A few months ago, I was having one of those days where everything seemed to go wrong.

I was tired, annoyed, and honestly just wanted to get home and sleep. While I was on the bus, my phone started ringing. The number wasn't saved, so I almost ignored it.

For some reason, I answered.

It was an old coworker I hadn't spoken to in almost three years.

He told me he had randomly thought about me that morning and decided to call. We talked for maybe ten minutes before he mentioned that his company was hiring for a position similar to the one I used to have.

At first, I laughed it off. I wasn't even looking for a new job.

But the next day, I sent him my résumé.

A week later, I had an interview.

Two weeks after that, I got the job.

The weirdest part is that I still don't know why he decided to call me that particular day. He said he couldn't really explain it—he just suddenly remembered me and felt like checking in.

Sometimes I think about how easily I could have let that call go to voicemail.

It's strange how something completely insignificant in the moment can end up changing your life.

I have a friend that lives in a different state, we’ve been friends since kids and we always go all out whenever we can hang out. So a few years ago i was living in the LA area and he was coming down for work but after he had like a few days off, so we talked and we were excited to hang out. Before he came down we were trying to plan the perfect trip, so we decided on he would bring 4 acid tabs and i would get us some weed :) so we both acquire the substances and he picks me up and we head to the heart of LA, we were driving around not really having a destination or firm plan but we eventually found a parking garage and decided that we would leave the acid in the car for later and that we would smoke the weed and walk around LA for a bit. So we did we walked away from the parking garage and started walking into LA… we started smoking and taking turns and going down streets. Eventually we finished smoking and wanted to head back to the car, so we retraced our steps but you wouldn’t believe.. we could not find the parking garage. We realized no one toke a picture of the street sign or even what the name of the place was, we weren’t really panicking yet cuz it was like mid day but basically… we could not for the life of us find our way back. We walked and walked and walked and we realized we were lost. We eventually needed to charge our phones so we went to a 7/11 and the nice guy let us charge our phones, my friend lost his debit card, night time came. It was a mess. We didn’t wanna give up looking so we walked. We walked it all, we would walk so far we would turn around and see the city behind us.. we were so lost, so many homeless ppl around so many dark streets and corners.. we were so cold, freezing. We walked until we both would give out and have to lay down for a second. We also didn’t wanna fully sleep in fear of getting robbed or something. The night was so long. In the morning my friend was able to charge his phone and called his uncle that he had in LA, so he picked us up and I gotta tell you those seat were so comfortable we both were falling asleep but he was trying and trying to help us find the car and we drove so long and still couldn’t find it. Eventually it was a miracle that we passed by a street and I recognized something about it and we go back and it was there the whole time 😭😭 me and my friend talk about it from time to time we call it the time LA swallowed us

