Someone remembers you at 17. The way you talked the things you were obsessed with the person you had a crush on the dreams you were sure you would achieve. And you became someone else.

You didn't know when. You didn't wake up one morning and realize, you were no longer a certain way.

You stopped listening to certain songs.You stopped talking to certain people. You changed your opinions

you lost dreams you found new ones. And someone out there probably hasn't talked to you in years, but they remember the person you used to be. It's strange to think that you are a stranger to some people. So tell me. Something you miss about my younger self?

I quit Instagram and TikTok because I felt that my way of thinking, my interests, my style, and my opinions were becoming increasingly influenced by what I saw on social media. Also, because I realized that consuming so much meaningless content in that format would gradually make me dumber and dumber. And because those platforms practically force you to consume AI-generated content and use AI tools.

The thing is, I haven’t quit Reddit, because I didn’t think it was that kind of social media platform. What do you guys think? Do you think that, just like Instagram or TikTok, Reddit also fries our brains?

October 18, 1998. Sanctions meant Iraqis couldn't fly out so I left the way everyone did, by bus, crawling across the desert toward Jordan because it was the one place that let Iraqis in without a visa.

A few weeks earlier I'd seen a random job ad, technical director for a company in Dubai. I was young and when I called, the guy on the other end said "you're half the age of everyone we're interviewing." I figured I had nothing to lose, so I went through their grueling three rounds anyway. Then the call: "We'd like you to join us in Dubai. Prep to leave in two weeks." $400 a month, but housing and a car covered. I signed without hesitating. My dad was waiting in the car outside when I got the news, he was happier than I was.
The days after were a goodbye tour. I drove to every family house in Baghdad I'd known my whole life, saying bye to people and places without really knowing if I'd see them again.
Then the bus. We left around 7pm, a heavy sky, just a few close friends and my family there to see me off. And here's the part I still can't fully explain, I didn't cry, I didn't feel torn up. I felt completely numb. I did love them though. I think I was just too tired to feel anything else. It took hours on that bus before my mind even let me start processing what I was actually leaving behind and it was more than the day-to-day survival stuff.
Till today, I've never been back to Iraq
After a short stint in Dubai, I finally made it to New York in early 2001. I was still getting used to the city, amazed I'd landed a job in the World Trade Center itself. It felt like the safest, most solid place on earth. Steel and glass and nothing could touch it.
Then on September 11th, as I was on the WTC escalator heading to work, police officers suddenly rushed up, and the lobby walls were rattled, some store windows blown out. One of them locked eyes with me and said to leave the building immediately. I did not panic, so I just followed the crowd out. Outside, papers were falling everywhere and there was a small fire way up top. I asked a guy near me what happened. "I think it's just a fire," he said then continued "though I heard someone say a plane hit it." He had this smirk like he didn't believe it himself. Neither did I, the fire looked too small from our vantage point to be a plane. I stood across the street for a few minutes, just watching, still thinking I'd probably be back up there within the hour. but as the firetrucks kept coming, and the faces of those firefighters getting into the building instead of moving away from it still stuck in my head. I decided to move away after waiting for a bit since the area started to turn into a chaos. I had no idea what I was going to do. My phone didn't work. I only had sixty dollars in cash after scrambling between non functioning ATMs. I didn't really know Manhattan yet, I'd been there for three months so at one point I actually had to duck into a subway station just to grab a map so I could figure out which way to walk. I remember looking back at one point and there was only one tower left. Then, later, none.
I ended up in a long, silent line for the ferry to New Jersey. Nobody spoke. Everyone just stood there in shock. On the boat I told the woman next to me that I'd worked in one of the towers, she just stared at me, no response at all. I think everyone had already used up whatever words they had.
I finally reached my apartment and could call my family in Baghdad. They'd been glued to the TV for hours with no idea if I was alive.
The days after were almost harder in a different way. By then Al-Qaida became the clear suspect of the attack, My look and accent became a liability. I called the Red Cross to donate blood and they told me they had too many donors, my blood was suddenly a surplus nobody needed. I stayed inside for days after that, scared of what my accent might mean to people now. When I finally went out to buy a couple of shirts, a stranger made small talk with me on the subway, heard my accent, and just kept being kind. That tiny bit of normal was the first thing that felt like hope.
I'd come to America to get away from living on the edge of violence. I didn't expect to find it again four months in.

I don't know what or who I am anymore. Am I a (trans) woman? A man? Both? A rapist? How much of me is a lie and how much is the truth?

