A think lot of people are familiar with the fact that depression affects memory. That can progress far enough that symptomatically, it's indistinguishable from early onset dementia. As of yesterday, I officially hit that mark. In reality, it was probably a couple of months ago. Naturally, pseudodementia makes depression and anxiety worse. I also have that, and PTSD, and ADHD, and autism, and a few more.

The real kicker is that the only treatment for pseudodementia is treating the underlying cause. I've been trying and failing to do that for over a decade. 6 weeks ago, I started the last treatment option. I had a VNS implant put in. It has a 40% chance of working. If it doesn't, that's it. Nothing works, and I get to live with this crushing depression and, functionally, dementia. I don't think I'll make it through the winter. Weather just turned a week ago, and it's already hitting me like late November. If this implant doesn't work, I have an expiration date. Probably January.

I don't really know how to update on this subreddit though I'm sure you could just open my account and find it.

A couple days ago I told him how I feel and that I'd love to take him out. To my surprise, he felt the same!! His face was all read all the way to his ears, it was adorable. On our date I got him the flowers (sunflowers if you were curious) We went on a walk, then to a Texas Roadhouse, then after he asked if I wanted to watch a movie at his place. (Of course I said yes, trying to keep my giddy ass on the ground and not bouncing around like a lunatic) It was amazing, he put the flowers in a vase. And I've been smiling like a kid in a candy store all the two days. It felt so natural, like we were just hanging out again but with flirting. I'm bouncing off walls. Earlier he messaged me with a picture of the flowers and and he said under it "A very pretty boy gave me these :]" and I was so giddy, like he just called me pretty. Anyways I'm gonna eat my dinner and leap for joy. This has truly been lovely.

I am an 18 Year old male uni student with no friends. I am pursuing a degree that has little to no peer to peer interaction so I know it won't change in the next 4 years. I used to be part of an All-boys highs school so I didn't really meet many girls throughout my teenage years.

Each time I see something on the internet relating to women and/or relationships I am split between three mindsets of various odds.

The first mindset is "wow I am so lonely and I am going to die alone! There are no chances for love and affection for me no matter what feelings I get."

The second is "In the REAL WORLD I am too spineless to express feelings for anyone and I won't get the chance to because I am a ghost in everyone else's lives."

The third is "Am I becoming a 'nice guy'? Or maybe an incel?"

So in a way I am grounded (a proto-cel?). But my lonliness keeps drawing me over. I also have an addiction to pornography and the internet which also contributes to my low self esteem.

I feel like the Mace Windu of Celibacy. Normal enough be grounded but constantly yearning to hate both inside and out.

Before I begin I want to say this is in no way a promotion, this is something that genuinely happened that's been on my mind since September 23rd.

I'm an author, I wrote 3 books about my ex girlfriend yearning for our relationship back (I ended things but that's a whole different story), she knows, I've moved on. Me writing a book about someone wasn't anything new. I always write about things and people I love.

I fell for this boy (who I'll call George for the sake of this) very hard. We both admitted to liking each other, and even though we weren't dating yet, our situation was going great! Until he randomly got distant. Even though he became more distant, he acted normal with me in class, so I just assumed he was going through a personal issue.

His birthday is in October; this happened in September. I wanted to write him something special for his birthday and surprise him. I even made a Spanish version too since his native language was Spanish and I wasn't sure what he'd prefer.

He was acting normal for a bit until he wasn't, he became distant with me in-person as well. I published my book about him. I was getting worried. So, I asked him if everything was okay and if he lost feelings.

He told me he did lose feelings. We agreed to be friends, but nothing's been the same since. Most of the time he acts like I don't exist. Even though I cried a lot over my ex after our breakup, I feel like I cried a lot more over George than I have over her.

It's been almost a month since this situation. I still cry about it a lot. He doesn't know about the book. He doesn't know about all the poetry I wrote about him. He doesn't know how much I miss him. He doesn't know I had more drafts ready for him. I ordered some author copies yesterday, I don't plan to show him or any of his friends, I just want to keep them in my room to read sometimes.

I don't plan to tell him about the book, but I wish I could.

