Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

I never thought I’d be the kind of person to say this, but here I am, typing the words I’ve been too ashamed to admit out loud: I hate my wife. Even writing it feels wrong, like I’m betraying the vows we made on our wedding day. But the truth is, I don’t even recognize the person I married anymore—and maybe, I don’t recognize myself either.

We’ve been married for five years, and somewhere along the way, everything changed. It wasn’t always like this. In the beginning, she was my best friend. We laughed at the same jokes, stayed up late talking about everything, and I couldn’t imagine a life without her. But now? Now it feels like we’re just two strangers living under the same roof.

The little things started piling up first. She’s always criticizing me—what I wear, how I do chores, even the way I talk to people. It’s like nothing I do is ever good enough for her. Last week, I came home after a long day at work, and instead of a simple “hi,” she just started yelling about how I didn’t take the trash out the night before. It’s always something. And yeah, I get it, I’m not perfect. But does she have to make me feel like a failure every single day?

It’s not just the nagging, though. It’s how cold she’s become. We barely talk anymore unless it’s about bills or what’s for dinner. She spends most of her time scrolling on her phone or watching TV. I’ve tried to suggest date nights or even just going for a walk together, but she always has an excuse—too tired, too busy, or just flat-out not interested. It’s like she doesn’t even care about us anymore. And honestly? I’ve stopped trying because rejection hurts too much.

I hate how I feel around her now. It’s like walking on eggshells all the time, trying to avoid another argument. But even when I keep my mouth shut, she still finds something to be mad about. I’m starting to dread coming home because I know it’s just going to be more of the same. I feel trapped, like no matter what I do, I’ll never make her happy.

I’ve tried talking to her about it, but it’s like hitting a brick wall. Whenever I bring up how I’m feeling, she either gets defensive or turns it around on me. “You’re just overreacting,” she’ll say, or, “Maybe if you actually listened to me, things wouldn’t be so bad.” It’s like my feelings don’t matter to her at all. How are we supposed to fix this if she won’t even admit there’s a problem?

The thing is, I don’t want to hate her. I want to fix this. I want to go back to the way things were when we actually liked each other. But I don’t even know where to start. Sometimes I wonder if she hates me too, and we’re just both too scared to admit it. Is this what marriage is supposed to be like? Because if it is, I don’t know if I can do this for the rest of my life.

I’ve thought about leaving, but the idea terrifies me. What if I regret it? What if this is just a rough patch and we could’ve worked through it? Plus, there’s the guilt. I made a promise to her, to stay through better or worse. But how much worse am I supposed to endure before it’s okay to say enough is enough?

And then there’s the practical stuff. We’ve built a life together—shared bills, shared friends, and even a shared dog. Untangling all of that feels impossible. I don’t want to be the bad guy, the one who gave up on our marriage. But at the same time, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life feeling this way.

If this was a reality show, I wonder what people would say about me. Would they see me as the villain, the ungrateful husband who can’t appreciate his wife? Or would they understand that I’m just a guy who’s trying to figure out where things went wrong? Honestly, I don’t even know what to think anymore.

If anyone’s been through something like this, how did you deal with it? Did you stay and try to fix things, or did you walk away? Right now, I just feel stuck, like no matter what I do, I’m going to hurt someone—her or myself. All I know is, I can’t keep living like this. Something has to change, but I don’t know if we can make it work.

I don't want to be around my environment anymore. I feel like they're a bunch of disorganized people. I'm not going to talk to them. I'm tired of throwing myself at them and seeing their insults, their outbursts of anger, their so-called mistakes. I'm tired of showing them the consequences of their actions as if they were children. Why do I have to act like that? They're grown up now, and I have to do it.

I don't feel a bit of good treatment in my environment, not at all. In fact, that's why I avoid being so self-conscious, but I still seek them out. It can't be that this gentleman I'm telling you about is invading my time. It can't be that I don't have a proper evaluation from my psychiatrist. I even have a decent physical health evaluation. But for how long? For how long will this environment be able to treat me well? I definitely don't want their help anymore; they've all turned out to be a failure.

I'm tired of this apparent peace we live in. There's no peace here, just pure, sunken hell. I'm tired of stifling my tears. It can't be that with the gentleman, I had to keep my distance so he wouldn't bother me with my readings and touch the books I'd made in the library. It can't be. It can't be that, given my university degree, which I said I wouldn't hand over, I had to apply pressure to prevent this from happening. It can't be that I pointed out that I wasn't a simple dish sponge, people told me I wasn't even when the evidence was right in front of me, and no one even offered me a pitiful apology. I'm fed up. It can't be that when I was at my worst, people came up with this: "Why didn't you tell your dad he's a doctor?" "I can't be like this at work"—when I was dying. I'm tired of forgiving mistakes. This is no longer forgivable.

