Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

I keep asking myself this question every day: how to stop worrying about the future? Because honestly, I don’t have a clue. Maybe I used to, back when life felt predictable, when you went to school, got a degree, found a job, and stuck with it until retirement. But now? Now everything is changing so fast, I feel like I can’t even keep up. And it’s not my future that keeps me up at night—it’s theirs. My kids. They’re still young, still in school, but I keep thinking, what will the world look like when it’s their turn to step into it? What will jobs even look like in 15 years? We tell them to study hard, to pick a career they love, but what if those careers don’t even exist by the time they get there? What if everything we’re teaching them now is useless in a world run by AI, automation, and technology that doesn’t even exist yet? It terrifies me. Because how am I supposed to guide them when I don’t even know what’s ahead?

I see it already—companies replacing workers with algorithms, AI writing code, making art, answering customer service calls. I read articles saying entire industries will disappear, that jobs we once thought were secure won’t exist anymore. And the worst part? Nobody seems to know what will replace them. I try to imagine what my kids will do when they’re grown. Will they need a degree, or will universities be irrelevant? Will they compete with machines for work? What if no matter how smart, how hardworking they are, it won’t be enough because the rules of the game will have changed? I want to tell them that if they study, if they put in the effort, they’ll be okay. But I don’t know if that’s true. And that’s what scares me the most. I try to remind myself that every generation has faced uncertainty, that the future has always been unpredictable, that worrying won’t change anything. But the truth is, I feel powerless. I can’t stop the world from changing, and I can’t guarantee that they’ll be ready for it. All I can do is teach them how to adapt, how to think critically, how to keep learning even after school ends. Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe instead of worrying about what jobs will exist, I should focus on raising kids who can handle whatever comes. Because in the end, the future isn’t something I can control—it’s something they’ll have to navigate on their own. And maybe, just maybe, that will be enough.

My fiancé and I met at church seven years ago and began seeing each other three years ago. We were both previously married and quietly separated from and divorced our previous spouses. Our separations began before we started dating and our divorces were finalized after we got together.

Due to the timing of the start of our relationship and lack of broadcasting our separations, there was a lot of that judgey church gossip surrounding us being adulterers and homewreckers.

Okay fine, we were not divorced yet and that was not a great thing for us to do. We rushed God's timing and plan and that didn't need to be.

But now that our relationship has gotten more serious (IE visible), it feels like our congregation has shadowbanned us, so to speak. We were both quite active in numerous ministries and elected positions. (You know how 80% of church work is done by 20% of the congregation? We are both in that 20%. Or at least, we'd like to be.)

Over the last year as our relationship has taken off, we have been removed from most of our committees by ways of not being elected to serve another term. With one exception, no one was elected in our places. On an informal/adhoc basis, we are not selected to participate in the worship service ahead of time. If a worship participant does not show up and there is a sudden need for someone to fill in, we are not asked and when we volunteer, we are told no that's okay, someone else will do it. Or no one does it and the service goes on without.

I am finding these actions to be punitive in nature, especially since we are in a small aging congregation where there aren't a lot of people who are able to help out. So to be informally told that no one doing this task is better than one of us doing this task is weird.

The only tasks we have held onto are the major tasks that no one has shown interest in managing instead. The food pantry is a one woman show and the online media streaming is a one man show.

It hurts me that this place we've called our religious home can take our money and our physical labor, but will not allow us to serve our church in a visible capacity anymore. He is content with having less to do, so he isn't bothered the same way I am, but he has noticed the pattern.

I would like to speak to someone at the church about this, but who? I feel like I would just be gaslit. Oh no, that isn't what's happening. We just want other people to have the chance to contribute. But the liturgist pool is 2 people less. Communion takes longer because there are fewer assistants. We use online music when we can't locate an organist or pianist in the community.

It's just. Weird. And I don't know much what to do. I am contemplating church searching after the new year and seeing if a clean slate would do us good.

Am I tripping? Am I not? Is it worth having a conversation with the pastor about? Who knows? Not me.

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?

I'm usually knee-deep in work from a job that demands almost everything from me, and my partner, Alex, is fully aware of how strenuous it can be. Not long ago, I decided that it was essential to establish clearer boundaries regarding my availability after work hours. Specifically, I made it a rule not to take work-related calls after 7 pm. Alex seemed to agree with this new arrangement at first, appreciating that we could spend more quality time together without interruptions from my work.

