Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

Late yesterday afternoon, my former spouse stopped by to collect our son from my residence. At that time, my current wife and I were hosting a gathering that included her sister and her sister's husband, along with several other friends.

Typically, my ex would call our son to come down to the lobby of our apartment complex where she waits. However, on this particular occasion, she called and requested if she and her younger children could come up to our apartment because one of them needed to use the restroom urgently.

Naturally, I agreed to her request. She arrived with her three younger children and was immediately apologetic for the interruption upon realizing that we had guests. After quickly using the toilet, they were about to leave when a couple of our friends, who knew her from our earlier days together, engaged her in brief conversation. Meanwhile, our son shared some of the snacks set out for our guests with his younger siblings.

Once they departed, my wife's sister immediately criticized my ex for intruding unannounced. One of my friends defused the moment by mentioning the urgency of the situation involving the needs of little children. The subject dropped for the moment.

Yet, the issue didn't end there. After most of our guests had left, only my wife and her sister were remaining, and they both began to critique the situation. They labeled my ex’s behavior as both impolite and inappropriate and were astonished that she had conversed with some of our friends. When I defended the decision to let her in without consulting my wife first, they dismissed my view as unreasonable.

Later that evening, the topic resurfaced between my wife and me. She expressed that she felt embarrassed by my unilateral decision to allow my ex access to the apartment amidst our gathering. Despite my attempts to understand her perspective, she simply concluded that I wouldn't grasp her feelings on the matter.

Do I really deserve to be faulted here? I was merely trying to be considerate, yet now I'm left feeling guilty for having apparently upset my wife.

Intriguingly, if this scenario unfolded on a reality TV show, it could ignite a flurry of dramatic reactions and debates among viewers. Reality shows thrive on these kinds of interpersonal tensions and conflicts, often magnifying them to boost viewer engagement. The clash between family obligations and social etiquette, mixed with a past and present relationship dynamic, would likely be a focal point for an episode, driving discussions online and off about family, boundaries, and respect.

How should I handle such situations in the future?

Im turning 20 this year

Honestly I dont know what or how to write this but I feel so heavy and frustrated and confused and what not… I don’t feel I live in the present times

All I think about is of the future… i was 8 when I decided i wanna be in the medicine field, today at 20 after giving my entrance exam two years in a row i dont feel that Ive achieved it. I dont come from a very rich family but they have never let me felt that way, my parents even though I didn’t score well were never bad towards me, they supported me even though they dont know anything about this field Im in … my brother is my inspiration of hardwork

But lets talk about me.. i dont know who to go to who to contact who to talk or ask

My family supports me but there’s a thing called being happy and proud of yourself… ive never felt Ive fulfilled myself

Sometimes I just imagine the best conversation in my mind before even talking to someone. I worry people may get hurt people may find me rude or dumb and I just want to be happy again

Happy as I was when I was a kid

I was an extrovert and topped my classes

But now I just lag. My interest weakens when I fail I feel. I dont know if this is gonna help me because as soon as I post this and close this site… it’s all gonna still be there in the back of my mind

I think I need help but I don't even want to. But at the end of the day I know that I am not the one to give up…atleast I have a family who loves me and god always has a plan

But sometimes

It gets heavy

And I can’t cry because im just not able to…. Gosh someone teach me how to cry so atleast these emotions get away

Even for just a while… but I know it’s gonna be back

I want to break free.

I used to date this girl, but we broke up cause she didn't really like me, but we stayed best friends. I've only had one person i've ever had a crush on like me back and that's my current partner. I first got a crush on one of my guy friends, but never told him. Then one day, he told me he had a crush on her and I acted normal about it, but I actually wanted to cry. Then, I knew one of my other guy best friends liked her. but I couldn't help. but catch feelings for him. I feel like I should be angry, but i'm not. I can't help how I feel, but everyone else has told me I should be mad at her, but I'm only mad at myself.