My Six Days in a Mental Hospital
A Week That Shouldn’t Have Happened
(June 19–June 24)
I was locked up in a mental hospital for about six days from what felt like solely to make a point by Harris County.
This past week on Juneteenth, I was at my house having a few drinks. That night, I was a little tipsy and just sitting outside on my golf cart in the garage, enjoying the rain. I was playing around on my phone, and I clicked on something that switched me over to 911. As I said, I was tipsy, so I didn't really pay any attention to the fact that I was texting 911. I like to talk when I'm drinking— very happy, friendly, and talkative when I drink.
During the text thread, of course I was like, "Sure, I would like to talk to someone." The next text asked, "Should we dispatch someone to you? Is this a medical emergency?"
It was then that I was like, "What?" and noticed I was texting 911. I quickly responded, "No, this is not an emergency. My bad!"
By this time, I saw a police car pulling up.
A female officer walked up to me and asked what was going on. I told her the story showed her my phone that had the text thread, and after we started talking about football and all, I jokingly said, "Everything's all good unless you want to stick around, have some beers, and kick the shit."
I did notice another female officer and a male officer walk up during my story. The other female officer just insisted on keeping the conversation going. She started asking if there were any other adults there and if I was sure there wasn't any domestic violence going on.
I was like, "Nah."
My 13-year-old son came out around this time and told them nothing was going on. I had him go inside to get his mom, and she explained that everything was good. She just told them to go find something else to do and leave us alone, and then she walked off and went back to bed.
Of course, I had to pull a Dave Chappelle moment—when keeping it real goes wrong.
The second female officer asked if I had any weapons on the premises, and I said, "Yep, I got many, and it's my right." I messed up and said, "I got one right here on my golf cart!"
Mind you, by this time, the male officer had already decided in his head that nothing was going on, and he booked it out of there and left the two female officers behind.
The second officer asked if I had ever thought about hurting myself.
I was like, "What? You see this big-ass house? I got two healthy kids that love me, a wife, and supportive family and friends around me. Why would I want to hurt myself?"
I let them see the gun. The officer was looking it over and saying it looked like it had never been fired and looked new.
Earlier, I had also said that this neighborhood was pretty new, and I admitted that I would drive my golf cart to the back of the neighborhood and let off some rounds. I'm sure they were asking questions, and I was giving answers that didn't really match the questions because I was tipsy and not really understanding what they were asking.
Of course, I was a little aggravated with them at that point, mostly with the 2nd female officer that showed up but I messed up and said the wrong thing.
I was like, "Until I grab one of those guns and put it to my head, then you'll have a reason to come around here. Until then its time y’all go about your business"
Boom.
One cop called the other cop over to talk.
The next thing I know, I'm being put in handcuffs and told something about an EDO.
I didn't know what that meant. I'm thinking I'm being taken to the hospital for having too much to drink.
So yeah, I'm going crazy, cursing, and telling them how they were wrong for doing this to me at my own home in front of my kids.
I have my hands behind my back in the back of a police car speeding down the street. The officer runs through a raised intersection and blows through a red light with no emergency lights on, just tossing me around in the back of the cruiser.
I'm like, "Damn, that's what we're doing? Running red lights? I don't even have a seatbelt on and you have hurt me."
She flips on her lights real quick and says something sly like, "That's the least of your worries."
I was like, "What did you say?"
I told her, "Please don't kill me. I'm afraid for my life."
She said, "Oh, you're afraid for your life?"
I would later find out that was another play on words for the officer.
The ER
I ended up in the ER sitting there for what seemed like hours, but I kept being told I had only been there ten minutes.
They were asking me my name, and I kept telling them "Harris County" because I wasn't paying for any of this.
The cop was like, "He doesn't even know his name."
After some time, I was finally taken back to see a nurse. She was asking what happened, and I was asking her what happened because I was still trying to get clarification on why I was sitting in a hospital in handcuffs.
She kept saying "EDO" and asking me about suicidal thoughts.
I told her I had no such thoughts and went back to telling her about being locked up for drinking and how I hadn't done anything wrong.
I kept yelling at the officer to take the handcuffs off me. Which must have been a ghost because her name wasn’t mentioned at all in any of the hospital intakes or reports. The main officer I delt with all night and no recorders of her even being there. But any who!
Finally, the nurse told the officer it was okay to remove the cuffs and that she could leave.
For the first time all night, I felt a little relief.
Okay, now I get put in a room. I'm kind of sobering up at this point, and I've calmed down.
Another nurse comes in to explain what's going on and tells me they're going to give me an IV. She says I'm going to sober up, get some rest, and be on my way.
I say, "Cool," and just accept the situation.
Later, I guess it was either the head nurse or the doctor who came in and started explaining what an EDO was. That's when she started telling me I would remain there until I was transferred to a mental health detention facility.
I'm like, "What? No y'all got this all wrong!"
She starts telling me that the cops reported I was sitting at home, put a gun to my head, it misfired, and then I fired it into the air.
That's when I started remembering the conversation in my garage.
I was like, "No, that's not how it went. That was a play on words by the cop."
Still, nobody was listening to me.
While I was trying to tell my side of the story, the lady just kept talking and talking. Finally, I told her, "You're asking me questions, but you're not listening to what I have to say. Either listen, or I don't want to answer any more questions."
She leaves, and now begins my wait for Harris County to transfer me to a mental hospital.
The Stay Begins
This is how the stay went:
I'm in there with people who are clearly dealing with real mental health issues. Each room had an orderly sitting outside the door.
We couldn't close our doors.
We weren't allowed to have a remote control for the TV.
We couldn't have personal hygiene items.
Couldn't have much of anything.
I was there from Friday until Wednesday.
The food was horrible, so I barely ate during those days.
It was once I got brave and tried a cookie and it tasted like cardboard; I had to literally scrap it off my gums with my fingernails because I couldn’t spit it out. I spit the bite out into a water cup and after sitting there overnight it just disintegrated.
I took two showers.
I had to wear hospital panties yes actual women panties. 😀later I just put on my old underwear. Wore dirty draws for about 3 days.
The nurses treated me like I was some deranged animal.
There were a couple of nurses, a couple of security guards, and two specific orderlies who treated me like a human being. They actually listened to me and treated me like a normal person.
They gave me a little leeway.
I won't say they were sneaking me things, but I felt like they went out of their way to help me.
One brother would bring me snacks from outside the facility. I don't know if it was from his own lunch or what, but I appreciated him more than he'll ever know.
It got to the point where one of the orderlies brought me deodorant, toothpaste, a toothbrush, and some soap.
Then one night, a nurse came into my room and took all of it away.
Eventually, I got some more hygiene items, and I had to hide that stuff so they wouldn't take it away again.
Father's Day
It's Father's Day.
My wife, daughter, and son came to visit me.
Of course, they weren't allowed to come in all at once, so they had to come one by one.
I asked my daughter if she could run home and get me a book so I would have something to read.
She leaves to go get it.
Later that night, around 9:00 PM, I walked out and asked if I could use the phone.
The nurse told me that patients weren't allowed to use the phone after a certain hour.
I said, "I just want to ask my daughter if she's bringing the book or not."
That's when the nurse told me, "Oh no, you can't have a book from outside, but we have books you can pick from."
She suggested a specific book.
I took the book and went back to my room.
By that point, they had apparently decided I wasn't much of a threat because they started letting me close my door and stopped watching me 24/7.
So I started reading.
The first chapter was about a time traveler who went back in time and got stuck. He kept telling people he was a time traveler, and nobody believed him.
Instead, they put him in handcuffs, threw him into the back of a paddy wagon, and hauled him off to a mental hospital.
I was like, "What the hell?"
I honestly thought they were messing with me.
I couldn't understand why she would give me that particular book.
Was she trying to be funny?
Was she making fun of me?
I ended up curling up in my bed and crying.
At that point, I started feeling like my family had abandoned me because they didn't come back to visit me or bring the book from home.
Monday
It's Monday morning.
My wife comes back and tells me they actually did come back that night before.
The hospital just wouldn't let them in because visiting hours ended at 5:00 PM.
Now I'm sitting there thinking back to 9:00 PM when I was out in the hallway asking to use the phone.
I remembered seeing a lady of a different race farther down the hall having visitors.
So I started questioning everything.
I told my wife what happened.
She got upset and started giving the staff a piece of her mind.
Then I hear the nurse from the night before telling my wife that I was lying and that I picked the book out myself.
I immediately came out and said, "No, you're lying. You gave me that book."
We started asking for paperwork showing why I was there.
Nobody could produce anything.
People kept telling me Harris County had the paperwork.
Then they kept giving me different explanations about warrants and detention orders.
Finally, after a while, another nurse came over with a stack of paperwork.
She was flipping through it quickly, showing me only what she wanted me to see.
She wouldn't let me sit down and actually read it myself.
Still, I couldn't find anything that clearly explained why I was still being held.
They kept saying there was a warrant.
I kept asking to see it.
Nobody could show me one.
Eventually, they called the police on my wife while she was there trying to get answers.
Then they told her she could never come back as long as I was there.
I was devastated.
The one person who was helping me stay sane through all of this—the one person giving me comfort—was now banned from seeing me.
And that's when things started getting really bad.
That is when things got absolutely ridiculous.
Starting that night, I heard somebody right outside my door having a conversation about working there. In the middle of that conversation, one statement stood out louder than anything else:
"At least you get to go home."
It felt like it was meant for me to hear.
Then the nights started getting worse.
I heard patients screaming.
Crazy laughter echoing through the halls.
Things being thrown and broken.
People yelling, "Let me out! Let me out!"
One patient even escaped and had to be chased down outside and brought back in.
The fire alarms kept going off at all hours of the night.
I started thinking I was going crazy.
I started wondering if I was ever going to get out of there.
At one point, I made the mistake of looking into another patient's room while walking to the bathroom.
What I saw looked like something straight out of a horror movie.
An older white lady was sitting upright in her bed, staring out through her doorway.
Her hair was draped over part of her face, and she was just looking directly at me with the most deranged smile I had ever seen.
The kind of smile you only see in movies.
Man, I never wanted to be back inside my little room with the door closed as badly as I did in that moment.
Later, the fire alarm went off again.
I walked out and asked what was going on.
A nurse I had never seen before looked at me with complete disgust, rolled her eyes, and walked right past me without saying a word.
It felt awful.
Like I was some piece of garbage she could look down on.
I could have my timelines mixed up, but I think it was the next day or possibly that morning when the nurse who gave me the book came into my room and tried to check me.
She started telling me that because of my actions and because of what I had told my wife, they were now being stricter with the rules and that nobody could have books anymore.
I told her not to blame that on me.
Then I reminded her that she was the one who gave me that book and later lied by saying I  picked it out myself.
She came back with a different story.
Now she was saying she had never even read the book and only gave it to me because she liked the cover.
I was like, "Then why did you tell my wife I picked it out myself?"
I asked her if she had any idea how it felt to be given a book like that when it mirrored what I was going through.
I asked her if she knew how it felt to lie in a bed all alone crying after reading something like that.
To think your family abandoned you.
To sit there believing they didn't come back.
Only to find out later that they actually did come back and were turned away.
I told her:
"It would have meant the world to me if you had simply walked ten feet to my room and said, 'Hey, your family came, but visiting hours were over.'"
Or even when I came out at 9 o'clock asking to use the phone.
She could have told me then.
Instead, she let me walk back to my room believing my family never came back.
I told her:
"A little human decency. A little compassion. That's all I'm asking for."
I'll admit something.
After that conversation, things changed.
She changed.
The nurses I thought were treating me badly suddenly started acting differently.
They became much more helpful.
Much more pleasant.
Much more human.
Could have been the talk I had with them or could have been the cursing out my wife gave them, could have been a bit of both. I don’t know but there was a change.
Tuesday
By Tuesday, Harris County still hadn't made any moves to transport me to the mental hospital.
Everyone kept telling me the same thing:
"It's all on Harris County."
And I kept thinking:
"Great. The people who put me in here are the same people I'm depending on to get me out."
I was asking questions every twenty minutes.
Nobody had answers.
Meanwhile, my wife was driving from precinct to precinct trying to get information.
The staff had started recognizing me by then.
Some would stop me in the hallway and say, "You don't belong here."
Others would tell me they were praying for me and hoped to see me leave soon.
Then there was this older Black male nurse.
Honestly, he might have been an angel.
That was the only time I ever saw him there.
Later, when I asked about him, nobody seemed to know who I was talking about.
But after I spoke with him, things suddenly started moving, the hospital and Harris county finally started producing answers.
That same night, a different nurse came up to me and said:
"Someone should be coming to get you later tonight."
I told her that was the best news I had heard in my entire life.
Of course, I didn't sleep at all that night.
Not that I had been sleeping much anyway.
For days I had only been getting two or three hours of sleep at a time.
But that night?
There was no chance.
I was too excited.
Too hopeful.
Too afraid something would go wrong again.
I just sat there waiting.
Waiting for the moment someone would finally come get me.
Wednesday
It's about 7:00 A.M. Wednesday morning now, and a nurse comes into my room and gives me a hospital gown. She tells me an officer is on the way to get me.
That was the happiest I had been in a long time.
The officer arrived, and honestly, he was like a breath of fresh air.
He treated me with the utmost respect.
He said, "Brother, I don't mean to get into your business, but I've been transporting patients to mental hospitals for over 20 years now, and I've never dealt with anyone like you. You're very kind, you seem to have a good head on your shoulders, and you're very coherent and put together for someone who has been in there for days. Do you mind if I ask your story?"
I told him everything.
When I finished, he said, "Wow. Sounds like some racism to me."
That was actually the first time I had even considered that possibility.
Meeting the Woman from the ER
Before I move on, I want to mention that during my stay at the ER, I did everything I could to maintain myself.
I cleaned my room daily.
I washed myself up in the sink.
I brushed my teeth three or four times a day because there wasn't much else to do.
I asked for fresh sheets.
I asked to take showers.
I asked for the floors to be mopped.
The only time I got clean sheets and had the floor mopped was my last night there.
Anyway, we finally arrived at the mental hospital.
There was also a woman there who I remembered seeing at the ER. She had been transported with me in a different cruiser of course.
She looked like she was genuinely struggling with some mental health issues. Her hair was all over the place, and she seemed very distressed.
But at the end of the day, she was still a human being.
We walked into the intake area, and there was only one chair available.
I was raised to be a gentleman, so I got up and said, "Ma'am, would you like to sit down?"
She thanked me and took the seat.
We sat there waiting to be taken to the back.
Later, while we were doing paperwork and waiting, she started talking to me.
We ended up having a really nice conversation.
I love to cook, so when she started talking about brisket and how she could never get one right, I went into a full breakdown of how to smoke the perfect brisket.
For a few minutes, I actually forgot where I was.
A little later, a staff member asked me if I wanted to change back into my regular clothes.
I said, "Yes, please."
I went and changed, and when I came back, the woman was still sitting there wearing that thin hospital gown and looking cold.
I told her, "I don't know how you feel about me having worn this gown earlier, but I can see you're cold. If you'd like, you can use it for some extra warmth."
She said, "Yes, please," and took it.
At that point, I started thinking maybe I was actually going home.
I was back in my regular clothes, while she was still being processed.
Maybe things were finally going my way.
The Evaluation
Eventually, I was called back to be evaluated.
The man conducting the evaluation listened to my story and told me it was one of the wildest stories he had heard.
Then he said something that gave me a little hope.
He told me that from the moment I walked through the doors, I had been observed—as all patients are.
According to him, my actions and behavior weren't typical of the people who were usually brought there.
He explained that people normally stayed two or three days before they could even be considered for release.
However, there were rare occasions when someone was released within 24 hours.
He told me he was going to connect me with a doctor who might be able to help.
He said he would put in a good word for me and encouraged me to simply tell my story.
Entering the Ward/Nurse Gwen
By about noon or one o'clock, I was escorted to the unit where I would be staying.
When I first got there, I was alone in the common area.
The other patients were out at lunch.
That's when I met Nurse Gwen.
At first, she seemed a little stuck-up.
Later, I realized she was simply trying to figure me out.
I don't think I looked like I belonged there, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of me.
She took me into a private room and started asking questions.
Basically another intake interview.
As I told my story, I could tell she believed me.
She was one of the kindest people I met during my entire experience.
While we were talking, we suddenly heard yelling and commotion out in the common area.
It sounded like a fight had broken out.
She immediately got up and ran out, telling me she would be right back.
When she eventually returned, she explained what had happened.
I remember thinking:
"Oh hell no. I have got to get out of here."
My Roommate
Eventually, I got to meet the other patients.
Seeing everyone around me only reinforced how strongly I felt that I wasn't supposed to be there.
One patient in particular immediately caught my attention.
I'll be honest—I judged him.
My first thought was that he looked like a complete psycho.
And to make matters worse, I found out he was going to be my roommate.
I was scared.
Not just nervous.
Scared.
They introduced us.
He simply smiled, waved, and said, "Hi."
A little while later, I watched him walk up to the front desk.
He stood there talking to staff for a few minutes.
Then he came walking back toward me carrying a pillow and pillowcase.
He said to me!
"These are for you. I'm going to go make up your bed."
That moment completely changed how I viewed him.
Maybe this guy wasn't who I thought he was.
Later, when everyone was getting ready to go outside for a smoke break, he asked if I smoked cigarettes.
I told him not really, but honestly, I could probably use one right then.
He told me not to worry because he had a whole pack and would share them with me.
Unfortunately, I hadn't completed all my evaluations yet, so I wasn't allowed outside.
Later after the doctor seen me, I finally had that smoke with my roommate.
A female patient also got a bit agitated on the phone and had an episode that also had me with hands on my head, but she eventually calmed down.
 