However, last night, things took a bizarre turn. Around 8:30 pm, as we were settling down for the evening, my boss called. Sticking to my new-found boundaries, I chose to ignore the call. But Alex, to my dismay, questioned why I wasn't answering. I explained that it was part of my effort to prevent work from overrunning my personal life. Without hesitating, Alex picked up my phone and answered the call himself, telling my boss that I was "too busy relaxing to talk." I was completely embarrassed! The tone in my boss's voice was clearly one of irritation when I ultimately had to take the phone. I ended up spending the next 30 minutes sorting out work issues, a situation exacerbated by Alex's remark which made it appear as though I was neglecting my duties.

After I hung up, I confronted Alex. I was livid and explained how inappropriate it was for him to intervene in my work matters. He just shrugged it off, suggesting I was overreacting and claiming that I shouldn't feel ashamed for enforcing my boundaries around work. This whole ordeal has left me second-guessing both my boundary-setting and his understanding of it. Am I overreacting, or was his interference out of line?

Imagine if this scenario unfolded on a reality show. The drama would certainly amplify, with cameras capturing every moment of the exchange and potentially millions of viewers judging the dynamics of our relationship. Viewers might side with me for trying to establish work-life balance, or they could sympathize with Alex, perceiving him as supporting a more relaxed approach. The court of public opinion could dramatically sway in either direction, affecting not just perceptions but our relationship dynamics after being exposed to widespread scrutiny.

Was my partner's action on my work call justified?

I've been in a relationship for 3 years and in like the last year, I've had feelings of regret more often. We have pur good moments and bad like normal relationships. But when we fight or have a disagreement and he's upset, for some topics I just can't understand his perspective. I understand being upset that's perfectly okay but it gets dragged out and I end up feeling dead inside. I can't help but think that I wouldn't have to go through this if I was single. But I can't exactly break up with him because he is a good person and he loves me a lot. I just can't shake off the regret feeling. I don't know if I'm overthinking and I should just ignore the feeling or bury it

I'm questioning whether I'm in the wrong here or just being financially prudent. I appreciate any help you can offer.

My two daughters, Maya and Jenna, have different interests and strengths. Maya is the older one, a sophomore in high school who is exceptionally hardworking and bright. She's thriving at a costly private school, where we decided to send her after seeing her potential in middle school. She has exceeded our expectations academically.

Jenna, on the other hand, is in eighth grade and is eagerly talking about the art program at the same private school. She's a wonderfully kind person and talented in art. However, our local public high school also has a strong art program. Jenna isn't as driven as Maya, especially in STEM subjects, and she's pretty average in her English and History classes.

We sat down with Jenna yesterday to explain why we think the private school isn't the right fit for her, unlike for Maya. Jenna burst into tears, believing this meant we didn't love her as much or value her talents. Despite our reassurances of our love and her talents, she felt sidelined. Jenna even suggested exploring other arts-focused programs, but we didn’t encourage it, considering the cost against the perceived benefit. Maya has a likely shot at top universities, something we don’t see paralleled for Jenna until possibly art school after high school. Jenna accused us of favoring Maya over her. The situation escalated when Maya intervened, threatening to quit going to her school unless Jenna could join her. Both my wife and I think their reactions are typical teenage drama.

Imagining if this was all unfolding on a reality TV show, the audience might view my wife and I as either practical or overly harsh. The drama and tension of siblings possibly being split between schools could certainly draw sympathy for Jenna, while others might commend our straightforward approach to planning and expenses. It could be a mixed bag of reactions, with viewers potentially heatedly debating our parenting decisions.

How would you feel if your parents favored your sibling over you?

I don't know if this is the right place to talk about something like this but I need to get it off my chest and I don't want to emotioanlly burden my other friends by talking about this - as I've already talked to them about this and I don't know what to do about it.

Since December I've noticed one of my group of friends getting into really bad habits; more specifically with alcohol and marajuana (even more specifically, weed pens/vapes). I'm fully aware that I'm not one to throw too many stones in a glass house (not sure if I'm using that correctly) as I've tackled the same sort of problems they're experiencing, but have reached a place where I am able to do it recreationally and have a healthy relationship with it.