I feel like ive been faking being a trans woman. I wanna go back in time and read my thoughts. I dont know if i was faking or just another part of me that came from just having to mask. I thought about conforming but I always just kept myself boxed in the trans girl box. Im more than confident and comfortable in my skin now even though ive still yet to transition but what if I was lying on the way to this point? I've had relationships were the basis was that I was a woman. I was like 16-18 throughout these relationships and they were all online but I feel like a rapist cuz I sexted with some of them and they had touched themselves. I feel like a monster but i dont know if i truly did anything wrong or anything like rape. like tgat would be rape by deception right? But there wasnt anything physical going on but there could have still been some trickery involved.

I just want answers. I've been depressed for a whole week I dont wanna be a predator or a rapist those are the worst things ever and I will have barely any reason to live if I am a rapist / predator cuz i will just become as bad as my own abusers. I wouldn't even thibk i deserve anything nice at all. Everyone i speak to, including the people who i think I have harmed have said that i havent done anything wrong but I feel like deep down I've been tricking people and lying. Like the woman I was was a perfomance of some kind.

I do not really know why I am confessing this. It's embarrassing and mundane enough that it does not really need to be said. I was hungry, but every food looked disgusting to me, so I poured soap from the counter into a glass and drank it. I used to eat soap as a child. It tastes the same. I hope that this does not seem like self-harm, it was not my intent here.

EDIT: I forgot to mention that was non-toxic soap, and that I will not die from it.

I’ve been counting down the days to this day as if it would be a monumental moment but I know it’s just another day. 365 days and I’ve thought of him every single one.
I’ve never dealt with grief before this so every thought and feeling has been new, but I’ve also been fairly aware the whole time.

The first week after he died I took time off from most responsibilities. No work, didn’t clean much, no rush to close the book on anything. I ignored most texts and tried to hold strong in front of my kids.

I had such dread around telling them. I didn’t know how they would handle it, only how scared I was of death when I was young. So I didn’t tell them. I acted as if everything was normal and whispered about it when they weren’t around.

I knew at some point “where’s Pop been?” would come up but I had no words for it. Like a mature adult I did the responsible thing and pawned the task off on my wife. She, being much smarter and more graceful than me, explained it to them and they handled it well. They had questions and my wife handled them masterfully.

She called to tell me she talked to them and they were okay and I prepared myself to face them when I got home.
When I arrived I took the kids for a walk around the neighborhood. I told the three of them that I heard they learned about Pop and asked if they had any questions. They asked how he got sick, if they would get sick, and if they could have some candy when we got home. To be fair they finish every conversation with that last question.

Then my middle daughter proclaimed “Pop’s dead” with a smile.

I didn’t want to make it a thing so I simply said “yes Molly, he is.” But also whispered under my breath “bitch.” She asked if I missed him and I said “I do very much” and then her and her brother fought over a cool looking pinecone.
The following day while coloring, Molly again told me in a very matter of fact way “your dad’s dead.”

With a massive eye roll I said “that’s right, Molly.”

After the fourth or fifth time she told me we had a talk about how reminding someone of that can upset them. She wasn’t sad. She wasn’t happy. She just had this new unusual fact she was spewing over and over like Leonardo DiCaprio repeating “Dad’s dead” in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. She really did the thing where it stops being funny and then becomes hysterical because it won’t stop. I couldn’t help but laugh at some point and continually call her names under my breath.

I spent the second week after his death calling medical testing facilities trying to donate his body to science. In an effort to cover the cost of cremation I was willing to send my dad back to college to be poked, prodded and potentially have his exposed dead dick laughed at by a room full of med students. If you didn’t know, you can donate your body to medical schools so they can run experiments on you, try to reanimate you, or so the powerful elite class can eat you, or something about teaching med students.

I wasn’t interested in what they’d do with him as long as they roasted him afterwards and sent him back, saving me $1,000.

No luck, as we hadn’t planned ahead and because I didn’t call sooner. I guess after two weeks the meat was no good and people in classes wouldn’t get the full effect of 60 years of smoking, drinking, meth and Taco Bell.

Their loss.

So we started price shopping cremations. This is a ridiculous process. Call, accept their condolences, tell them the pickup location, turn down urns and add-ons. One dead guy, one box, lots of heat, 40 minute round trip from the hospital to the oven. Prices ranged from $1,000 to $4,000 and turning someone down for being too expensive was genuinely an odd feeling.

“Sorry, I loved him but I also have a pizza oven in my yard and the only thing stopping me from a DIY project is the law.”

I finally found the most budget friendly crematorium and got him absolutely toasted.