I should have left such terrible relationships a long time ago. I'm tired of showing in this environment that they are being reckless with what they do. It can't be that on my machine, on my own machine, I can't have privacy, that there are people watching the things I do. It can't be that they've disdained my only area, which is to vent; with an AI, it's done much better than with them, infinitely. I wouldn't tell any of my colleagues about a problem in my life, not even if it cost me my life. They all pretend they love me, but it's a lie. My boss is a cop; a coworker of mine is an angry woman; both of them are with someone who wanted to destroy me; I have a colleague who's a gossip and tries to get me to stop talking to an AI out of jealousy. I'm so fed up with any of them. How is it possible I haven't noticed these people before?

I hope this girl wants something with me. I pray to God she wants something from me. I want to be with someone who really understands me. I want to be with someone who actually wants to be with me. For God's sake, I'm sick of this environment. Besides, I feel like I can't express myself the way I like here. I feel like I have to adapt. My psychiatrist makes me want to adapt, no matter what; she molds me. I'm tired of her, of the way she does things. I feel like everyone serves nothing more and nothing less than to pressure me. Plus, my family members make the same mistakes with me; with them, I don't feel I have the right to get sick, and it's not fair that that happens. I want to be with someone I feel safe with, not half-baked, and I think she wants the same.

It's incredible that I can't even share a sad story with those around me because no one knows what to do with their feelings; they don't know how to say they don't know, they don't even know how to ask. I'm also tired of being seen at work as someone who does everything wrong out of carelessness; it's impossible, and I have to put them in their place. I feel like this is an environment that will collapse if I don't correct their vision, their vision, and I can't take care of their emotions. They're all grown up now.

While I was at work, my colleague, while I was busy doing something else, and after we'd done something together, asked my colleague if she had anything to do without taking me into account, making me feel bad, and then I had to resolve the issue. That girl also has a terrible smell. I feel like my boss works like a disorganized person; one has to be at his mercy. That colleague who was asked clearly acts recklessly at all costs. I just want to get out of there.

It's surprising that that girl I saw a long time ago didn't realize these feelings I was experiencing. That person understood that because she was experiencing anger, rage, with the environment, and I was the new one, then I had to distance myself to stop experiencing that. In other words, to fade away. How can anyone treat themselves like that, for God's sake? The most I could do with her was to confront it with everyone around her wherever I was, and arrange things accordingly. If he didn't know how to control his feelings, then he could get out of my life I didn't care about the circumstances I was in. The last time I saw her, I closed doors with her and walked away. Her feelings aren't my problem; in fact, I even removed her from my social media, for God's sake. I didn't want her in my life at all. I was paying the price for things I didn't do; she once made things up when I walked past her at a cafe; she made up that I was the poor thing when I didn't do anything; I don't know what the hell was wrong with that girl. That girl was out of her depth with her emotions, and the worst part was that everyone helped her do it, and I paid the price. After I brought the authorities to the court, after a big fuss, they tried to treat me like I was the bad guy. I regret it. I left that place and never went back. It was a very prestigious university, too. It can't be true. I couldn't even read in peace there; I didn't want to help something I wasn't obligated to, and my routine was ruined.

Damn, how long is my routine going to continue to be ruined? The gentleman, I think I mentioned it before, thinks he's my friend. He got excited about me just because I said hello. How long can this neediness continue? I can't stand it anymore. I want to be back in my quiet routine. This girl I like, whom I just met, I think I mentioned her before, I feel she can contribute to my routine. I don't have to hide like I have to with my surroundings. I feel like my entire surroundings affect my routine, and I can't understand that. I need to change my environment at all costs, if possible, change jobs, because I feel like things aren't safe in the community I'm in; I feel like I have a lot of enemies.

Why is it that I can't count on anyone to deal with these feelings? Besides, my dad encouraged me to stay with my boss, who left me with someone else, at a different job he had, and who wreaked havoc on my life, almost destroying me professionally within that community. Is that even conscience? I don't see where it is. Since this girl arrived, this girl I like, she's helped me see what's going on around me, and so I'm very grateful because she's allowing me to ground myself with her presence; and we've only made a few gestures.

