Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

Both of my parents have decided not to attend my upcoming wedding in September, leaving me completely devastated. I am about to marry an incredible woman, yet my mother has abruptly refused to participate due to personal grievances, and my father, estranged for nearly a decade and from a culture that does not accept lesbian marriages, is hesitant about attending due to potential discomfort.

My mother's reservation stems from having to share the space with my uncle who, in the past, reported her to Child Protective Services when my stepfather was abusing myself and my brother—a situation she had been hiding. Although the intervention was justified, my mother has harbored resentment towards my uncle ever since, and she accused me of betrayal for confiding in him. She insists on maintaining her boundaries, even if it means missing her own daughter's wedding. To me, it feels like she could set aside her grievances for just one day, but she views my upset as an overreaction.

The situation has left me both angry and powerless. I wonder if my expectations are unreasonable or if my feelings are validly profound.

Imagine if this personal turmoil were unfolded on a reality TV show—cameras rolling as each family drama layer revealed itself in front of a national audience. The viewers would likely be split, some empathizing deeply with emotional struggles and familial rifts, while others might view the conflicts as overly dramatic or fabricated for ratings. The episode would likely stir up significant discussions on family dynamics, personal boundaries, and the importance of support during significant life events.

First time doing this so bare with me.

I have a hard time forming connections with people, and when I do, I keep them at arms length. At first I thought I was just socially anxious I am but. The more I think about it and trauma around my past. I feel like if I form any deep connections with other people, I feel like if I expose my past (that's filled with abuse from family members) I believe they will take advantage of me or they'll view me as something that I know I'm not. But, feels confirming and believable, I feel like I am used and broken, and no one wants to hang out with a broken person like me so I just keep it in until it burst out and everyone stops and looks. "Like wow a stable guy in my life turns out to be a emotional loser." I don't vent to anyone and if I do it's just simple things in life to be negative about. But my trauma is borderline some kids edgy character backstory on deviantart. So in turn it's too much to handle. I feel too much to handle. I feel like I need to prove my worth over and over, like I am worth loving and given attention. But, some days I feel like an annoying abused dog, I get happy and I get excited when I see someone but if something triggers me I bark and bite. I feel too much and trying to get help, but with me always pushing away people I have no support group and just professionals that are just there to be professionals. I pushed away my recent ex because she hurt me but I feel like I ruined everything for getting hurt. I don't know, everything feels confusing but I know I will eventually get better but it's hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel, you know?

As a Muslim woman who chooses to wear the hijab, I strictly adhere to the conviction of covering my hair and most of my body as a gesture of faith and modesty. My choice in this regard is personal and based on my religious beliefs; I respect the choices of others who may be different from my own while not imposing my values on them.

Recently, I attended the bachelorette party of my longtime friend, Layla, just before her wedding. Layla, who isn’t particularly religious, has always respected my customs – she even selected a modest-style abaya for me to wear as her maid of honor. Our understanding always made me comfortable in our friendship, believing that she appreciated the significance of my hijab.

At the all-women gathering, I felt relaxed enough to remove my hijab since we were amidst close friends and planned an overnight stay. The fun evening included watching movies and taking pictures and videos – memories captured among friends, meant to stay private. I assumed these images were confined to our chat groups.

However, after driving home the next day, I saw that Layly had tagged me in a public Instagram post where my hair was visible. I immediately contacted her to kindly remove the image or at least cover my hair in the photo. Surprisingly, Layla objected, citing that there were no better photos and that I was overreacting. Troubled by her response, I suggested cropping me out or modifying the image, but she was adamant that it wouldn’t look right.

Feeling upset, I expressed my concerns in our group chat, hoping for support. Opinions were divided; some friends sided with me, understanding my request for privacy, while others, led by one who often opposes me, disregarded my feelings. Layla defended her position by saying the wedding stress was overwhelming her, although I don't see how this issue relates to her wedding preparations.

Amidst this, I couldn’t help but wonder, if my situation were part of a reality TV show, would the audience perceive my reaction as an overreaction or see it as a justified call for personal respect and privacy? The nature of reality TV often skews true intentions for dramatic effect, potentially magnifying my distress or trivializing it to entertain an audience.

Am I unreasonable in wanting respect for my privacy and religious practices, or is it too much to expect friends to understand and honor my personal choices?