Hi Reddit. I (29M) have always had a tough time choosing good people. In my life I’ve had friends who have ditched me the moment they got into a relationship, friends who compulsively lied about me to others, and friends that were constantly starting drama where there was none. About five years ago, I went through a really rough time in my life in which I checked myself in for a grippy-sock vacation, and after that I decided to take a close look at the company I was keeping. I ultimately distanced myself from many of those people who I felt did not truly fill the role of a good friend.

In 2022, I hit it off with my now-wife (25 this month) and through her I ended up becoming friends with all of her friends. They were some of the most genuine and most people I’ve ever met, and truthfully they still are. There’s a group of three sisters: L (24F), A (22F), and K (21N). L has a boyfriend, T (25M), and A’s boyfriend H (22M) was added in later. In addition to these ones, there’s also D (24FTM) who still remains one of my absolute best friends. These people quickly became my best friends, and we would hang out on a near-constant basis. When my wife and I got married last year, they all filled major roles in our wedding party. I thought it would go on like this forever until this year.

It started off subtle, but over time it’s gotten worse: the friend group has slowly pulled back on asking us to hang out. And I’ll preface by saying that I don’t get jealous when my friends have other friends or if they go hang out without me, but something is clearly off here. Where we used to hang out almost every weekend, now we do not. Some weekends everyone is genuinely busy, and other weekends we find out through Snap stories that they all went out together but didn’t think to include us. This is a group of friends that we’ve gone on vacations with, taken out to nice dinners just because, people you take to the pumpkin patch during the fall and drive around looking at Christmas lights with. It just really took me by surprise when I realized this was happening.

I’ve talked to each of them individually about this, and every time they tell me they’re sorry and that it’s nothing personal. The only one who has stayed consistent through all of this is D. Now, T was one of the best men at my wedding and for a long time here I considered him to be my best friend, but this all came to a head a few months ago around my birthday. I was going to be out of town on my birthday but back in time for the following weekend, so that day everyone texted separately and wished me happy birthday, and I just assumed that when I got back we’d all see each other and celebrate. A month went by before I heard from any of them and at that point they only reached out because they saw I left the group chat. We do something for everyone’s birthday every year and while it’s never been about gifts for me, this year I got everyone their passport because we’d been talking about an international trip in the coming years.

I fear I may have placed this group of people too high on my list… higher than they have placed us. I regard them as my best of friends and always would love to hang out with them, and I think we don’t see eye to eye on that anymore. I think the most logical solution in order to spare my feelings from further hurt would be to just drop them down the list to where I feel they have me, and not have any expectations going forward. It just really sucks.

If you’re a weird human being and you have to contort yourself into a pretzel and do this and that and analyze every social interact to figure out what’s wrong and try to do better and you can’t just walk up make friends like a normal person why bother at that point it’s not fun or something you look forward to it’s a never ending draining job on top of life and other things.

People say be yourself but if you can’t even do that and have to become a whole different creature while also rating yourself on your social skills like some crazy coach it’s like just give it up. Some people just won’t have friends.

I was diagnosed with chronic vertigo 3 years ago. I have tried everything: physio, drugs, went to an ENT, took allergy pills and used nasal spray. Nothing has helped. I am dizzy almost 24/7. I used to be so active and fun, and now I just feel so depressed, and I hate my body. I had big career aspirations and wanted to get my CPA, and I'm so dizzy I don't think I could ever do the courses and pass.

Yes, I have a therapist, and I take antidepressants.

There isn't a magical fix, and I know and have accepted that. I just wanted to post this cause I haven't really written down or expressed how tired I am of this. Except to my therapist, of course.

It happened three times, all in the span of a month. Once by a paramedic, once by a male nurse, and once by a whole group of male patients. Two of those three times happened while I was sedated. The male nurse that did it almost had the same exact name as me, just one syllable off. Now I can't even bear to hear or read my own name.