Where I'm from, THC and HHC have been banned, so now smoke shops are selling weed pens with really strange chemicals - I think the one my friends buy are called HHZ or HHX?? And alcohol is, of course, very easily available in most shops. Because of this accessability, my friends are buying weed vapes tri-weekly and drinking on weekdays alone. They seem to have no problem with this.

It also seems to me now, that every time I hang out with this group of friends we always end up drinking and it is exhausting. My house is also used as our main 'drinking spot,' which is putting a strain on me and my father, whomst I live with and does not appreciate the company when he has work the next day. Last week really broke me. We have a groupchat and one of them asked if 2 of them could come over to my house after they had watched a movie in the cinema to drink at 11pm. Are you fucking kidding me? I wasn't even invited to the fucking cinema and now you want to come over to my house just to drink? Am I a fucking dive bar??? Fuck you!

I never really had a problem with the weed pens either until the new HHX/Z shit came about. I myself used to smoke weed pens when they were still HHC/THC, but stopped because I was noticing that I wasn't right mentally and figured I should stop for my wellbeing. I'm worried that this is going to hurt them in the long run, especially since one of them that smokes them is in a difficult major in college and I'm worried about their performance.

Also, this seems relevant enough to throw in here, their humour and perspective on things has 'devolved' for lack of a better word. The way they talk about certain things just seems so childish and I normally wouldn't mind but sometimes it really bugs me, I don't know. And I can never talk about things that I'm interested in, and I fear that I'd get laughed at if I suggested something like "Hey, let's go to an art gallery/exhibition" or "Let's go to a jazz bar" even though that's a completely normal thing to do once in a while that doesn't involve liver damage or whatever. I know this because whenever I try to plan something new for us to try, a recent example being us going to a variety of new upcoming artists in the city, the plans always seem to conventiently fall through. But it's ok! Because there always conventiently time to go to the same fucking bar we always go to instead that have cheap drinks that get you drunk quick because why bother with something new and exciting when you can just get shitfaced!?

I feel guilty for facilitating this, but I don't know what to do. I've always had a hard time saying no but despite that I try my best to set boundaries, telling them 'no' straight-up when they ask to come over just to drink. I fear that if I voice my opinion, it will come off as a sort of 'mightier-than-thou,' since I've made it known that I've cut back on my marajuana and alcohol use over the past year after a particularly nasty bout of substance abuse following a break-up. I've talked to other people about this, but they've never given me any advice to remedy the situation - and I feel bad if I go to them for the hundredth (hyperbole) time with the same issue. I don't know. It's nice to scream into the void here instead of bothering anyone, but maybe that's just me.

Compared to most of the problems in my life right now, this feels pretty low on the totem pole. But I don’t feel like anyone I’ve talked to about it can understand, and I’m feeling crazy because I’m the problem!?! Okay. So I have this friend. Sorta… let’s start at the beginning. I have a really good friend in my Geology major, let’s call her Glasses. And this good friend met another girl, let’s call her Hammer. Glasses and Hammer became pretty good friends. And from there we formed a little trio of sorts. That’s the short version at least. Hammer then met another girl, let’s call her Miss Perfect. And we would all hang out and we had a good group going. But, miss perfect and I never really clicked. I liked her as a person, but the gears never really aligned or something cause as soon as it was just us two we never had anything to really say. And I’d call her a friend, but definitely not close. That’s the general background. Anyway, I really pride myself on my acedemics. I’ve always been an A student, someone who’s always got the answer, who puts in the work, has a fun idea, understands the concept. You know. Typical geek. But geology’s my passion you know! I’m gonna really try and put my best foot forward. And I’m good at it. I’m a really good geologist… but Miss Perfext, it always felt like she would do better. Or at least people would praise her for being the best. I honesty feel like we are equals. But somehow, she’s always the one to get the praise or the recognition. For some reason, she’s always the better one. And it’s infuriating in a major where there’s only 20 people, cause why can’t I just beat her?!? And there have been times where I have, but they seem to be outweighed with her getting a better score or picked for a team assignment over me or whatever! And it really wasn’t that big of a problem in school. Because we had a different enough schedule where it wasn’t that big of a deal and it wasn’t in every class and I knew at some point I would not be in school with her and it wouldn’t really matter in the long run. I loved my work and that was good enough for me. But now… ok so I graduated last summer, and Hammer and I got a job at the same place. And it’s a good job. Sorta geology related and such so I feel it’s a good stepping stone before grad school and other jobs moving forward. But this summer..: Miss perfect applied and got the job. And I just don’t want to feel like I need to keep competing with her in my work place! Because what if she gets promoted over me?! What if they think she’s so much better than me and I get lumped with the geotechs where no geology is done at all and she’s out with the real geologists doing the real science?! When I’ve been there longer? Im not hoenslty that passionate about this company but it kinda upsets me! Because Hammer and Miss Perfext are closer together that I am with Hammer. So not only will it feel like I need to prove myself when I shouldn’t need to feel that way, I also don’t want to feel like a third wheel! And they’re moving in together! Ugh! So there. And when I ask my boyfriend, he just says, comparison is the thief of joy, which is a real fuck you if you ask me.