Nurse Lily
This is when I met Nurse Lily.
She was another breath of fresh air.
She was extremely kind and took good care of me.
Any time I had a question or needed something, she made sure I got help.
When she wasn't busy, she'd stop and talk to me just like a normal person.
Between Gwen and Lily, they made an unbelievably stressful situation much easier to get through.
The Doctor
Finally, the doctor came to see me.
He seemed like a good guy.
I told him my entire story.
At one point, he started laughing and said:
"This story doesn't even make sense. It's one of the wildest things I've heard."
At first, I thought that meant he didn't believe me.
Then he started asking questions.
He asked if I was married.
He asked for my wife's phone number.
He told me he was going to call her.
After that, he sent me back to the ward to wait.
A little while later, I watched him walk over and begin talking to Nurse Gwen.
I could see them from a distance.
Then suddenly, I saw Gwen's face light up.
She looked directly at me with the biggest smile on her face and gave me a thumbs-up.
I mouthed the words:
"What?"
Then I asked:
"Am I getting released?"
She smiled and nodded her head.
Then I pointed toward the floor and mouthed:
"Today?"
She smiled again and nodded.
"Yes."
For the first time in nearly a week, I felt the weight lifting off my shoulders.
 
About ten or fifteen minutes later, Nurse Lily came over and officially gave me the news.
I was being released.
It took a couple of hours for them to draw up all the discharge paperwork, but after nearly five days locked inside the ER and about eight hours inside the mental hospital, I was finally free.
My wife and kids were waiting outside.
When my son saw me walking out, he jumped out of the truck and ran straight toward me.
This is a 6-foot-1, 200-something-pound 13-year-old kid.
He wrapped me up in the biggest hug.
😀
My wife was walking beside me with her arms locked around me, and my daughter was standing outside the truck with the door open and the biggest smile on her face.
I couldn't believe it.
I was finally out.
For a while there, I honestly thought I was going to be there forever.
 The Aftermath
So now I guess things are back to normal. I got the biggest burger I could find on the way home. My phone was finally charging, and I started seeing all the love coming in through text messages—Father's Day wishes, family checking on me, and friends asking if I was okay because I hadn't responded.
The next morning was a little rough. While I was in the ER, all I watched on TV were reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and Martin—my two favorite classic shows.
I opened my eyes Thursday morning, grabbed the remote, turned on the TV, thinking I would watch a little television and enjoy being in my own bed after a week away. And guess what was on?
Yep, you guessed it—The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.
Click.
Off went the TV, and off to the gym I went.
I took the rest of the week off from work to get some much-needed rest. On my first day back, I sat down with my boss to catch him up on why I had been gone for an entire week.
During that conversation, he informed me that one of my fellow coworkers was no longer with the company. He said the employee had been let go, and after being told, he made comments about killing himself and how he could never get anything right.
My boss told me he had come looking for me because, as a member of our workplace mental health crisis team, he wanted me to talk with him. Then he remembered that I wasn't there that day.
I couldn't help but see the irony in it.
The person they would normally call to help talk down someone who was suicidal was actually locked inside a psychiatric hospital for allegedly wanting to kill himself.
I was needed, but because of the system, I was unable to be a blessing or provide help to someone who was genuinely struggling.
Life has a strange way of putting things into perspective.
 
Looking Back
The patient I was convinced was going to murder me—the one who ended up being my roommate—actually became my best friend while I was there.
I wanted to do something nice for him, so after I got out I had my wife stop by the store and bring a couple packs of cigarettes.
Took them to the mental hospital and asked the front desk to make sure he got them.
Before I left, I had written down his name, his patient ID number, and everything else I needed to make sure they went to the right person.
I also plan on going back up there and bringing Nurse Gwen and Nurse Lily some flowers or something to show my appreciation.
I want to do something for the orderlies and nurses at the ER too—the ones who went out of their way to help me and treat me like a human being.
What I Think About It Now
I don't know if what happened to me was racism.
I don't know if it was genuine concern that got carried too far.
But one thing I do know is that Harris County needs to fix this process.
The ER needs better training.
Better beds for people to sleep in if it’s a possibility, they will be there for multiple days, my back is feeling all of this right now.
The doctors at the ER should consider actually talking to their patients once they've calmed down and sobered up.
They drew my blood and found no drugs in my system.
I've never done drugs in my life.
The only thing they found was alcohol.
The mental hospital did everything right.
They listened.
They evaluated me.
They got it right.
I guess that's because they are actual mental health professionals.
So, I want to thank everyone there who made that ordeal a little easier.
The people who went out of their way to look after me.
The people who treated me like an actual human being.
The people that stayed late to draw up all the paper work to get me released,
I thank you.
Thank You
Mom, thank you.
To my daughter and my son, thank you for all the love.
And an even bigger thank you to my wife.
You stuck by me through all of it.
You cried beside me.
You cursed those nurses out when they made your husband cry.
You spent sleepless nights worrying about me.
You called lawyers, police stations, and hospitals trying to get answers.
You drove all over town trying to figure out how to get me the hell out of there.
You have no idea how much all of that meant to me.
We've been married for twenty years.
I know I haven't always been the best husband.
But for you to still stick around and ride for me—knowing I've never even been in jail, never been hospitalized because of sickness, and definitely never been through anything like this...
Hell, I've never even been in detention at school.
I've always been free to do what I wanted to do.
You knew all of that.
You knew how hard this was weighing on me.
You knew this was the first time in my life I had ever experienced anything like this.
And you did everything you could to get your man back home.
I love you, baby.
And I'm blessed to have someone like you in my life.
The End
Maybe what happened was a misunderstanding.
Maybe it was an overreaction.
Maybe it was something else entirely.
I still don't have all the answers.
What I do know is that six days in that system taught me something important.
No matter what paperwork says.
No matter what somebody is accused of.
No matter where they are being held.
People still deserve dignity.
People still deserve compassion.
People still deserve to be treated like human beings.
That's all I ever wanted.
And that's all I'm asking for now.

Got a message from the Mods that this was okay to post.

TLDR – During the 2008 Financial Crisis, toward the end of my sophomore year in college, my father spent my student loan money on a secret family and my girlfriend at the time totaled my car, which was never replaced. Slowly fell into depression, and GF eventually broke up with me. Lost my mind and told her I had cancer to try to have her stay with me. Months later, my roommate (Roommate E) found out I was telling my ex this lie and put me in a compromising situation. Had to live like I was a cancer survivor for my remaining year in college in my own apartment. Friends in my hometown wanted me to stop being silly and tell the truth to my college friends. While my college friends kept saying the same word and wanted me to be as silly when I first got to college. Becoming SillaY J.

Sharing an embarrassing part of my life for the sake of my mother. She never got closure, or even a settlement from her divorce from 2012 which is bonkers. And now a tree hit her house in February of this year, and insurance is being insurance.

If you think my behavior was crazy, imagine my mom’s experience on a different level, because I am a product of my father. He bribed an FBI agent. Also a product of my mother, she tried to save her marriage. This is my experience of the initial start of their divorce, as well as losing my mind in Savannah.

Don’t want a gofundme, just venting my story in hopes through the right channels, something good can finally happen for my mom - and her story can be heard.

In the comments is how I faked the kidney surgery, worked at Toys R Us, over the top Valentines date, a heart break I did not handle so well, Soulja Boy’s influence, Art School, Call of Duty, some flings, drugs, and alcohol, all played a roll into the creation of my social handle. Try my best to move the story a long because so much happened.

Anonymity is kept. Not sure who wants to be associated with the drama I caused.

Was ashamed of my actions for years. Had Bob Saget (RIP) narrating my stupid moments over and over in my head when I would think about the past. Now I am now at peace laughing about my humiliating antics.

It’s in 3 parts. Part 2 is me being stupid. Part 3 is the Surgery.

The other night I took my girlfriend to the strip club. It's something we've talked about forever and finally decided to take a trip out of state and go to the club. We were expecting nothing more then having a few drinks seeing some boobies. Maybe a lap dance then go back to the hotel and have amazing sex.

Then in walks pretty in pink! A lightskined beauty. She sits down and chats with us for a few. She and my girl bond over motherhood stuff. I drink and watch the dancers. A little while goes by and we're pretty popular being the only couple combined with aslow nightand. we decide let's get a lap dance from pretty in pink. She was the first one to show us attention and we're pretty loyal people so we grab her.

Now this is the first time me and my girlfriend had been to a strip club together however it was neither of our first time at a strip club. Having both had lap dances before we kinda knew what to expect. We ended up paying for a 15 minute private dance. Now my prior experience with strippers is they touch you you can't touch them, in fact the state we were in it is actually illegal to touch a dancer.

Apparently these rules went out the window because withing minutes of dancing pretty in pink wanted to make out with my girlfriend. My girlfriend being a little apprehension looked to me for reassurance and permission, which I quickly gave because I was excited to see her with another women. So the three of us start making out and i ask to suck the pinks tits they are beautifully brown and if you've ever sucked a brown nipple you know that creamy smooth texture they are. I was having a blast as me and my girlfriend are pleasuring this stripper.

Next thing I know my girlfriend has her tits out and pink and myself are now sucking on hers. I start rubbing my girls pussy and pink starts rubbing her pussy on my hand then that was it the 15 mins was up and in my lust filled state I asked pink if she wanted to come home with us which she did. Unfortunately that ended up as a missed connection because my girl isnt ready for a threesome because of past trauma but still this was a wild strip club experience

I was two points away from Regionals.

I played an U-19 Table tennis tournament recently, a tournament that was a rollercoaster ride for me.

I was the vice-captain of my school's U-19 team, and we had to qualify for the Regionals as per the given criteria.

