Random Life Stories and Unpredictable Moments

I feel like I don't like this. I feel like I'm being dragged along by doctors, precisely for the purpose of getting them to lead me in my health care, which my father hasn't been able to do for reasons even he doesn't know. I'm very confused. My mother's power is being taken away.

In a way, I'm handing my life over to these doctors out of desperation. My parents, having failed to look after her, are instilling in me a deep distrust. In fact, I feel fear toward my family members. I don't know if my father, who is also a doctor, has hidden incidents regarding his profession with us, the family members. I feel like this family is capable of hiding anything to maintain the union, just as they do with my father. I hate that I can't express this with complete confidence elsewhere; my fear of censure is always there.

In fact, the last few times I saw him, my father was confusing treating me professionally with his desire to dominate me. In fact, I'm saying that he was more interested in possession than treating me as a doctor. He denied things. Indeed, my father had gone crazy. However, I feel these doctors are on the same path, that of being possessive rather than professional. In fact, I'm verifying it.

I'm currently in a state of urgency with these doctors to get them to stop being professional, to go further with me, to the point of treating me like a mother and a father. I don't know whether to obey the doctors because doing so would be betraying my father, and obeying my father would be betraying them. I find myself at a terrible crossroads. I wish things were simpler.

Why did my father throw me in with this group of doctors? The price is that there are many people out there seeking domination, by any means, and these doctors turned out to be one of them. In this sense, he exposed me to this happening. It was as if he was no longer interested in having me under his care, but instead exposed me to someone else, vowing to preserve me no matter what. During treatment, my father was so nervous, so indecisive, so sentimental that he didn't give me the chance to trust him with my life.

I feel that perhaps these doctors may be different, but the fact that they are taking positions in my life, regarding my health, is a very serious issue for me. This is playing with my health arbitrarily, just like he did with my father. There's no difference. They also don't take into account whether I want it or not. They exploit my desperation just the same. I keep insisting: I'm surprised by how many people are out there with a desire for power. Besides, it's even worse with the doctors because I can't repeat the attitudes I had, and I don't know what they're capable of, knowing their influence.

I don't know how my father could have exposed me to such beings. What a rootless behavior. It's as if he doesn't want to be with me; he's exposing me to someone taking me away just like that, and I don't like it. I wanted to stay with him, but at the same time, I feel like he made no effort to stay with me. He left me exposed to these kinds of people. Besides, how could he not be more attentive, or more attentive this time than with his friends? We're with people from the street, strangers; it was only natural that he would be attentive with these doctors. Why did he neglect me like this? I feel abandoned in my usual way, free from anything happening to me, without visualizing methods, ways of dealing with me, or anything like that. In other words, he also allowed my desire to leave his life to be satisfied.

I feel like this time my father didn't fight for me at all. In fact, he didn't even take an interest in how the doctors handled things with me. He wasn't able to go into details; he simply assumed things were done well without raising any questions. I feel like this means my father hasn't stopped loving me because he's supposed to take care of that, the medical side of things. Also, assuming things about the doctors when I told him not to interfere, I mean, my dad did everything possible to make this situation happen, to make these doctors take control of my life, even though I allowed it. He did everything possible, everything that bothered me and he knew it, to make me leave. It's as if nothing in our history had indicated anything to him, as if he had no capacity for reflection regarding the way I acted. It's as if he didn't want me with him.

It's like, ever since the treatment, I feel like he doesn't want me with him anymore, as if he wants to kick me out of being with him, and he doesn't realize it. My sister had the same feeling. It's gotten to the point where I don't recognize it. Yesterday she told me about a subject I liked, and he still hasn't sent me any materials. I feel completely abandoned by my father. In fact, I feel like he could have dealt with the treatment completely, calmly, without any problem, but he just put it aside. It's already happened I've done this several times. I notice that he's just thinking, and it's something that doesn't just happen with me. When something bothers him in his routine, he simply tries to get it out of his system, no matter who it is. Indeed, he's an extremely indolent person. Why does my father have to be like this?

I feel like my father, for a long time now, hasn't known what to do with his life. He's left it behind and simply prefers to focus on his job, which is where he does things well because all he does otherwise, given his lack of empathy, is destroy things. My father tries to get back on track, but it's always useless; he always achieves the opposite. I feel like he's never going to leave that comfort zone in any way; in fact, he never did since he became a father. None of us, let's be clear, care about his feelings, let alone support him in anything. He's carrying a very heavy burden, although that's also because he doesn't want anyone to interfere. Indeed, my dad will never get out of that, and hoping for change is unnecessarily giving me hope.