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

I have almost never spoken about this. I always hid it from everyone, especially from my daughters, but not long ago I had to tell them the truth.

I was 14 years old when it happened. I was young, very kind, respectful, and always smiling. I was the classic kid with a thousand problems at home: family fights, beatings from my family, sleepless nights, things like that. I always looked for refuge in others. I was shy and had a stutter, and even so I never had friends… until she arrived, the girl who changed everything.

I’ll refer to her as Ana to protect her privacy. Ana was older than me; she was in her last year of high school. We met because I was being bullied at school and she was always the one leading it. One day she made me her boyfriend. How and when it happened, I still don’t know, but it happened out of nowhere without me realizing it. I guess the lack of affection and love I never had from my family didn’t let me walk away. Ana was 19, and even so we kept our relationship secret. I couldn’t do much—I was small, and even now I’m still only about five feet tall. Ana was tall, strong, dominant. She was about six foot two. She was mean to me and very strict. She always yelled at me and hit me, but because of my fear of being abandoned and being alone, I endured it.

Until one day she forced me to do it with her. It was… painful, but at that moment I saw it as affection and love. I was in a very bad place, and I know that now.

After that, Ana disappeared. A few months later she came back, and that’s when I saw her belly—six months pregnant. We did the tests and yes, I was the father. We hid everything. I ran away from home and moved in with Ana to a very cheap, run-down apartment. She always threatened to have an abortion if I didn’t obey her, and so I did, enduring everything because deep down I needed to protect that baby.

The day the birth came, I was already 15. Endless minutes passed until they finally let me in… and there they were. The doctor handed me my three daughters—yes, beautiful triplets with their mother’s features. Ana pretended to be happy but never held them. She refused to do so and always showed her contempt for them. And then it happened, once we got back home. Ana hit me, but I never let her touch the babies.

One day Ana came home from work. I stayed home taking care of the babies, feeding them with what little we had. That day she didn’t complain or say anything, and I wasn’t prepared for that infernal night.

Ana got up and took a knife. I didn’t sleep all night. I pretended to, and then I saw her, lifting the knife and pointing it with a psychopathic look at the babies. I reacted on instinct and blocked the strike—it hit my face. She cut me from my chin to my forehead. The cut went over my right eye but, by a miracle, it didn’t damage it. There was blood—too much blood. I screamed at her to stop, but she didn’t listen. She tried to stab me, but I pushed her and knocked her down. I reacted fast, moved the wardrobe, and it fell on top of her.

I didn’t stop there. I grabbed my daughters in my arms however I could and went out through the open window.

I ran like I never had in my life. I didn’t stop or look back. The cold hurt; it was snowing, and I couldn’t see out of my right side because of the blood. My daughters cried nonstop. I kept running without stopping. My feet hurt, and after hours of running, I collapsed.

I fell to the ground, covering my daughters so they wouldn’t get hurt. My chest burned with pain and I couldn’t feel half my face. I walked, limping, in the middle of the night until some police officers found me. I told them what had happened, and at least they were discreet—they didn’t force me to go back to my family or to Ana. They were kind enough to take me to the hospital, and when the doctor wanted to treat me, I ignored my own pain and insisted that he take care of the babies first. He did, because I wouldn’t stop insisting.