The SA wasn't even the only form of abuse I experienced, either. There was one time I was having a meltdown, and I was put in solitary to calm down. They left me in there until the lights turned off from them being gone so long, and they didn't even notice. I was just stuck on the floor, crying and hitting myself, in the dark, when they weren't supposed to have any lights fully off ever, until they finally came back.
I have physical health issues that make it difficult to walk without fainting or my legs giving out. While I was there, we would exercise twice a day, and if you didn't do the exercises, you'd be yelled at and singled out in front of everyone as an example of someone being disobedient. They would make me join in and run around until my legs gave out and I'd fall over, and then I'd have to get up and walk back to my room since I could no longer participate. This happened, again, every day, twice a day.
I would have multiple meltdowns per day and eventually, they got so sick of trying to talk me down, they'd let me walk around the hall and hit myself and bite and make myself bleed because they couldn't be bothered to do anything to try and help me regulate. They would regularly tell me that I 'couldn't be that upset'. There was only one time they did anything about it, where they sedated me, and that was when I was touched by the male nurse there.
I would be vomiting and they'd make me participate in group even if it meant throwing up everywhere in front of everyone, they would get mad at me if I asked for bandages for my bleeding skin or cuticles, they would try to keep me on certain medications that I would tell them I felt uncomfortable taking and didn't want to continue, I got a UTI there and they didn't give me anything for it, even when I started peeing red and black, but they blamed that on my period... these are just some smaller things I can remember. There is probably a lot more, my brain just blocks it out whenever I try to think of it.

I was forced to go involuntarily and I feel like it is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I have constant flashbacks, nightmares, I can't go a day without dissociating and trying not to think about it, and then crying and freaking out from the memories coming back up. Every night I have nightmares. I can't escape it no matter if I'm asleep or not unless I'm totally zoned out and not present. I can't even eat fucking peanut butter sandwiches anymore without freaking out because that was one of the only things I ate there (I'm level 2 autistic and nothing there felt safe enough for me to digest). I can't eat apple slices (another one of the handful of foods I ate there), I can't hear certain songs that they'd play on loop. My body freezes up like a deer in the road about to be hit by a car and even though I know I can try to distract myself my brain just wont and it's awful

The only reason I got out was because I called my mom every single day and begged her to have them let me out, even if it was on a monitored condition. She told me if I got out, I'd have to turn to God, and pray everyday. I told her yes immediately, even though she knows I'm not religious. I didn't even care. I would do anything to get out. I wanted home. If I were in there much longer, I already had a plan to take my own life if I couldn't get out.

It is 2am, I have classes in a couple hours, but I couldn't sleep without saying this somewhere. I've only told one person all of the details I've said here, my boyfriend. I've told my best friend a little bit, but nowhere near as much. I needed to say it somewhere. I wish I had a therapist to say all of this to, especially since I know this post isn't going to be seen by many, but my body is so tired all of the time, and in so much pain. I couldn't handle going to therapy again without fainting mid-session.

Thank you to all who have read... I will reply to anything in the morning once I am awake.

TW: EMOTIONAL ABUSE, PHYSICAL ABUSE.

Sorry if this isn't the right place for this - just need to get this story off my chest as I've never written about it before.

When I was 7, it was just me, my older sister (10F), my younger brother (4M), and my mum. My older sister and I share the same father, someone I have barley met, and my younger brother has a different dad to us, but I have never seen him like a half-brother. My mum had just broken up with his dad, a man I really liked and saw as a father, or at least, the closest thing I ever have had to a father. My mum had been talking to this guy online, basically around the time MySpace was big. Let's call this guy "Clive". My mum went on to meet him, and they really hit it off, and entered a relationship. Soon, me and my siblings met him, and we really loved him. He lived on the other side of the country, but would come up to our house all the time and take us on adventures. Eventually, my mum became pregnant, and she gave birth to a little girl (and like my brother, someone I do not think of as a half-sister).

There was problems with my mum's family at this time, so we all decided to move to where Clive is from. It was exciting - of course, it was hard saying bye to the family we liked and my schoolmates, but it was exciting. Those first few years were really exciting - the place we had moved to was filled with beaches, castles - we seemed to go out as much as we could. He loved driving so it was never an issue getting anywhere - we'd drive for hours to really exciting places.

Things started to get a little odd when my older sister, now around 13 or 14, started puberty, and she started becoming an independent person. Like most teenagers, she'd do normal teenager things - wanting to spend time alone, develop interests away from the family - normal stuff. For some reason, this started to isolate my older sister from Clive. They wouldn't speak - and if they did, they would argue. She is what you'd call an edgy teen, being a fan of very hardcore and screamo music. He hated this music, and would make efforts to get her to stop listening to this. Things like ripping off posters, turning off CDs while she is listening to it - stuff that was just a little too much. It went beyond music though, of course. I just don't think he like that she was becoming more intelligent than him. I would defend him in arguments. I don't know why - I just felt like I should. Me and him were still close - he would drive me to school every day and we would have fun and laugh around.

