Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

My girlfriend and I have been sharing an apartment for the past year, and one of the recurring issues we face revolves around my boxer mix, Max. She fancies herself a bit of a dog whisperer since her own dog, Jupiter, a border collie, seems to be the epitome of well-behaved. She often points out that I'm not the best at training Max, arguing that border collies almost train themselves and that I just don’t put in the effort. Unlike her, I’ve learned to keep shoes out of reach and food covered, lessons she has yet to embrace. This came to a head when Max snatched a grilled cheese she left unattended. She flew off the handle, blaming me for not training him better. I tried explaining that no dog would pass up a grilled cheese, but tempers flared, and we wound up setting a challenge with her dog to prove a point.

The wager was simple: we'd see if Jupiter could resist a steak left in front of him while we stepped out briefly. Confident in Jupiter's discipline, she bet $100. I rashly upped the ante to $1000, thinking there was no way her dog had that level of control. Eagerly, we cooked two steaks, plated them, and placed them before Jupiter. With a stern reminder from her to leave them alone, we left a phone behind to record the scene and stepped out for about five minutes.

Returning, I was astonished to find Jupiter hadn't so much as licked the steaks. My shock turned to panic when I realized I couldn't cough up the $1000. My girlfriend now expects me to pay in increments of $200/month. Having already handed over $100, I find myself pleading with her to lower the debt. Sure, she won fair and square, and I make $21 an hour—I'm not rolling in dough. Her triumph seems to have brought out a certain smugness, and now I'm questioning if it makes me a jerk for wanting to renegotiate our bet.

And thinking about it, if this entire scenario were part of a reality show, how dramatic it would play out on screen! Imagine the camera zooms and dramatic music as Jupiter stares down those steaks. Viewers would likely be at the edge of their seats, anticipating whether he'd cave or not. The reveal of Jupiter’s restraint would definitely be a shocker, followed by a zoom-in on my stunned expression. The subsequent argument and negotiation over the debt would spark debates among the audience about relationship dynamics and financial negotiations within couples.

Wouldn't that be something to watch? It really puts things into perspective, making me wonder if we took this bet a bit too seriously.

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.

i’ve been asking myself that question for a while now and i don't want to talk about that with my friends. like, i don’t do the stuff you see on tv or in movies, i’m not cutting or bleeding or anything like that. but sometimes when i get really anxious or angry or just... overwhelmed, i scratch at my arms or the back of my neck or even my legs, usually when no one’s around. i tell myself it's nothing, that it’s not serious. but then i look at my skin and it's red and sometimes raw, and i start wonderin if it does count. maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m scared to admit that something's not okay with me. cause if i admit that, then what? do i tell someone? what if they think i’m just looking for attention? what if they don’t take me seriously cause i’m not “hurting myself the right way,” if that even makes sense.

i started doing it more during exams last year. the pressure just got to me and i felt like i was gonna explode. i didn’t even think about it at first — it was just a way to deal with the stress. dig my nails in, press hard, breathe, repeat. sometimes it helped me feel like i was in control, like i could focus my brain on that instead of everything else spinning around. but then one of my friends saw a mark on my wrist and was like “dude what happened there?” and i panicked. made up a story about my cat scratching me. i don’t even have a cat. i laughed it off, and he didn’t push, but afterward i felt so ashamed. like what the hell am i doing to myself? why can’t i just deal with life like a normal person?

it’s not like my life is that bad. i mean, i got a roof over my head, food, i’m doing ok in school, my parents are around even if we don’t talk much. but i just feel... numb half the time. and then randomly i’ll feel too much, like someone plugged my brain into an amp and cranked the volume up to 100. that’s when i start scratching. i guess it’s my way of trying to feel something real, or maybe it’s just a distraction. i don’t even know anymore. sometimes i do it and then sit there staring at the red marks, thinking “wtf is wrong with me.” other times i do it and just move on like nothing happened. like it’s normal. but it’s not, right? this can’t be normal.

i googled it one night and found people asking the same question. “is scratching yourself a form of self-harm?” and the answers weren’t super clear but most said yeah, it can be. self-harm isn’t always about blood. it’s about intention. and that kinda hit me. cause even if i’m not trying to “hurt” myself, i am trying to punish myself in a way. or escape something. or maybe both. i don’t know how to talk about it tho. i don’t even know if i want help or just someone to sit with me and say “i get it.” not fix me, not judge me, just get it. cause honestly the silence in my own head is sometimes the scariest part. i keep wondering if anyone else around me is going through this and just hiding it like i am.

so yeah, maybe scratching is a form of sh. maybe it’s not about what you’re using to hurt yourself but why you're doing it. i don’t want to keep doing this forever. i want to find a better way to cope. but for now, writing this is a start, i guess. if you're reading this and you’ve done the same thing — if you’ve ever sat in your room scratching at yourself and feeling like a freak — just know you’re not alone. i’m out here too, still figuring it out. still asking the same questions. and maybe, just maybe, that means we’re not as broken as we think.