TW, RELIGIOUS PSYCHOSIS,F*RCE FEEDING, AB*SE, MENTAL ILLNESS

[Present time] right now it feels horrid in my house, been eating like sh*t, feeling like sh*t, and my parents keep acting like everything is okay. I assume my mother hasn't told him that she wants a divorce(look at my other story for context) But honestly I'm scared sh*tless if he does, I'm scared. I'm scared that he'll go crazy again and hurt me or my mother.

[Past time, when was about 8-10 around then] so this was when I was coming home from school after taking the bus, my father recently stopped picking me up at my bustop but honestly I was glad I'm really ashamed of him. So I walk into my house and up my stairs (apartment) and I pause as I heard slaps and crying of my mom...? So I immediately speed up and run to the top of the stairs. There it was, my own "dad" hitting my mom, with her on the floor on her knees crying. I'm 8-10 so I stop and stand still, because what else am I supposed to do??? Yell? Stop him? She looked at me mid slap. "Oh my God! (Name), go upstairs!" is what she said, didn't want to see her get hurt so I listened. I dropped my bag on the floor and quickly ran away to my room and shut my door and sat on my bed. Sitting there. Doing nothing. Hearing her muffled cries and begs. [Time skip slightly, 20 minutes later] she comes up and opens my door as I was crying from guilt and worry, I immediately try to stop and stare at her in fear and worry because I thought she would've d*ed. But she just walks in and hugs me tightly, muttering it's okay. So I start crying more because this is my mom crying as well? And that's all I really remember from that.

[I think a couple days after the last story thingy] so it was morning in my bedroom and my "dad" brought me some pancakes(microwave type). So he sits me down and gives me my food and sits down with me on my bed, start eating them and I said that I didn't want them all. So this mother f*cker moves closer and takes the pancakes in his hand, shoves it in my mouth, forces me to chew it for a bit. So I'm crying. I'm 8-10 then. So he then says "None of this matters, it doesn't f*cking matter!! Because we all are dying and going to heaven!!" so now he puts his hand in my mouth and takes out the chewed up food and throws it at my bathroom door. He has a crazy, big pupiled, crazy smile on his face. So I scream for my mom. She comes running and screams as well, pulls him off me and takes me away from him to her room. And hugs me as I sobbed. And I remember her asking me what happened but I don't remember anything else.

[Around the time of the last timeskip] My dad was in this weird religious psychosis?? He wasn't even Christian for sake!! But whatever... So it was mid evening and I hear yelling as I was doing homework at the dining table. It was yelling about car keys and where were they? Mind you these keys belonged to my grandfather/ my REAL FATHER FIGURE. So obviously I needed to know because it was someone I cared about. So my father says "I threw them in the trail in the woods when I walked the dogs, god told me to." what the actual f*ck???? So my mom goes "what?" in disbelief because really we needed that car. So my mom soon starts yelling at them and they start fighting. Next thing I know I'm being pulling upstairs to pack bags to leave withmy grandpa outside yelling and arguing with my father about keys and how crazy my "dad" was. So obviously I'm scared. I'm 8 or 10??? So I cry and do as I'm told and soon we are running down the stairs and I see my "dad" with crazy eyes yelling "You can't take (my name) away!! That's my daughter!" I'm scared. SCARED. I'm sobbing and trying to get to the car my grandma was in with my bags. So now I look up at the yelling coming from my house window, it's my dad screaming, "I'll find you (name)! I'll f*cking get you back!!" uhm!!! I'm sobbing because I'm scared of my "dad" right now. So my grandma starts driving to leave, the path circles around the house. So I see my "dad" leaning out the window arguing with my grandpa where the keys were in the woods, my grandpa was mad so he started going to find them in the woods. And then I felt my grandma's hand holding mine so I broke, her pink nail polish and her clamy hands felt so good right then. And thats all i remember and the car keys got remade as they couldn't find them. Then I also stayed at my grandparents place for a bit as they put my "dad" in the hospfital for a while.

[Around when I was 9?] so my mom comes down stairs and accidently drops a mug and yells about leaving stuff everywhere and how useless my father was. So my mom starts grabbing mugs from the cup cabinet and throws them on the floor so my "dad" rushes to stop her and yells at her to stop and she does and starts crying. That's all I remember and I remember ending up at my grandparents place for a bit when she went to the hospital for a bit.