When we were discharged, I spent a few days on the streets with my daughters… We spent about three months homeless. I gave them what little I had to make food so they could eat, and I went hungry, but for them I would do anything, no matter the cost.

After that, I got a job as a personal secretary to a woman who was a CEO of a company. Then I was able to start paying for things and buying what we needed, always making sure my daughters were comfortable. I raised and educated them with the love and affection I never had.

Years passed, and now my daughters are 17—rebellious teenagers, but good girls. And the only thing I am grateful for from that horrible night is the honor of being a great father.

Growing up as a Black girl,
you never know what the future holds.
You learn fast.
Too fast.
Drugs, alcohol, sex—
before I even knew my times tables,
I knew what the world was about.
The "birds and the bees" talk?
Didn’t need it.
By the time I was born,
I already had four older siblings.
The oldest? grown.
twenty four , twenty five—
a whole life ahead,
while mine was just beginning.
Seven years later—
I’m no longer the youngest.
Now I’m the oldest.
Fourteen years later—
I’m in the middle, but still the oldest.
A split family teaches you choices
you were never supposed to make.
My mother has feelings.
My father has feelings.
My stepmother has feelings.
But what about mine?
How do you think I felt
when I realized I was the crack in their foundation?
That my mother’s pregnancy
shattered my father and stepmother’s family?
That my father had four kids before I even existed?
That his arm carried their names in ink,
but when I asked to be added,
he told me no—because of the “pain.”
Pain?
You wanna talk about pain?
I was cheated on,
manipulated—over and over,
by the same person.
And I let them.
I was dumb.
I almost got into fights
over people I didn’t even want.
Because I was supposed to.
Because I was taught
that disrespect had to be answered.
I hit puberty early, 5th grade.
First time I got catcalled? Eleven.
Let that sink in—
Eleven.
At the store with my older sister,
a grown man called out to us.
She was in her 20s—
but he meant both of us.
My body grew before I was ready,
so men saw a woman where a child stood.
By middle school,
the world was dying from COVID,
but I was already grieving
the childhood I never had.
How many times have I been called beautiful
by someone who shouldn’t even be looking?
How many times have I been told—
"You can’t wear that."
Because my chest was bigger.
Because men were coming over.
Because my mother was afraid.
Not for them.
For me.
Now I’m a freshman,
but people think I’m older.
I’m used to it.
On some level, it’s a compliment—
on every other, it’s not.
It just means I never got time to be a kid.
So yeah—
when I do something that seems childish,
that’s little me fighting to exist.
When I scream over dumb things,
when I get excited like I’m five again—
that’s Nyana.
That’s the kid in me,
the one I refuse to let die.
And when they stare—
I stare back.
Because the version of me you see,
that’s the one you want to box,
the one you want to label.
But I’m so much more than the skin they see,
than the years they’ve added on me.
I'm the kid who never got to be a kid.
They want me to act my age?
What’s my age?
When I’m a reflection of everyone’s expectations
and not my own truth?
I never got the luxury of slowing down,
of making mistakes without the weight of judgment.
Never had the time to just be.
Just to be young.
Just to be free.
And how do you think I feel
growing up in a world
where men have “weird relationships”
with their girl “best friends”?
It’s just weird.
But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
Not when my own father
once said he would "hit"
if his gave him a chance.
I saw my first "film" at seven—
not on purpose,
but because I wanted to be like every other kid.
Wanted to watch YouTube,
wanted to laugh at the same jokes,
wanted to feel like I belonged.
But the things I saw?
They weren’t for me.
Not for a seven-year-old
who still needed to feel safe in their own room.
I didn’t know what to do with what I saw.
Didn’t know how to unsee it.
But I learned,
fast.
Just like I learned in fourth grade
that sleepovers weren’t what they were on TV.
That not every mother is a mother first.
That sometimes, a mother wants to be a friend,
and when that happens,
you become the collateral damage.
She let her daughter do things no child should do,
and I was there,
forced into it,
too young to understand,
too scared to say no.
And when I got in trouble for it,
when I told my mother it wasn’t my fault,
guess who still got in trouble?
Guess who didn’t.