Do you know that feeling when you’re dreaming, and suddenly you’re falling, then you jerk awake like your whole body just snapped? I want to know if anyone else actually experiences this because lately it’s happening to me several times every single night, and it never used to be like this. I’m not talking about that occasional twitch most people joke about—you know, when your body jolts once and you laugh it off. This is constant, it’s repetitive, and it’s so intense that it feels like my brain has turned into some kind of defective machine that keeps hitting the emergency eject button. I wake up with my heart racing, drenched in sweat, like I just got thrown off a building mid-dream. And it’s not once, it’s not twice, but six, seven, sometimes eight times per night. It destroys any chance of real rest. I’ve done the basic checks: no late caffeine, no screens blasting in my face, no major stress spike, not even any alcohol. None of that matters. It still happens. I’ve been reading around—doctors and articles love to call it “hypnic jerk,” or they classify it under parasomnia or throw in phrases like “nocturnal myoclonus.” All that jargon does is dress up the fact that your body decides to violently boot you out of sleep like a system crash. One medical review I came across said, “most individuals report these episodes as harmless,” which is honestly insulting. Would you call it harmless if your own body tricked you into thinking you were dying by falling every night? That word doesn’t fit at all. It feels hostile, rude, and like my nervous system is playing a sick joke at my expense.

And the more I think about it, the angrier I get. On one hand, I can go all technical and detached: it’s probably my nervous system misfiring, some mix-up between the vestibular system in my inner ear and the brain’s perception of stillness. I could cite “Mahowald and Schenck (2005)” or the International Classification of Sleep Disorders, which catalog this crap like items on a warehouse shelf. But honestly, that doesn’t help me at 3 a.m. when I’m yanked awake for the fifth time in a row, staring at the ceiling and wondering if I’ll ever sleep like a normal human again. One paper described it as “heightened sympathetic activation,” which is medical speak for “your fight-or-flight system won’t shut the hell up.” Great, thanks, I already knew my body was panicking. What I want to know is: does anyone else deal with it this often? I don’t mean occasionally, I mean systemically, like it’s been programmed into your nights. Do you just accept it, or does it drive you as crazy as it drives me? I feel detached even as I write this, but the truth is that it’s wrecking me. It’s ruining my ability to get restorative sleep, wrecking my circadian rhythm, and making me wake up already exhausted. I’m not here to be sentimental or dramatic—I’m just being direct about how much this is screwing with me. And yet, it still feels absurd to even type this out, because how do you complain about your own body deciding to simulate free-fall every single night? But here I am, frustrated, pissed, and stuck with it. If you’ve felt the same, you know exactly why I had to vent it out here. And if you haven’t, lucky you. For me, the best I can sum it up in one image is this stupid emoji: 😑.

I recently settled into a new house in a community proudly free from the constraints of a Homeowners' Association. I chose this particular area because it boasted a range of vividly painted houses, contrasting sharply with the typical subdued shades favored in other neighborhoods.

Excited to inject a bit of my own style, I decided on a repaint using a soothing peach hue offset by accents of sage, blue, and varying shades of pink. It's quite the subtle yet playful palette, reminiscent of a design you might stumble upon with a "coolors blue sage peach" search.

However, my neighbor Mark, who has always had an issue with any sort of change, expressed his displeasure as soon as the brushes touched the walls. Not just with the paint job, but he's also voiced his disdain for our lively front yard—complete with a bounty of wildflowers, cheerful garden flags, and a community-centric Little Free Library.

Despite his persistent complaints, I've stood firm on my choices, occasionally suggesting that perhaps a neighborhood governed by an HOA might better suit his preferences for more muted tones. Mark bristled at the prospect, stubbornly mentioning his 15 years of residence here as a reason to stay put. I simply responded by suggesting he might need to adjust to the existence of color in his life.

Just last weekend, while setting down some whimsically painted pavers crafted with my niece—featuring vibrant depictions of ladybugs and birds—Mark stormed over to launch into another tirade. Right in front of my 15-year-old niece, I’ll confess I lost a bit of my filter and retorted that he should likely grow up and accept the differences around him.

This exchange escalated quickly with Mark questioning my respectfulness and right to speak to him in such a manner. My reply for him to find more productive ways to spend his time was met with even further anger. My niece, on the other hand, found the whole scene rather amusing.