Thx for getting this far lol, I'd love any comments or opinions!!!

I reside in a rather expansive subdivision, home to around 90 households, which has the reputation of being quite affluent. This status naturally transforms our neighborhood into a magnet for trick-or-treaters each Halloween. In the beginning, the sight of 700 to 1000 children parading up and down our streets was charming to me, especially since my children, now teenagers, no longer partake in the festivities. However, the past four years have seen this charming tradition exacerbate into a nightmare. The number of visitors has surged to thousands, including many unsupervised toddlers. It’s not uncommon to see vehicles packed beyond capacity, hay-laden trailers carrying groups of kids, and an unacceptable amount of litter and destruction.

Two years ago, a personal incident sharply turned my tolerance into action. My daughter, in the mayhem, had a fall and ended up with a suspected broken arm. The shear volume of people and parked vehicles made it impossible for us to drive out and seek medical aid. We were trapped until the streets cleared around 1 am, leaving my daughter in agony for hours. That was the last straw for me.

In response, I rallied our community leadership and we managed to implement a controlled entry system at the neighborhood’s entrance. Now, admission on Halloween is restricted to residents and their close associates. Following this change, the atmosphere became more manageable and safer, with the number of trick-or-treaters dropping to about 300 and litter reducing significantly.

My sister, however, was none too pleased when I shared this development with her. Growing up, we had experienced trick-or-treating in various neighborhoods ourselves due to living in a trailer park with few children. She accused me of spoiling Halloween for countless children. Despite her disapproval, I stand by my decision as it addresses crucial safety concerns which could potentially prevent emergency services from accessing our neighborhood in a crisis. Safety, in my opinion, should always come first.

Now, envisioning this situation playing out on a reality show sparks an interesting thought. Reality TV thrives on conflict and dramatic reactions, so how would audiences react to my stance? Would they see it as a reasonable measure for safety, or would they paint me as the villain, ruining Halloween fun for kids? The controversy alone might make good television, but it would undoubtedly amplify the scrutiny and the polarized opinions on my decision.

Am I right to prioritize safety over tradition?

I genuinely can’t do life anymore

I've always been somewhat of a recluse, deliberately steering clear of social media and generally shying away from the spotlight. My wife knows this well, yet she refrains from uploading my photos online, though I’ve never explicitly forbidden her from doing so. I’ve always preferred simple, quiet celebrations for events like Father’s Day or my own birthday, keeping any unnecessary attention at bay.

Recently, I was diagnosed with a very treatable form of skin cancer. Detected early, the prognosis was excellent, with a negligible risk of serious consequences. As an engineer, I approached the situation with a level of detachment, comforted by the statistics and my doctor’s positive outlook. Naturally, I confided in my wife, who became overwhelmingly concerned despite my reassurances. We decided that it would be best to keep our children in the dark about my condition, sparing them any worry over something I believed to be a minor issue. My wife reluctantly agreed.

However, just days later my father contacted me, alarmingly inquired about my “battle with cancer.” It appeared that my wife had disclosed my diagnosis on Facebook that morning. When confronted, she defended her actions by claiming I hadn’t specifically asked her not to share it online, only to avoid telling our children. Frustrated but resolute, I convinced her to remove the post.

My treatment progressed smoothly, and soon, I was officially in remission. My doctor cheerfully informed me that while they avoid saying "cured," effectively, I was. Overjoyed, my wife and I hoped to move past this chapter. Or so I thought.

This past weekend, I arrived home to find a street bustling with cars and many more parked in my driveway. Confused, since no significant dates had come to mind, I entered the house only to be greeted by a surprise party celebrating my remission. I was completely taken aback – my wife knew my stance on surprise gatherings and yet had organized one for something I considered deeply personal. Claiming a sudden need to return to the office, I quickly excused myself, grabbed a few inconsequential files from my study, thanked the guests, and left. Later, my wife confronted me, leading to an argument where I expressed my disapproval of her turning a personal milestone into a public celebration.

Following the incident, there's been a noticeable tension between us. My brother even called me out, labeling me an 'asshole' for my reaction, suggesting I was too harsh.