So yeah, when I laugh too loud,
when I hold on to the simple things—
that’s me reaching for the years they took.
I’m reclaiming what’s mine—
the innocence I was denied,
the joy I never got to wear.
And if that makes you uncomfortable,
I don’t care.
Because after all this time,
I owe it to myself to just be.
To be me.

Originally from the Midwest and now residing in the heart of Georgia, my demeanor starkly contrasts with the genteel mannerisms usually found in the South. While I hail from a region where forthrightness is common, it’s not the cordial type often seen in those with Canadian heritage—it’s more of a blunt, straightforward attitude that doesn’t always prioritize politeness. Since relocating, though, I've learned to adjust somewhat and can often manage a stern yet non-hostile smile in situations that call for it.

I recall a day when my friend and I decided to dine at a local eatery, which was experiencing an unusually slow afternoon. Being one of just four occupied tables with a full team of staff on hand, it seemed unreasonable when our simple order of two sandwiches took an agonizing 45 minutes. When the food arrived, it was cold, soggy, and bland, a clear sign of underwhelming effort in the kitchen. Despite our disappointment, I wasn’t inclined to send the food back as it seemed futile. I merely wished to settle the bill for our unsatisfactory meal and leave.

Soon, our waitress checked in to ask if everything was satisfactory with our meal. With my firm but polite grin, I confessed, "No, it really kind of sucked. Could I get the check, please?" She appeared slightly disconcerted and scurried off to fetch the manager despite my protests. My friend, meanwhile, was mortified by the unfolding events, seemingly embarrassed by my forwardness.

When the manager approached us to inquire further, I reiterated my concerns about the meal, maintaining composure and civility throughout the interaction. He dismissively offered to waive the charges, but I declined, aiming not to sour our relationship with a restaurant we frequented. My friend later questioned why I voiced my dissatisfaction if I didn’t want compensation, to which I responded, "Because they asked." He often reminds me not to stir trouble anecdotally referring to me as 'Karen.'

Another incident that might shed more light on my character involved a situation at a party where a guest had blocked my car. Rather than apologise for requesting he move it, I simply asked straightforwardly. This too, didn’t sit well with my friend, who felt it was necessary to cite as further proof of my supposed 'Karenness.'

Would the dynamics be different if this happened on a reality television show? With cameras rolling, my forthrightness could either be portrayed as refreshing honesty or as unnecessarily harsh, depending on the viewer's perspective. Would the audience applaud the candidness or criticize the lack of softening typical Southern charm? Reality shows thrive on conflict and character, and personalities like mine are often polarizing, sparking debates amongst viewers on social decency versus authenticity.

Am I truly the antagonist for embracing bluntness in a culture that veils its criticisms in sweet tea and smiles? Am I a "Karen" in this story?

I'm not really sure how to write/explain this, so this story will probably be very messy and not make a whole lot of sense.

I am currently 19 years old, and I feel like I have nothing and everything. I feel as if I could go out and get anything I ever wanted like money or assets or whatever, but the one thing I actually want is someone who actually cares about me.

Over the years, interactions with friends and family never felt like they were talking/hanging with me, rather they felt like they were doing it out of pity. I have always felt like people I care about don't really care about me, and these feelings are only reinforced by a lot of old friends and family suddenly leaving me.

I used to have a few childhood friends. I used to be a huge extrovert back then when I was a kid. Two of my childhood friends, April and Suzy, "cut" contact with me. They didn't really cut contact with me completely, I still have contact with Suzy, but we never talk. April is a huge introvert so I never talked to her when we got older. Whenever I talked to Suzy she always gave me dry responses and conversations only lasted a few minutes if that. I used to think she was just busy but she eventually just straight up told me she didn't want to talk to me. I still have no idea what I did or said to make her suddenly hate me. I don't even know if she really does hate me.