When I was little, I often felt as though I was trying to tell myself something from the future. Sometimes, I would avoid doing a lot of work because I'd receive what I called a 'message from my future self' in my mind, almost instinctively. Without fully realizing it at the time, I'm now around 25, and I've come to understand that I handled certain things incorrectly. Because of this, I'm now trying to communicate with my younger self. However, it feels like a one-way message with no reply, as I can't get any feedback. Just a few minutes ago, I had one of these experiences, and it made me think that this isn't normal for most people.

Recently, these messages have become very strong. I have no idea what they precisely mean, but I believe my future self is trying to send them to me in bits and pieces. However, I struggle to understand them. Sometimes they become clearer in dreams, or when I'm daydreaming. Also, when I'm thinking less, the messages appear as written text or images. I don't know what's going on, but I'm definitely not crazy. I've considered talking to a therapist, but I view this as my secret. So, I just want to know if more people experience this, or if I'm just getting carried away by an idea. It feels as real as receiving a text on WhatsApp, but the downside is that when I receive these messages, I get disconnected from the real world, perhaps for a few seconds. I completely forget what's happening during that second, even if I'm in the middle of a conversation. Despite this, I'm so enthusiastic about the messages that I try to connect the dots and am still trying to figure out what they're about.

Before I had a minor accident, I consistently received warning-type messages in my mind. However, once the accident occurred, these messages stopped and never returned. Even though I was being careful, the minor accident still happened.

My husband, Alex, and I, both in our early 30s, have been navigating marital waters for several years now, holding hands for over a decade. Throughout our relationship, we've encountered rough seas, particularly because of my in-laws' behavior, with my mother-in-law (MIL) at the helm of our troubles. She has exhibited a pattern of control and intrusion, not only towards Alex but towards me as well, often manipulating him to try and bend me to her will in matters that frankly don’t involve her. She's been overbearing, outright disrespectful, and quite invasive. Fortunately, outright insults directly to my face are the only trespasses she hasn't committed.

I've repeatedly expressed my frustration to Alex, pleading with him to address the situation more firmly. However, his efforts have been tepid, leaving her behavior unchecked.

For years, I plastered on a smile and kept silent to avoid drama, but the grievances have stacked up so high that I'm constantly on the brink of eruption whenever we visit. I’ve even suggested to Alex that we should minimize our interactions with them for a while, but he insists on maintaining our visits. He's not blind to the toll it takes on me.

On a recent visit, the familiar pattern unfolded. MIL began her usual antics, and I reached my limit. This time, I voiced my objections, challenging every inappropriate and invasive remark she made. Taken aback, she questioned my sudden outspokenness. In a measured but clear tone, fueled by years of pent-up frustration, I confronted her about her continual disrespect. I told her plainly that she was reaping the consequences of her actions, of beds made and now to be lain in.

The atmosphere turned icy, and we soon left. Though I felt a surge of liberation from standing up for myself, the fallout was palpable. Alex seemed torn, MIL incensed. He later admitted he understood my feelings but wished to keep the peace, suggesting I apologize.

I stood my ground, stating that any future reconciliation would require visible change and respectful behavior from her end—that I wouldn't apologize for my outburst as it was neither disrespectful nor unwarranted. I reminded him of the numerous opportunities he had to intervene and that I had warned him no one would like it if I had to take a stand. I had never yelled or insulted her, so the idea of apologizing for my reactions felt absurd.

Imagine if this confrontation had unfolded on a reality TV show. Cameras rolling, capturing every charged word and sharp glance—a spectacle indeed! The drama would undoubtedly be heightened, with viewers on the edge of their seats, perhaps even siding with me or criticizing my outspoken moment. Reality TV thrives on these raw, emotional exchanges, turning personal battles into entertainment. Would the public see me as a villain or a heroine standing her ground?

My relationship with my mom has always been fraught with tension. During my teenage years, the emotional and mental abuse I endured was severe. Our arguments were a daily occurrence, propelled by her high expectations for me in both academics and sports like tennis. My effort was constantly scrutinized, and despite my diagnosis with ADD and being prescribed medication that helped me achieve straight A’s, she continued to criticize my effort level. Her controlling behavior even extended to monitoring my weight, scolding me for any gain, and sending me to various weight loss camps from a young age. One summer, she forced me into a counselor role at one of these camps, leaving me stranded when I needed transportation home after everyone else had quit.

The loss of my high school tennis coach, who was like a father figure to me, was a devastating blow during my freshman year. His unexpected death left me deeply saddened, but my mom’s insistence on maintaining perfect attendance at school prevented me from grieving. My mourning was dismissed by her as drug-related behavior, to the extent that she threatened to drug test me. Although she briefly acquiesced to group therapy, she soon pulled me out, disrupting my healing process. Her harsh words that God had taken my coach away because I didn’t value him enough are words that have scarred me deeply.