Other neighbors have since approached me, relaying that Mark has been making a fuss about my supposed rudeness. While one neighbor sympathized with the longevity of Mark's residence, suggesting I remain cordial, I’m unsure if standing up for my choices really makes me that objectionable.

In an imaginative twist, what if this whole colorful debacle were part of a reality TV show? Cameras rolling as vibrant pavers hit the soil and verbal fireworks exploded might have garnered a variety of reactions from an audience. Would viewers cheer for my unapologetic individualism? Or would sympathy lean towards Mark, casting me as the vibrant villain in our neighborhood drama? It's an intriguing thought, how the lens of public entertainment might shift the dynamics of a local neighborhood dispute.

What do you think, am I wrong for handling my neighbor the way I did?

i grew up believing something was off, but i couldn’t quite put my finger on it. it wasn't until i hit my late twenties and started therapy that the pieces clicked. both of my parents exhibit behavior that's frighteningly consistent with narcissistic personality traits. my therapist used the term “narcissistic perverts” once, and it rattled me, because it fit too well. not in a dramatic, made-for-tv kind of way, but in the slow, insidious kind of manipulation that wears you down without you even realizing it. it’s exhausting living with the constant feeling that your emotions are invalid, your achievements are never enough, and your boundaries are optional suggestions they feel free to ignore whenever it suits them 😒

my dad masks his manipulation behind a facade of reason and logic. he’ll say things like “i’m just being honest” or “you’re too sensitive” whenever i try to call him out on his emotionally dismissive behavior. growing up, he would tell me i was “too dramatic” whenever i cried or got upset, even if i had a legitimate reason. like when i came home from school one day in tears because a teacher publicly embarrassed me—his response? “you probably deserved it.” that sentence never left me. it etched itself into my memory as one of the countless times he made me feel small. he doesn’t scream. he doesn’t throw things. but his silence and cold logic cut deeper than any raised voice ever could.

my mom, on the other hand, plays the victim card like it’s her career. everything is always about her. if i tried to talk about a bad day at work, somehow it would spiral into a conversation about how she once had it worse. i remember mentioning i was struggling with depression in my early twenties, and her response was, “you don’t know real pain until you’ve been a mother.” i just stood there, numb. there was no space for my pain, only hers. she uses guilt like currency—reminding me of the sacrifices she made and how ungrateful i am for not calling every day. “after everything i did for you, this is how you repay me?” is her go-to line whenever i set even the smallest boundary.

what makes it worse is the gaslighting. when i bring up specific moments or confront them with how their actions made me feel, they either deny it happened or tell me i “misremembered.” it’s like arguing with a wall that changes shape every time you touch it. nothing sticks, and you start questioning your own perception of reality. this constant emotional distortion makes it hard to trust others—and harder to trust myself. even now, when my friends validate my experiences, there's still a little voice in my head whispering, are you sure you're not just being dramatic again? 🤷‍♀️

lately, i've been distancing myself. i limit contact to occasional texts and birthdays. part of me feels guilty—like i’m being a “bad daughter.” but another part, the part that’s finally learning to breathe, knows this space is necessary. healing doesn’t mean pretending it never happened or forgiving before you're ready. sometimes it means stepping back, protecting your peace, and acknowledging that some people—yes, even parents—are toxic. do you ever wonder how many people walk around thinking they’re broken, when really, they were just raised by people who shattered them without ever lifting a hand? if you’re reading this and it resonates, i hope you know: you’re not crazy. you’re not dramatic. you’re not alone. 🖤