This same reasoning applies to my mother. That is to say, she will never leave, like my father, her job, her family, the prison walls. She's only interested, and since I was a child, it's always been that way: calm. This is the ultimate goal for both of us, and nothing more than that goal, using the tools that belong only to them and nothing more than theirs. Indeed, I recognize that I do this; however, I deny that it's my reality, given that when I leave my comfort zone, I seek an effective way out so that I can be supported by my routine. Unfortunately, this isn't the case with my sister, given that it's exactly the same with my parents, with the only difference being that she seeks to be Machiavellian, while I don't. My path through life is through good deeds without expecting anything in return, which in turn opens doors for me, although that's not why I do it. This is why my parents attacked me as a child, and I felt my sister was loyal to me in times of conflict. However, their preference for success was me, not my sister, since she was rejected because she was their faithful reflection.

I somehow feel that this was latent since I was a child, of chasing doctors, of going to another caregiver. It was always latent because I didn't have the tools for life, and now it's not much different. I don't have a life made up of friends; I am absolutely dependent on others, practically on others, since nothing is mine, except for some transportation issues, note-taking supplies, and electronic equipment, and I buy junk food since my father provides me with food. In fact, I feel at home, with the only difference being that I am alone and face life's challenges. However, this was already the case since I was a child, and I am also very careful not to get into trouble.

I once shared my life with a man, Martin, who suffered greatly from alcohol addiction. Unfortunately, this battle with substance abuse overshadowed our relationship, leading to a breakdown, and ultimately, our divorce. Tragically, Martin passed away from complications related to his alcoholism. Time moved on, and I found love again, remarrying a kind man named James, though my daughter Sarah, from my previous marriage, has struggled to accept him, fueling a bit of tension at home.

Sarah is soon to be wed, and while the occasion should be joyful, the preparations have surfaced some challenges concerning honoring family. Sarah expressed a desire to display a photograph of Martin at her wedding ceremony, a gesture I find touching as it acknowledges her father. However, her plans extended to having me sit next to this photo during the event, isolating my current husband, James, from sitting by my side. Even at the family table, she wished to seat me alongside the photograph with no place for James.

I voiced my objections, stating such arrangements made me uncomfortable. This response provoked a rather heated reaction from Sarah, who accused me of being selfish and dishonoring her father's memory. I had to stand firm; I suggested that should these plans go ahead, I would feel compelled to miss her wedding altogether.

Such a confrontation didn't sit well with Sarah, who branded me as uncaring, and now, other relatives have begun weighing in on the issue. The situation is becoming distressingly divisive.

If my family dilemma were part of a reality show, it might draw quite a mixed reaction from the audience. Viewers might split, with some empathizing with my position on maintaining respect and unity in my current marriage, while others might side with Sarah, seeing her actions as a tribute to her late father. Reality TV thrives on emotional conflict and difficult family dynamics, so this scenario would fit right in, perhaps stirring up discussions about family loyalty, grief, and new beginnings.

The complexities of blended family relationships and honoring past connections would likely resonate with many, sparking widespread viewer engagement and perhaps even debate over the best way to handle such sensitive family matters.

So... help me... Am I the one being unreasonable here? 😅

For over a decade, I've been married to my husband, and throughout our marriage, his parents have been a continual source of stress. Recently, their intrusive behaviors escalated. Originally living in another state, they moved closer, positioning themselves midway between us and my husband's sister, making spontaneous visits a regular occurrence. These unannounced stopovers, where they would arrive at our doorstep expecting to stay several days, have always been a major inconvenience for me.

Preparing our home for guests is no small feat, especially with children. I've asked my husband numerous times to request that his parents inform us ahead of their visits or consider staying at a hotel, but he dismisses my concerns. Since he's usually occupied with work during their stays, the bulk of host duties—and accompanying stress—falls squarely on my shoulders.

Religion adds another layer of complexity to our interactions. My in-laws are devout Christians, while I identify more loosely with my Catholic upbringing. This difference in beliefs often puts me in uncomfortable situations, especially when they insist on overt religious practices like praying before meals and engage our children in discussions about faith that I find premature and imposing.

Beyond the personal intrusions, they also depend heavily on me for technical assistance—from updating their devices to handling online forms—since they recently sold their home and moved even closer, under an hour away. Their reliance on me has grown, disrupting my schedule and personal life even further.

Fed up, I told my husband that he needs to take on more responsibility in managing his parents' needs. This led to arguments and tension, as he faced the reality of balancing work with family obligations. Recently, when his mother requested immediate help with an online bill, I set a boundary, offering to assist on a specific day. She was not pleased, and their demands continued, leading to further conflicts between my husband and me, culminating in him outrageously suggesting divorce over these disputes.