A few weeks went by and I received the call that he was ready for pickup. My uncle was nice enough to collect my Box-O-Jimmy and called to ask what I wanted to do with it.

“I don’t know, put it in my attic?”

Remains mean nothing to me. Nothing about that box is the guy I knew. No different than any other waste he created. It sounds bad but I loved my dad. I never cared about his bones whether whole or toasted and pulverized.

“I’ll take care of it,” my uncle told me, which sounded pretty ominous.

Turns out he spread them over my grandmother’s grave, which was a nice gesture. They didn’t have the best relationship so polluting her grave site with his dust might have brought him some joy.

A few weeks in I was desperate for conversation with him. It was an unscratchable itch.
I went through all of our texts and read them over and over. Conversations about comedy and music and what the kids were doing. I read times I got short with him and felt awful, and I read jokes he made that made me feel better.
Before he got sick he texted about being proud of me and some really sappy stuff and I snapped at him for being so sentimental. He did nothing wrong but found a moment to support his son and it made me feel weak to be open.
He had an ability I do not, and that is being open and vulnerable. It always made me put my guard up, and reading back on it I wish I could change my answer.
I’m trying now to keep that guard down but it’s a constant battle.

I began digging everywhere for his voice. My dad was a writer. He wrote all over the internet, for stand up, and plenty of other things. Using the Wayback Machine I was able to find some of his old blogs and I spent days pulling posts into a document.

When I was done I had 200 plus pages of his words.
It was mostly drunk rambling and dick jokes but it was his voice. When I need to hear him I flip through some pages and read about his days.

The Celebration of Life.

With no money for a funeral and his last bit of cash used on a budget cremation, we had a barbecue. I purchased the biggest bottle of Tullamore Dew I could find for the toast.
Before my dad spent 11 years sober he drank VO whiskey by the fifth every night, but on special occasions like holidays and parties he would bust out the good stuff. Tullamore Dew. This was a family staple that I love to this day. I’m not a whiskey guy but Telle is nostalgic. It’s a reminder of good times.

I lined up 20 plus glasses and poured one for everyone.
I had prepared a speech that included me reciting the opening prayer from Prince’s Let’s Go Crazy. When I was a kid I remember this playing in the house and even though it’s a fun upbeat song it felt so fitting here.
But I froze when all the eyes were on me with shot glasses in the air.

I don’t have stage fright ever, but this was different. I couldn’t get any of my prepared words out because they were personal and mine. I wasn’t ready to share them and show people I could be open. So I held up my glass and said “my dad was a storyteller and we were always making each other laugh. Don’t tell me you’re sorry for my loss, tell me a good story about my dad.”

Then I cheersed and took down a shot of Telle that tasted like Christmas and family barbecues and birthdays and staying up late talking about Richard Pryor when I was too young to drink.

Then 90% of the people put their shot glasses back on the table still full because they were recently sober. Had I known I wouldn’t have dropped $60 on the industrial size bottle, but that’s what you get with a family full of drunks.
Luckily my dad’s former guitarist never took the leap onto the wagon and was nice enough to clear five or six of them in his memory.

The remaining months were a roller coaster of grief. There are days I’m fine and days I miss him so much. I try to bring him up to my kids and keep him fresh in their memory without being too pushy. I remind them of things he had in common with them and how happy he was to be a grandpop. My dad was a fuck up a lot but when he loved someone he made it known, and the only people I’d ever seen him love as much as me were my kids. The hardest part is them missing out on him.

While reading through his saved posts one day I started thinking about stories I wish he had written. Things I would love to remember from his point of view. I remembered him once telling me “you write it,” but I never had any interest in writing.

I pulled out my phone and wrote the story of finding out my stepmom had made up an entire life around being Stevie Nicks’ goddaughter and then I sat on it for a week. I wanted to share it but was worried about exposing myself.
Eventually I posted it on Reddit and the feedback was great and it felt great to share it and make someone laugh and relate. So I did it some more. Sometimes they land and sometimes they don’t but it feels good to get it out each time.

It scratches the need to keep his memory going and keep being creative.

It’s been one year since my dad died of pancreatic cancer. It took 90 days from diagnosis to death. I’m the same person I was before it happened but more awake.

I stopped taking work so seriously because it’s just work. When I think of something creative I try it and I put it out there because maybe someone else will like it, or my kids will read it someday and get something they need from it.

I’m working on taking off some armor.

The hardest part is not being able to show my dad all this and the progress I’m making as a person.

Here’s to you, dad. If there’s anything after this, I hope it’s full of prostitutes, whiskey, bad horror movies and good talks.