okay so this week (and some of last week) have been annoying as freak but it has been extra. there's these to boys in my 6th period, (we will call K and N) I have 3 classes with K and 1 with N, lately they have been a big pain and stressing me out. for some reason N has been calling me a boy/man or "He" and I'm a woman not trans or anything (NOT HATING, I support) N keeps doing it. I've told him to actually stop. at first I thought it was funny, no harm but then it slowly came annoying and of course K being a follower when it comes to his friends he started calling me a boy/man and he wont stop. its not even funny its just so freaking annoying. they have also been bothering me and my (more than friends, who we will call L) they are friends of L but he doesn't want to be friends with N and K anymore, L struggles with sleep and sleeps during class sometimes, I.D.C. but like in 6th period we were watching a flipping movie and they kept bothering me and L, using Bluetooth headphones to play annoying audio in L ear. I had to snatch them out of N hand and give them to our teacher and tell her not to give them back at all. even L is over this like me and L just want to chill and be happy but I cant get a break for once! I can decide if I should just keep silent and wait for it to stop or freaking do something about it because honestly its pissing me off that these people cant grow up and are acting like 5 yr old boys.

for a while, I've been feeling very lonely. i am very introverted, don't mind being on my own, and interacting with new people is very tiresome. but still, for some reason, I've been craving some kind of intimacy, some connection with someone, specifically with a woman. i want a girlfriend.

when i realized it, I was very cringed at myself. i always saw myself as self sufficient, no need for romance or sex... but suddenly i feel like this, wanting the embrace of a pretty woman, hearing kind words and affirmations, being truly loved, appreciated, being someone's important person...

so, i created this imaginary girlfriend inside my head, for me to fantasize about whenever loneliness hit me. I've always lived inside my own head 24/7, it's a trait of mine to just stop and think about things, wander in imagination, so it wasn't hard for me to sink into this fantasy.

my imaginary girlfriend is older and more mature than me, not in a "superiority" way, but in a way that helps me grow as a person and navigate this difficult world. she's kind, extroverted, funny, very gentle and almost motherly. flirty and spicy, but understanding of my boundaries as an extremely shy and embarrassed person. she's bigger than me, both in terms of height and body mass, and likes to put her weight on me for fun. she likes to bring me to different places, and is dedicated to letting me experience things and have fun outside of my comfort zone, but never pushing me uncomfortably far. overall, she's the half I'm missing(?)

but, after a while with this fantasy, i started to get attached to this image of her, and started to wonder: how will i leave this fantasy when i meet a potential real life girlfriend? how will i let go of my expectations, everything that i "built" with this imaginary woman? i know, i am probably embarrassingly delusional LMAO but i really want to be able to leave it behind eventually, because I don't want the girl in my future to feel like she isn't good enough for me. mainly, the thing i want to figure out is HOW to draw the line between what is just "my type" X what is an "hyper expectation" from someone.

does anyone else feel or ever felt this way? if so, how was it when you found a real person for yourself? i really want to hear...

Have been feeling so overwhelmed, been feeling like life is a curse. I keep seeing my relatives be absolute pieces of shit, my parents going through the worst of things. On top of that I keep feeling like I am the one who is at fault for drifting apart from my childhood toxic friend, as I keep missing her, wishing that I didn’t do that, that I should have endured it.

God keeps making us go through these numerous horrible tests. It hurts me when I see my family, who has always tried to help others, getting betrayed and hurt by those same exact people. It hurts when I see people that I loved so dearly passing away. It hurts when I see that I never receive anything good despite trying my hardest and giving my all.

Life is a curse. I'm so tired of seeing me and my family continuously go through bad things. I hope one day my family will be happy again but I don’t think days like that will come ever again.

I feel that many people disrespect one's solitude. In fact, they see the messages one writes about it and attack it, making it seem like a shock. Indeed, loneliness isn't one's entire world; however, when faced with difficult experiences, I think it's advisable to spend time alone to reflect on it.

Many people tend to exaggerate about loneliness. They make it seem like it's everything in life. I'd like to express to many people that the world isn't just your friends, but your very life as well. It's about having a balance.

I was recently writing a story on a writers' website, and they started judging me, not the story. I feel like people sometimes get carried away when one talks about the subject; they try to find fault with the other, the origin of why I wrote this way or why I said that. They try to personalize everything. On a writers' website or in a group about it, what matters is just getting into what's at stake, not going beyond it.