Now, imagine if my scenario were showcased on a reality show. The cameras would capture every tense interaction and dramatic family dinner. Viewers would likely be split—some empathizing with my desire for boundaries, others perhaps viewing me as unreasonable. The pressure of public opinion might even force us to address these issues more constructively, or it could escalate the drama even further. How would my husband and his parents react to the world scrutinizing their every move? Would the added visibility bring us closer to a resolution, or push us further to the brink?

I am not his parents' keeper and refuse to be treated as such. It's time for my husband and his siblings to step up and share the responsibility.

Was I wrong for setting boundaries with my in-laws?

I’ve always known I liked girls, (I’m a female), but I don’t think I’ve ever been IN LOVE with a girl. That was until I met my best friend. There’s something about her that captivates me in a way I can’t explain, and I can tell it’s not just in a platonic light. Sometimes I get the urge to just touch her, kiss her, be as close to her as possible. I’m typically not a clingy or even remotely touchy friend. I’m only like that in relationships. Speaking of, I have a boyfriend…and she has a girlfriend (sort of)…which makes the entire situation 1000x worse. I feel so guilty because I love my boyfriend and he treats me so good. I’ve been with him for 2 years and it’s the most healthy and fulfilling relationship I’ve ever been in, but I can’t help that I feel this way. I’ve tried to suppress it and it feels like the harder I try the worse it gets. Like I said before, she has a girlfriend that she’s also been with for a while (although they’re currently broken up but likely getting back together because they still talk). There’s this dull ache I feel when she talks about her girlfriend, but I know she loves her dearly and I would never want to ruin that. I would also never want to ruin our friendship because she’s an AMAZING friend. It just haunts me every day. I needed to get it off of my chest because I’m too embarrassed to tell a friend. Also, the more I think about the fact that I do have feelings for her, the more I actually want to and feel this extreme urge to explore my sexuality more, because I’ve never actually been with or done anything with a female, and I’ve always wanted to. What do I do? Someone please give me some sort of advice. Thank you.

I anonymously shared a story here a few days ago about being in a relationship that felt toxic and left me feeling like I was going crazy. I blamed myself a lot, only to realize that, by attempting to fix a relationship in such a broken state and with such a bad history, I was doing myself a disservice. I talked with close friends and made my resolve. I can't leave the toxic relationship right now because of a dependency issue. I will be leaving as soon as I get back my independence. I am making plans already to how I will go about saving up the money and running away without warning. My partner could change and be the person they always should of been, but then that would be far too late for me. It's been 4 years and I feel all the time I had wasted just to feel in the dating stages again for the 8 time or so. I am here to seek advice. I don't want anyone in running away from to suspect anything about me leaving. How to I cope with playing pretend all day and being in tears at night? I feel like I'm not myself anymore and with lots of anxiety about being found out too early. Thank you for taking the time to read this and share perspectives with me.

Recently I've been feeling really crappy; I've been getting a lot of headaches, a huge loss of appitite, and I've constantly felt like I was going to faint. I brought this up with my mom and mentioned how I'm probably anemic (since I've had multiple blood tests done to show that I have an iron deficency and I show an alarming amount of the symptoms), however, she just said it was because I didn't eat and I belived her. But then school started and I was getting up and down and whatnot a lot more and suddenly I'm literally fighting to not pass out in my algebra class and get trampled by the greasy football kids. So far, it's been happening for multiple days and I've also been losing sleep. My mom always blames the symptoms on things like me not getting enough exersise or not eating (both are not possible though as I live in a very mountain-y area and I have to constantly walk up steep hills at my school to get to some classes, and I HAVE been eating). It's not new either, II have been expiriancing these things for a long time, even though it's more recently they're starting to get worse.

This isn't really the only time she's done stuff like this though. for a long time I struggled with anxiety and she had said it was 'normal for my age' but when an actual doctor looked at my anxiety they said it was extremely high for someone my age, to which my mom agreed to like she agreed the whole time and only put me in therapy after that. She's also doing the same for the fact that I can;t sleep and refusing to let me go on any sort of medication for my anxiety or inability to sleep, when these are things I have been serriously struggling with since I was in the third grade. It just kinda feels like she doesn't belive me whenever I say something is wrong or ask for her help with that type of thing. I love her a lot and she's amazing, but I really wish that she would listen to me for once because it feels terrible when a doctor has to tell her something I've been telling her for ages for her to be concerned or just listen.