My partner always invalidate my feelings. He just brush it off whenever I start telling him of how he made me feel an outsider on our relationship and was never appreciated and cared for. I am so done!

I'm a sophomore in high school, and I'd consider myself an artist. I have endless ideas for all sorts of things to draw, paint, sculpt, sew, build, you name it. I admit I'm better at drawing and all that than a good amount of people since I've always been interested in art and have been improving my skills and learning for my whole life. Although, I can't feel good about any of my work. I always criticize myself and compare myself to other people and I can't stop. It started around 7th or 8th grade, when things were first starting to get rough for me as I grew older and realized things my parents hid from me and I never thought about before. My ideas got more complex and I started pressuring myself to do better. People around me are good at drawing, and I hate it. I can't stand people being better than me at the only thing I'm relatively good at. I have anger issues and I get mad quickly and say and do things to my friends out of spite for them being better than me and I later regret it deeply because I love them and I'd never want to hurt them. It drives me absolutely crazy. No matter how much people say they love my drawings or how talented I am I just can't accept it. I even tried prioritizing my art over school work, last and this year I draw in my notebooks almost every class period for the entire duration. My grades are bad and I have to leave my current school because of it, which is driving the stake deeper. Whenever I have an idea and try to act on it through my art, it always turns out horrible and far from what I wanted. I can't do anything right. People say I'm talented but it's not talent, I wasn't born good at anything, I've just been drawing for so long I happen to be better than some others. Currently I feel as if I haven't improved in years. I try all the tactics and tips I see online but nothing sticks, nothing helps. I wanna quit but I can't. Drawing is my thing, I'm supposed to be good at it. I'm horrible at the one thing I'm supposed to be good at and it's tearing me apart. I'm not smart, I don't play sports or instruments, this is all I have. I can't improve and I can't do anything. I've stepped away and came back to projects but I end up hating them all over again. Everything has to be perfect, everything has to be the best, but it's not.

My eleven-month-old son is quite the towering toddler, already measuring in at 36 inches tall, which is roughly the height of a typical two-and-a-half-year-old, and he's comfortably filling out 3T sized clothes. Despite his impressive stature, he's still very much a baby whose primary source of nourishment is breastmilk.

This Fourth of July, we had a sizeable family barbecue, and my brother decided to bring his girlfriend along. I currently live out of state and planned an extended stay back home; my brother and his girlfriend have chosen to stick around for a bit too.

As expected, everyone in my family understands that my son is still a little one, just that he looks older. However, this concept seemed to shock my brother's girlfriend when she noticed him acting his age. We tried to make it clear that he is genuinely just a baby exploring his environment, yet she continued to seem uneasy about it.

The situation has been quite tense over these past few days. Yesterday evening reached a breaking point. While I was trying to feed my son—I often use an armchair for support as he’s too large for other spots—she was seated there. I requested she move, which she did begrudgingly. About an hour later, she blew up, demanding that my brother pay for her hotel stay because she found it too challenging to be around my son and me.

She accused me of feeding him in public on purpose to make her uncomfortable and insisted he should be eating solid foods due to his size. That upset me significantly, and I admittedly lost my poise, chiding her for not understanding anything about parenting or my circumstances.

Our debate continued, and once my son woke up from his nap, I had to attend to him, but she stormed out, proclaiming she needed to "protect her peace," which sounded quite dramatic.

My brother then accused me of immaturity before he left with her. Though my dad supported me, he suggested I should have handled it better since I'm older by three years. Meanwhile, my mom tried to stay neutral but ended up paying for their hotel to get my brother to return home, believing I could've been more sympathetic.

Reflecting on this, if this confrontation occurred on a reality show, the explosive mix of family tension and miscommunication might have been sensationalized for dramatic effect. Cameras would zoom in on our heated exchange, possibly painting me as the villain before cutting to a confessional where I’d express my frustrations and challenges as a mom misunderstood by someone with no experience in parenting.