Loneliness is a beautiful topic to explore given that it's not often talked about. I feel it's helpful for reaching boundaries. I used to be someone who spent time in groups and always sought to be part of one, but I reached a point where I noticed things weren't proceeding naturally. Also, when I somehow looked beyond or let myself get carried away, I always ran into trouble. I feel that loneliness is a precise time to see what I was getting involved in. I think it will give me the perspective to see where I truly belong. It's not about having a place because others make room for you; that speaks to the fact that sooner or later that will fall apart.

I still don't understand, and that's why the character's comment affects me so much, because it is so questionable. No one knows what loneliness entails at first. It's all a fear of sensations, and no one seeks tools to deal with them. If you're lonely for some reason and you don't see any other way out, in order to guarantee your integrity, I personally believe that we need to find ways to do something with what we feel, not wallow in it, or see what we're experiencing as hell. I feel that wouldn't be fair to us.

People prevent us from delving deeper into loneliness. They always want to get away from it at all costs. That's why, of course, many of us, when we were with our families, it was a segregated place, most likely, because it meant not being with others. Why should not being with others be bad? Indeed, there are times when we may feel bad, but we must take into account that sometimes people won't be there, and we can't allow ourselves to abandon ourselves in those moments. The search for others can't become an addiction; that is, the fear of falling into a situation, which could be, is present; you never know.

Many therapists radically reject this idea. In fact, you get the ambiguous idea that being alone isn't always good, but of course, one wonders under what conditions. These therapists aren't serving as guides for us to consolidate these conditions. In fact, therapy itself, for many professionals, is an ambiguous approach, which surely results in a repetition of notions. The idea is that one can consolidate facts to gain the momentum to act, in an integrated manner, not in an intellectualized way, an issue in which the therapist should support us, but many are unable to visualize, to facilitate the process, something that other people who aren't trained can't do.

I remember a therapist telling me how to think when the point is precisely to think naturally, spontaneously, to deal precisely with whatever is at stake. Otherwise, what you're doing is conspiring a kind of patch, a spectrum of things, that merely verify that what you're doing is right, according to the character's approval. It's not about exerting control over ideas, but rather about taking whatever paths we must take. Frankly, today, the idea of ​​resorting to violence is ridiculous, given that we always seek stability by inertia, always; that's what our processes—our personal processes—are based on. We may appear to be going to be violent, but in the end, let's be clear, this is a facade or at least a warning of when we are being taken to extreme situations where we are not as we always were because we are not in the same conditions as always.

With the mindset I've developed over the last few days, I feel deeply impacted by the behavior of these people and these therapists. In the end, things turn out to be completely similar: a terrible mental health professional is the same as an individual who doesn't know what to do with a certain circumstance—the same, but under a range of prejudices. I feel disappointed by the therapists I sought out because the very idea is to provide solutions, methodologically concrete answers, not something outside of them. Without methodology, then, we're doing nothing.

I feel that many therapists stick to following protocols, in a way that's completely detached from the case, applying them however they feel comfortable. This is the reason they act distantly and without delving into the case, always trying to get the person to follow the path. The aforementioned therapist always looked for ways to address the distancing she created from her; I understand that this was a symptom; to this day, I doubt that this person has realized that I didn't want to work with her. In fact, this character returned at my father's request, despite all this evidence. He simply speaks to me as someone who isn't concerned, who seeks the origin of the issue in my personality, detaching himself from the notion that if I act this way in the relationship, it's because of the pink issue in the relationship. My senses aren't disconnected from reality. Organically, I'm fine. But this being, even with a doctorate, I didn't understand this, and I highly doubt I still understand it today, and it's somewhat disappointing. Frankly, I wouldn't want to think this way because money was invested in it, and it hurts.

The person's comment affects me greatly because it makes me return to that therapist. Of course, this allows me to develop the story. In fact, I feel so frustrated that it has become a constant headache, and it has been lessening as I compose my story of interaction with the character. This is something I don't allow therapists, or other therapists, precisely because of the fear of repression. It's something that's extremely difficult to do.