i have been working for about ten years now and it feels like i have been failing for ten years straight, i am a woman in my thirties and when i started i thought i was gonna be smart and study sociology because i liked reading random stuff and arguing about society, turns out i sucked at it and failed hard, exams, papers, motivation, all trash, so i dropped out and since then i just bounce around jobs with no qualifications like some kind of walking warning sign, retail, call centers, cleaning, a bakery once where i burned bread and somehow managed to annoy everyone, offices where i was told i was “not a good fit”, warehouses where they said i was too slow, and every time it ends the same way, polite meeting, fake smiles, “we’re not satisfied with your performance”, and me nodding like yeah sure makes sense, i never keep a job long enough to feel secure and i can’t even argue because deep down i know they’re right, i mess things up, forget stuff, misunderstand simple instructions, people say “it’s common sense” and i just stare at them like ok guess i missed that class, and now ten years later my cv looks like a joke and i don’t even bother lying anymore because what’s the point.

at home it’s not better and i don’t mean in a dramatic way, just facts, i suck at basic adult stuff, my kitchen skills are basically pasta and regret, everything i try to cook ends up bland or burned or both, i follow recipes and still mess them up like i’m actively trying to fail, my place is a mess most of the time, not hoarder level but enough that i avoid inviting people over, laundry piles, random papers, dust i keep ignoring, i tell myself i’ll clean on sunday and then sunday comes and i just scroll on my phone and feel tired for no clear reason, relationships are another disaster zone, i had a few boyfriends over the years, nothing long, nothing stable, they usually start nice and then they get bored or annoyed or say i’m distant or too negative, one literally told me “you don’t seem to like anything”, which hurt but also felt accurate, i don’t have some tragic breakup story, it’s more like slow fading and mutual relief, family is worse because there’s history and expectations, i don’t have a good relationship with anyone there, phone calls are awkward, visits are rare, and every conversation feels like a silent audit of my failures, job, love, money, everything, and i leave feeling smaller than before.

i’m not writing this to be dramatic or to fish for pity, it’s more like an inventory, when you lay it all out it’s kind of impressive how consistently bad i am at everything, work, love, home, family, even hobbies don’t stick, i start stuff and quit, gym, drawing, learning a language, all dead after a few weeks, people say “everyone has strengths” but i honestly don’t see mine, maybe being self aware, maybe being honest, or maybe that’s just another excuse, i read quotes like “failure is part of success” or “you just haven’t found your thing yet” and they sound nice but also empty when you’re ten years in and still lost, one therapist once said i should “reframe my narrative” and i nodded and never went back, because reframing doesn’t change the facts, i am bad at things and people notice, maybe i’m just average and expecting too much, or maybe i really do suck more than most, i don’t know, i keep asking myself and now i’m asking you, is there a point where you stop saying it’s bad luck and start admitting you’re the problem; how many chances does a person get before the pattern is just who they are?

I’m a father to a pair of lively 6-year-old twins, and my partner is a dedicated stay-at-home mom who has recently embraced the whole earthy, organic lifestyle. She is deep into everything from essential oils to banning all processed foods. She used cloth diapers when the kids were smaller and is completely against conventional choices. Initially, I supported it because it all seemed in line with promoting a healthier way of living, which obviously I want for our children. However, it’s starting to escalate to points I hadn’t anticipated.

Currently, the biggest struggle we’re facing is about the education of our twins. My wife is adamant they should be homeschooled. She labels the public schooling system as “toxic” and argues our kids will merely become “conformists” if they attend. She’s even found support and camaraderie within her network of like-minded parents who homeschool, which has only fueled her resolve. Despite my concerns about the practicality of homeschooling twins while maintaining a well-rounded education, she dismisses any alternative discussion out of hand.

She’s fearful of bullying in public schools and anxious about losing influence over what they learn. I’m just not sold on the idea that she can maintain an effective homeschooling schedule.

During the summer, I hoped she’d develop a structured plan or routine to test out her homeschool approach. Instead, it’s been a mix of different teaching philosophies and intermittent classes with other homeschooled children, leaving our kids often unengaged and visibly lagging.

Regrettably, I enrolled the twins in public school without her agreement, convinced it was in their best interest. When I informed her, she felt utterly betrayed and lamented that I was undermining her position as their mother. She accused me of lacking trust in her parenting abilities, which isn’t my intention—I just worry she’s underestimated the demands of homeschooling.

The first school week passed with her determined to prove the kids were unhappy, though, from what I could see, they enjoyed their experience, making new friends and taking to their teacher. Yet, she is insistent they’re only pretending, to not disappoint me.