Did I really handle that situation so poorly?

All of this started when I (M23) got off from work midday. I was originally resting and called a friend to see if he's doing okay at the training camps in South Carolina. After that, I was called over by my mother (F45) downstairs to help her get of old stuff in her office. To make things clear, we just moved into a townhouse after living from an Airbnb vacation home (last month) after selling our house (December, last year). The reason why was because of a divorce between her and my so-called father, but that's something I want to keep private.

Back to the story, I was helping her take care of stuff she want to give to the thrift store. While I was finishing up putting paper into the big trashbag, Mom requested me to lay down the cardboards (which was the moving boxes), since we're going donate her old stuff out and come back. When I did just that, she started getting upset - demanding that I should take it and the others to the garage. Mind you, she didn't say anything about taking it out at first, making things both confusing and annoying. This wasn't the first time she gave out vague instructions and then yell when I misunderstood her or asking for reassurance. We arrived at the thrift store, and gave away the old stuff to the clerk. Inside the SUV, Mom was complaining about me "not listening" and that I need to be more responsible. Well said the damn fool who made a illegal U-Turn (on a non-turning lane) to get back to the road! When I called her out on it, she brushed it off as a mild inconvenience. That's one strike.

Mom remembered that she need groceries for the house. Before doing that, she need to move the SUV to the disabled parking - so we can use the car to go the supermarket. Reminder, we just moved in a townhouse and for more context, our garage is a little packed to have two vehicles inside which we got to have a routine that one has to be in the garage while the other goes to the parking lot. Once we got to the parking lot, she told me to get the car out of the disabled to a different direction to a long road (right - leading to a kids' playground). Back then, I didn't think it was possible because I parked far from another car close to ours. So I backed the car to the left. There was another car in the way, but I was careful not to hit it and driver. By the time Mom parked the SUV and got in the car, she was irritated by decision - not even letting me explain why. That's two strikes.

Here comes the third one which made reconsider our relationship as mother and son. While I was driving to the supermarket, Mom wanted me to go to a far right lane to get there. I responded that we're on the left turning lane which is another way to reach there as well. (Another thing to add, I don't like talking while on the wheel because it breaks my focus on where to go.) She continued to rant that I should listen to her and turn. When doing just that, a car was already in the way of the lane I need to turn to. To make things worse, I accidently ran over some infrastructure along the way - leading her to believe I was being reckless, accusing me of doing the same thing on my way to work. I was offended, as I was always careful when going to work. I literally had no issue driving alone, it's the fact that SOMEONE thought it was okay to continue bashing on other peoples' mistakes - making me stressed already with the previous incidents.

Once I parked, I had enough and screamed that her hissy fits, vague favors and accusatory behavior has got to stop. The more she does this, it lowers my self-esteem and can't get things right without her on my case. For the most stupidest shit that no middle-aged adult should ever get upset. Before leaving and finished shopping, she ends things off with that she doesn't care, stating she's the main provider and that I have no right to talk to her; due to her being my mother. Well I'm your damn son wanting my boundaries to be respected which you ignore - unless when it's about Dad or something else bothers me. SHIT!

To end things off, she isn't bad overall. I know she has her pros while at her best. It's her worst which not taking care of hypocrisy and being dramatic when trying to understand her ridiculousness. Forgive me for the long rant. I was a little hesitant to share this, but I have to, since I can't keep hiding this forever. Tell me what you guys think.

Do I want him, or do I simply just yearn for the feeling of being loved by somebody? Am I simply just bored, suddenly craving the attention of someone else while still having the full attention of him? I am a horrible person. I am undeserving of being loved; I do not have the capacity to be loved for anything but my measly little body. My frail feelings have me running in circles, eager to figure out... what is wrong with me? Why am I like this? I am undeserving of love. I see why nobody ever wishes to have me.

I'm struggling so much I have a boyfriend. A boyfriend of 1.5 years, and I have no idea at all if I still have romantic feelings for him. I always want the best for him, and I truly do want to see him succeed in life, but I just don't know if I love him anymore in that way. I've begged for months on end just for him to listen. to understand how I feel. He doesn't get it. He only wants to change when I'm beginning to slip from his grasp, and it's the worst feeling in the world. Only now that I'm starting to lose my care factor, he wants to fix the issue I've had for a YEAR. It feels so horrible. To add to that, my guy best friend is being really weird .. like oddly affectionate. It has me feeling ... confused? causing my struggle to worsen, even? And not only that, but he has been borderline encouraging me to leave my boyfriend.