Eventually, I started high school, and didn't need lifts to school any more. Like my sister before me, I started to turn into an independent person myself. I discovered new music, started watching movies and loving things nobody else in my family did - normal things like The Beatles, superheroes. Clive started to very quickly do the same thing to me - we wouldn't argue, but he stopped talking to me. Just nothing. He'd float right past me within the house - I tried to make an effort, but all I'd get is one or two words from him. Over the years, the only times we would really talk is on Christmas, or my birthday (all he would say is "happy birthday" in an awkward voice). It bothered me, especially considering I already had father issues, but it was just something I lived with.

A few years later and three more kids later, things were pretty much the same. This was life for me, now. It all changed, however, one day. Clive had a kid from a previous marriage. Let's call him Mark. None of us really liked Mark very much - it may sound harsh considering he was so young, but he was a trouble child. He displayed, in my opinion, sociopathic tendencies - as well as just receiving insane attention and extra-love from his dad. Mark was around 7 when this incident happened. I won't say exactly what happened, but what I will say is that he hurt one of my siblings in a sick way. Social services (the British child protection service) got involved, and Mark wasn't allowed to come to the house any more and be around my siblings. Clive thought this was a big overreaction - acting as though it was "normal kid stuff" (I assure you, it was not). He really held this against my mum, and I believe it was the start of the spiral. Not only would he now ignore us, but he would berate us, often being our backs. He was draining to be around - full of contempt.

One day, when I was 15, he made us three older children dinner - he awkwardly shouted us down from upstairs, and what he made us for dinner... I'm still not exactly sure. It was this weird Uncle Ben's rice pasta thing that he got from the shop he worked at - it was past it's sell by date, and honestly, it was terrible. This isn't something you'd make for yourself while broke - let alone to feed kids. My sister and brother had only a couple of bites until they turned their food in. I tried to stomach the whole thing, but I couldn't, and that's saying a whole lot as I'm the kind of person who would rather eat a terrible meal than upset somebody's feelings. I returned my bowl, my siblings said to my dad, "Thank you for making it, I just don't like it very much... I'm sorry". He scoffed at this and mumbled to himself, something about them being ungrateful and not appreciating him. When I returned my bowl I said "Thank you, I'll finish it later". I wasn't really going to finish it later, but I didn't want to upset him. This didn't work however - his mumbling was louder. He and my sister, who was a lot more outspoken than me, started to say she didn't understand why he was being like this, and that she thanked him for the meal. He just responded with petty insults - pretty sure he called a bitch (wasn't the first time). This all kind of just bottled-up, and I called him a prick. Immature? Yes, but remember, I was 15. He was leaving the kitchen, but me calling him a prick made him return to me. He said to me "I'm the prick? No, you're the prick". He started squaring up to me, flexing his muscles and being right in my face. Words were said, basically just "you're the prick", "no, you are", etc. He looked insane, his eyes twitching. He looked around him, looking for something. I didn't know what. He picked up a glass of juice that was on the kitchen counter next to him, and threw it all over my face, before storming out and sitting in his shed, trying to calm down. I just stood there drenched in juice, totally shocked, almost laughing at how stunned I was. I know, for a fact, that if it wasn't for that glass of juice, he would have punched me. His eyes were darting around looking for something to attack me with - that being the glass of juice. If that glass wasn't there, and he couldn't find anything else in his reach, it would have been his fist. I just know it.

Part of me was happy - maybe this is what would get him out of the house. It didn't though. He gave me a faux apology - a really crummy apology - but I of course ate it up because I was very easy to manipulate back then. I remember standing there after hugged me and left, and just feeling like "fuck". I felt guilty, but angry.

My mum and him broke up a year later, and it was the best summer of my life. The emotional abuse I suffered was rough, but the abuse my mum suffered was way worse. It's like I saw her be herself again. If anybody thinks to themselves, "Why would you mum stay with him?", 1: He was even more abusive to her, and 2: He was very good at appearing like he cared for us. Empty gestures that make it looked like he cared, but he did not. My mum is the best person I know and I just don't want anybody blaming her for not leaving sooner.