Every day, I also find myself surprised by another therapist. It's that when he becomes aware of many things, it really hurts. I didn't like these considerations I'm receiving because they're hurting me. Anyway, with this other therapist, despite the disqualification he made, the establishment's entry into conflict with me to guide me through life by comparing me with others, restricting me in the expression of my feelings, and scolding me for making people outside the office look bad for me by moving things around, going beyond the purpose of the consultation, this guy had the good fortune to express that he didn't have the maturity at that moment to handle the treatment. Under the pressure I was under, I think it was only natural for that to happen. I don't know where the hell this guy was, frankly. I understand that maturity for him is the ability to give in to whatever he wants. I don't see this guy as a therapist or as a carnival.

When my daughter, Emily, celebrated her 20th birthday, she had already been battling significant health challenges for nearly eight years. From major depressive disorder to social anxiety, and even grappling with anorexia and body dysmorphic disorder amidst two autoimmune conditions, her path had not been smooth. As her parent, I have been deeply involved in her care, and when her therapist suggested that an Emotional Support Animal (ESA) might benefit her, I agreed. Though I'm not a fan of animals personally, I saw the potential benefits for Emily's mental and emotional health.

For her 16th birthday, we welcomed a dog into our home named Juniper. It might sound dramatic, but Juniper transformed Emily’s life. She became more independent, her self-esteem flourished, and she visibly brightened. Now, four years later, she's not only juggling her college studies with impressive grades, but she also works as a part-time tutor and volunteers with the elderly—achievements that fill me with immense pride.

However, an unfortunate incident occurred recently that has thrown our peaceful life into chaos. Juniper escaped from our home and was tragically hit by a car in front of our house. After rushing her to the vet, we faced the grim reality that her recovery would require surgery costing around $2,000. Despite my comfortable salary, spending such a sum on what I considered a fading investment seemed unjustifiable, especially considering Juniper's age and potential for lifelong disability post-surgery.

In what I thought was a considered and humane decision, I opted for euthanasia. But when I informed Emily of this decision, she was devastated. She pleaded, offering her savings and promising to work more to cover the costs, but I refused. The potential impact on her mental health—and the possibility that she would have to sacrifice her volunteering, which had significantly aided her recovery—weighed heavily on me. My decision was final, even if Emily couldn't see the reasoning behind it. We went through with the euthanasia, making sure Juniper was surrounded by love till the end.

Upon our return, we found an inconsolable Emily. I tried to impart some hard-earned wisdom about the harsh realities of life, but communication broke down, and now she isn’t speaking to me. I can’t help but wonder if I should have involved her more in the decision or at least allowed her to say goodbye. While I remain conflicted, I also feel that Juniper had fulfilled her role in improving Emily’s quality of life, considering the relatively short time they spent together.

Imagine if this situation were unfolding on a reality TV show. The cameras would capture every tear and tense conversation, providing a raw, unfiltered look at our family's crisis. Viewers might be split, with some sympathizing with my protectiveness over Emily’s mental health and others vilifying me for my seemingly cold decision-making. The drama would certainly draw attention, but the real challenge would be maintaining our dignity and privacy in the inevitable backlash.

i had a therapist for 5 years who last year was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. initially they said it was really abnormal and slow growing and they were confident they could perform a whipple and chemo and hed be saved. 2 months later post whipple the cancer had spread to his liver and he was diagnosed terminal.

all of this was devastating of course, im familiar with his family, something we bonded over was our children and how similar we were as parents and the way we cared about people. watching him be torn away from his 2 young girls is so awful and i feel so deeply for his partner.

2 weeks ago i had sent a regrettable message raising the awkwardness of the time we met because i was completely emotional and i didnt want him to think i was falling apart without him, because despite devastation 5 years of therapy gave me some great tools to accept emotions as they come no matter how large or overwhelming.