I'm so confused .. lost, even. I don't know what to do with myself. It doesn't help I'm struggling with severe depression (5 years, ongoing).

Not long ago, I had dinner out with a bunch of pals. It was a delightful evening until the check arrived. That's when my friend, Emily, mentioned she'd left her wallet at home. It wasn't the first occurrence of such an incident, although it was the first time with me; I heard she’s done similar things with others before.

The table went silent, everyone's eyes darting, waiting for someone to volunteer to pay for her. Initially, I kept quiet, but when Emily's gaze fell on me, I felt compelled to respond. Awkwardly, I murmured, "I cant really cover you, sorry." She looked taken aback and quickly assured me she'd repay me the next morning. Despite her assurance, I stood my ground, explaining my discomfort with paying for others, especially under these recurring circumstances.

Emily seemed offended and expressed that I had embarrassed her in front of everyone. Eventually, another friend reluctantly covered her portion, but you could feel the atmosphere had changed. Later, Emily texted me, accusing me of being out of line and insisting I should have just covered the "small amount."

Reactions among our group were mixed; some felt I should’ve just paid it, trusting her promise to reimburse, while others supported my stance, considering her past behavior.

Imagine if this situation unfolded on a reality TV show. With cameras rolling, capturing every grimace and whisper, the tension might have escalated dramatically. Viewers might see it as a moment of truth about friendships and responsibilities, potentially leading to fierce debates among fans about trust, responsibility, and friendships under financial scrutiny. In such a scenario, the audience's reaction could range from sympathy for Emily to applause for my firm stance on personal boundaries.

What would your reaction be if this happened on a reality show?

sorry to be serious and i've been having trouble articulating myself lately sorry for that too. (not a danger to myself or others)

I guess for a really long time I haven't been able to feel any emotions or like purpose or anything but it was always manageable until recently. idk why but lately it seems a lot worse...I don't know what's real or what isn't anymore, i think this is real but I can't tell any difference either way, I know rationally and reasonably I am alive and other people are too, but they don't seem real either. I think I am a ghost. even physical sensations (cold, hunger) don't give me any sensations at all. I can't seem to physically talk to anyone these days (like I can't even tell people thank you when they hold the door for me anymore) and moving and walking and breathing even is honestly excruciating. and I have tried all those things people say to do a million times (exercise, good sleep, good food, water, etc etc etc) and none of it makes any difference. I feel like i'm high out of my mind, wandering life aimlessly, but I haven't taken anything. I am beginning to think if I tried to touch another person my hand would pass right through their shoulder. i guess i'm sort of at a loss. I used to do things like sleep in my contact lenses or walk to class without a coat to feel things but that doesn't even work anymore.

i trudged through the heavy snow today to sit on a bench at the frozen pond. I don't know how long I sat there, but it was a long time, because my entire body was shaking bad when I finally decided I should probably go. I never seem to notice things like that these days. I thought about visiting the campus infirmary but what do I say is wrong with me? obviously something but not something that I can name, nor something that they can fix. I kept expecting someone to suddenly sit down next to me, I don't know who, anyone, and we wouldn't speak, we'd just sit there together and look at the falling snow. but they didn't, and even though I dragged my feet on the walk back to my dorm no one ever appeared. that's not their fault. no one is going to save me. I know that. but I sort of hoped maybe there would be a magic figure, a fairy godmother or a wizard coming to whisk me away to a magical school. there wasn't, and there's not going to be. but I feel like i'm really running out of options here.

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?

Before my wife, Evelyn, and I tied the knot, we meticulously discussed crucial aspects such as our living arrangements, handling familial issues, and parenting philosophies. We wanted to ensure that our core values aligned, avoiding potential deal breakers down the line.

Notably, we reached a consensus on one key financial aspect: as long as our children were enrolled as full-time students, they wouldn't need to contribute financially to the household. They would still be required to help out with household chores, of course. Conversely, if they chose not to pursue further education, they would be granted a six-month grace period following their academic or professional pursuits. Post this period, they would need to start paying rent which we decided would equate to a quarter of what they'd earn at a full-time minimum wage job.