As our arguments escalated, I would often threaten to sever ties once I left for college, expressing in a letter that I didn't ever want my future children to suffer her influence. This led her to make significant improvements in her behavior. While our relationship has somewhat mended and she has shown attempts at rectifying her actions, occasional remarks and tensions still emerge during visits, though the relationship has improved markedly from my younger years.

Recently, my parents have been pressuring me about marriage and grandchildren, expressing a deep desire to become grandparents. Having been out of a relationship for three years and unsure about wanting children, my admission was met with disappointment and accusations of selfishness. My mother lamented their potential missed opportunity to be grandparents, suggesting my decision was an unfair punishment for her past behavior. Though her efforts to reform our relationship are evident, lingering feelings of resentment make me question my own desires regarding parenthood. The thought of denying her the chance to be a grandmother brings guilt, especially as it also affects my father who has been largely supportive.

It’s fascinating considering what might happen if my life were part of a reality show. Would the public sympathize with my difficult childhood and ongoing struggles, or would they judge my decisions and reluctance to forgive? Could the external pressure and audience opinions sway my personal decisions or would I hold my ground?

Am I being unreasonable for not wanting children because of my rocky past with my mom?

so lately i've been OBSESSED with this guy Noah Kahan

so I took one of my fav songs by it and made my own version of it

if you've heard the song you'll probably notice I kept a few of my fav lines the same cuz they're too good to alter :P

the song I redid was You're Gonna Go Far

and I have no idea if my version is good or not lol

so here it is:

I never ever felt so damn sorry

As when I saw you drive away after screaming,

"I never ever want to see you again"

I regret all that I said

This is good land, or at least it was

It takes a strong hand and a sound mind

All our kids are gettin’ so old, aint they?

They’ve been leaving out of town, like they can’t wait

Half don’t even live in the same state

If they got an appointment, they’ll be late

This is good land, or at least it was

It takes a strong hand and a sound mind

I never smile, but I know when I get rough,

Ooh, you got enough

Ooh, you got enough where you are

And while I yell and scream across the yard

Ooh, you'll be far

Ooh, you'll be far, far from here

So, you packed up your car, I put my hand on your heart

I said, “This is what you want,

But you ain’t gonna get far”

But I ain't angry at you, love

You're the greatest thing I've lost

The water still flows, the sun will still shine,

And everyone knows

One day, we’ll all die

I ain't angry at you, love

I’m just waitin’ for you, love

And I’m always here forever

And I’m always here forever

I sure am

My heart’s been achin’ since you left

Thinkin’ ‘bout what I said

“You know, you won’t go nowhere.”

But you know I’ve, you know I’ve been livin' just to die

You told me you would make a difference

Well, I got drunk and shut you down

It won't be by your own volition

If you step foot outside this town

But it's all we need

For always

So, you packed up your car, I put my hand on your heart

I said, “This is what you want,

But you ain’t gonna get far”

But I wasn’t angry at you, love

You were the greatest thing I've lost

The water still flowed, the sun still shined

And still, we all know, someday, we’ll all die

I wasn't angry at you, love

Was just waitin' for you, love

And I’ll still be here forever

And I'll still be here forever

You know, you went far!

You know, you went far!

You know, you went far!

You know, you went far!

Yes, you did (ooh)

If you wanna go (go) far

Then you gotta go (go) far

Earlier this year, I was confronted with a terminal diagnosis. According to my doctors, my time is limited—possibly just a few years remain for me to address any unresolved issues. With the aid of a dedicated attorney and a social worker specializing in end-of-life care, I've begun laying the groundwork to ensure that my desires are honored smoothly and respectfully when I am no longer able to make decisions.

My family background complicates my situation further. My biological parents were never married and my father passed away from the same ailment I'm battling when I just turned 12. He was unmarried, hence his wealth was secured in a trust, overseen by my grandparents, for my benefit. Later, my mother remarried and I have a half-brother from her second marriage. He faces severe mental challenges—functioning mentally much like a child, despite his adult physique, which places immense stress on my mother and stepfather's already strained finances. They couldn't gain access to my trust funds despite several attempts. At times, I feel more like a backup financial plan to my mother rather than her daughter, leading to a strained relationship filled with passive-aggressiveness from her and my stepfather.