this message was something that stressed him out and his partner then stepped in and said she would be a communication bridge. happy for that i obliged only asking once to apologise realising the mistake id made. she had told me as he deteriorated i would be invited to say goodbye, and in the interim she would reassess whether me and said therapist could reestablish contact. given that now that i could recognise that i asked her whether it would be okay to message him some more, she said no as he was in hospital and i replied that was okay but i was more meaning in general as this is not how i wanted to remember him. i was happy to leave is as he was recovering and needed rest. i made a comment in reference to her recognising how hard it must be not having contact by saying yeah i dont know any other relationship where not only am i not allowed to visit but not even talk to someone whos dying. somewhere in the message sent she replied saying that the relationship was to be terminated as the ethical boundaries are clear in that once he stopped being my therapist our relationship ended. she stated they had tried to be accomodating of my needs but how i wasnt able to be appropriately boundaried and that i am no longer ever be able to contact my therapist again.

not only had she said about a reassessment of boundaries but my therapist the last time i saw him told me that was likely not going to be the last time i saw him, she has also stated about me seeing him when he was close to the end for closure. the level of betrayal here is massive. i feel lied to, disrespected and above all else heartbroken i may never get to say goodbye to my therapist. he hasnt contacted me either.

it not just this that infuriates me. for the last 5 years i have been in almost a constant communication with my therapist. i was lucky enough to message him day to day to establish rapport and safety and a sense of trust i do not hold in alot of people from childhood as most adults did not care to care. as an adult now with my own kids i struggle to see how anyone could treat their kids that way and still struggle with closeness with other adults as i constantly think theyre going to leave.. ironic.

i have had multiple letters from my therapist every time he went away to bridge any abandonment feelings as most times he had holidays it was around key events of trauma. he has continuously told me i am worthwhile, how much he cares about me, offered hugs (sensory regulation) and sessions like walks in the local park to ease the feelings that came up with being in rooms.

ethics dont begin to cover the gray areas he stretched to help me heal and throughout this by no means have i felt like he did anything wrong as i truly felt a sense of safety and ease and like i could manage without him because he believed in me.

that was up until his partner messaged me. we are 2 months after his terminal diagnosis, and after research the 2 year wait of ethics is technically in a gray area because he is dying. its a bit late to pull the ethics card.

now i know likely all of her message is because she is struggling to let go too of her partner, as would i be. i hold such a great compassion for her situation right now and of think about her very fondly.

this however has been handled so poorly. there have been constant moving expectations, and boundaries and i feel as though over the years i have put up with many instances where maybe as a client i shouldnt have had to. (a medical proffesional telling me once that its completely innapropriate the expectations that have been out on me.) all because i pushed to have it mimic a real relationship so i could learn how to navigate.

i have cried so much these past few months and before the terminal diagnosis was considering leaving therapy as i felt hugely capable without him.

this is such an abrupt was to end this half decade of my life trusting this man who in his dying days seems not to give a shit. or is maybe just running with his partners mistake in support. im not sure. but this is so devastating to have it end like this. its such an awful memory of him and now a shame because everywhere reminds me of him because of his involvement in my life. im sure later on this will be lovely but right now its painful. there was no goodbye.

its crazy to me because there was one time we had a fight because i said i cared more about him and he was going to reply, later told me,that i didnt know that so i couldnt say that to him.

this whole thing is fucked i know. but not even a goodbye after 5 years. like that is so shit. just so sad. its all so unfair.

Hey me.

I see you sitting there, blasting Glass Half Empty on loop through your earbuds in the middle of class. I'm doing the same thing, too. Those lyrics are so relatable, aren't they? Anyway. I know Bowie, Trinity, and Harvie are still ignoring you. I know that Johne and Amelia still forget you're there sometimes. I know that Angel is your only friend left that sees and hears you. But hey, things'll get better. I think. You know, let's just reflect on the past four years before we get to high school. How's that sound? and when we're seniors, we'll reflect on our high school years too. Here we go:

Remember 5th grade? when you and Trinity first met? When you dated Livvie? Remember her? I forgot what school she goes to now... Oh well. But remember recess, playing with all of Trinity's little plastic animals? Remember there Kermits? You never did really become part of that... But that's besides the point. 5th grade was fun! I miss it. I bet you do too.