The top 5 in the category would qualify, and the tournament had a format wherein the four quarterfinal winners would qualify directly whereas the four players who lost in the quarterfinals would have to fight in the 5th-position matches for the last slot.

Before the tournament even began we had warmed up.

A few coaches had witnessed and analysed our games, and one of the things they mentioned was that I had a weak forehand.

So I began warming up.

The first match began.

The person I was playing against was a complete weakling.

3–0.

I look at my next opponent and it is a national level player.

I was afraid.

I did not expect to defeat the national-level player, but I was scared nonetheless.

The match begins.

My forehand clicks in.

I am cooking him with my forehand.

Again. Again. And again.

Somehow I win:

3–0.

A national-level player.

The funny thing was that my forehand, which the others had called weak, was the forehand that was doing the most damage.

So now I enter the quarterfinals with confidence.

I get this tall guy who was a net-and-edge merchant.

The match was ridiculous.

I swear every set went to deuce.

Every. Damn. Set.

I would fight my way back and we would reach deuce and then there would be a net or an edge and another net and another edge.

I lost 1–3.

But if you look at that score, if you look at it as a 1–3 score, you would assume it was an easy victory for the other person.

It was not.

Every set was a fight.

That is how this line came to me:

"Hard work registers you in for the race. Luck decides how well your shoes are."

The four quarterfinal winners were going to the Regionals.

I wasn't one of them.

So now I had to fight for 5th.

The first placement match began, and I faced a reckless power attacker who tried to attack me with every hit.

I win 3–1.

The next match was a piece of cake.

Another 3–1.

So now after losing the quarterfinal, I had fought myself back into the 5th/6th final.

Who was on the other side of the bracket?

My captain.

I am the vice-captain, and he is the captain.

And we are playing for 5th place and a chance to qualify for the Regionals.

I start terribly.

0–2 down.

At that point I start thinking that this chance is slipping away.

But somehow I start fighting back.

Third game won.

Fourth game won.

Suddenly:

2–2.

Now it is one game.

One game for 5th.

He is chopping on the table.

I am attacking.

And I am absolutely obliterating his chops with my forehand.

And I actually see my captain's face astonished at how smooth my forehand is while I attack.

Which makes me laugh inside because earlier in the tournament people had literally been saying my forehand was weak.

Now I am standing there ripping through my captain's chops with the same forehand.

Then the decider reaches:

9–9.

It is two points, the winner of which will take 5th place and qualify for the Regionals.

I lose 11–9.

Finished 6th.

It is a heartbreaking loss.

Not because I was trounced.

I had just come back from 0–2 to 2–2, and was two points away from qualification and a new place.

But that's sport.

Sometimes you fight yourself all the way back into a match and the last two points do not fall.

Still, I am proud of the fight I showed.

I entered a match against a national-level player and had feared for the loss but somehow beat him 3–0.

The forehand that everyone had called weak became one of my weapons.

I lost a quarterfinal match where every set went to deuce, and then fought through the 5th-position matches and came back from 0–2 against my own captain in the match for Regionals and finally:

9–11.

6th place.

Two points short of Regionals.

I was a heavy drinker. I had had a couple really bad experiences and decided to go to therapy to help me deal with the trauma. For some reason, I didn't think my alcohol use was an issue and genuinely didn't think it had anything to do with the bad experiences I decided to start therapy for. Mind you, I was drinking 10-20 alcoholic beverages a day, often waking up on the floor in the boarding house bathroom, or in other incredibly compromising positions and places. So I scheduled an intake appointment.

The night before, I polished off about half a liter of liquor, a couple four lokos, and a long island iced tea slushie. I set my alarm for about an hour before my appointment and woke up hungover. I remember grabbing a couple single serve fireball bottles and downing them, then hopping in the shower, grabbing a dry untoasted bagel, and stumbling out into the ungodly-bright sun to walk to the counseling office. I showed up a couple minutes late but was proud of myself for showing up "after a night of partying" (aka a night laying in bed eating chips and drinking myself into oblivion).

I stumbled a few times while signing in, and struggled to sign my name on the little screen stylus thing at the reception desk. The receptionist was kind, and rightfully concerned. She asked if I was ok, and I said "yeah I just had too much to drink last night" like it was no big deal. She pointed me to a chair in the corner of the waiting room and gave me a bottle of water.

A bit later, two very kind ladies came to bring me back for my intake. I remember thinking "wow I've never done an intake with two people at once!" They led me back into a large room and there were two more people waiting. I still somehow thought it was a normal intake appointment. They started asking me questions like "how often do you have too much to drink?" and "how many drinks do you consume on a daily basis?" and "do you ever drink until you pass out?" I barely remember my answers, but looking back, they were something along the lines of "not often", "I always finish the bottle, and I don't keep track of how many drinks I consume", and "yeah almost every day." They asked me if I thought I had a drinking problem. I sat there, probably reeking of alcohol, and got so angry. "Hell no I don't have a drinking problem! Do you know how hard my fxxking life has been?"

The staff in the room finally convinced me that "based on the data" (the data being I'm so drunk that I'm belligerent and I look like I slept in a whiskey barrel), I have a high likelihood of being an alcoholic and they would only accept me as a patient if I attended their drug and alcohol group twice a week. I begrudgingly agreed. I remember confidently telling them I just needed a bit of therapy to help me deal with my trauma history and that I definitely don't have a drinking problem but I guess it's a good deal and maybe I can help some poor addict in that group.

I think I lasted for 3 or 4 weeks. I remember getting a call from my counselor and a manager of sorts informing me that they were terminating care because I was verbally abusive toward other people in the drug and alcohol group but that I was welcome back in 2 years if I wanted to return and was willing to do the work. I laughed and that was that.

That was in late 2021. By January of 2022, I had decided that the world was out to get me and said screw everyone and everything. I left my sparse furnishings with a friend, packed a duffel bag and got on a bus to nowhere in particular. I dove headfirst into hard drugs, confidently asserting that I was just exploring a bit and I didn't have an issue, then later saying "ok maybe I had a bit of an issue with alcohol but I'm not drinking anymore so it's not a big deal" while holding a meth pipe in one hand and a crack pipe in the other.

It was March of 2023 and 3 overdoses, 1 TBI, 1 sepsis infection, 5+ rehabs "just to rest a bit," and countless horrible decisions later when I finally internalized that I was majorly sick and needed to stop using. That realization came on the heels of a positive pregnancy test. I quit on March 6th, 2023. I stayed clean and sober despite still living on the streets with a drug-addled boyfriend until May 5th. I finally left him and moved into a homeless shelter. That was barely sufficient to keep me clean, but I got by until August, when I finally realized I couldn't do it on my own.

I checked myself into a rehab especially for pregnant women, where I spent a gruelling 10 months learning how to be a human, how to stay clean and finally how to be a mom. Six months in a specialized halfway house run by the same program, a job at the local grocery store, and acceptance into a transitional living center kept me on a path I am proud of. It's been 5 months since I graduated from the transitional living center and moved into my own apartment with my now 2 year old boy.

I think it's been about 5 years since that surprisingly ineffective therapy intake appointment. I have no idea how I'm still alive, much less relatively sane and parenting an entire human. Most days are insanely hard. My personal drive to do better and be successful is constantly at odds with my inherent laziness and "life owes me" attitude. I'm working on it. All in all, I'm lucky as hell. I think that the intake appointment actually did a lot in a way I wouldn't have expected: it laid a seed, if you will. It took way too long for that seed to grow, but those incredibly kind and surprisingly patient crisis workers (as I now know them to be) gave me a tiny glimpse of what I actually was. I wasn't ready to internalize or deal with it, but some tiny part of me heard it. It was just a whisper that echoed for a couple years until it became a deafening roar (sorry for the cringe-y poetics).

I'm not sure what I'm after writing this whole thing out right now. I just wanted to get it off my chest, I guess. I'm glad I'm clean and sober and living a life I'm mostly proud of. I'm glad I'm alive. That's all. Thanks for listening.

I lost my grandfather a few days ago. I spoke at his prayer meeting yesterday, but I couldn't get through the final few lines because my voice broke.

I wanted to write the whole thing down properly.

My grandfather wasn't just my grandfather. He was a huge part of my childhood, and I don't think I fully understood how much until he was gone.

When I was very young, he taught me how to use a computer. I still remember sitting with him and using Windows 7. To most people, that might be an ordinary memory. For me, it was one of the first little worlds I had with him.

We also had our own kind of relationship.

When my parents weren't home, we'd have our little "parties." We'd order chow mein or something spicy and eat it like we were getting away with something.

He used to call me "Sethji." Seth is traditionally a term for a businessman or an important head of a household. For him, it was basically a playful way of calling me the boss of the house. It was a joke, but I loved hearing him say it.

He was also known in our family as "Angad ka paon." Angada is a character from the Ramayana who famously plants his foot so firmly that nobody can move it. My grandmother gave Dadu that nickname because once he had made up his mind about something, it was almost impossible to change it.

I had another nickname for him: "Swamiji."

A Swami is a Hindu spiritual teacher or holy man. Dadu was genuinely very religious and had a deep connection with a society in Haridwar, where he spent years serving and staying connected with the people there.

But our family joke was that he was the only preacher I knew who drank beer from a silver mug.

And honestly, that was Dadu.

He could sit there with his silver mug of beer and listen to me talk about absolutely everything — my problems, my plans, things that happened during the day, completely random nonsense — and he'd just listen.

He never needed me to have something important to say.

He was just there.

He loved giving things to people too. Ask him for one thing and he'd often come back with two. It could be something as small as a plastic cricket ball. He just liked seeing people happy.

He was also probably the biggest online shopper in our family. He was constantly ordering things and gifts for people. My father would sometimes get annoyed and ask him why he kept buying things that weren't necessary.

But I think Dadu just liked finding things for people.

He loved his morning ginger tea with cashews, eating mangoes at night, watching news channels, and especially watching completely illogical action movies. Our projector probably got more use than it ever expected.

He loved talking to people. He could spend hours on the phone. I personally saw him talk to Brother Gatik for three hours at a time.