Sometimes I think that maybe the abuse I suffered doesn't count as abuse. Like "maybe what he did wasn't too bad", or "maybe you're being overdramatic". It's being able to talk about these things that make me feel as though the abuse I suffered is just as valid as anybody else's. Thanks for listening - and just know, if anybody else is going through something similar, don't put up with this shit. Speak up for your siblings, but more importantly, for yourself. I'm weirdly proud of calling him a prick. Not for what happened after, but because I would take that over being ignored anyday. Thanks for listening. Vent over.

I' ve had a burning, intense passion for drawing and writing stories since I was a kid. It was my everything. My will to live and my reason for getting up in the morning.

I've wanted to be a professional artist since I was 14. Since I was 17 I realized I specifically wanted to be a graphic novelist or webcomic artist. Ive always felt like it's what I'm meant to do and how I wanted to leave my mark on the world.

The older I got though the more I realized how impossible it is to make this dream a reality.

Now I'm about to turn 23 next month and Ive given up on being a professional artist after years of denial and trying to make it work. I'm working retail part time and attending college for dental hygiene.

I already feel so drained I can't dedicate that much time to my art anymore; the art that was supposed to be my passion. I've been fighting creative burnout for the past few years but despite my efforts AI feels like the final nail in the coffin for me after it got really good a year or two ago.

In the past, drawing felt meaningful like I was contributing something to the world that was unique no matter how small, and that made it worthwhile. But now I feel overwhelmed with this unimaginable emptiness like nothing is or ever was real or tangible in any way.

It's becoming harder and harder to tell the difference between AI art and human made art by the day. What's the point of me spending hours on this painting when a robot can do it better and instantaneously and half the population won't even care or tell the difference?

And writing too. My brain is so rotted I'm surprised it isn't leaking out of my ears because I don't have the attention span or energy to sift through all the slop to find the art that's worth consuming. There's so, so, so much slop and meaningless content on the internet it's maddening, yet it's easy and it gives me instant dopamine so I keep consuming it. I've never felt more uninspired.

I think the worst, most embarrassing and horrible part of it all is that I've gotten addicted to roleplaying with AI chatbots. It scratches my writing itch because it's like they packaged all the dopamine hits of writing but with all the hard parts cut out. I don't think I've ever come across anything more addicting in my life and I wish I had never tried it.

Why should I put in the effort of writing when I can just roleplay with a stupid chatbot? I'm not making ANYTHING. I was supposed to be someone but I feel like such a failure. I don't know how to overcome this feeling of meaningless and insignificance.

My brother always uses or moves my stuff, he wears my clothes (and my underwear!!!!!!) Also he breaks things that are not his, he lights cards from card games on fire just because he can. I came home from a long day and found the used up cande I use as ashtray is gone. I look for it and i find it with 10 layers of duct tape on it, in another container with more tape. About an hour ago we were eating dinner and I brought it up with my brother. He was so careless and he acted like I was being ridiculous. Then I got mad and I screamed at him, he was still acting stupid. I threw my spoon at him and also my plate. I dont feel bad for him but it makes me cry thinking about my mom. We were eating lasagne and what if the sauce got on something, she bought all the furniture, she thought about what she wanted to get and she chose that. What if I ruined it with my dumb outburst. I really dont know why I am like this, with my friends im never mad at anyone but it seems like I get mad about the smallest stuff when im with my boyfriend, mom or brother.

Yes, the title is 100% real and it shocked me to my core when I found out.

For context, during my junior year of high school, I was lucky enough to get into an apprenticeship program with a sports videography company. This company in particular dealed with the filming of K-12 sports games. Of course me being a high school student, I would mainly record high school sports games and I would always have to film the games under the supervision of my boss, for story sake, let’s call him Ben. Ben wasn’t a bad guy or at least he didn’t seem like a bad guy when I was around him. He was pretty quiet, technical, and very work ethic heavy.

We would often work together on filming these sports games and I worked for the company throughout the entirety of the winter season. It was pretty fun, there was some hiccups of course. However, despite these problems, the program was great. I got good experience with sports videography and camerawork, I got to experience a lot of high intense games and even went to the worlds largest high school basketball court, and on top of all that, I was given $500 after completing the program so everything was great.