The same situation somewhat applies to my parents, that I feel like they don't really care about me. When I was a kid, my parents always argued over everything, sometimes they argued with my brother. I was never part of these arguments since I was so young at the time. All I remember is the only time my parents would interact would be more arguing or if it was dinner time. The only time I really did anything with my parents was during holidays like christmas. I never saw my mom during christmas or thanksgiving, since she went somewhere else for holidays. My dad would tell me she was cheating or that she didn't care enough about me to go to holidays with my dad. During Christmas I remember the tree being filled with presents. I never really wanted to open any of them. To me they felt like toys I would get bored of in ten minutes, reinforced by the fact that at the time my parents would say they were from santa. I would always rip open the presents and after they were all open I would go play with my new stuff and my parents would go back to doing what they did every other day. My dad would watch football and my mom would watch netflix. I have no idea what my brother would do since he was always out doing something.

To be honest, I hate my brother. He's trans and goes by she/her now, but I respect him so little as a person that I don't bother with his pronouns, especially considering how angry he gets when someone misgenders him and the fact that he just sucks as a person. I respect pronouns but specifically not his.

I think the hate for my brother started when I was about 8 or 9. He would always try and get me to do stuff and boss me around for no reason. He would also try and get me in trouble all the time, in hopes my dad would beat me. My dad is old fashioned so he would beat us if we fucked up. I think I really started to hate him when I was in my early teens. This was when my mom and brother had moved out, and my mom had custody of me. My brother took the role of the punisher for some reason so when ever I messed up he would be the one to punish me, usually by taking my xbox or phone away. But sometimes he would do it just because he could. My brother was a lot bigger than me, and he would take my stuff just because he wanted to, and would always make up some excuse about how it was "my fault" my stuff was getting taken. I remember breaking into his room to get my stuff back and running off to my dads house so he wouldnt be able to take my stuff.

I also kinda hate my dad. He's really old fashioned, and he was raised by farms people and grew up in the country rather than the city. I think my hate for him started when he had his stroke. He lost control of his left arm and left leg, and completely gave up on physical therapy. To this day he doesn't have control of his leg or arm and he might as well be an amputee or something. He uses his disability and the fact that he is my dad as an excuse to make me do stuff like cooking and his laundry. He basically treats me like a slave rather then a genuine person. All I ever do when I'm at his house is do my own thing till he eventually calls for me and makes me do some random chore for him. The only thing I remember him doing was buying gifts for me and being done with me. Even today that hasn't really changed. He still does nothing but watch TV and basically never talks to me. Even when we do talk it's always about him, and if we ever argue, and I make a valid point, he just completely shuts down and stops talking.

I'm not really sure if I hate my mom or not. I've been with her for most of my life since she was the one that had custody of me when my parents broke up. Me and my mom always had to move somewhere new. We probably moved into about 4 apartments and 2 houses in total. I never got to make any real friends because of it and eventually just gave up on trying to make friends. My mom was always watching TV just like my dad and I always was in my room doing whatever I felt like doing that day. I really don't have anything to say about my mom. She always kinda felt like a background character in a show rather then someone who was involved in the story.

I have always felt like that people don't really care about me. I wish I could bring it up to people but everyone would tell me off and I'd be better off talking to a brick wall. I have felt suicidal recently and have become more self destructive. I know I should seek therapy, but I'm not going back to the psych ward again, not now.

I'd write more but I have stuff to do, and If I went into every detail about how everything sucked I'd be here all day. I would be writing a book at that point.

hey everyone, i'm feeling all kinds of confused right now and i just want to let it all out 😅 so here goes... i'm 27 and have been dating this amazing guy for about 3 months, everything's been going pretty good, he's really nice and we get along super well. but then we decided to spice things up a bit and had a threesome with my best friend, who happens to be a girl. and now i find myself questioning everything about myself. like, am i actually bisexual? is this just a phase or perhaps something more? 😕 i keep wondering if these feelings are genuine or if they're just intensified because of the newness of the relationship and the experience itself. it's been a real mind trip, honestly.