Now, she is considering pulling them out mid-year to take up homeschooling again, but I feel I need to stand firm on this. I believe public school suits them better at this point. Despite her accusations and feeling increasingly like the villain in her story, my priority lies in what I consider best for our children’s future and education.

If this were to unfold in a reality show, I can only imagine the public voting on each decision, probably analyzing our parenting choices and maybe even questioning our relationship dynamics over this schooling debate. Sometimes, that kind of scrutiny might offer new perspectives, or it could just intensify the drama.

Am I wrong for signing up the twins for public school without her agreement? Should I have approached it differently?

not my typical post this is a horror but no option for horror

this is chapwr one lmk what u guys think

Chapter One — The Hollow Tree

I ran but she caught me when the moon slipped behind the clouds and the world went silent.

Her grip closed around my ankle with a strength that belonged to graves and forgotten things. I fell hard, the breath knocked from my lungs, my palms sinking into the cold mulch of the forest floor. Dead leaves clung to my skin like the hands of the unburied, and for one hopeless moment I imagined that I, too, was sinking—downward—into the dark earth they all returned to.

A low hum trembled through the soil. A voice without words. A summons.

I twisted to look behind me.

I should not have.

She emerged from the dark like a memory that should have died centuries ago—long limbs bending in wrong directions, bones clicking against each other like rosary beads in restless hands. Her hair, long and dripping, veiled most of her face, though the smallest sliver of a grin stretched beneath it, white as moonlit marble and sharp as split stone.

The forest held its breath.

Even the wind dared not speak.

“Please,” I whispered, though my voice felt like it belonged to someone already fading.

Her head tilted. Not with mercy—no creature of mercy would be found in this place—but with recognition. As though she had been waiting, patient and starving, for the moment I would return.

The stories had warned me. My grandmother’s voice echoed, faint and trembling, from the deepest corners of childhood: Do not run from the Hollow Woman. She will come faster. Do not speak to her. She will hear you for a century. Do not look back. She is always closer than you think.

Yet I had done all three.

Her fingers tightened, cold as river stones, and she dragged me across the earth toward the hollow tree ahead—a towering corpse of a once-mighty oak, its trunk split open by some ancient and merciless storm. The gap gaped like a mouth, the inside impossibly dark, impossibly deep, as though it tunneled straight into the underworld.

The closer we drew, the more the forest changed. The trees bowed inward, crooked like mourners at a funeral. A smell seeped from the hollow—wet soil, rotting bark, and beneath it something sweet, like overripe fruit left too long in the sun.

“No,” I gasped, clawing at the ground. My nails scraped through moss and root, catching on stones slick with dew. My body obeyed terror’s instinct, but my mind was trapped in the slow, creeping dread that had haunted me since I first heard her voice two nights ago.

It had come with the storm.

I had been lying in my grandmother’s abandoned house—our ancestral ruin—when the lightning split the sky and the walls groaned like a living thing. A whisper curled through the cracks in the floorboards, thin as winter breath: Come back to me.

I thought it was grief. Or loneliness. Or the house settling around its last inhabitant.

But then the whisper came again.

And again.

And last night, when the moon was whole and bright, I saw her standing beneath the oak tree at the edge of the forest, her shadow stretching longer than her body should allow.

She had been waiting.

“Not yet,” I murmured, desperate, choking on soil as I fought against her grasp. “Please—not yet.”

For the first time, she paused.

Her grip, though unyielding, stilled. Slowly, achingly slowly, her face lifted, and beneath the curtain of her tangled hair I saw the hollow where her eyes should have been—deep, shadowed pits that seemed to draw in the light around them.

When she spoke, it was not with a voice but with a sound like roots cracking beneath frozen ground.

“You left me.”

My heart stuttered. A coldness spread through my chest, not the fear she inflicted but something older, deeper, something that knew her.

Because I had left her.

I didn’t understand why or how—but the moment she spoke, the truth whispered beneath my memory like something long buried scratching at the coffin lid.

“I don’t remember,” I whispered, and my own words tasted wrong, as if they were stolen from someone else’s mouth.

She dragged me another inch toward the hollow tree.

The moon finally slipped from behind the clouds then, its pale, shivering light spilling across us. For a moment—just a moment—she stopped moving. Her body stiffened. Her smile dropped into a grim line carved of stone.

The moonlight touched her skin, and she recoiled as though burned.

I felt her grip loosen.

Only a little.

Only enough.

With a cry torn raw from my throat, I twisted sharply, kicking with all the panic of a creature half-dead and unwilling to finish the job. My heel struck something soft—her face, perhaps—and her grip faltered.