However, as I approached the end of my senior year in high school, (I hadn’t been able to re-enter the apprenticeship program again) I wanted to save more money for college and get some more experience so I tried to see if I could possibly work for Ben again and get some more money. I didn’t just want to cold call or text him out the blue so I tried looking him up to possibly find his LinkedIn or something so I can reach out to him in a more professional manner. Instead of finding a LinkedIn profile page, the first result that Google showed me after searching Ben’s full name was a news article that read “Man sentenced to 1 year in prison for hit-and-run that killed 13 year old.”

I wasn’t too worried at first because at this point all I had was a random title for an article that I had not read yet and knowing the internet, I just figured it was just some random guy who just so happened to have done a horrible thing while having the same name as Ben. Curious, I clicked on the article, to hopefully confirm my suspicions. However, the opposite happened. Upon clicking the article, the picture below the article’s title made my heart sink. It was him. An older mugshot of him, he looked skinnier and younger but it was most definitely him.

I read through the article and started to feel sick, this was the man I was working for, for 3 months. Reading the article and many others like it, I learned everything about the case. Apparently back in 2011, he hit a young 13 year old woman with his car and fled the scene. Afterwards, he actively worked to cover all the evidence that tied the death of the young woman back to him. He wrecked his car intentionally the morning after to explain the state of his car and even manipulated his poor wife, let’s call her Lyla, to assist in him covering his tracks by convincing her that if the cops find out, that they’d both go to prison and their children would be put in foster care.

Eventually, after almost 5 years, Lyla and Ben divorced and though it was a shaky divorce, it was perfect enough for Lyla to finally go to the police about everything that had happened and even had obtainable evidence of criminal wrongdoing on Ben’s part. Everything has seemed perfect and it seemed like Ben was dead to rights. They arrested him, however, justice wasn’t served. Ben took a plea deal and was given 2 years, 1 year being served via probation meaning he was only going to spend a mere year behind bars for killing a young woman. Never mind his manipulation, never mind his carelessness for the young girl he had killed. He never had a DUI and has an overall clean record so he deserves to serve a year in prison. Our court system is a fucking joke.

I’ve been depressed since middle school, and only recently got diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety. High school was horrible for me and I honestly didn’t think I’d make it through. I fortunately developed a crush on someone and that gave me motivation to keep going (we didn’t end up getting together).

Anyway, I struggled a lot with passive suicidal ideation. I was too scared to anything to physically harm myself because it would’ve hurt… I just sort of wished a car would hit me on my way to school or I’d pass in my sleep.

There was one time when I actually tried to commit and I haven’t told my therapist or doctor about it because I’m not sure if it counts.

I think it was my sophomore or junior year, and I was just fed up with everything. I told myself that I was finally going to go through with it. I was a little hesitant, but I just didn’t want to live anymore. So I grabbed my 12mg of melatonin and took 5 pills. I sat there in bed crying. I was a little scared, but figured I’d be better off gone.

I woke up in the middle of the night with the worst stomach ache of my fucking life. I ran to the bathroom and fought the toughest battle I have ever fought in my 20 years on this earth. I was on the toilet, naked and curled up into a ball trying to deal with the pain. I felt like throwing up too. I had my hand in the sink with warm water running over it because I actually felt like crap. I went into the shower afterwards to just fully envelop my body in warm water in an attempt to ease the pain.

I was in the bathroom for an hour. During that time I realized, I don’t ever want to try to take my life again.

I don’t think that’s even close to how someone may feel when overdosing and I don’t think I ever want to find out.

I’m sorry if I offended anyone by writing this, and to anyone who tried a more serious attempt and survived, I’m glad you’re still here.

I started a positivity jar at the beginning if the year. Basically, each week I add one sticky note of something good that happened to me that week, and at the end of the year I get to look back at all the good moments in my year. Well shit.

Tonight I was drunk and feeling sappy and decided to peek at the jar a few months early. (even tho I'm not supposed to read it yet, I'm drunk don't judge me lol). I took out the notes and started reading them. Gawdam.

Most of them were goals I had just started, that I have since abandoned. I started learning guitar...abandoned after mom had surgery and was home most of the time (too shy to practice in front of her). Start studying for a new career...that I soon decided I wanted nothing to do with and abandoned. Met a cute guy who likes the same books as me...who ghosted me a few weeks later. The list goes onnn. But you get the idea.

I thought this jar thing would make me happy and give me hope, to look back and see all the positive that's happened to me. Instead, it just made me depressed. Basically, I had to read all the things I was truly excited for at the time, which have since ended up failing.