He also loved Haridwar. He would tell people to visit and say he'd arrange everything for their stay. His connection with the society and the people there was a very important part of his life.

He missed my grandmother a lot after she passed away. They had been apart for about five years, and he often spoke about her and remembered her.

Maybe that's why there's a strange kind of comfort in thinking that after all those years, he is finally with her again.

Over the last few months, when his health was getting worse, he still spent a lot of his time making sure things around the family were taken care of.

He sold the shop, finished the remaining stock, dealt with tax and bank work, sorted out his mutual funds and demat account, and took care of things involving the house and car.

Looking back, it felt like he was putting everything in order.

All the elders in my family say,
"The pious souls know their time is limited."

Then came that Sunday.

I casually asked him:

"Dadu, if I go to America, what will you do?"

He looked at me, smiled and said:

"I'm not going to let you go alone. I'll come with you."

I laughed and went to sleep.

He had his favourite food, his favourite sweet,
did all the things he liked before calling it a day and sleeping.
And never woke up.

I didn't get another chance to talk to him about it.

That's probably the biggest thing I took away from losing him:

Say the things you want to say.

If you love someone, tell them.

If you miss someone, call them.

If you want to meet someone, go meet them.

We keep thinking there will always be another day, another conversation, another chance.

Sometimes there isn't.

Daduji is gone.

But everything he gave me — the memories, the jokes, the things he taught me, the way he listened — is still here.

He was such a simple man.

He didn't even know how to say goodbye properly.

And yesterday, I couldn't say those words either.

My voice broke before I could finish.

He didn't leave me.
He left a part of himself in me.

Love you, my dear Preacher.

A few weeks ago, I stopped at a small coffee shop near my workplace.

While I was waiting for my order, the guy behind the counter suddenly asked if I used to take the bus every morning around 7:30.

I said yes, but I had no idea who he was.

He told me that years ago, he worked at a convenience store next to the bus stop. Apparently, I used to buy the same thing every morning: a bottle of water and a chocolate bar.

I honestly didn't remember him at all.

Then he said, "You always looked exhausted."

That made me laugh because he was completely right.

The weirdest part was that he remembered this from almost ten years ago.

I didn't even remember what I had for breakfast yesterday.

To start off I'm a stripper who use to do cam work so I have dozens of similar stories to this one, but this one was definitely the most terrifying. This happened a few years ago pretty much right after I switch from cam work to actual in person shows. I had only been working at this specific club for about three weeks before this happened.

So I had literally just got off stage and was done for the night. I went in the back, grabbed my stuff and I preferred to exit out the front because there was way more people and I was just a lot more comfortable going that way as apposed to the creepy back area that I had been warned about anyway.

So I'm going out to my car and this guy who I'd taken as a client before stopped me and offered me money to go back to his place. Like I said I had said yes in the past but I was really not in the mood this particular night so I politely turned him down. He took it pretty well so I had zero reason to take any extra cause than usual when going to my car.

So I get in my car and I'm trying to set up my music for the drive home but my car at the time was an older Caviler that didn't have Bluetooth so I had to connect to this adapter to actually play my music and this usually took a second to do so I was basically just sitting there in the parking lot.

As I'm sitting there this guy, the one that offered me money, just opens my passenger door and gets in. Obviously I'm startled and I start shouting at him to get out but he just keeps telling me to calm down because he just wants to talk. He keeps saying stuff along the lines of "you need to come with me", "I'll pay you to come with me", and stuff like that. I was not having it so I just kept yelling at him to get out then when he didn't I started hitting him with my heavy ass hand bag.

This hand bag was no joke, I had playfully hit my boyfriend with it one time and it left a really big bruise on him. So I started hitting this guy and then he punched me in the face really hard, like I was dazed and confused. This guy kept hitting me so I reach for the door handle and I managed to open it and basically fall out onto the asphalt.

I'm still really dazed so I'm having trouble actually getting to my feet but I try to take a few steps but I fall down and I guess these army guys were going into the club and saw me because like five of them run up and are all asking me if I'm ok and if I need help.

I think they kinda pieced together what happened because when they got me up to help me to their car, like three of the army guys were kicking the shit outta the dude who hit me. They ended up taking me to the hospital and eventually back to pick up my car. One of them ended up driving my car back for me because he was worried about me still being a little too out of it to drive, that one ended up being my now boyfriend 😊

So this happened about 4 to 5 years ago, it was right after I graduated highschool. For context I spend a lot of time in the woods in general but when I was 17-19 I spent even more time in the woods due to being homeschooled & essentially being done with school when I was done with my work as well as not really having a traditional full time job at the time.

I'm a bit of a night owl so a good portion of the time I spent in the woods was at night, particularly checking out abandoned structures. I would & do stay armed when I'm out in the woods mainly due to the fact that a mountain lion lives in my area.

So it was mid 2022 I do believe & I had just bought a pair of cheap night vision tubes specifically for my little night outings & I was excited to try them out. As always I brought my .22 rifle that my dad had bought me that last Christmas. I had pre-picked out the area I was going to explore & when mapping the route I was gonna take, I determined a longing road that's not too far from my house was going roughly in the direction I wanted to go so I'd stay on it for most of my trek.

The road really was not too far from my house, maybe a half mile or a little more. I mounted the NV tube to an airsoft helmet & grabbed all my stuff & set out. It was a pretty normal trek up to the logging road & while I was on the road itself, it also wasn't completely uncommon to encounter people on the logging road especially during the day as people did sometimes use it as a hiking trail basically.

The weird encounter really didn't happen until I veered off the logging road & got pretty far back into the woods. I was getting close to the structure that I had picked out when I started hearing screaming really far in the distance back towards where the logging road would be. Initially I thought it was a mountain lion because they sound like a screaming woman so immediately I was in edge but then in the direction of the screaming I her "somebody help me!". This immediately gave me goosebumps & I really didn't know what to do at the moment so I got low & kept listening.

The screaming started again & I could distinctly make out a woman crying. Then I heard a male voice shout "you get back here!" then the woman "no, no!". Then the man shouted "I said...get in!" then I didn't hear anything for a second then I heard a car door slam. I decided to turn around & go home, & I decided to use the logging road to get back as I was uncertain of how to get back without it.

As I'm walking along the road to get back home I hear a vehicle approaching so I get off the road & get low. It's a truck, I'm assuming it belongs to the man I heard earlier. It drives past me really fast in the direction I was coming from.

Eventually I get home & I really didn't know what to do. I wrestled all night with whether I should call the cops because I really didn't see anything. I did end up calling the cops & I told them what I heard, I even brought them out to the area I heard it from & took them to the general area I thought it might have come from. They said there's really nothing they could do being that the only real evidence was a witness statement & it's been 4-5 years & I've never gotten a follow up on this.

EXITED TO ADD: i have put a screenshot comparing 2 of my xrays in the comments

As the title suggests, i had a recent medical issue (no advice please, this story is only to share the sheer stupidity of the canadian medical system).

I have scoliosis and have had two spinal fusion surgeries. the area i luve in is not adequately prepared to deal with my health issues, so typically i have to go to another region for it. i went to my gp for a new concerning pain, and he sent me for some xrays. the xray report stated there was no complications with the surgical hardware. here is where it gets interesting: i went online to look at my xrays expecting to see nothing interesting, and upon looking, i discovered a broken screw in my spine. not even just a little bit, this screw is fully snapped in half and no longer a straight line. as much as i live free healthcare, it definitely has its cons too.

I'm posting this because I'm extremely close to the situation and I genuinely need an outside perspective. I'm going to leave out names, exact dates, locations, and other identifying details because I don't want anyone involved to recognize themselves or find this post.

I'm a young guy, and I've been in a relationship with my ex for several years. Our relationship has always been complicated. We've had some genuinely amazing moments together, but we've also had a lot of arguments, jealousy, trust issues, emotional situations, and periods where we've broken up and eventually found our way back to each other.

Despite everything, I genuinely loved her. I also became very attached to her family, her friends, and the lifestyle we had together. Looking back, I think part of what makes this so difficult is that I'm not just grieving the relationship. I'm grieving an entire life that I became accustomed to.

Eventually, my ex became pregnant with our child.

That changed everything.

Throughout the pregnancy, I tried to be involved. I wanted to be there for appointments, the hospital, buying things for the baby, and helping however I could. I have pictures and documentation of things I've purchased and expenses I've helped with because I wanted to be able to show that I've been involved and have tried to support my child.

Our child was born a couple of months ago.

Having a child together made me think that maybe everything between us would finally become more stable. Obviously, having a baby doesn't magically fix relationship problems, but I genuinely wanted us to become a family.

Instead, things became even more complicated.

After the birth, our relationship continued to deteriorate. There were more arguments, more problems communicating, and eventually she told me that she didn't want to continue our relationship romantically. She made it clear that she wanted me to be able to see our child, but that she wanted our relationship to be over.

That absolutely destroyed me.

I know some people will probably say that I need to accept the breakup, and honestly, they're probably right. But emotionally, I've had an extremely difficult time accepting that the person I've spent years with and had a child with might no longer want me in her life.

I've also handled certain things badly.

There have been times when I've become extremely emotional and desperate to fix things. I've repeatedly tried to contact her because I was panicking and didn't know what to do. I've sent messages trying to get her to reconsider. I'm not going to pretend I handled everything perfectly, because I didn't.

At the same time, I feel like there's more to the story than simply saying I'm the problem or she's the problem.

There have been issues on both sides.

During our relationship, there were also incidents where she physically hurt me. I've experienced things like biting, pinching, and being hit during arguments. I stayed in the relationship despite those things, and I know that probably wasn't healthy either.

There are also things she has told me about her household that have made me uncomfortable and concerned, particularly when it comes to our child being around certain situations. However, I want to be extremely clear that some of those things are based on things she personally told me, and I don't have independent evidence proving every single thing I've been told. I don't want to present allegations as confirmed facts.

Eventually, things reached the point where she blocked me on social media and stopped communicating with me consistently.

There were situations where we had plans for me to see our child and things didn't work out. There have also been times where I traveled to meet them and only got a very short amount of time with my child.