Imagine if all this drama unfolded on a reality show. Viewers would probably be divided, some sympathizing with my need for privacy, while others might argue that my wife’s actions, though misguided, were rooted in love and deserved a more gracious response from me. It could have become a classic episode filled with conflict, emotional interviews, and maybe even a reconciliation scene, grabbing the audience’s attention with genuine, raw human experience.

Am I wrong for feeling upset about my wife's public celebration of my private health matter?

I panicked a bit for myself and others in Abu Dhabi because apparently a bomb was dropped there, as well as to Saudi, Kuwait, Qatar and all GCC countries except Oman, and the place the missile was gonna hit was the Al Dhafra Air Base, which is a 30 minute drive from the ADNEC, which is where the MEFCC will take place on April. As of now, only 1 person is recorded to be dead, because the missile got intercepted but debris fell around the area. I was panicking a bit because I didn't want my event to get cancelled from this and for the people who live in Abu Dhabi as well, but yeah, 1 person here is still kinda bad and I hope no more people died and damage was very less. Also I think some countries like Bahrain, Kuwait and maybe Saudi Arabia also intercepted, but I'm not too sure. Plus, one of my dad's colleagues in Abu Dhabi reported he heard loud noises and told him about it. And this crap happened after my birthday. Seriously? I'm glad it didn't attack here because I'd be dead, my family would be dead, and that's bad, and even in Abu Dhabi with 1 guy it's still bad. Why does Iran wanna attack all GCC nations, except Oman (why?), and why does USA also wanna escalate wars and all that? Sometimes they gotta accept they can't fix everything. They couldn't fix the Vietnam War, and even in the final act of 1945, they killed way more people than expected, and created a new evil that people can misuse in the future, the atomic bomb, which if Trump or any other country he's fighting with gets too cocky, it could be dropped. I don't want my home to be in war! I wanna dress up as Joseph and do well in exams to make it better and maybe make my year of being 14 better, not whatever this is!

Worse news, it hit Dubai. It didn't hit my home or near Bur Dubai, but it hit City Walk a few km away from my home, near Burj Khalifa. It hit JLT, and it hit near Jebel Ali. It wasn't missiles, they were drone planes, and I'm even more nervous. For my life outside and how my exams will go in school due to this. Even worse, in Kuwait, their airport is DESTROYED. Dad says we may have to do school, work and all that at home for a bit, and my mom says hopefully we recover fast enough to continue normally with no issues for a while, I complete my exams and pass, and I go have a week-long break and have fun in April with no bombs. I don't know anymore, and again, why all this after my birthday!?? There are videos. What did UAE even do with Iran, Israel and USA? We're such a small country! Oh man, I wanna be a kid, and already with my (probably) anxious neurodivergent mind, this made it worse.

Because of the stuff that happened in UAE and because of the fact when trying to draw like Hirohiko Araki, since I love his style so much, I end up making very very slow progress, I drew a picture of Egon napping while hugging Slimer, because 2 years ago, I was in my RGB era, and I drew the boys, Janine and the proton packs so much I kinda mastered the style to be close enough to be tolerated (anyways RGB's art style keeps changing across EPISODES, not even across parts like JJBA and that's an intentional choice), and Egon was (and is) my favorite buster, so naturally, it felt to draw him after a while. Seriously, in my previous sketchbooks, he's there in A LOT of art. Even though RGB does have a semi-realistic style, compared to JJBA, it's way simpler.

The UAE now gave a mail that we gotta be careful and school is from home from March 2-4. So exams are delayed...Man what am I gonna do now? How do I go to tuitions? How are my exams gonna be affected? I legit had to sleep in the same bed as my parents with my brother as well, because the alert gave it that and we all instinctively agreed to do so. I'm fine now, but eh, sleeping with family isn't so bad. Sleeping with my brother in the same bed...DON'T. This man kicks me every time, and when we were younger, I had insomnia because of this turd. Good thing sleeping next to mom is fine. And now we anyways sleep on separate beds, so my brother can kick the wind instead of me. I have 3 days off from school, or at least online-learning. Do I study from home and not join meetings, because we're anyways revising. Also, still, we need to talk about the bigger elephant in the room, HINDI. Oh man, I have to do answers, lots of grammar, paragraph writing, letter writing, picture writing, and a full unseen passage. This sucks even more because I hate Hindi, I feel awkward speaking it because it's more broken than asbestos wool, and it's difficult to understand. Man, even my parents think this is more difficult than when they learnt it 30 years ago, bruh. Good thing in 9th grade I'm not doing it, but with everything else I'm worried about plans changing. I'm worried about the situation, the whole missile and drone issue, seriously today when we went grocery-shopping, less people were there, and in nearby restaurants they were empty. My home could be in war soon.