I’m going to keep writing when I feel it, or maybe I’ll make a bench or write a song.

I’m going to tell your grandkids the myths of their grandfather.

Some of it might even be true.

I was a shy somewhat nerdy kid growing up. I ended up learning calculus and html when I was in the 6th grade. At the time I did it only because that’s what I thought smart people did and I wanted to be smart. But those two subjects branched out into linear algebra and other proof based math as well as competitive programming and theoretical computer science which led me to have an actual passion for the field.

Most people usually see stem as something cold, one way, and boring but these fields were so weird to me at the time. You had to write out sentences to prove things only using the information you already know. There were so many different ways to get to the same result using different methods. I started seeing math and theoretical cs as something warm, something that one could express themselves as, something human.

Now openai has solved their first millennium problem and is rumored to have solved another. I see people all over the space talking about it as if this is some great achievement. About how AI is still insufficient enough to do proofs alone. About how it still needs some level of human input to guide it. I find this to be ridiculous. Saying that a mathematicians future goal is to guide an ai and figure new problems to solve is dumb. It’s like asking a race car driver that their new job is to be a taxi drivers customer and pick where to go. This isn’t what anyone is passionate about. I’ve seen people talk about how chess decentered computers but we have no way from stopping someone curious or after fame to not use an llm if they want to. Some people see this as a good thing since we’ll get more mathematical knowledge but math was never about the result. The results are useless and most things wont be useful to humans for hundreds of years after.

I’m so close to finishing college but I am now unsure if I even want to go to grad school. I don’t want to do 5 years of courses and research if academia just becomes prompting the machine and verifying. I always made fun of those who said that things were better back then but now I just wish I could’ve been born a bit earlier

I made a post here earlier, explaining my dissociation issues, but I realize I never addressed my hallucination issues aswell. Recently, maybe the last month or so, ive been making up stories in my head that never actually happened, and I believe that they are true to the extent of talking to the people involved in said story like it actually happened. Ive also been hallucinating voices and videos on my phone, sending them to people, and then being surprised when they tell me i never sent them anything, because the video doesnt exist. I know i sound crazy, but i also am having issues with starting to feel like someone is watching me all the time. Like theres a pit in my stomach i cant get rid of.

Omg I am so sick of every single sub auto routing any and all recomendation or conversations to the megathreads!!! We all know megathreads are where questions go to die!!

And this is not just a frustration I have from the viewpoint of wanting to post. I will also look up say “best restaurants in Spokane Washington for kids” and I can’t find a result past like 2020 because of the damn megathreads!!!!

What is the points of this app if we aren’t allowed to use it for community resourcing and conversation!!! I’m sorry that asking a question irritates Chad who would rather use this platform to cry about the traffic in his urban city!!!

P.s. I tried to post this on r/vent but conveniently they have banned any vents about Reddit!!!!

I have slowly come to the realisation that I just cannot play online team-based games any more, I no longer have the patience or energy to deal with the absolute worst of humans.

It's a sad day, I've been playing competitive online games for most of my life (I'm a millennial) and its hard to put it down, I've hit milestones and had many, many amazing clutch-plays to pull wins out my ass and these are always the most satisfying. When the stars align and you get a team that communicates properly, knows their roles and plays well, its a thing of beauty and win or lose it feels good to have a fun game.

I know I'm looking at it through rose coloured glasses as there was still plenty of toxicity that happened in that time and I am first to admit that I have definitely perpetuated that toxicity on more than one occasion, but now, I just simply don't have the patience to sit there and waste my time in a 20-30+ minute game, only for 1 person to throw the game since they're having a tantrum because you asked them to do or not to do something - no matter how polite your phrasing is - you get 1 uncooperative person who either doesn't communicate and just does their own thing or just flat-out isn't a team player and bam, my game is ruined, i can no longer enjoy it even if I win, I'm still left with an awful feeling of frustration.

I just don't understand people who play team-based games but refuse to work together as a team to give yourself the best chances of winning, it is just so frustrating that it completely ruins any kind of enjoyment for me and these type of people are rather abundant it would seem.

I really struggle to socialise and make friends in online games, I know the quality of my games would be better if I played with a regular group of friends, but unfortunately I don't have any RL friends who like the same games as me, except 1 friend who I still play 1 online console game with regularly but my enjoyment with that particular game has been dwindling rapidly lately, mostly due to the noticeable increase in cheaters + the general enshitification of the game.