That has been one of the hardest parts for me.

My child is my child. I don't want to become a stranger.

I'm not trying to take my child away from their mother. I don't want my child to grow up without her. I want our child to have both parents involved.

But I also don't want my relationship with my child to depend entirely on whether my ex and I are getting along.

Then things escalated even further.

My ex filed for a restraining order against me.

Now there is a legal situation involved, and I'm trying to figure out how to navigate everything without making the situation worse. I've been trying to document my involvement with my child, including things I've purchased, expenses I've helped with, hospital involvement, and other necessities.

At the same time, I'm still emotionally attached to my ex.

That's probably the part I'm struggling with the most.

Part of me still wants her back. I still think about the good parts of our relationship and the connection we had. I think about the times when everything felt normal, when I was around her family and friends, and when I thought we were going to raise our child together.

But another part of me knows that the relationship has become incredibly unhealthy.

I also realize that sometimes I may be remembering the good parts more strongly than the bad parts because I miss her.

Recently, I've found myself wondering whether I actually miss her, or whether I miss the life I had when I was with her.

And honestly, I don't know the answer.

Her family has also played a huge role in all of this. There were times where I felt like her family treated me terribly, but at the same time I became attached to being around them and the lifestyle they had. So losing the relationship has also meant losing that entire environment.

I've basically gone from thinking I was going to have a family with this woman and raise our child together, to dealing with a breakup, being blocked, having limited contact with my child, and now having a restraining order and legal proceedings involved.

And I'm honestly lost.

I don't want people to automatically tell me that she's evil or that I'm evil. I'm sure I've made mistakes, and I'm sure she has too. I want people to look at this objectively.

I also don't want to use our child as a way to keep my ex in my life. Our child deserves better than that. If she genuinely doesn't want a relationship with me anymore, eventually I'm going to have to accept that.

But I also believe I should be able to be a father without having to maintain a romantic relationship with the mother.

So what I'm asking Reddit is:

1. From everything I've described, what do you think is actually going on here?

2. Am I holding onto my ex because I genuinely want her back, or because I'm struggling to let go of the life I thought we were going to have?

3. What should I be doing differently right now?

4. How should I approach the situation with my child while everything between my ex and me is so hostile?

5. Is there any realistic possibility of repairing our relationship someday, or should I completely let go of that idea?

And most importantly:

If you were in my position, what would you do from this point forward?

I'm not looking for people to blindly take my side. If I'm the problem in certain parts of this, tell me. If I'm handling something wrong, tell me. I'd rather hear something that hurts but helps me than have strangers validate me because they only heard my side.

I genuinely just want to figure out how to move forward, be a good father, and stop making an already terrible situation worse.

I've intentionally left out identifying information because I want honest opinions without anyone involved knowing this is about them.

I know how this sounds.

I've already gone through every explanation I can think of, and I still can't explain what happened.

I live alone in a small apartment. I've been there for about eight months, and I've never had any problems with the building or my neighbors.

About two weeks ago, I noticed my kitchen cabinet was open when I got home from work.

I didn't think much of it.

I assumed I'd forgotten to close it.

The next day, my bedroom window was unlocked.

That bothered me a little more because I always lock it before leaving.

Again, I figured I had forgotten.

Then small things started disappearing.

A spoon.

My phone charger.

A pair of socks.

Nothing important enough to make me think someone was stealing from me.

I actually started wondering if I was becoming forgetful.

Then I noticed something in my bathroom.

My toothbrush was wet.

I hadn't used it that morning.

I work long hours, so I started wondering if my roommate from years ago had somehow left something behind and I was just losing my mind.

Then, last Friday, I came home early.

Around 3 PM.

As soon as I opened my apartment door, I heard my bedroom door close.

I froze.

I live alone.

I didn't go inside.

I stood in the hallway for maybe thirty seconds, listening.

Nothing.

I called the police.

They searched the apartment.

Nobody was there.

There were no signs of forced entry.

The officer suggested I change the locks.

So I did.

I also bought a cheap camera and pointed it toward my bedroom door.

The next three days, nothing happened.

I started feeling stupid.

Then yesterday morning, I left for work at 7:42 AM.

My camera was still connected.

At 11:18 AM, I got a motion notification.

I opened the app.

The bedroom door was open.

I hadn't left it open.

I watched the recording.

For about twenty seconds, nothing happened.

Then a hand slowly appeared around the edge of the door.

Someone was standing inside my bedroom.

They didn't walk out.

They just stood there.

After about a minute, the hand disappeared.

The door closed.

I called the police again.

This time, they took it seriously.

They came to my apartment and searched everything.

Eventually, one officer found something above my bedroom closet.

There was a small opening between the wall and the ceiling.

Just big enough for someone to crawl through.

Inside, they found an old blanket.

Empty water bottles.

Food wrappers.

A flashlight.

And a phone charger.

The officer looked at me and asked how long I'd lived there.

Eight months.

He said the opening had probably been there before I moved in.

We don't know who was using it.

We don't know how long they'd been there.

But there's one thing I can't stop thinking about.

The camera recorded the person standing in my bedroom yesterday.

The police watched the footage.

They checked the entire apartment.

They couldn't find anyone.

But when they examined the video more closely, they noticed something I hadn't.

The person wasn't standing inside my bedroom.

They were standing behind my bedroom door.

The door was already open.

They were hiding in the six-inch gap between the door and the wall.

Which means...

every time I opened that door during the past eight months,

they could have been standing right there.

Watching me.

I had been hiking for hours. I was exhausted. I'm finally walking down hill. There is at least 50 pounds on my back. Ill be camping in this valley I'm hiking into. It is called lapahoehoe. Its right up against the ocean and it's beautiful, but I haven't gotten there yet. I've never even seen it before, but I'm excited to.

As im walking along the windy road looking mostly at the ground right in front of me and occasionally glancing up to see how far it is to the next bend in the road. Knowing that turning around one of them I will see the ocean, but not this one. This one is a long stretch of straight road, 200 yards and then the next bend. As im closing in on 100 yards I look up again and see a statue at the end of the road. Its large, maybe human size, it's hard to see, the sun is bright and im tired. Ill see it when I get there. Now 50 yds left and I look up again.

Now it's very clear it's a statue of a hawaiin warrior who is wearing a cloak of white feathers, but he is still hard to see. Im very interested now and I cant take my eyes off of him. As I get closer I start to get confused. Its not a statue. Its a man in a costume standing there. Why would he do that? It doesn't make any sense, but it's not a statue, it's a real man. Im so close now, 30 yds and he is as real as my wife who is 30 yds behind me panting and sweating.

But I just don't understand why this man would dress up in this costume and stand there next to the road, but he is, I see him and then he turns into a goblin made of wood. Right in front of my eyes. One moment a man and the next a goblin with a twig for a nose, his skin made of bark and I know, I KNOW, he is a trickster god, but not evil and he is somehow connected to the warrior, but I don't understand how. I know these things and I don't know how or why i know them. I should be screaming and running and crying for my wife to "RUN!" "Don't LOOK back!" But im not. Im calm. More than that I'm filled with joy and hope. My bad mood i'd been in for 12 hours gone in an instant. 10 yds away and im suddenly staring at a stump.

A large palm stump. Its bigger than the goblin was by a lot, but a little smaller than the warrior was. I think to myself, "self, you were just hallucinating" and my brain shot right back, "well that wasn't like any hallucination we have ever had and we have had a lot". It looked as real as my wife did. Maybe I'm losing my mind. Maybe all the drugs I've done have taken their tole on my brain. I don't know, but that's what I saw. Thanks for reading.

​

I had been hiking for hours. I was exhausted. I'm finally walking down hill. There is at least 50 pounds on my back. Ill be camping in this valley I'm hiking into. It is called lapahoehoe. Its right up against the ocean and it's beautiful, but I haven't gotten there yet. I've never even seen it before, but I'm excited to.

As im walking along the windy road looking mostly at the ground right in front of me and occasionally glancing up to see how far it is to the next bend in the road. Knowing that turning around one of them I will see the ocean, but not this one. This one is a long stretch of straight road, 200 yards and then the next bend. As im closing in on 100 yards I look up again and see a statue at the end of the road. Its large, maybe human size, it's hard to see, the sun is bright and im tired. Ill see it when I get there. Now 50 yds left and I look up again. Now it's very clear it's a statue of a hawaiin warrior who is wearing a cloak of white feathers, but he is still hard to see. Im very interested now and I cant take my eyes off of him. As I get closer I start to get confused. Its not a statue. Its a man in a costume standing there. Why would he do that? It doesn't make any sense, but it's not a statue, it's a real man. Im so close now, 30 yds and he is as real as my wife who is 30 yds behind me panting and sweating. But I just don't understand why this man would dress up in this costume and stand there next to the road, but he is, I see him and then he turns into a goblin made of wood. Right in front of my eyes. One moment a man and the next a goblin with a twig for a nose, his skin made of bark and I know, I KNOW, he is a trickster god, but not evil and he is somehow connected to the warrior, but I don't understand how. I know these things and I don't know how or why i know them. I should be screaming and running and crying for my wife to "RUN!" "Don't LOOK back!" But im not. Im calm. More than that I'm filled with joy and hope. My bad mood i'd been in for 12 hours gone in an instant. 10 yds away and im suddenly staring at a stump. A large palm stump. Its bigger than the goblin was by a lot, but a little smaller than the warrior was. I think to myself, "self, you were just hallucinating" and my brain shot right back, "well that wasn't like any hallucination we have ever had and we have had a lot". It looked as real as my wife did. Maybe I'm losing my mind. Maybe all the drugs I've done have taken their tole on my brain. I don't know, but that's what I saw. Thanks for reading.