I scrambled backward, breath ragged, legs shaking so violently they barely obeyed me. She hissed, a sound like a dying wind through hollow places.

But she did not lunge.

She watched.

The moonlight kept her rooted.

I staggered to my feet. Pain lanced up my knee. Blood soaked into my sock. Yet I ran—not with hope, but with the terror of someone who knows the night is far from over.

Behind me, her voice seeped through the trees like mist:

“When the moon dies, you are mine again.”

And above the forest canopy, the clouds thickened—slowly smothering the light that protected me.

I know am like her. That's actually they main reason i can't stand her. Cause She thinks she sooo good and i'm the dirt under her feet but we're so much like each other. Better yet. She think we're not similiar at all and even openly said she dislikes me. Since i was like 7. Which f you. But also guess what? You're exactly like me. I know i'm Just as bad if not worse. I've been aware of that since forever. since she does nothing but remind me how bad and horrible i am. I've tried addressing this stuff to her. But to her? This Is normal. All the messed up stuff She does Is normal cause "She had It worse." And She Just gets worse. Maybe stewing in hate won't help. But since i can't talk to her since she won't listen. And i can't leave right now, venting and ignoring her Is the only thing i can do. (When i'll be able to leave i will. Even if just to get a break from her.) And honestly i think i have the whole right to be mad and hate her for wounds she caused. And i know for a fact what she does isn't right and i'm tired of pretending It Is. She doesn't deserve It. Cause she's not only horrible to me, and she's not only horrible to every since animal she "saved" once she gets bored and tired of them. She's horrible to others of our family too. She Just makes strangers thinks she's this adorable little princess. And yeah she did have It worse. But guess what? She stayed, for people who didn't care about her. She stayed and stewed in hate her whole Life and brought me with her. And now she's giving all that hate to me. I have the whole right to hate what she did and nothing will change my mind. Since realisticly speaking. I'll never be able to tell any of this, She never listens anyway. I am like her. A lot. But i'm trying to improve. I'm trying to be better. I am a bad person. But i don't scream at others day and night about minimal issues i brought uppon my self. I don't torture others for every single mistake they ever made. I don't "ban" crying cause it's not a good enough reason. I don't hurt others the way she does. She's stuck in the fantasy that she's perfect and above everyone else and She always will be. And i refuse to forgive her for that. ever.

As a stay-at-home mom with two kids and a retired mother-in-law living with us, my wife has always relied on my income as the sole provider. Lately, financial strain has increased due to my mother-in-law's spending habits. She often adds expensive items to the grocery cart without thinking, resulting in $500 bills from a single store visit, and then proceeds to another store the next day for a $100 shop. Additionally, she keeps our home excessively warm in the winter, often leaving doors and windows open, leading to heating bills between $600 and $900.

A while back, a water line leak significantly increased our water bill. It turns out my mother-in-law had known about this issue for over a year but hadn't mentioned it. The tipping point came recently when she used my wife's card at McDonald's for a $30 purchase and later bought $300 worth of unnecessary items like $35 lunch bags, $20 phone cords, and $90 headphones.

Fed up, I've decided to establish a separate bank account for my earnings, to which only I have access. My wife can still use our money as needed, but she'll have to inform me so I can transfer it to her.

If this scenario were part of a reality show, imagine the audience's reaction to such revelations. It would likely stir up a mix of shock and sympathy, perhaps drawing attention to the importance of communication and financial boundaries within families.

I wil ltry to be short and clear :)

Is it wrong that I'm thinking of skipping my family's upcoming trip to Europe? Originally, I was on board when the idea came up, but after giving it some thought, I'm leaning towards not going. I prefer traveling with my fiancee, especially since we've discussed taking a significant trip together. Although I grew up traveling with my family almost every year until I was about 22, those experiences were mostly within the United States or North America, featuring low-key vacations with a few adventurous activities thrown in. Since everyone in my family is working full-time, our trips together have become quite infrequent.

The issue is, one of my parents is likely to take my refusal pretty hard. It could become a lingering topic of conversation and might even cause ongoing tension. While I cherish the bond I share with my family, I feel that at this point in my life, I’d rather explore new places with my fiancee. Am I being unreasonable?

Imagine if this scenario were to unfold on a reality TV show. How would the viewers react? Likely, there’d be a mix of support for my desire to travel with my fiancee, and sympathy for my family, particularly the parent who feels hurt by my decision. The dramatic element of family discord might even become a focal point of an episode, bringing its own twists and viewer engagement.