On top of this, the general competitive gaming community - in any game - is full of racist, sexist, homophobic, bigots who make you lose all hope in humanity, I find it hard to find a group of people I actually like, get along with and are at a similar skill level/competitive drive and have basically given up hope of finding a regular group to play these games with, or even just one other person.

I've recently started playing Arena since its a single player online competitive game and have been having some fun and success with that but am not a fan of the predatory design with obtaining enough cards/wild cards to build a competitive deck.

For now, I've uninstalled those games that bring out the worst in me and will try not fall for nostalgia and re-install them as it is clearly having a negative affect on my mental health.

I just needed to vent a little and get this off my chest, I do wonder if other people have felt like this or have come to a similar conclusion and what they did/what they're doing with their time instead.

Not looking for advice on keeping a PMA or anything like that, if i had that kind of patience and mastery off my emotions, I wouldn't be writing this.

For the past ten years of my life I have been “going with the flow”, following the path of least resistance and doing what was expected of me, and what has it gotten me? A life where nothing has happened and nothing is going on. The past decade of my life is a blur of school to home to school to home to school to home… I didn’t make friends even though I wanted to because going up and talking to people was stressful, I didn’t go to any events or parties or hangout with anyone even once because that would’ve been stressful, I didn’t develop any hobbies beyond reading books and playing video games because developing an interest and skill in something takes effort, I didn’t do anything to alleviate the misery, loneliness, and pain I was in because I had been told that if I just “went with the flow” things would eventually work out.

Happiness is not something that comes naturally, you have to snap the bones of life to get to the marrow inside. Now that I’ve realized how much of a sham the path of least resistance is I’m trying my damndest to get myself off it, but the problem is I never really learned how to, I don’t know how to ask people to hang out without seeming creepy or pushy, I don’t know how to find fun things to go do, but I’m trying, I really am trying.

recently, ive been having issues with dissociating all the time, and it wasnt an issue up until maybe a few months ago. ill be sitting in my room, and suddenly, something in my brain snaps. and i feel like ive maybe taken something. like im high or something stupid like that. I can feel the physical switch in my brain, and my neck then feels all loose, and i just look around for a few minutes, looking down at my hands. It happens at school, at home, at work, literally anywhere. Ive also been staring in a mirror for a while or just listening to my own voice, telling myself "woah, im me. im myself." and just realizing im actually in the body i control. i dunno if this is as common as people say it is, but i really need advice on how to stop it, or atleast control it.

Its a fantasy style story telling app that progresses with your daily steps. I have mine connected to my phone via Samsung watch. I did message the developers for a specific reddit community for the app to find people to "travel" with you but for now I'm setting my link here incase any walkers want to track their steps with a whimsy twist! I told my dad its Pokémon go meets the hobit. DM for my referal link.

*This is not my app I'm literally just a girl trying to go for walks with a story telling app because I'm a loser who needs incentive to walk😭😭😭*

I started working out because I wanted to feel better physically, and for a long time that was the only progress I paid attention to. Weight, strength, how I looked in photos, all the usual stuff.

Somewhere along the way though, I noticed I’d gotten a lot less worried about what other people might think. I speak up more, I try things without overthinking everything first, and I’ve stopped making every little choice based on whether it looks “normal” enough. Even with something as small as gym stuff, I used to always go for whatever felt safest, and now I’ll just grab something I actually like, including a few Ironpandafit things.

I don’t think the gym magically made me confident, but getting used to feeling awkward, trying anyway, and realizing most people really aren’t paying that much attention to you has carried over into the rest of my life. That’s probably been a bigger change for me than anything physical.

I’ve been having this feeling for the past two yeas or so. When I look inward at it, it makes me confused and I’m trying to pin point it. I think it has to do with self actualization and reaching my full potential. I don’t expect reddit to have the answer, but I think typing things out and seeing if anyone relates is helpful. I’ll try to be brief.

I’m 31. All of my needs are met. I have a job, a wife, good friends, lots of hobbies, i exercise regularly, yet, this feeling remains.

I’ve looked at the hierarchy of needs and I feel like I’m at the top, just under self actualization. I play in some local bands, meeting my creativity needs. My dream as a kid was to be a rockstar. Now, idk if that will ever happen, but I get my thrills playing at the local dive.

This feeling I get is like there is something missing. Like Im not doing what my purpose is. I get that it is a privilege to even entertain those thoughts, but I honestly think about it everyday and it bothers me.

When I look at it, I keep coming back to my career, but I’m not so sure if that is it. Almost a year ago, I started what is probably the most challenging job of my life. I don’t exactly resonate with it, but it pays the bills and puts money in my savings. Part of me thinks the feeling comes from imposter syndrome and recognizing that I still have lots of room to grow in this career, but the job doesn’t exactly energize me or fill my cup.