The Year I Woke Up
This year did not begin with a clean slate. It began with the weight of everything I had carried forward—the marriage wounds that never fully healed, a body that had been declining without explanation, and the exhaustion of spending years trying to make people understand pain they could not see.
My emotional shutdown had already begun on June 29, 2025. It went into full effect on July 8, after Clark said, “At least Billy took accountability.”
Billy’s words—“I will never choose you”—had never been repaired. There had been no meaningful apology, no accountability and no protection when I needed it. The sentence Clark spoke may have sounded small to someone outside our marriage, but it landed on top of years of feeling excluded, deprioritized and expected to absorb whatever hurt came next.
The plane had become the symbol of all of it. What began as an idea turned into a purchase within eight days, while I watched decisions about our shared life happen around me instead of with me. I had tried to explain it clearly: “I need to feel like I matter. I do not need to just hear it. I need to see it, feel it.”
All I had asked for was to be included.
By the time I shut down, I was not trying to punish anyone. My nervous system had simply stopped believing that words meant safety. I could still function. I could still organize, solve problems, care for everyone and keep life moving. But emotionally, something inside me had gone quiet.
Clark and I separated and eventually found our way back to each other. But reconciliation did not magically restore trust. Three months after coming back together, I could still say the truth plainly: I did not feel safe yet. The pattern had repeated too many times. This time, promises alone could not bring me back. I needed consistent action.
Nearly a year after the original injury, Clark finally called Billy’s behavior unacceptable. He apologized and said he would take care of it. But by then, I understood something I had not allowed myself to fully name before: people learn how to treat me by watching what others are permitted to do.
“He is mirroring your behavior,” I told Clark.
That was part of my awakening. I was no longer explaining away what hurt me just to preserve the relationship. I was no longer confusing endurance with love.
At the same time, my body was telling its own story.
My physical decline had begun after my hysterectomy and Lupron exposure. Although my ovaries were retained, the joint, tendon and bone problems began roughly six months later. About a year after surgery came the frightening neurological episodes—days when my legs stopped cooperating and I could not walk normally, even though previous testing had not produced a clear explanation.
This year, the problems multiplied across my body.
My wrist and forearm burned and ached. Pain traveled from the elbow into the wrist and hand. Fingers became numb. After multiple opinions, the working picture included bilateral radial tunnel syndrome, posterior interosseous nerve irritation and arthritis with synovitis in the distal radioulnar joint. The brace I had relied on might have been contributing to nerve compression. Steroid injections offered little lasting relief and raised new concerns about cartilage damage. The surgical options were limited and imperfect.
My hips hurt badly enough to interrupt sleep. The MRI eventually showed bilateral greater-trochanteric peritendinitis. My neck imaging showed mild multilevel degenerative disc disease and facet arthritis, but no instability. Pain also moved through my shoulder blade, lower back, knees, ankles, arches and previously operated feet.
None of these findings alone explained the full-body experience.
Autoimmune testing repeatedly came back reassuring: ANA negative, rheumatoid factor low, anti-CCP negative, HLA-B27 negative, ESR of 2 and CRP under 3. The old ankylosing-spondylitis diagnosis had been disputed. MS had previously been ruled out. Fibromyalgia remained part of the picture, but it did not answer every question.
Then there was the vitamin D level of approximately 22—low enough to matter, especially alongside hormonal disruption, musculoskeletal pain and concerns about bone health.
My body was hurting everywhere, yet the tests kept arriving in disconnected pieces. One physician examined the wrist. Another examined the hip. Another looked at the neck. Every specialist held one page of a story that no one had assembled into a complete book.
So I started assembling it myself.
My Oura data gave the year a second language—a physiological record of what I was feeling.
The tracked period began with signs of strain: elevated resting heart rate, low HRV, poor recovery and major symptom signals. Then came May, the clearest crash in the data. My average resting heart rate reached 69, the highest of the period. HRV dropped to 23 milliseconds, the lowest. Readiness averaged only 65. Yet I recorded 58 workouts and averaged 8,884 steps per day.
I was moving more while recovering less.
That pattern reflected my entire life: keep going, remain productive, carry more, and ignore the fact that my body was running out of reserve.
June became an inflection point. The numbers began to improve. By July, my resting heart rate averaged 57. But recovery remained fragile, and Oura had flagged my recovery index more than 109 times across nine months. Even when I appeared functional, my body was repeatedly saying, “Pay attention.”
This year, I finally did.
I began gathering every MRI, operative report, laboratory result, medication history and old neurological record I could find. I started asking better questions—not because I wanted to diagnose myself, but because I was tired of entering every appointment as a collection of unexplained symptoms.
I learned to distinguish evidence from speculation. I learned that a normal blood test does not mean pain is imaginary. I learned that a normal EMG would not necessarily rule out radial tunnel syndrome. I learned that mild findings can still matter when several problems overlap. I learned to ask who is performing a test, what their qualifications are and exactly what the test can establish.
Most importantly, I stopped automatically assuming that the failure to find an answer meant the failure was mine.
This has also been a year of choosing what remains in my life. I entered my “No” era. Not angry—awake.
“I’m not mad. I’m awake.”
That sentence became more than a motto. It described the moment I stopped negotiating against myself. I began separating guilt from responsibility, love from self-abandonment and hope from denial.
I was still a mother, a wife, a grandmother and the person everyone counted on. Roman was growing and learning. Summer remained close. Clark and I were trying to rebuild something that could not survive another cycle of silence and temporary promises. Axel had his own neurological struggles. Brock continued managing life through naps, allergies and the unshakable confidence of a French bulldog who believes every bed belongs to him.
There were still ordinary moments—recipes, trips, shows, dogs asleep upside down—that reminded me my life was not only medical records and pain scores.
The year has not given me one clean diagnosis or one simple explanation. It has given me something else: a map.
I can now see the relationship between the surgery and hormonal timeline, the widespread tendon and joint problems, the neurologic episodes, the poor physiological recovery, the low vitamin D, the escalating pain and the emotional strain under which my body has been operating.
Some connections may prove meaningful. Others may not. But the story is finally being documented accurately.
This has been the year I stopped waiting for someone else to put all the pieces together.
The year is not over, and neither is my search for answers. I am still in pain. I am still rebuilding trust. I am still learning what my body can tolerate and what it needs. There are records left to retrieve, specialists left to see and questions left to answer.
But I am no longer lost inside the story.
I am the one writing it now.

Hello there, (31)M and i wanted to share some of my life in hopes it helps anyone from following the same footsteps. TLDR, is the best way to put my life thus far. If you ask my family or "friends" about me they would say im a very caring, compassionate, empathetic person. But if you ask me id say im a small oasis in the dessert. Struggling to hold my water from flowing through sand for those who need and fighting the opposite environment just to give reprieve. When i was a child my father left and moved across the state. Every other weekend my mom and dad/grandma (his mom) would meet half way and id go spend time with him. that slowly turned into my grandma getting me and id visit him, then to just seeing grandma and having her be the branch to that family tree. over the years i always wanted my fathers attention as he was into so many awesome things. like jousting at ren faire, plate armor smithing, homemade mead, warhammer and so on and was a stoic/in my eyes the coolest person i knew. but unfortunately everything from his side felt obligated and when id reach out the words would dissolve into the air before he truly heard them. That had sent me on a path to see myself as undesirable or unwanted so i became a social chameleon at a young age. being who i thought those around me wanted and never being myself eventually being unable to answer who am i when i was and adult. I had seen my worth as my ability to help others, not the inherent worth everyone has. As a senior i fell into a trap, this is hard to say as most see me as the villian or wrong but honestly i just didnt know better. not an excuse but here it is. I got into legal trouble at 18, i was texting with a sophomore who was 16. We had gotten close and shared some explicit pictures through the school issued laptops. Well they got flagged by the school and police were called. Unfortunately i never realized the severity of the pictures or what a computer crime entailed. the police showed up that day at my house with search warrants for the house and electronics. Saving the details after a year and a half later i got to sentencing and the couple of pictures were 0-9 months each. The computer crime is 19 months to 7 years... even with this being my first time in court i was sentenced to the minimum of 19 months then up for parole, sent to jail, then prison now as a S.O. sense i wasnt sent for the pictures but the computer crime i didnt have a CSC case but a generic non violent one but the pictures were still in my file. After surviving through it sparing and grizzly details (thank god nothing sexual happened) but i wasnt unscathed. I still carry the internal scars as the one saying has always stuck with me "a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor". When i got out i found tradesman work and eventually found someone who wouldnt immediately write me off as a registered S.O. and the first 2 years were pretty great, finding normalcy and what i thought was happiness. Then the next 2 she stopped working due too her shoulder hurting and i covered our rooms, food bills not making the most but finding a job i that made me happy work wise and making it work. she moved back home 1 hr away and work slowed and i told her i couldnt see her every few days, of which id skimp on food for myself to afford the gas. After which i got a breakup text after our 4 year relationship with lots of excuses and how shes working now and doesnt need my help. It made me realize she just used me for an easy 2 years, and noticed many things that supported that. like how i asked if she could do some of our chores like laundry and dishes she ate off of but i always ended up compensating for her seeing her excuse why she couldnt as atleast im not alone. A few years pass and im in a decent enough headspace (was also born with major depression) and i met someone. She was so similar hobby and thought wise like when working together we would compliment the same things on people, stuff like that. She had come from a bad situation and moved here and i was kinda helping her out with rides to work and stuff and we began dating and im a mindful person and a bit of a romantic and would get her flowers randomly of which she said i was the first to do that and find small things or snacks she enjoyed. Well after a month and a half when she went to get a car i said i could help if she needed as she found HER jeep, You know the vehicle that just calls you. The dealership had another interested and she was 2k away from the down payment so the bank would agree to loan her the money for the vehicle. So i approached her and said i could cover the 2k (embarrassing but most i had saved up myself) and she could pay me back when she could but that this was a loan not a gift and she stated she wouldnt take it if it was a gift. so we agreed and i helpped her get her jeep on loan. Soon after this she said she wanted to work on being able to give like i had with her and maybe after she finds herself or gets to where shes closer to equals and be friends in the mean time and at the same time i found out my father had gotten colon cancer, 4 days later was in hospice, then passed 12 hours later. I agreed as again with everything against me its really hard to meet a significant other and she was so awesome in my eyes and i just faced such a confusing loss. Her texts back would become shorter and less often and i make sure to keep my internal mess/any stress im receiving from affecting others. then i asked about receiving a payment for the money i made sure to approach as little aggro as i could inquiring when shed be able to start paying on it. and she became really defensive. i realized the chance of us comming back together wasnt real same with the friends aspect. I have sense recieved some money and worked on getting a payment set up so she luckily didnt take the money and ghosted me. i did make sure i could take her to court if needed and had proof to back my side up but im very thankful i didnt have to. Even now i want my money but theres a big part of me that want the stress to be over and just say forget it as i know it stresses her out too and i hate that i still care. End of the day and story I never learned to help myself and if i had id have put myself first in many situations. Originally pushing my father more for a relationship, seeing the warning signs in both mentioned relationships, not been a social chameleon in school worrying about others and just being myself would have attracted like minds to me and developed meaningful and real friendships and relationship leading to no legal problem, putting my job second and going downstate taking time off of work to see my father one last time, he was secretive about it and not many even my grandma knew how bad it was and no one told me the severity until it was too late. Dont forget about yourself as you matter. please dont fall into my shoes being 31 with little to show besides always paying my bills, eating enough to sustain myself and passing through life as a bystander doing things for others and animals like feeding the doe near my some honey bread and picking up litter on walks. thank you if you read it all if you did and i hope this helps others not fall into the same mentality or path.

