforts and admire her dedication, but Angela expects my involvement in these projects, which is taxing. Considering we both manage full-time careers alongside our kids’ schedules filled with various activities, I feel she spreads herself too thin. We have the financial means to lessen this burden by purchasing these items, but she insists on creating them, asserting that these are the memories that will stick with our children.

Recently, however, our routine hit a snag. I had to travel for work for most of the month, so Angela was left to handle everything at home. As Halloween approached, it was clear she was behind on the kids' costumes and considerably stressed. She asked if I could pitch in and complete one of the costumes, even offering to guide me with the materials she had prepared. Honestly, I was exhausted and suggested just buying one instead.

Angela refused my suggestion and stayed up all night working on those costumes. The next morning, I praised the costumes' look but received only an eye roll. When I asked for a cup of coffee, her chilly reply was, "Go buy one." Her distant attitude lingered. A coworker later pointed out how I had failed to support Angela, emphasizing that while my children would remember their mother’s efforts, they’d also remember the burden I added.

Reflecting on that conversation, I feel troubled. Perhaps I am indeed in the wrong here. I usually do help, and I thought skipping once might not cause much trouble given our current exhaustion.

Imagine, if this was part of a reality TV show, the audience would likely be split. Some might empathize with my practicality, while others would likely root for Angela's heartfelt endeavors and criticize my lack of support during a crunch time.

No I'm not the Joker. I had an unnecessary argument with some trolls online. It made me realize that I hate how everyone's an asshole and no one wants to have conversations or be civil. Even is always in the right even if they're wrong, especially influencers, they can't take accountability for their actions at all. I hate how billionaires get a free pass on taxes while some people in my country are debating between rent and food. I wanna go back to pre-iPhone era or go back to when we had trains. To be honest, I'd rather not exist at all.

so I was just like sleeping in band class right? I wake up, and my 'friend'(are we even still friends? I dunno) takes the stand in front of me. out of curiosity I look to the stand next to them and go 'what about this one?'. they explain to me that it was broken and we leave it at that. however they'd been sort of purposefully avoiding talking to me{?) and so I ask 'hey are you mad at me?' pretty obviously I was scared, due to being brought up in an environment where everyone was mad at me all the time for no reason and caused me to have heavy people pleasing tendencies. then they started going off on me about how I always think people are mad at me and blah blah blah. thing is, they KNOW about my home life. but like they're being nice to all the other friends they abandoned me for. so I dunno.

So me and my girlfriend hav been dating for around 5 months and it's been amazing I've never felt happier. Until recently she's become really obsessive and stopping me from going out with friends and family because when I do she tells me that I'm ignoring her and threatens to hurt herself and a bunch of other stuff. I love her to bits but her change has really put me out of it and idk what to do

Loving someone who's frayromantic is not for the weak. I have this friend who's experiencing it right now, she's bisexual and the one she's courting is a lesbian. Everything's going well until one day, let's call my friend as "hannah" and the one she's courting as "kira". Kira confess to her that she fell out of love, it's not Hannah's fault it's just that she's frayromantic and when she gets close to someone she lost that spark with someone. And of course that totally broke Hannah's heart, I can the pain in her eyes as she try to understand kira. Hannah ask kira if they want to cut off but kira doesn't want to, so they still had communication and they're in the same school so they still see each other. Until after a few weeks when it's our last day of school, kira suddenly confess that she still has feelings for hannah. The day that kira told hannah that she fell out of love, after a few weeks she feels that something is missing and that's HANNAH. Now, when hannah heard that.. she couldn't process it that fast. She feels confuse but also happy?? She still has feelings for kira but maybe she's slowly accepting that they're just friends the day that there love story ends. After 1 week of thinking about it, hannah and kira made the decision to try it again. Hannah was really happy although the past still hunts her. Do you think kira will eventually fell out of love again?

so i heard this morning from my mom about my dad refused to pay the bills, seriously, and were all counting on him to do it, my mom is planning kick him out, and im worried about her snitching to untrustworthy people where it could backfire, or what if my dad refusing to get out or wants to take kids along, or how will the bills be paid without him, or what happens next, strongly considering suicide as i dont think i have the balls to continue, either way this will be the end of life as i know it already

first time posting here, english isn't my first language.

my boyfriend broke up with me last sunday, i feel like im the only one grieving the loss of our relationship and he's just mr. perfectly fine—it hurts, it hurts a lot i don't know what do to, i miss him i want him back but im sure he doesn't feel the same way since we restricted me on facebook.. how can he throw away our relationship? from after school dates to the church, walking with me through the bus station, being there for me when my friends left me, internet café hangouts, cinema dates and so much more.. i miss him i miss reyz i miss my bebi and it hurts so bad—i am willing to compromise for our relationship, i would sacrifice a lot for him yet how can he throw all of this away? the times that we would have an argument, I'd still forgive him even though he didn't ask for forgiveness, i did my best to love him every way i can, isn't that enough for him to stay and work things out between us? comeback please i beg you, give us another try please I can't do this without you, im near at the deep end, im losing myself, everyone turned their backs to me and u did too:( please change your mind bebi:( please please.

I wake up every day and look in the mirror, hoping for some sort of miracle to happen overnight. I still see the same tired eyes staring back at me. At 48, I thought I would be in a much better place in my career. Instead, I find myself stuck in a role that feels beneath my capabilities. I’ve always been a driven person, but lately, I feel like I'm just going through the motions. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even meant to be in this industry anymore. There was a time when I felt passionate about my work, but that fire has dimmed and it's scary to think that I might not be able to rekindle it.

My colleagues are mostly supportive, yet I often catch them rolling their eyes at my ideas in meetings. It stings. I pour my heart into every proposal, only to have them brushed aside without much thought. I find myself hesitating more and more to speak up, fearing that my voice doesn't carry the weight it used to. I question whether I’m bringing value to the team or if I’m just a relic of the past, clinging on to a role that doesn’t need me anymore. And that thought – the one where I picture myself as an unnecessary part of the equation – eats away at me. Should I swallow my pride and look for something new, or am I just being dramatic? How do you even know when it’s time to leave versus when it’s time to fight for your place?

Then there’s the ever-watchful comparison to my peers. Some of them were in the same position as me just a few years back, but now they’ve shot up the ladder like rockets. Promotions, raises, moving to other companies that seem to value their hard work while I’m still here, stuck in the same spot. I sometimes hear whispers about how I'm "overqualified" for my job, which feels like a backhanded compliment. On one hand, it’s nice to know people recognize my potential; on the other hand, what does that say about my current situation? Why am I not progressing? I wonder all the time if my age is catching up with me. Are younger, more energetic employees overshadowing me? Shouldn’t my experience count for something? But instead of naming my strengths, I focus more on my weaknesses, and that seems to cloud my judgment more than ever.

I had a performance review recently that only compounded my feelings of inadequacy. My manager acknowledged some of the projects I handled but stated I need to show more “initiative.” The word rings in my ears like a haunting reminder that I’m not doing enough. Instead of using it as motivation, I turned it against myself and have been replaying that moment in my head in an endless loop. “Why can’t I be more proactive?” I ask myself. “Why can’t I seem to innovate?” I left that meeting feeling like a shadow of the ambitious woman I once was. Have I become complacent? Or have the challenges of my personal life drained my energy to push forward at work? I’m constantly torn between wanting to be a high achiever and wrestling against feelings of being overwhelmed. How do you work through that? It's hard not to spiral into self-doubt when it feels like you're not reaching your full potential. I want to change the narrative, but where do I even start?