I'm losing more hope. More drones and debris are falling everywhere, and dad jokes and even suggested that we go to India and stay for A FEW MONTHS when the flights open, and now I'm starting to think 9th grade, MEFCC, going out, it's not gonna happen. My home will burn down, I'll study in India forever, my figurine collection would be useless now, there was no point for even buying the boots for Joseph, and there's no point studying. Screw passing exams, I'm probably not even gonna live. My friends are hearing bombs outside, people are leaving here. Who knew I'd only live till 14? Screw the people who told me the world ending isn't impossible, it is! Come on, studying won't fix anything. Being alive won't fix anything. I didn't expect this after my birthday and yet this happened. I hate others who say my "negative thinking" is bad, when really it's my sixth sense. I knew I should've planned to figure out how to destroy everything I loved a year back. Look at everything. My dad said MEFCC won't even happen and that it doesn't exist. What if it's a construct of my mind back in January to make me happy? We as humans make things in our head that seems real, it's called a Placebo Effect. Freud's Id, if you will. The principle the brain wants instant gratification of selfish desires, it wants a feel-good thing NOW. Our minds are powerful, at least in this planet. To achieve peace, to ascend, we must shed all of these desires. What if this event is a test of my ascension abilities? We need to find infinity, strive for infinity, so we can shed all our human burdens and be happy, reach nirvana. So far there's no news about the con, but it doesn't matter. I'm 14, smack into Freud's Genital Stage, where I must call other people to finally preach this happy view.

I clearly can't be happy for long anymore. Clearly I've heard from grownups and movies that say as you grow older, joy simply grows so small, you forget what being happy is. When you're older, you do get worse. Everything starts to suck. You get less happy. My home is getting droned now. I. Hate. Myself. I. Believe. Nirvana. Is the answer. I should first kill myself to ascend, have nirvana.

As someone who captures weddings through the lens of a camera, I've encountered my first situation where I’m seriously considering declining to cover an event. I secured a wedding booking back in February and had a preliminary chat with the couple, where they mentioned a broad destination without pinning down the exact location. I agreed on the condition that they would update me accordingly. Similarly, they didn't provide a specific time for the event.

Over the following months, I attempted to reach out for details but my messages were left unanswered. By mid-June, with the wedding fast approaching on the 30th, there was still radio silence from their side.

Driven to find answers, I contacted another vendor involved in the wedding. Shockingly, I learned that the couple had shifted their wedding site to a spot three hours away, now planning to start the event at 5 AM, followed by a two-mile trek to the venue. All this, and still no word directly from the couple themselves. Additionally, the vendor hinted that these plans might not even be final.

Despite having received payment upfront, we had never formalized a contract detailing the agreement's specifics. Now, just five days away from the event, I find myself in a dilemma whether I should cancel. The thought of traveling all that distance only to possibly find the venue changed again is daunting.

If I cancel, I think it would be fair to offer a full or at least partial refund due to the circumstances. However, I’m open to suggestions on how to handle this professionally. I was hesitating for the category between the one I chose and the Bridezilla category... hard to choose :)

Imagine how this scenario would unfold if it were part of a reality TV show. Cameras following every tense moment as I struggle with the decision, juxtaposed with the intrigue of the wedding couple’s erratic planning. The drama of it could captivate viewers, showing the real challenges faced by wedding vendors, often hidden behind the glamour of the big day. But would the public sympathize with my predicament or see it as an overreaction? The suspense and possible conflict might make for riveting television but would certainly add another layer of stress in reality.