I feel like I don't like this new family I have. The term "family" and not being a family but rather a group of strangers, disconnected, are the same thing. It can't be that the term "family" meant the union of individuals where each one is in their own world and barely concerned about the other. It can't be that that was family for me. It can't be.

I came to consider family a group of individuals who had a vaguely close connection with me and with each other, practically only organizationally and moderately. I feel like I called them family, and I find it shameful. If I had told them we were family, they would surely have called me insane or something like that or demanded that I report this to a psychiatrist in some way. It can't be.

What I considered "family" was the height of remoteness from what we could consider a union of loved ones. In what was my biological family, we established our family through violence; that was the denial of our distance. We were all complete strangers to each other. What the hell were we doing living among strangers? No wonder we knew how to navigate the streets so easily, because after all, we didn't differentiate between the street and our homes. The streets seemed simpler, and that's why we were somewhat more adept at socializing there. However, there was always a strange quality about us.

It can't be that my family was a gathering of complete strangers where there was no love, sex only served to speed things up. I mean, what kind of family do I come from, for God's sake? Anyone who knows me with this story runs away because of the consequences it might have on me—something that apparently surprises one of the doctors who examined me because I didn't react the same way. I feel like it can't be that I came from an environment where there was no affection, no evidence of organization, but quite the opposite, and that everything that contradicted us as a family was precisely what we considered family. But what kind of world did we live in, for God's sake?

Did no one notice the friction we had with everyone else? Why were we always ostracized? Did no one question why people treated us the way they did? What kind of world did we live in? We were completely isolated from others, at the mercy of our prejudices, with no one daring to go beyond them, except me. In fact, my psychotherapist saw me as the only opportunity to break out. No one questioned why people acted the way they did toward us, what it was about us that made that happen, why we treated other people the way we did, if it even existed. The theory that we had come to Earth to suffer seemed ridiculous to me and was implicit in the family narrative.

I insist: What kind of thing did we have at home, for God's sake? We had nothing healthy. We couldn't go outside. Prejudices blinded us at all costs. We lived to survive in society at the expense of irrational fears. Our anxieties isolated us, and we believed them to be true. In fact, no one noticed that even among ourselves, we acted out exaggerated dramas. It can't be that we can only be among ourselves and that the people who touch us are violent, humiliating people—in other words, family members of the same ilk as us, where emotion blinds, and there's no balance at all with reason.

How hard was it for me to see this reality? I realized this was happening five years ago, and precisely because I saw a pattern among the girls I was looking for that was repeated, and people said it was a matter of letting it go. Everyone told me I was exaggerating; however, I had managed to be precise; I had found the point that would help me escape such situations. How many of my family members are still trapped in a strange, out-of-this-world world? For God's sake, I prefer to be with lucid people, given that these blind, blind people purposefully run over others. I was simply overrun with them. And the worst part is that this gang of beings lived off wanting me to be like them at all costs. That was their philosophy, because that way I would be safe, better, under their support, as if they were the perpetual caretakers. These beings are very adept at taking advantage of others' prejudices and social profiles. However, I always knew there was a way to bring them down, as I did.

How far would I go with these beings, for God's sake, if I didn't realize things? What kind of partner would I get to put a stop to this? What escalations of violence would I go to? And my parents despised psychoanalysis, psychology, and all that. It's something that fills me, it angers me, because they wanted to serve as an obstacle to me going out into the world and seeing them from there. Even my mother, quite bluntly, expressed this to me. They tried to hide this truth from me for their own innocence Conscience, and that's something that bothers me a lot.

How much did I suffer being part of this? When did I suffer living within this family's standards? It was the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. Furthermore, outsiders took advantage of the weakness they had implicated me in thanks to my rebelliousness as a child, which always persisted given that it made my father realize several things, made me have values, a series of things that he later betrayed. But thanks to him betraying his spirit under the influence of my mother, I didn't want to end up like him. That's why I am where I am today; something I know thanks to this writing.

How many times did they not want to stop me from writing? Stop me from researching? Even my psychologist served as an obstacle. Why did my own psychologist serve as an obstacle? The same people, my friends, everyone. I discovered that they were all made up of dysfunctional families, and no one had even realized this. I was alone in such a situation. In such an endeavor. Who supported me? Not even the girl I identified with at the time wanted to support me. It was all about staying with the family when I was going in the opposite direction. It was pesos, after pesos, after pesos. Even at my workplace, they tried to exploit that story, even at a university, but frankly, I made them pay by making them see the reflection of their actions before the law, which was quick to issue its immediate protection. I don't understand how there can be people who believe I'm going to treat them as family or something like that, something I didn't do internally, with my real family members, when I'm not going to do it. In fact, given the simple fact of abusing it, it already implies acting with restraint but without harming, given that it would be an extra effort that will be costly for my family member.