so i’ve been replaying the whole scenario in my head, like every single detail, trying to figure out what i really felt and why. i realized that during the whole thing, i was just as into her as i was into him, and it was a strange realization to have. it didn't freak me out or anything (thank goodness), but now i'm left unsure about my feelings and it's a bit overwhelming. i mean, i’ve never had any kind of romantic or sexual attraction to women before this, or at least i thought i didn't 😕 but maybe it just took the right circumstances for me to feel this way; like maybe being with someone i trust, my best friend, gave me the freedom to explore these feelings without fear or judgment. idk, i kind of feel guilty about it all too, like i'm betraying my boyfriend or something, even though he's been totally cool with it. the question really is, what does this mean for me? am i just discovering something new about myself or is it a temporary thing? 🤔

i guess the cool thing is, i’m not freaking out about it or anything, more like curious and hopeful about the future. like, maybe it's something that could add an exciting new layer to my life and relationships? who knows! and my best friend and i have been super open with each other about everything, which has helped a lot. we’ve had so many deep convos since, and she's been really understanding and supportive 💕 the whole thing's actually brought us closer, so at least there’s that silver lining. but this leads to another question in my mind, like how will this affect my current relationship with my bf? i mean, i just don’t want to complicate things or hurt anyone involved. maybe it's all up in my head and i'm making it a bigger deal than it is, who knows. anyway, i’m just aiming to sort through these feelings and see where they lead me, no rush, just taking things one day at a time. if anyone's been through something similar, i’d definitely love to hear from you! 🤗 thanks for letting me get this off my chest!

it's kinda hard to deal with the realization that you’re gay after trying to convince yourself for years that you’re straight. like, I wanted to fit in, y'know? society puts so much pressure on us to be this ideal version. I've dated girls, gone through the motions, but deep down it didn’t feel right. hiding was easier. I thought that maybe I just hadn’t met the right girl or I was just going through a phase; but here I am at 19, alone with my thoughts, and it hits like a ton of bricks. my friends don’t get it, and sometimes I don’t either. they talk about girls like it’s the best thing ever while I’m just sitting there, nodding along, feeling so disconnected from what they’re saying. I thought about it a lot, questioning if I’d ever come out. what if no one understands? you know what I mean? 😕

there's a part of me that wonders if everyone else is just pretending or if I'm the odd one out. I can't shake off this feeling like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not; like a whole life crafted around a lie. every time I scroll through social media, I think about how many people are living authentically. and here I am, struggling to embrace my truth. sometimes it feels like I'm caught in a cycle of denial, questioning my feelings—was I wired differently? was it all just confusion? I start overthinking, feeling negative and doubt creeping in like a shadow. it’s perplexing, yet oddly comforting to finally have a label yet still feel so unsure about every aspect of it. I wonder, does anyone else understand this? do you feel this stuckness too; do you know what that's like?

it seems that most people don’t understand the silent struggles many face, particularly when it comes to mental health. for some, panic attacks occur without the familiar outward signs; instead, they’re discreet episodes that manifest internally. often, these silent panic attacks creep up when least expected, leaving the individual in a whirlwind of confusion and unease. has anyone else ever found themselves in a similar predicament? 😕 the reality for many is one of isolation, as the outside world continues its pace while the individual grapples with an unseen storm.

one may find themselves at a social gathering, surrounded by laughter and conversation, yet feeling inexplicably detached. the heart races, palms sweat, and a feeling of impending doom looms overhead. friends may speak, but their voices are drowned out by the cacophony of racing thoughts and rising anxiety. such instances challenge the individual to maintain an outward appearance of composure while their mind engages in a frantic battle. it begs the question: how does one articulate a silent struggle when the world expects a smile? 🎭

situations arise when the tension becomes so palpable that breath feels scarce. a sudden wave of panic might wash over, leaving one feeling trapped in their own skin. the claustrophobic sensation of being surrounded, yet utterly alone, creates a profound disconnect. the mental fog thickens, causing concentration to falter. it is during these moments of solitude that one ponders the magnitude of perception versus reality. does anyone else experience that moment when everything seems amplified, yet others remain blissfully unaware of your turmoil? 😰

throughout these silent moments, a multitude of coping mechanisms may emerge. whether it’s grounding techniques, deep breathing, or simply stepping outside for a breath of fresh air, the response to such events is deeply individualized. however, the lingering feeling of wanting to express one’s fears can often lead to a sense of frustration. the question persists: is there a way to bridge the gap between personal experiences and external acknowledgment? contextually, how does one convey the urgency of their silent battles without appearing overly dramatic? combating these internal demons requires not only resilience but also a sense of connection with others, even if that connection is predicated on shared, silent understanding. 🌈