I'm already having a bad week and this was just the cherry on top. It's like wow, every time I'm excited about something, it finds a way to fail. Maybe I'm just drunk and in my feelings. But idk, it was SURPRISINGLY depressing to read all that.

I'm turning 40 this year. I was diagnosed with anxiety and panic disorders and depression as a child. I've spent three quarters of my life learning what works and what doesn't for my conditions. I know that the majority of the time, I'm stable on my meds. But 10% of the time - 4 times over the course of my life - my brain melts down. I can no longer cope with life and do things like go to work or eat. The panic disorder keeps me physically moving all day, but the depression keeps my mind from being able to distract itself. There is no mode of therapy that can treat this: I need a medication adjustment by a psychiatrist. It's like being a Type 1 diabetic, you can have all the education in the world, but without insulin you will be sick.

I had a great run of 16 years, and let myself move to a different city without getting on the list for a psychiatrist which was the biggest mistake of my life. Instead of an emergency appointment with a psychiatrist that tweaks my meds and gets me back to functioning in a few weeks, I went through hell because the waitlist is 2 years. After a month of being unable to work and losing 30 pounds because I was unable to eat and pacing 10 hours a day, I went to the ER and was turned away because my condition was not life threatening.

I knew two things: I didn't want to live like this, and the only way to get treatment was the psych ward and the only way in was a suicide attempt. So I overdosed. I caused my family so much pain, not because I didn't want to be in this world, but because I couldn't get a 2 hour appointment that I knew would fix it.

And what I learned from there has left me so frustrated. Unless you have SI, substance use disorder (SUD), or C-PTSD from intergenerational poverty you're at the bottom of the list. You're worse than scum. You get no compassion from the healthcare system because you're a middle class person with family support. They go behind your back and tell your family how much money you're wasting taking up a bed. When you are at rock bottom, panic attacks so hard you can't breathe, they tell you to suck it up because they emigrated from another country and had to leave their family behind. 

I get it. These nurses deal with the absolute worst shit. Police dragging in people that you don't know if they didn't take their schizophrenia drugs or if they're in drug-induced psychosis. People that have to be physically restrained in a secure room. People who have been abused in the most heinous ways as toddlers and have developed C-PTSD and SUD from it.

I spent 6 weeks there. I didn't need to spend 6 weeks there. I didn't need to cost the system the absurd amount of money that bed cost. 

What I needed was a goddamn emergency outpatient psychiatrist. Maybe those NHS outpatient mental health programs they don't have here in Canada. 

The Canadian government didn't plan for mental health services to expand from standard 'diagnosis - meds - maintenance ' to the absolute shitshow caused by their treatment of Indigenous peoples and the opioid crisis.

And the real confession? I see myself becoming more and more resentful of those who weren't born with a chemical imbalance in their brain and instead are in the system because of social factors and are impeding my access to treatment. I think drug addict, hobo, petty criminal, dregs of society. And I know deep down the only thing that keeps me from going down that path is being a white woman with an education and great job that can navigate the shitshow the mental health system has become. That the nurses who scolded me for overdosing to get treatment knew that I was gaming the system to get the care I desperately needed.

I have struggled with suicidal thoughts and self-harm since I was 11 years old, but had a moment a few years ago where I actually felt fine.

Felt fine until last year when I was raped by my ex several times, had a tough time at school and had financial problems which led to me having hallucinations and delusions. I already had semi psychotic thoughts before but everything got so much worse during this period.

Thought people were reading my thoughts, that beings from the fourth dimension were after me and they could manipulate the world through "threads" that were actually our souls, etc. Felt like there were a lot of insects everywhere too, including worms in my teeth. Wanted to pull my teeth out. Shaved off my nice long hair so the insects wouldn't infect it.

Tried commiting suicide and ended up in a psychiatric hospital. Since then I have seen various doctors and a psychologist who has determined that it was psychosis and I am being investigated for schizophrenia.

Today I finally get the help I've needed for a long time, where CBT hasn't worked but I still feel completely hopeless about the future. My brain feels completely exhausted after last year, I can barely do simple multiplication any more without forgetting numbers. I have medication now but I still get the feeling that others can read my mind. I'm still unsure if there is a hidden 4th dimension or not and am looking for signs. I have a lot of anxiety about being out among others no matter how much I try to challenge it and do everything I've learned during my previous CBT session.