This society almost buried me with my family! Almost! And my family and my surroundings support me! But I didn't allow it. For some time now, I've been looking for tools to support myself by any means necessary. I wasn't going to allow myself to go under the sad fate that awaited me, where I even saw my own death. I deserved to live, I deserved to live what I loved, not at the expense of weight, of a darkness imposed on me by my family, under a clear deception that was the murderer in my life. I deserved a better life. That's why I fought so hard.

For God's sake, how much abuse did I endure because of my family's imposed interests? How much rudeness? How much mistreatment for not being well-educated, and which people responded with simply hidden and undisputed retaliation? How many moments of horrific loneliness? How many times did I need someone to be with me? How many games did my mind not play to survive? How many mechanisms did my psyche not use to move forward? How much writing? How much speaking into a microphone? How many walks? How many strange exercises? How many eccentric creative endeavors? How many betrayals? How many disappointments? I just wanted to stop once and for all. I wanted this journey to finally end. Besides, nothing's worse than getting used to being with your family and then being without them and still having all that weight on your shoulders.

Ugh, this is so annoying. I swear, I don’t even want to think about him but my brain just won’t shut up. Like, I’ll be doing the most random thing—scrolling on my phone, eating cereal, literally trying to do anything else—and boom, there he is. Just pops in my head like some kinda glitch. And it’s not even always something big, sometimes it’s just like… the way he smiled that one time, or how he said my name in this certain way that made my stomach do that dumb little flip thing. And then I sit there, thinking about it, replaying it in my head like a freaking movie, like why am I like this??? And the worst part is, I don’t even know if he likes me back. Like, yeah, he talks to me, yeah, he laughs at my jokes (even when they’re not funny lol) but does that actually mean anything? Or is he just nice?? I hate this, I hate not knowing, I hate how one person can just exist and suddenly I have zero control over my own thoughts anymore. Like bro, chill, I’m tryna live my life, not sit here daydreaming about some guy who probably isn’t even thinking about me rn.

And then there's the overthinking part. Like, every time we talk, I analyze everything. Did he mean something when he texted first? Why did he take five hours to respond? Did he look at me longer than normal today, or am I just insane? Like I swear, my brain should come with an off switch. And don’t even get me started on social media. One second I’m just casually checking my feed, next thing I know, I’m on his profile, scrolling waaaaay too far down, like some kinda detective, tryna figure out who that girl in his comment section is and why she’s reacting to his stories with heart emojis. And then I get mad at myself cuz why do I even care?? It’s not like we’re dating, it’s not like I have some claim over him, but still, the idea of him liking someone else makes me feel weird. And it’s so dumb because if I just knew he liked me back, all of this would be so much easier. But nope, instead I’m just stuck in this cycle of thinking, overthinking, trying to ignore him, failing miserably, then thinking about him even more. It’s honestly exhausting. Like, how do people just not care? How do people just move on with their lives and not spend half their time obsessing over every little thing?? Cuz at this point, I feel like my brain is basically holding me hostage, and the only way out is if he either confesses his undying love for me (lol as if) or I somehow figure out how to delete my feelings. Either way, I just wish I could stop thinking about him for like, one second. Is that too much to ask???

Everything for me has been so stressful. My friends at school, they can't stop bothering me every single moment of the day. Sometimes, they can't stop talking about random things that no one asked about, and theres times where they just forget I'm here. I kind of stand around every time they have a conversation, but every time a conversation actually includes me, It gets a bit boring or inappropriate. I recently got myself a boyfriend, but I wanted to keep it private and only share it between them. Of course, some of them can't hold a secret and told people. I got so mad, but I eventually worked it out, although I'm still really mad at her and now I feel like I can't share anything to anyone, which is usually a way that helps me deal with things. My boyfriends friends as well, they get really annoying and make weird comments every single time. I just don't feel like I have proper relationships with anyone.

I also do competitive sports, and I'm moving houses, so I also have to change sport clubs. I did a few trial lessons, and I hate that I can't talk to anyone. Everyone already knows each other, and I'm just.. there. I used to be so excited about all these things and now, I just feel broken. I have to leave all my current friends, who I have known for around 2-4 years, and none of them are coming with me. Every part of my social life is kind of falling apart and I just need help. I don't want to reach out for it because when my friends find out about this and get worried, they get all clingy, which I don't like at all.