i don’t even think i can put into words how fucked i am, am i really doing this to myself? i want this to be fake and im just doing it for attention but for who? i dont tell anyone shit and when i do i just end up feeling like a burden, it’s just fucked having to tell someone you care so much about that you just want to go away forever, medications don’t make it any better , i’m now on the 4th antidepressant hoping it’ll work it’s been a couple weeks and nothing, this just makes me feeling like maybe i am faking maybe this all because some reason i don’t know yet, i don’t wanna do this anymore i want this to be fake , maybe im in a coma and ill wake up soon or something, it’s like and indescribable parasite is latched onto me sucking the life out of i feel like there’s a huge pit not in my chest but whole soul i feel like times is passing slower around me and i can’t even move sometimes , im just paralyzed with this cloud of despair, i can’t even cry how i want to, i just want some sort of release and to stop this hate i’ve had for myself all my life i just want to be someone else or to be outside of this body for just an hour or two just feel ok

man, i swear, i cant do this anymore, i feel like im just existing and nothing matters, like no matter what i do, its just the same thing every day, wake up, feel like shit, go to work, pretend im fine, come home, sit in my room overthinking everything, then go to sleep just to do it all over again, like what is even the point, im so tired, like not just sleepy tired but that deep inside tired that dont go away no matter how much i rest, i feel empty, i feel like nobody even notices me, like i could just stop talking and no one would even care, maybe they’d be relieved, maybe im just annoying, maybe im the problem, i try to tell myself its just a bad phase, that ill get over it, but i been saying that for so long now and nothing ever changes, people say "just talk to someone" but what do i even say?? hey, im miserable and i hate my life and i wish everything was different but its not and i have no idea how to fix it?? yeah, sure, that sounds real normal, theyll just tell me to "stay positive" or "it gets better" but how do they know that it gets better when every day just feels worse, i feel like im stuck, like im trapped in this life i dont even wanna live, and i dont see a way out, i see people happy and i wonder how they do it, how they wake up and actually look forward to things, bc for me there is nothing, i dont have friends, i dont have family that cares, i dont have a future that looks anything but miserable, and no matter how much i try to pretend like im okay, im not, and i havent been for a long time, i feel like a failure, like everything i touch falls apart, like no matter how hard i try i always end up back at zero, people say im young and i have time, but what does that even mean?? time for what, more of this, more feeling like i dont belong, more pretending like im fine when im screaming inside, im so exhausted, and i just want it to stop, i dont even know what that means anymore, all i know is i cant take it anymore, i keep thinking maybe something will change, maybe ill wake up one day and things will feel different, but they never do, and im scared they never will, bc honestly, i dont know how much longer i can keep doing this, its like my body keeps going but my mind checked out a long time ago, nothing makes me happy, nothing excites me, i see people making plans for their future and i dont even know if i want a future, bc what if its just more of this, more feeling alone, more failure, more emptiness, i try to distract myself, i try to push it down, but it always comes back, the feeling that im not meant to be here, that maybe i was never supposed to be here, that maybe im just wasting space, and i know, i know, people say "you matter" but do i really?? bc it dont feel like it, and i just dont know what to do anymore.

Last year, on our one-year anniversary, my boyfriend Greg and I decided to celebrate at our favorite dining spot, the Cheesecake Factory, because he's aware of my adoration for their cheesecake. As it turned out, my preference for their dessert played a notable role in the evening's events.

The dinner was progressing wonderfully; we were enjoying ourselves immensely. However, the atmosphere swiftly changed when an elderly gentleman seated nearby pushed his chair back just as our waiter was passing by with a tray. This sudden move caused the waiter to trip and accidentally spill his hot coffee down my back. The pain from the scalding liquid was instant and intense, leading me to scream and instinctively lift my shirt—it was a reflex from the surprise and the burning sensation.

Given that I'm fairly petite in the chest area and don't often wear a bra, this reaction inadvertently resulted in me exposing myself to several other diners. Despite the embarrassment, the physical shock was what dominated my reaction. I managed to pull my shirt back down after what felt like a long fifteen seconds. Our waiter was profusely apologetic, but I knew it wasn't really anyone's fault—just a regrettable accident.

Greg, on the other hand, wasn't able to see the incident as just an accident. He became insistent on leaving the restaurant immediately, claiming that my reaction was overly dramatic and that I had embarassed both of us. Standing my ground, I argued that the incident, while unfortunate, wasn't worth abandoning our anniversary meal, especially since cheesecake—the hallmark of our celebration—was yet to come. I even suggested getting the cheesecake to go, but Greg was adamant about leaving, disapproving of my lack of mortification.