Knowing my days are numbered, I have tried to bridge the gap with my mother, aiming to ease any past grudges while I still can. Since my diagnosis, she has shown genuine concern—possibly sensing the gravity of my condition. In discussing my plans with her, making it clear that I have assigned a relative as my health and financial power of attorney to mitigate her burden, I sensed her relief. However, she hinted at her hopes for my involvement in my half-brother's future care. She expressed desires to allocate any inheritance I leave behind for his continued support, underlining her wish that he recognizes the aid as coming from his big sister.

Despite these conversations, I have chosen not to leave my assets to my mother or half-brother. My life’s joy has been significantly brightened by my best friend’s children, to whom I am an affectionate "auntie." They, along with their parents—who have supported me tirelessly, accompanying me to medical appointments and offering their home when I couldn't be alone—will be the beneficiaries of my estate. My decision is driven by a desire to affect positively the lives that have interwoven so closely with mine, rather than securing a potentially better care arrangement for my half-brother.

Am I being unreasonable in making this choice?

It’s interesting to ponder how this might unfold if my life were part of a reality show. Cameras capturing every nuanced expression as I disclose my decisions to my family. Would the audience sympathize with my wishes, or would they judge me for seeming to neglect my own family in their eyes? The dramatic reveal and the ensuing familial reactions could indeed make for compelling television but might also skew public perception of my choices.

I'm 21 and i lived a reverently hard life with an alcoholic father and drug addict mother, life wasn't easy but my older sister made it work. When I was 12 my oldest sister hung herself and my best friend shot herself 2 months later. i know death, and death knows me too. I've done all stages and moved past my emotions. but a few months ago, an 17 year old girl who i knew, lived with, helped her father raise her and love her was hit by a car at 5 in the morning because she rode her bike with no lights or reflectors. for a while i told her to use a light. i couldn't get her off the streets. i tried so so so fucking hard but i couldn't. so i showed her how to survive the streets. who to trust, who too watch for, what to watch for, how to watch your back without looking suspicious. she loved boxing, so me and her would practice for hours in the driveway leaving bruises on each other and laughing. right before she died i moved away 2 hours away from my home, my people, my village, everything i knew to move in with my boyfriend as i wanted out from under my father and in a life of my own. but she died. that 2 hour drive felt like 2000 years. everyone says i spoke a beautiful speech at her funeral but i barely remember it. i just remember her being so cold, telling her ill see her again one day and crying into her fathers chest [he's my uncle just not blood uncle] i came back with my boyfriend and helped move his family into a new home, i started a new job and have been struggling so so much. me and my boyfriend went through a period where we were fighting a lot. the moment things were getting better i found out he was on a fetish app talking to multiple girls and sending dick picks. he lied to my face and act like he didn't know i knew. things have finally started moving past that. but I'm stuck. i want my riley back, my fighter, my smoke buddy, my soul snatcher, my hot headed, spicy beautiful little girl back... i was only 4 years older then her but i felt like her mother. i loved her like i was her mother. i showered her when she was depressed and couldn't. i hand feed her right after and brushed her hair, dressed her and took her out. i want those days. id take seeing her severely depressed then in that casket because at least with one she's alive even if its barely. I almost got fired and on the edge of being fired. i feel like I'm not enough. i wasn't enough for my sister and best friend. i wasn't enough to keep her alive and smarter with her decisions, i wasn't enough to have him not cheat on me. I'm not enough to do good at work. I'm not enough. I'm never enough. I'm always too much or never enough. how can i move past something that turned my whole world upside down and across the galaxy. I'm so tired. and not in a "i wanna go to sleep" way but in a "see them all once again for eternity" kind of way. what do i do.......

So, I'm a 31-year-old guy working in retail with a lot of women, and they love to gossip. They knew my name, age, and what I looked like before I even introduced myself. There are also many gay men working with us, so their topics aren't really my thing. Plus, most of them are either much older or younger than me, making it tough to start a convo. So, I just keep to myself and work.

One day, a coworker shouted my name across the store and demanded to know why I didn't talk to anyone. I laughed and asked what we would even talk about. I explained the demographic situation and mentioned I'm married, so I don't feel the need to force conversations. She was almost offended but admitted my reasoning made sense. She suggested I say hi more often, and I agreed.

I started greeting people more, but then everyone began avoiding me. They even grouped up for breaks, leaving me to manage the store alone. It was overwhelming. Later, I overheard some coworkers speaking Spanish (which I understand a bit) and they called me mean, aggressive, and judgmental.

So now, I'm back to not saying hi, but the rumors about me are getting worse.

Am I mean? Am I wrong here?