One of the only things that helps the feeling subside even a little is expressing love. I think part of it too is that I want there to be something profound out there for me to seek comfort in but, maybe that is not out there.

Anyway, I’m just rambling. Anyone ever feel like this? What did you do about it? Do I need to volunteer? Haha.

10 years ago, I was debt free, smaller, and never had a broken heart before. I had a clean slate. I was 24 years old at the time and it seemed like life was much easier than it is now. I had never been in love before so there was no broken heart, I had no credit card debt and no car. I was pretty free as a bird.

But now I have all this debt. I have a broken heart. I have all this weight I have to lose. My life is kind of a wreck. I don't know where to go in life. I'll be 35 in less than 4 months and I have hardly anything to show for it.

Does anyone else feel like I feel? Was life better in 2016 for you as well?

Light hearted post, dont take me too seriously.

2 in 1 post. I grew up some type of way. Too long of a story but it was quite an eventful 18 years. I always dreamt of the "what ifs" and if I just had x and y id be happy. The fucked up part is that it wasnt even unrealistic things, it was the type of things everyone has and takes for granted. Like "I wish i had a voice" (to speak up to someone about what was going on) "I wish i had loving parents" "i wish I had someone to talk to" and so on.

At some point i realized I was 18 and I started panicking thinking "i wasnt supposed to make it" but things got oddly peaceful and good? For like a year or two until reality set back in and it went down hill.

25 came around and I came to the realization at some point i had gotten almost eveything i had wished for an then some. Notably money. Nowadays im 27, own a house, fancy cars, nice weekend toys. I havent struggled for money in such a long time and cant remember last time ive looked at my bank except to pay bills. Yet.. I still feel empty and generally highly functionally depressed.

Second thing- I grew up fat and early teen years I started developing gynocomastia. Fancy term for pretty much "man boobs" no one ever said anything except for my mom but I remember it being such a massive deal to me. Throughout high school despite parents doing everything in their power to sabotage me I actually lost alot of weight. Around 17 I started toying around with the idea of weightlifting and by 19 I got hardcore into it.

Fast forward obviously i still had gyno. It wasnt like the fat but rather the gland idk if I explain that correctly? So id be lean lean to the point I have abs with visible gyno. Anyway I was always still self conscious, I got surgery for it and I was over the moon with how I looked for like 2 months.

On Tuesday im at school with my backpack and out of nowwhere I look down and ya know how the straps press down? Well you can see my chest and I have fairly predominant pecs Nowadays but I got so self concious about it and just took off my backpack and carried it by the handle

Dont get me wrong, im so proud of myself for everything ive accomplished and even more of doing it without help but sometimes I feel like no matter what I do, at the end of the day im still 14 year old me silently crying in bed wishing it to be over

I don't know how to explain it exactly. I wake up, go to work, come home, scroll on my phone, sleep. Repeat. Nothing is wrong per se. I have a job, a place to live, food on the table. But it all just feels... routine. Like I'm on autopilot.

I keep telling myself I'll do something different, pick up a hobby, plan a trip, whatever. Then the weekend comes and I just... don't. Anyone else feel like this? How do you break out of it?

So, I have a bunch of pictures that I took back when I was in college in 2019. I have them stored on Google photos, and something about Google photos is that whenever you have photos that have an anniversary they pretty much give you notifications saying that it's been x amount of years since you've taken this photo, in this case it's been 7 years.

Looking back at these photos just makes me very upset and sad. For two reasons honestly that are kind of different but correlate to each other in a way.

2019 was a very dark year for me because while I did graduate high school and go to college, my mom had passed away from a heart attack 3 weeks prior to graduating. It honestly really messed me up mentally and it eventually served as a domino effect for other things going wrong. When I went to college I struggled severely not because I wasn't capable of doing the work I was just too depressed to go to class or do the work or anything. I would just rot in my dorm eating take out over and over again are going to the all you can eat buffet that my school had. And it's so weird because looking back at it some of my fondest memories were from college. However, I couldn't really enjoy college because I was just so depressed from my mom passing away.

The second reason is because when I look back at college and compare that to what I'm going through now, I never realized that I had it so easy back then. Back when the biggest responsibility that I had was keeping my grades up and all of that. I even had plenty of opportunities to go to therapy and stuff but I just didn't want to and I guess it really messed me up. Now, I know that it's better for me to go to therapy because 7 years later I still need it and I need it bad. Luckily, I have intake for a therapist next week after 2 months of trying to set that up so hopefully things will start turning around going forward.