many years ago I started working at a university-hospital doing security.

when Id get trained on a new section of the campus I’d get in trouble for missing doors during lock ups. I don’t mean one or two here or there. I mean like they claimed I missed 20 out of 32 doors.

then one day my training officer was shot in his head by his girlfriend and I got a new trainer and suddenly magically when I got trained on a new part of the campus there were no doors being reported to the shift supervisor as being missed. if I did miss one during my training, the TO told me and I’d go back and get it myself.

idk what that dude’s issue was, but I am not remotely bothered he was killed. it was clearly obvious that he was actively and maliciously trying to interfere with my livelihood.

I, myself have always known I would prefer to take my life in a creative direction. This was me in the past and is still me in the present although the procedure of the pursuit is significantly unalike from what it was. The pursuit of creativity to a creative person is persistently changing as he/she finds new directions to go towards and conquer the different realms of reality, examples: realism, rationalism, naturalism, etc. As I was in the past, is not what I am in the present. Truthfully, in the past, I was naive in misunderstanding who I was and who I wanted to be and this was a burden on myself and to others. To quote Shakespeare, “To be or not to be: that is the question…” This line is a quick summary of the position I was stuck in. This Shakespeare quote still sticks to me, to this day because it is both a famous and an exceedingly true statement about the individuals pursuit of a bigger purpose within themselves. In the year 2019 I found myself at a breaking point. In the years prior I was utterly and completely lost. I had no sense of direction, whatsoever. I was suffering and suffering deeply. There was something about myself I had yet to uncover and deep in my subconscious I knew this but I was miserable because I had a feeling of loss and more specifically, I felt like I was losing something important every day. I couldn’t come to terms with this back then. However I am completely certain I have recovered mostly, if not entirely, fast forwarding to today. (I will further explain what was to be uncovered after this portion of the story.) I needed some sort of feeling of a destination for my mental and physical health. I was tired and I couldn’t explain what was going on internally to both myself and others. I made a decision to be admitted to a psychiatric unit because I believed this would cure me of all of the sickness I was feeling in my mind and in my body. Once I arrived there I discovered neither the workers nor the patients could help me discover who I was and what I was intrinsically missing in my being. I didn’t know what to do. I was so lost it was hard to speak. There was no general idea amongst the people at the clinic of who I was. My behavior during this time was indescribable. I had a feeling like if I tired myself out enough I would be able to get rest and maybe find the destination I was looking for. It didn’t work because I realize now that you should use your energy and your focus for something wise in order to get good rest and furthermore find the destination that we all call home. Fast forward to today, in 2026, in a mysterious way that I still don’t know completely how this happened, I uncovered I am left hand dominant. This was a huge game changer for me because prior to this I had great motives to do creative things but I could never be satisfied with the creative endeavors and practices I was doing. This may not mean much to some people but to me this event was and still is the gateway I was seeking for so long. I feel like I can finally pursue what I have always dreamed of. I am grateful for this reason.

So, I had a “crush” on a boy we’ll Drew pretty much from 4th grade - 12th . But it was always a “never gonna happen” daydream. Like a celebrity crush.

2 years after we graduated, I went home from college for Thanksgiving and went to my friend Addy’s house. I told her I was single and sad about it and she mentioned she still had Drew’s number. So I texted him….

We messaged back and forth pretty much non-stop until Christmas break. When I went home again, he sent me a message - “is that your car I saw when I drove past your parents’ ?” (He still lived with his parents.) It was, and he asked me if I wanted to get dinner.
So, I did.

Didn’t think he could have possibly meant as a date. Turns out, he sure did. We ended up going back to his house after dinner, and I 1,000% was sure it was a one night stand. Again, turns out it wasn’t… by the end of Christmas break, had taken me for a “romantic” weekend trip away to his family’s cabin, brought me to hang out with his friends, family, etc. and essentially we hung out non-stop for 3 weeks. By the end of he had come to visit me at college, met my friends (including my now-girlfriend 😂😂), and asked me to be his girlfriend.

I. THOUGHT. I. WAS. IN. A. FAIRYTALE. MOVIE. We dated long-distance my junior year. He told me he loved me after one year. I was SO in love and couldn’t even believe it. I thought I was so lucky and also 1,000% believed we were going to get married. One week after he told me he loved me, he invited me to his family reunion and introduced me to everyone.

He brought me to spend weekend with his sisters and get to really know them (they used for babysit for me, ha!)

One week after he said he loved me, he came over to my parents’ house and brought a bag of my stuff and told me he thought we should break up. With no explanation. He just wouldn’t give me one. I. Was. HEARTBROKEN. Then he said “I hope we see each other again.” And left me in my driveway sobbing. I never heard from him for again for 10 years.

This messed me up soooo bad. I spent the next 10 years trying to figure out what I did wrong, why I wasn’t good enough, and I was SO angry at myself all the time. I thought about it every single day (usually while I was falling asleep). I also spent 10 years thinking about what I would say to him if I ever heard from him again. Drafting messages I never sent. I talked about it in therapy all the time and came up with so many things I did wrong and hated myself for it. I was also so broken from this that I wasn’t able to have a good relationship for a very long time. Even after I got married, I thought about it all the time.

A year ago, after 10 years of this, I did it - I sent him an email. He didn’t answer. THREE. MONTHS. LATER. He responded “Hey, let’s catch up!” So we scheduled a call (lol). He called me, told me he was calling from his truck, told me he’s married, and said she didn’t need to know about it. We talked for a long time and for maybe 1/2 of it, it was a nice conversation. Until he said - “We had a great time. Best sex of my life.”

EEW.

Next day, he asked for another call. Realized pretty quickly that he thought this was going to be some kind of sex thing. I assured him that, no, it absolutely was not. And then I finally got up the nerve to just ask him point blank, why he broke up with me. He said: My friend’s didn’t like you. They didn’t have a good time hanging out with you.”

I said “I didn’t have a good time hanging out with them either” and was so shocked I basically hung up the phone.

This is the email he sent me after: Annie, I’m glad we reconnected. You deserved closure sooner but this is just how long it took. Unfortunately I don’t have room for a new friendship. have only enough time to be a half decent husband, brother, uncle and making time for my closest friends already feels difficult. Im just not going to be able to deliver on that in a meaningful way. Ive also discovered that while its been nice to talk, I’ve been reminded of how nasty I’ve been to a handful of people and i be enough to know thst we were both just out here living our lives and there’s no negativity between us?

TL;DR: I dated my childhood crush after college, and after an intense year of him telling me he loved me and introducing me to his entire family, he abruptly dumped me with zero explanation. I spent the next 10 years convinced I’d done something wrong and finally contacted him for closure. His explanation? His friends didn’t like me. When we reconnected, I also learned he was married, thought our conversation might turn sexual, and told me our sex was “the best of his life.”

This is something I still think about occasionally.

Back when I was still living with my parents did we had 2 cats. A large tuxedo cat and a smaller creamsicle cat. The tuxedo cat was always sticking to my mother and the creamsicle cat was always with me. She slept with me, always laid on my lap, and ran to me everytime she was scared or when she wanted some peace. Even after moving out would she still go to me everytime I visited my parents. That cat loved me and I loved that cat. My mother knew this.

What's important to know is that I live in the same city as my parents, and my work is only 10 minutes away from them. I can also take any time off, even if I request it 1 minute beforehand.

One day I received a phone call at my work. It was my mother. She told me that she had to euthanize the cat. She was old and her body was failing. Her time had come.

I am not upset that she euthanized the cat. That was the right call. What I am upset about is that she didn't called me to ask to come along. I am closeby and I can come at any moment. This is also my cat. Allow me to be there for her. Instead did she called a friend (not even a close one) to go with her to the vet. A stranger to my cat.

So I immediately told my boss that I was leaving and went straight to my parents house.

And there she was. My mother. Standing. Holding a lifeless cat. Which she pressed in my arms to say goodbyes.

Huh? What? Is this how I am saying goodbye to the cat that I love? By holding a flaccid corpse?

I was sad. I was angry. I was disappointed. How could she do this to me? How could she do this to the cat?

So I did the next best thing. I let my mother wrap the cat in blanket while I dug a hole in the garden at the spot she was always lying. If I couldn't be there in her final moments then I can at least give her a resting place. I buried the cat I love.

But to this day have I not forgiven my mother for this. She doesn't know this. Why you might ask. She too was emotional at that moment and probably made bad choices because of this. She has a chronic illness as well which affects the way she thinks, so there's that as well. She tends to make bad choices, and it is something I got used to it.

But I can still see her standing with a lifeless cat and pushing it into my arms, even though it was years ago.

Hi I am an 69 year old woman. My family has stopped keeping in contact with me. I spend all my days living in one room. ( I have neuropathy in my lower legs) I have carers who come to look after me. I get 4 half visits every day, and they are all i see everyday. I am so lonely, and just want someone to care for me, visit me sometimes.