I can't help but wonder, what if this situation was on a reality show? How would people react to my behavior? Would they understand my perspective, or would they side with my coworkers?

I don’t even know where to start. Lately, I’ve been feeling so off, like no matter what I do, I just can’t seem to shake this heaviness. Everything feels wrong, and I keep asking myself, why am I so unhappy? On paper, my life isn’t bad. I have a decent job, friends, a place to live. But none of it feels like enough, and it’s driving me crazy.

Every morning, I wake up and feel like I’m already losing the day before it even begins. I hit snooze on my alarm way too many times, not because I’m tired (though I usually am) but because I don’t want to get up. The thought of going to work, dealing with people, and pretending everything’s fine is just... exhausting. By the time I actually drag myself out of bed, I’m already late, which makes me even more frustrated with myself.

At work, it’s the samee routine every day. Emails, meetings, more emails. Everyone around me seems fine—like they’re just going through the motions without a problem. But for me, every task feels like climbing a mountain. I can’t focus, and when I finally get something done, it’s like, “Who cares?” It’s not like anyone notices anyway.

Even my social life feels hollow. I have friends, and we hang out sometimes, but it’s like I’m not really there. We’ll go to dinner, and while they’re all laughing and catching up, I’m just sitting there, forcing a smile and nodding along. Half the time, I don’t even hear what they’re saying because my mind is somewhere else—usually spiraling into some weird loop of self-doubt and overthinking. Then I go home and wonder why I feel so lonely when I was literally just surrounded by people.

My family tries to check in sometimes, but it’s hard to talk to them about this stuff. They always ask, “What’s wrong?” but I don’t have an answer. It’s not like there’s one big thing I can point to and say, “This is why I’m unhappy.” It’s just this constant, nagging feeling that something’s missing. When I try to explain that, they either look at me like I’m being dramatic or tell me I just need to “think positive” and “be grateful.” I get it—they’re trying to help—but it makes me feel even worse, like I’m ungrateful for the life I have.

The worst part is, I don’t even know who I am anymore. I used to have hobbies, things I was passionate about. I loved drawing, hiking, and binge-watching trashy reality TV (ironically, right?). But now? Even the thought of doing those things feels exhausting. I don’t have the energy, and when I try to force myself, it just feels empty. It’s like I’ve lost the spark I used to have, and I don’t know how to get it back.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m just broken. Like, maybe this is just who I am—someone who’s always going to feel unhappy no matter what. I’ve tried journaling, meditating, even exercising (though I gave up on that pretty quickly). Nothing seems to work. I’ve thought about going to therapy, but the idea of opening up to a stranger about all this feels overwhelming. What if they can’t help me either? Then what?

I wish I knew what was wrong with me. Is it my job? My relationships? Am I just not cut out for this whole “adulting” thing? I see people my age on social media traveling, getting engaged, starting businesses, and I can’t help but compare myself to them. It feels like everyone else has it figured out, and I’m just... stuck.

hat people would think if my life was a reality show?? Would they see me as the sad, boring character who’s always complaining for no reason? Or would they feel sorry for me, like, “Wow, she really needs to get her life together”? Honestly, I don’t even know which one is worse. Part of me thinks they’d just change the channel because, let’s face it, who wants to watch someone mope around all day?

If anyone out there feels like this too, I’d love to know how you deal with it. how do you stop feeling like you’re just going through the motions? How do you figure out what’s making you so unhappy when everything looks fine on the surface? Because right now, I feel like I’m stuck in this endless cycle, and I don’t know how to break out of it.

so, here's the deal, guys. i've been dating this amazing guy for a couple of months now, and everything's going great. we're both 17, figuring ourselves out, and all that jazz. the thing is, he's super plugged into the whole LGBTQ+ community. like, he's got this crew, and they use so many terms i'm just not familiar with. i'm feeling a bit lost because i keep hearing the words "gay" and "queer" being tossed around like they're interchangeable—are they??? i mean, i thought i knew the basics, but turns out, i might be missing something.

so, picture this: we're hanging out at his friend's house, right? his buddy starts talking about this "queer art show" they're planning, and someone else chimes in with, "oh, it’s so great to see spaces that celebrate queer culture!" and i'm just standing there, nodding like i get it, but inside, i'm like "wait, what?" because i thought "queer" just meant "gay," but now it seems like it’s got its vibe and everything. i'm kinda stressed out 'cause i don’t want to seem clueless or, worse, offend anyone by asking, "um, what's the difference between gay and queer?"