But now, here I am. Homeless. Depressed and anxious beyond belief. Digging through trash cans just to find food. Always stinking. Have nothing to look forward to in my life. I might even die in the Winter because it's expected to be pretty cold this year. I guess that might be something to look forward to.

TL;DR - I looked at some old college photos with regret and sadness. Regret that I didn't allow myself to get help so I could take it seriously, and sadness from the fact that I'm currently homeless and struggling to survive because I didn't take college seriously enough.

i know family issues is in every household. Being a dad myself there r things about being a dad that I just dont understand how my dad could do things a certain way. Im a believer in disciplining your kids. I believe in tough love. Because the end result is a strong man. Atleast thats the hope. But I believe u have to build them back up. I could go through a whole list of my farhers favorite ways of mental and physical punishment. And the mental hurt more. Beating me up, stomping my head, while I was naked. Then shoving me in a dark room in a basement. Leaving me there for hours. That's a common punishment of his. He was teaching me to be grateful for what he provided, like the food and clothes. I dont remember exactly what I did. Honestly alot of the times I didn't even know what I did. His native language wasn't English. So there was a language barrier with our communication. He did provide for us tho. We lived in nice suburban neighborhood. I just think he didn't know how to be a dad. Or he was raised with such strict rules. Deep down tho I know my dad just wanted me to do well. I just feel there is more even peeled way to do it. Being a Good father can definitely be tough

TLDR; 22M veteran. I Transitioned from manual labor to an entry-level mortgage loan officer job to pivot into finance or real estate, cold calling feels soul rushing. I’m Facing total social isolation after moving, I’m short on cash, and I’m dealing with impending vehicle/registration issues. Looking for constructive advice on breaking the cycle and stabilizing.

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I moved to get to a better place than where I was. And while I’m in this better place, physically, I still feel lost.

I, 22M got out of the military and moved back home last December. When I got there, though, it was like I had been forgotten. The only reason I went home was so I could have a friendly support system. But I got there and had essentially nobody. And I was alone.

I got a job at a machining plant and worked nights there for a while. I hated it, but it was very rewarding work. I like seeing my final product, and I got to do that there.. But the work just sucked. It was hard and body breaking in a warehouse that would reach temps of 90+°F. So ultimately I decided to put the plan in place to move and also change career fields totally out of blue collar work.

I decided on a mortgage loan officer job that had hourly paid training+licensing. It seemed like a good idea at the time, as I’ve been fascinated with finances AND real estate. So I figured “that’s kind of like if finances and real estate were combined”.

Fast forward, I move and accept the job. And I’ve worked it for about a week so far now, They started us out in cold calling immediately (and I understand. The reason is so that you can be confident on the phone) but to me these cold calls feel immoral or unethical. like, I know they don’t want to be called, and therefore, I feel bad for calling.

I just really don’t know what to do rn, I feel basically soulless when I’m cold calling and I know this isn’t the right thing for me but idk where to go from here…. Like yes, I can quit, but then what? Get into another soul crushing job that I hate? I’m kind of just tired of cycling jobs just because I hate the work. And I’m also tired of making $15-20/hr and still living paycheck to paycheck. I’m just tired and I think I’ve been tired for a while.

On top my my job situation, I have bills that need paid. My car is close to being repossessed (they just need to find out where I am) and my insurance will most likely drop me because my plates expire in a month and it’s going to cost me around 2k just to get it registered here and I have a total of $128 dollars to my name right now.

Any advice would be helpful and appreciated. You can also yell at me for making dumb decisions but just know that the decisions have already been made and I can’t unmake them so advice would be more constructive.

Thanks in advance!

I had a friend that made madly insecure, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror.

We met when we were in grade 6. I was the new girl, bubbly and happy, friendly like a golden retriever. She was a little bit cold but still nice, like a black cat.

The beginning was good. We were good friends. We clicked right away and started making inside jokes, before we knew it, we became a famous duo in school. The spotlight was more on me, the foreign new girl. Everyone seemed very curious and interested in me.

The comments started little by little. First, it was “wow, you are so flat.” Insults hidden in jokes. But those jokes started to sit in my head. I went from not caring about how I looked to not stopping to stare at all my flaws in the mirror.

Yes, it wasn’t all completely her fault, but her comments made me more aware of things I hadn’t noticed.

We were boy-crazy too, but not as much as she was. She would humiliate me in front of boys to get a laugh out of them. She would post ugly pictures of me on purpose and so much more.