6th grade was when you met Amelia, Harvie, and Maddie. I still remember the exact places we sat at lunch. The third round table, and you always say next to Amelia. And you would give her your cheeseburger (which you got everyday) even though she had a lunchbox. Those were the good days... Ah well. They're gone now. But those days were easy, you never had to worry about whether or not your existence would be remembered the next day. EVeryone was interested in the same things, and we were all one friendgroup, and there was no stress about who liked who. That is, until you started liking Amelia. But you never asked her out, did you? I don't blame you. Stuff like that is really stressful.

And 7th grade! That was when you met Bowie, Angel, and Johne. Remember how you and Bowie started out? kinda awkward, I remember. Emma had been saying for a while that you and Bowie would be best friends. And you became best friends, didn't you! You two had such fun together. Then Trinity and Amelia started dating. Then you and Maddie started dating. Then you broke up with Maddie. And then you and Bowie started dating. 7th grade was ok.

But 8th grade... That's when everything fell apart. You broke up with Bowie, yet you two still stayed best friends. Nothing changed between you two, except maybe that you'd make jokes about when you two dated, things like, "why did I ever date you" whenever one of you did something dumb. But then... people started drifting. The friendgroup split in half. One half even moved tables at lunch. That was your half. And the other half stopped speaking to you and you only. Even Bowie, who was on that half. And then you started turning invisible with your own half. Even on your birthday. At least you still had Angel. But some days, you were invisible to even her. Depression got the best of you, didn't it? It still has me in its holds.

But listen to me now: you can't let yourself disappear. Get new friends. Ones who see you and hear you. Don't let the old ones turn you invisible. They don't define you. Even if things seem hopeless now, you'll get through this. You have to. And if you don't, then at least you tried, right? so try. Don't let go just yet. Don't give up until you can't go any further. It may seem like you can't now, but you can. Trust me. The apathy and depression may be bad, but you'll survive it all. Maybe. Possibly. You've almost made it to high school. Just keep pushing, and you'll get there. I get it, you want to just fizzle out, to just give up. But you can't. Keep going. Do it for Angel. For Sam, too, even though you can't talk to him anymore. But he'd want you to keep going. So keep going.

See you soon,

You.

I’m so tired…..what should I do?..

I’m 32 and felt like want to end my life now..stay alive is more harder than die..

Just the other day, we attended a birthday party for a friend's child, complete with all the festive chaos typical of such gatherings. It was a friendly barbecue setting: children running around and plenty of grilled hot dogs and hamburgers. I found myself manning the grill, handing out food to both the enthusiastic kids and their parents.

During the event, one of the children approached me to inquire if we had any bologna available. I humorously responded that we only had hot dogs and hamburgers, and quipped, “But, you know, hot dogs and bologna are pretty much the same thing, just shaped differently!” The kid seemed uninterested in both, opting instead for some chips before running off to join the others.

However, a few hours post-party, I received an unexpected message from this child's dad, with whom I've been acquainted since our kindergarten days. We've been through school together all the way to university graduation, though we're not exactly the type who hang out regularly on weekends.

His text was unexpectedly intense; he expressed frustration that I had inadvertently ruined bologna for his child by comparing it to hot dogs. He clarified that his son is exceptionally picky with food, and bologna was one of the few sure things he’d actually eat.

The feeling of guilt washed over me as I can certainly sympathize with the struggle of feeding a choosy child, though I was clueless about the depth of his son’s selective eating habits.

The friend who hosted the party reached out to me later, affirming that I hadn’t done anything wrong and suggesting the reaction was a significant overreaction. They mentioned that if the child had such specific food aversions, the parents might have advised us beforehand. Despite this reassurance, I couldn't shake off feeling somewhat responsible for the unintended consequence of my offhand comment.

Reflecting on this situation, it’s intriguing to consider how this scenario would unfold if it were part of a reality TV show. The various perspectives and heightened emotional responses would no doubt provide ample material for dramatization. Viewers might debate whether my attempt at humor was misplaced or if the parent’s reaction was too severe. The inclusion of audience reactions could potentially sway public opinion, making an otherwise minor interaction into a major talking point.

How would the public react if it were witnessing the whole ordeal live on a reality show? Would my casual comment be seen as a harmless joke or a significant faux pas?