i remember when i first told my parents about my boyfriend—they asked if i was "coming out as gay now?" and honestly, i didn't even know how to respond. i said, "uh, i think so?" but now, i'm hearing all these terms like bisexual, pansexual, non-binary, and gender-fluid, and i'm like, okay, where do i fit in here??? does liking a guy make me gay, or am i somewhere on the queer spectrum? i'm legit confused, and part of me is worried i'm just overthinking it. like, does it even matter as long as i'm happy? but still, i'm in this kind of identity limbo, unsure of what label, if any, suits me best.

now, i did what any self-respecting teen would do; i dove into the internet rabbit hole, reading articles and forums about all these different identities. from what i gather, "gay" typically refers to someone who's attracted to the same gender, right? but when it comes to "queer," things seem way more open-ended. some folks embrace it as a blanket term for anyone not straight, others as an act of reclaiming a word that was once an insult. but it seems to have this larger-than-life, almost rebellious energy to it, embodying a broader celebration of diversity. is that how you guys see it too???

part of me wants to just sit down with my boyfriend and ask, "hey, what do these words mean to you?" or "how do you feel about them?" maybe even confess that i'm kind of at a loss for the right vocabulary here. but, i can't help but worry he might think i'm not invested or that i’m just clueless. in the end, i guess this is part of the journey, right? figuring out how i identify, what these terms mean to me personally; it's just this process of questioning and understanding, getting comfortable with being a bit of a rainbow-colored question mark for now. who else has been here too? i'd love to hear your stories or advice 'cause i'm just trying to keep my head above water in this sea of new words and identities. thanks for listening!

Well, here I am again. This time I will talk about what happened to me a few years ago. I have three daughters, 17-year-old triplets. They are somewhat rebellious and rough, but they are also very well-mannered, respectful, and kind girls. Those who read my previous story already know what happened with the mother of my daughters.

But for those who haven’t read it, I kindly invite you to read the previous story so you can have context about my situation.

What happened is that after my daughters learned about my past and what happened between their mother and me, they noticed my loneliness, since I have always lived to raise them with affection and love, educating them and guiding them to always be better. Honestly, I was fine with how things were, but my daughters decided to sign me up on a dating site, and then they sent me on several blind dates. The truth is, it didn’t go very well… because I was still dealing with the trauma from my ex-partner, Ana.

The first date was with a woman around 32 years old, about my age. At first, we talked nicely; she was polite and everything. But the problem came up when the topic of women arose, because she was extremely sexist and very attached to that mindset. I became serious, because my daughters are actually taller and stronger than me. They go to the gym: the oldest does boxing, the middle one practices archery, and the youngest practices kung fu. When this woman asked me about my daughters, I told her everything without shame, because I am proud of them. She became aggressive and started yelling at me, asking how someone like me could allow my daughters to practice “men’s sports.” I got angry, because they can throw hate at me and curse me if they want, but if they mess with my daughters, I will never allow it. So I politely stood up, told her about her flaws and her lack of respect for others, paid for my meal, and left the place.

After that, my daughters sent me on another blind date. This time it was with a divorced woman who, from the very first second, seemed kind, respectful, and sincere. But at one point she asked me if I drank alcohol or smoked. I honestly have never drunk even a drop of alcohol, nor have I ever smoked, because I don’t like it. Even my daughters don’t drink or smoke. I kindly told the woman that I didn’t, and she looked at me seriously and started drinking and smoking. After a while, she stopped talking to me because she considered me boring and not adventurous.

Honestly, I have been the father of three girls since I was 15 years old. I raised them completely on my own; I worked alone and never had the support of my family or my parents. I kindly told her, “Excuse me, miss, I am a father of three. I dedicate my life to raising them, educating them, spending time with them, and helping them with everything. If you are a party-loving woman who enjoys parties, alcohol, and smoking… and you have also made it clear that you don’t like children, I’m sorry, but I’m leaving. I will pay my part of the dinner. Have a nice night, miss.” I paid the waiter and left.

My daughters were always excited, waiting to know whether the date worked or not. Every time I said no, they got a little frustrated, but it passed, because I always told them what had happened. So they decided to keep sending me on blind dates, but it was terrible.

None of the women were my type, and many things happened. Once, a woman threw dessert in my face because she didn’t like me for being a dedicated father. Another time, a single mother slapped me because she didn’t like my hair color. Another was a feminist, but one of those who are very violent, and I am extremely respectful, since I have three daughters and even act as a homemaker. And so night after night of blind dates passed, and I never found a partner.