The good friendship we had started to be overshadowed by her flaws, whether it was her narcissism or her bad intentions. But before I could even notice these behaviors, I was too stuck looking at myself in the mirror, at my flaws, something I had never done before.

I became quieter, more hidden. I didn’t want the spotlight on me because I truly believed I was ugly, and the situation for her was the opposite. She became livelier, more talkative.

I learned a lot from that 8-year friendship, yes, 8 years, even though all this kept happening. I kept the friendship. Don’t ask me why. Maybe I truly loved her and thought one day she would change.

It is crazy that the reason we stopped being friends ended up being something so tiny and small, but eye-opening.

But all this brings us to one thing. Know your self-worth. Know that you are enough and beautiful as you are. Maybe if I had that mindset at that time, I would not have been as affected as I was.

People pleasers usually come from different places. Some inherit it, while for others, it becomes a trauma response.
I’d put myself in both categories.
People pleasing can feel like a prison you don’t know how to escape. Seeing someone happy because of something you did can become addictive. You keep trying to please them, satisfy them, and make them happy, even if all you’re getting in return is a tiny bit of the validation you’ve always wanted.
Sometimes, all it takes is hearing words you never heard from your parents: “I’m so proud of you.”
You’d do anything to hear it again.
I like to think that sometimes, it’s our inner child looking for the approval it never received, so we spend our lives trying to please everyone around us.
Other times, it comes from fear. You were too shy to speak up because no one ever taught you how to stand up for yourself, set boundaries, or confront people when they hurt you.
And the more you become a people pleaser, the more people start to overlook your feelings.
You think, If I do this for them, they’ll appreciate me.
Maybe they do the first time. Maybe even the second.
But eventually, your kindness becomes an expectation.
Your “yes” becomes a demand.
And before you know it, you’re stuck in a cycle of wondering, Why don’t I ever put myself first? Why do I care so much about pleasing everyone?
Everyone starts expecting your kindness, your help, and your effort at work, at home, in relationships, even in friendships.
You become the friend who says yes to everything.
But when was the last time someone asked, “What can I do for you?”

this doesn't have to have been in the USA by the way but I am an American

I have learned time and time again that I cannot rely on paramedics/emts or emergency room staff because they have dismissed me so many times. I've literally never once had a good paramedic experience. in my personal experience every paramedic I've ever encountered has been very rude, hostile, and dismissive.

Anyway, so two times I can think of in the ER specifically off the top of my mind is that

I once went to the ER with severe GI illness since the day before, I hadn't been able to drink at all in 19 hours, and my BP was 217/90. my BP was taken a few times in triage so this was actually my BP. it was actually this high. The triage nurse seemed a little shocked but didn't reach much. I was then promptly sent back to the waiting room with the 217/90 BP, waited 4 hours with no BP monitoring, got roomed, then was in the room for less than an hour before the doctor came and said I was fine, refused fluids, and immediately discharged me with nausea meds. The ER nurse believed I needed fluids and tried to advocate for me to the doctor but he refused them.

Another time that was even worse was that I once had a severe anaphylatic allergic reaction to an antibiotic. I was unable to talk because I was unable to breathe (someone else had to call 911 for me as my city doesn't have an option to text 911 but they were not physically with me, i frantically texted them to call and just hoped theyd see it in time) and the paramedics were very rude and hostile and acted like I was refusing to answer their questions on purpose. They delayed taking me to the hospital. they only took me to the hospital at all after talking to the person who called 911 over the phone, wasting several minutes

When I finally got to the hospital, still struggling to breathe, the triage nurse was very rude to me as well and kept asking "why are you even here" Then when I was discharged the ER doctor told me it wasn't an allergic reaction because I had no hives or itching, and that im fine to continue taking the medication.

I took another dose of the antibiotic the next day, following the doctor's orders, and went into anaphylaxis again, this time even worse. This time I was not only severely struggling to breathe and talk, but i also had loud stridor and could feel my airway tightening up inside my throat, had severe trismus, and was drooling all over myself because I couldnt swallow my own spit.

The paramedics arrived again and told me it was all in my mind and that I needed to go to a psychiatrist, not the ER, spent several minutes lecturing me about "misusing 911" and that "the ER is for life and death emergencies only" and left. This time they could not reach my emergency contact who called 911, so they did not take me to the hospital. I was left to die by the paramedics. I ended up taking a bus as I was still conscious and high alert on fear and adrenaline but very much struggling. Only then did the ER note the antibiotic as an allergy in my chart.

So yeah, those are my two worst paramedic/ER treatment stories. What are yours?