We stayed, but the remainder of our dinner was awkward. Greg claimed that other men were looking at me and probably harboring inappropriate thoughts, to which I replied that their thoughts were their problem, not mine.

The ride home was filled with tension, with Greg expressing that I had ruined our anniversary by forcing him to sit through the aftermath of the incident. He couldn't fathom why I would prioritize a dessert over his feelings. This led to an argument that lasted the entire drive, and the silence that followed has persisted into today.

Considering the whole situation, sometimes I wonder how this incident would have unfolded in the public eye, say if we were part of a reality TV show. Would the audience sympathize with my pain and reflex, or would they criticize me for the unintentional exposure and my insistence on staying for cheesecake?

I'm kind of torn on who was more reasonable here—am I at fault for wanting to continue our celebration?

I'm a 29-year-old woman. My boyfriend, Matt, is 30. I have two kids who aren't biologically his, and we've been together for four years.

Last week, Matt's friend invited us to a four-day couples retreat with him, his wife, and another couple. The retreat included couples massages, romantic dinners, and other activities. We were supposed to leave today. Matt mentioned the trip to me, so I started looking for babysitters.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find a sitter. My kids' dad rarely takes them, and their grandmother is just as unreliable, only seeing the kids to post pictures on social media and act like a perfect grandmother. Usually, when we make plans, Matt reaches out to his mom or sister-in-law, since they're the only people nearby. This time, he didn't do that, so I called them yesterday to see if they could help, but they couldn't. I figured that since I couldn't go, Matt wouldn't go either.

This morning at 5 am, I woke up to him packing. I asked him what he was doing, and he said, "Packing. I need to leave by 7 am to meet up with George." I asked why he still intended to go on a couples retreat when his partner couldn't even go, and whether he even wanted me to go since he didn't help find a sitter. He said, "If you wanted to go, you would have found a sitter. I don't have time for this."

This really bothered me. He kissed my forehead and left. Fifteen minutes ago, he texted me pictures of his suite, which had flower petals, champagne, and even a heart-shaped bed. I texted back, "Have a good time." He took this as an attack and said, "Don't be clipped with me. It's not my fault you didn't find a sitter." I responded, "I wasn't being clipped. And it would have been nice if you could have helped find a sitter. I know they aren't your kids, but if you wanted me to go, you should have put in some effort." He replied, "You're being an asshole right now, and frankly, you're being overdramatic as well."

Am I wrong for getting upset that he went without me?

Honestly, if this were a reality show, I wonder how people would react. Would they see my side and agree that he should have helped, or would they think I'm overreacting?

I love my job. After I finished maternity leave I looked for a job that I could turn into career down the line and a place I would be happy at vs switching jobs over and over for years to come. The job is great, the benefits are amazing. They even sent us on a spa day three months into me working there. Now I’ve been there almost 2 years and the employees still barely talk to me, they don’t invite me to hang out outside of work, and they don’t even notify me of changes they make to MY daily schedule.

**Note, I’ve been promoted twice since I started working there because my main focus is to learn, do the job and do it correctly. Other employees, as previously mentioned, my plans to hang out rather than doing the job.

Now we have a new doctor (AKA) boss to which I am the direct assistant to. The office is throwing her a welcome party and it’s not mandatory for me to go but it would look weird for me not to considering my position.

The thing is, this is a casual, after work, off the clock event that they’ve invited the office and their families to. I don’t want to go. I don’t and won’t feel comfortable sitting around for three to five hours with an office full of people that don’t like me. I’m allowed to bring my two year old but I can’t bring a friend or sibling or grandparent to help me watch him while I mingle (which is the purpose of the event). When they said we can bring family, they mean spouse or significant other , neither of which I have.

Am I wrong for not wanting to attend this party??

I feel like today was a day of hell. Everything was so disorganized. I felt like I was skipping work since I only showed up two out of three days this week. I don't want to show up on other days, but I feel a very uncomfortable level of responsibility, especially when it comes to birthday celebrations and other things. I don't want to attend celebrations; I'm there to do a great job, not to integrate in such a friendly way. I like my solitude.