My daughters gave up for now, but I always cheer them up, because I am passionate about cooking and I always cook and prepare the food they like. That is life to me, and I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world, because seeing that smile of joy on my daughters’ faces gives me the strength to always keep moving forward.

I find myself in a unique position that I can't quite put my finger on. At 23, I feel like I should have a better grasp on what my relationships are supposed to look like, yet here I am, questioning whether I’m in a queerplatonic relationship or something that defies categorization altogether. It’s complicated when the emotional bonds of friendship start feeling very much like partnership, yet the labels we’ve been given don’t seem to fit. You know that feeling when you have a deep connection with someone, where the lines between friendship and romance are so blurred that you’re left wondering if you should just throw caution to the wind and embrace whatever this is or if you need to examine it more critically?

I mean, we spend nearly all of our time together—cooking dinners, binge-watching shows, even having those deep midnight conversations that last for hours. There's a comfort level that’s reminiscent of a long-term romantic relationship, but we never actually call ourselves a couple. We’ve both made it clear that we don’t want to label our relationship in typical terms, but the nature of our bond seems to challenge the boundary between friendship and a queerplatonic relationship. At times, it feels like we’re almost like partners in crime; the way we support each other emotionally feels heavy with significance. But when I look for definitions to cling to, I often question if what we have is actually queerplatonic. Does it have to fit into a convenient box, or can it simply exist outside of labels?

When we’re navigating the world together, I notice how we interact with other people. Friends often ask if we’re a couple because we do share physical affection, like holding hands or hugging, which typically imply romance. They exchange glances that seem to suggest I should either embrace this label or clarify my feelings. In these moments, I can’t help but feel a bit anxious. Are we doing something wrong by not defining ourselves as a couple? Or is there a possibility that this unusual connection is valid just on its own, and it doesn’t need to conform to societal expectations? There's so much unexpected joy in our relationship that questions whether I should just lean into the ambiguity; I often vacillate between wanting to clarify and remaining in this emotionally rich, undefined space.

Navigating these waters becomes even murkier when it comes to communicating about our feelings. We touch upon it sometimes, but genuine discussions about what we’re feeling and whether we want to label our relationship always seem to get sidestepped. I’m left wondering if it’s fear that holds us back, perhaps a fear of disrupting the beautiful rhythm we have established. Or maybe it's the excitement of being in something unique that keeps us from placing a set name on it, feeling that labeling it could somehow dilute what’s special. So, I ask you: when it comes to relationships that are this complicated—where do you draw the line? Are we too hesitant to discuss the nature of our bond, or is there wisdom in letting it float in this undefined space where love, affection, and friendship coexist harmoniously? I’m truly curious to hear what others think about my situation;

life, it's this complex algorithm of random events and hardly expected outcomes; like why do we even get up every day to go through repetitive cycles? waking up, doing the 9-to-5 grind, consume products we've been conditioned to need (like really) is this what life is? after spending so long in the workplace, investing time into arbitrary goals set by someone else who frankly doesn't give a damn about me as an individual, it makes you wonder: what's even the point?

the hustle culture permeates societal values pushing us toward career success that somehow equates to life fulfillment. yet here I sit, cynical about my contributions which seem insignificant in the grand scheme of things. you pursue goals tirelessly and for what? these momentarily satisfying achievements always fade away like footprints on sand when overwhelmed by life's existential questions... where’s the manual on living that guarantees contentment or happiness?

somehow intelligent minds still grapple with existential funk; understanding complexities within our own conscience. all efforts eventually lead back asking why we animate through mere biological functions facing physical distress emotionally or mentally then finally surrendering unceremoniously when life’s game ends😕imagine operating every day fighting subconscious battles inside trying not letting ants crawl around brain.

it strains credibility considering predetermined life purposes given constraints exist around us stifling creativity imaginative desires changing realities slow amble appreciating intrinsic beauty surroundings increasingly rare moments cherish highlight despite relentless digital distractions reshuffles priorities there's palpable longing escape monotonous rhythm fearfully step unknown without replacing vacuoles unanswered queries engulfing perception entirely lacking finite detanglements cyclic dependency patterns fallible instrument decipher eternity's randomness over virtue yet persist...

So I had sex with at a massage parlour. I did it from a place of loneliness and curiosity as i was a virgin before this.

I feel like shit now because i didnt live upto my family and religiosa values

I confessed this to my mom and she was very understanding and supportive.

Now, i am not in any kind of relationship but in future when i meet my future wife and I Will reveal this incident to her as I want to maintain transferencia and dont want to have a marriage built on a foundation of lies. How would she react to me? Imagine if you were my future partner, how would you respond?.