This agreement was forged back in 1998 and held firm with our children. Our eldest, Michael, after high school, chose to work, save up, and then travel the globe rather than attend college. Upon his return, he embarked on an apprenticeship and is now successfully established as a welder. Our daughter, Lisa, pursued a degree in nursing and secured her position in a reputable hospital. However, our youngest, Tom, dropped out after his first semester in college and displayed no interest in working thereafter.

When the six-month mark post his academic dropout came around, I informed him of his need to start contributing financially. Distraught, Tom sought empathy from Evelyn, and to my surprise, she waived his financial responsibilities without prior discussion with me. It’s important to note that Evelyn manages our finances, including the household bills which I contribute to from my income, and any surplus she earns goes into her personal expenditure or our joint vacation fund.

Feeling undermined, I decided to reduce my monthly financial contribution by the amount equivalent to Tom’s supposed rent and one-third of our food expenses as a form of protest against the unilateral decision made by Evelyn. This sparked significant tension between us. She confronted me about the sudden decrease in funds, to which I explained my stance on being consistent with our original agreement, highlighting her deviation from it without mutual consent.

Consequently, Evelyn had to dip into our vacation savings to cover the shortfall, also curbing her personal spending significantly, which only added to her frustration. Accusations of financial manipulation were thrown my way, and she ventured to gain the support of Michael and Lisa, both of whom sided with me, insisting on the importance of upholding agreed-upon family rules.

Evelyn's decision and my response could be seen as a critical plot twist if this were to unfold in a reality show setting, likely provoking a polarized response from the audience. Viewers might side with her compassionate approach or might applaud the firm stance on agreed-upon family protocols.

Who do you think is right in this family disagreement?

Hey! It's Caralia. My dad, let's call him Diego. So, my little brother and I have a 3 year age gap. Keep that noted. So as the eldest sister, for 3 years, I had all the attention. My mom was always studying for nursing school, and dad had the shitty job-good pay. Then, my little brother, Dominic was born. All the attention shifted to the newborn. Diego was already stressed with bipolar, work, and a newborn, plus a jealous 3-year-old. My dad would often lash out at me, and leave all parts of my brother out. Time skip to when I'm nine. My dad emotionally made me insecure and belittled constantly, but I searched comfort from friends. My mother was usually at work for 5 hours a week nightshift nursing. I tried to get good grades, I achieved it. But my dad didn't care. Just told me to fuck off. My brother was 6 at the time, and I despised him. When I was 10, I developed a healthy relationship with my brother. Dominic is like my best friend despite all the old jealously that doesn't linger. My dad started a different, more effective medication for bipolar. For the past few years, he's been much better of a dad, but I still have emotional breakage because of him. I have diagnosed major anxiety and minor depression. I also take LexaPro and Hydroxozine. My dad tries to be better, but everytime he tries to have a conversation deeper than, 'What's your favorite color' I immediately like shut down.

(not really family dramma? but idk where to put It)

So it's currently 2.00 am of 22 of july. It's gonna be her birthday on the 28. I'm currently trying to prepare something nice. I'm gonna make a cake on the 27, i intend to make a card and i'm currently trying to make a handsewed sock cat pushie. But at the same time i have mixed feelings cause i think that's a good idea but also i think It's kinda crappy and unfortunatly i couldn't buy anything this year so i feel guilty, and also i'm a beginner in sewing and the pushie already has a lot of mistakes and i'm afraid It's gonna turn out ugly and i'm gonna have to remake It. At the same time i don't even know if i actually have the right to make this and give her any of that stuff bc she right about me being selffish and being a bad person and It Is true that i'm making her life worse. And today i couldn't stop thinking about It. I really am like them and him even when i'm trying to do something good. And what if she's right about me and i am like them, why am i really giving her this gift? Is It because I wanna be forgiven for being bad? Can i even be forgiven if i can never actually be better? Is all of this Just a pretense to feel better about myself and not feel as evil? Will this crappy mediocre gift even mean anything? Will i even make in time to do everything? Is She right about the fact that i am like them and that I should be with them cause their Just as bad as me? Idk my thoughts are mess and my head Is killing me right now.

People should stop judging people based on what they post on social media , messages sent to their friends and family or what insults and jokes they sent to their loved ones specially if it was done illegally without prior consent. They've only seen a 3 second conversation yet they haven't reflected to themselves they have gotten the messages illegally snooping into network and illegally obtaining them yet they want to be called " perfect". Oh and doxxing is also illegal add that to your "perfect" nature. Lol