I feel like I regained my solitude today. I don't know, I felt like I was getting my life back after a long time. I don't like the country I live in; there are difficulties and so on, but I feel like everything is bearable. I had to manage the psychiatrist in detail; she was influenced by my father, as I thought. She took it seriously, thank goodness, that I didn't stop the treatment; I feel good because she's attentive and also, she admits, the effect of my routine on the healing of the issue. I feel very valued by the psychiatrist, but it's difficult for her; nevertheless, we're on the journey together. It's not the best I ever hoped for.

For some reason, I feel like I've returned to normal because I feel like I can tolerate the world as it is, imperfect from my perspective and like everyone else's. I feel like I can tolerate everything now, and I'm happy about it. I was also happy to see my stepmother and her father. I don't know, all in all, I had a normal day and I was able to tolerate it well; I didn't expect that. Maybe it's because I was also able to get away from the psychiatrist and her influence. Seeing that we were able to handle ourselves, I feel like everything is fine now. It was always my life's goal to be able to manage with a psychologist, or a psychiatrist. I felt welcomed back into the world, into society itself.

I have to confess, out of all this adventure I went through, I feel like I finally got what I wanted. To be able to deal with a therapist, to work as a team in some way, not just one person on one side and me on the other. That's why, I confess, my dental treatment didn't work, in any way, that was it. Since I left my therapist, I felt like the world had turned its back on me because there was no way out of my environment; that's how I understood it. Feeling like I've finally entered, entered the world, is simply fantastic, sensational. I feel like I can walk the streets again completely normally, tolerate the day, write many things, many ideas, but always with the feeling that my efforts in mental health, if they're welcomed by anyone, well, actually by everyone now, but mainly by those who consist of the mental health aspect. That support, that verification, makes me feel like I'm on the right track, or at least, seen by someone beyond myself, and I like that, I have to confess.

I have to confess it. I feel like that was the cure for my entire illness. Just that. I feel like I'm finally believed, taken seriously, that I see beyond, that I can handle the treatment. That I can finally handle treatment, that I'm taken into account within it, that I, as a patient, deserve respect for myself and my processes—I finally achieved that. I have to confess: The only cure was having someone check on me with my mental health, working as a team. That was it. I can't do that with anyone in my circle, because no one takes care of their mental health, that's the pure truth. So, it's feeling an immense burden.

I feel that the cure, moreover, was always returning to a mental health professional, but one that truly exists. That they don't abandon you, that they're not a scam, that they don't leave you stranded, that they don't act on behalf of others but on behalf of you, that there is a therapy given for me, given by another, that you can be supported by another. Not help, I didn't want help, support, support to keep me going. That was all I needed to get back to life, to go back to my life as before. That was it. Not someone coming and doing my job. The fact that I can't do it, that was the worst part. That's why dental treatment became pure hell for me. I understand everything now.

How difficult was this for those around me? A little support, so I could do my thing my way, without changing my routine unless it was for support. This, I insist, and I think it sums it all up, was the cure. A feeling that my life could be accepted by others based on my well-being and not theirs, and even so, it produces well-being for them, perhaps not giving them what they want, but by setting an example of being in context and not unconsciously destroying a world in unrecognizable ways. How difficult was it for everyone to see that? It was too simple. How hard was it to find a psychiatrist? Too hard. In the end, he was the only savior of everything because he was the only one around me who could do that. Does that make sense? That he's the only one? The problem with the psychiatrist is that everyone had the blessed humility to say they didn't know how to treat me. But was there any? Barely one and a half people, although my mental health was pushed aside during treatment. How difficult was it for others to see that? Honestly, the dental treatment was the least of my worries, from every point of view. Rightfully so, and I understand wholeheartedly, I ended up exploding at everyone.

Ironically, right now, the psychiatrist is the one putting the pieces together. She barely does six minutes of treatment, and she does so much more than the others. In addition to one person, whose example lifts heaven and earth and changes my life. From the smallest details, I categorically say, these people saved my life. In the dental service too, listening to me for a while, playing for a while, caring for me, being present, making the effort. That also did something very meaningful for me, and I'm not going to just give up. I can't do it. Also, damn, another doctor who supported me with the psychological aspect took it seriously, and in a way that I didn't get carried away with illusions. That one also deserves my award. These people, who did something, because those who operated didn't do a thing, except move some teeth with sophisticated and useless methods because they didn't attack anything, I can't let them be left aside in any way.