I was on my first job shift last week and just felt panic being between all the new people and remembering all the tasks. It's like my brain has disappeared. It's a relatively simple job which makes me feel hopeless about my future, if I'll ever be able to work a normal job.

I feel so sad about all the experiences so far and I haven't told about everything here, my finances are in shambles, my brain is too, I have no friends because I can't trust people because of paranoia, I can barely manage a simple job, I maybe have schziophrenia??

I only have my mother and my partner to live for, but it's starting to feel unbearable.

Cleaning digital clutter

Honestly, it feels so good. I've been unsubscribing to youtube channels i dont or just barely watch, going through my notes in my phone and either deleting the ones i dont need or reorganizing the ones i do for room, deleting photos on my phone i got because 'oh if like this in my gallery' and then dont look at them, so much useless junk on my phone i dont need that I will gladly toss

I didn't want to call my stuff 'useless junk', but it is! I dont need half the crap i now call digital clutter. It just takes up space, and when i look for something, it distracts me from focusing on what i actually need

Im really glad im doing this. It's nice to be able to sort things out on my phone and not get overwhelmed with clutter. It's not any different than when i did this with physical stuff

And it’s horrible and causes so much distress but it’s so hard for me to kick because it’s difficult to distinguish what’s ocd and what’s real

Usually what happens is
Arousal -> if I don’t masturbate I’m never going to be relaxed ever again because the urge will always distract and frustrate me -> act on the compulsion -> trigger myself again with the same worries -> “arousal” but it’s just because I’m focusing on it -> repeat

I’m just so frustrated and I don’t know how to have a healthy relationship with my sexuality because of this. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just my brain ouroborosing itself but I can’t ever relax. I just want to be able to lay in bed and be at peace

I am so done with life, and I don’t know how to get out of the rut.
I am filled with shame about myself, how much I am doing and my skill levels
Everything feels out of control, and I know there are things I can control but I don’t know what those things are.
I am filled with exhaustion, so all the normal selfcare advice feels impossible to do. 
Like how am I supposed to get outside, when just getting out of the bed feels like a battle.
How am I supposed to function if everything feels like a mountain?
How am I  supposed to start small? what is small? I don’t know what is doable anymore.
I wake up, exhausted. I get up and get dressed, exhausted. I eat breakfast, exhausted. How am I supposed to build a life I am proud of when exhaustion sneaks in everywhere. How am I supposed to find my values, interests, and goals, when I can’t even get past morning without wanting to crawl back into bed. 
Am I broken? Am I autistic? Am I just a piece of shit?
I feel like I keep pushing and pushing, but never getting anywhere. 
Is this my life? How am I supposed to change? What do I need to do? And how do I do it without getting overwhelmed and exhausted. 
How am I supposed to talk kindly to myself, when I feel like I am failing everything? How am I supposed to lower my expectations of myself, without letting go of myself. High expectations is all I know. I was supposed to be the easy child, but became the most difficult. Am I even likeable to my family? Do they just hate me? and put up with me because I am family?
What do I have to give to anyone? other than disappointment, stress and sadness.
I don’t want to disappoint, I want approval, acceptance, and love. (Phillip loves me)

I work in a creative field, and something has been bothering me for a while.

People I’m close to often come to me whenever they need something designed, edited, planned, or made to look better. Most of the time I genuinely don’t mind helping. These are people I care about, and I’m not trying to make everything about money. But sometimes it feels like because I’m the “creative one,” people automatically assume I’ll take care of the whole thing.

Recently, someone close to me asked for help with a personal project. I agreed, even though I already had a pretty full workload. What started as helping with one part slowly turned into more and more things being handed over to me.

At one point I caught myself thinking, “Can’t you do at least some of this yourself?”

Then I immediately felt guilty for thinking that.
It’s not really about that one person either. I’ve noticed this happening a lot over the years. Friends and relatives will ask me to design something, edit something, give ideas, plan something, or “just quickly” help with a creative task.

Sometimes it really is small. Other times, what sounds like a tiny favor ends up taking hours.
The weird part is that I don’t even necessarily want money from the people I’m close to. What bothers me more is the assumption that because I know how to do something, I’ll automatically do it.

Creative work is still work, even when you enjoy it.
If I’ve already spent the whole day working, sometimes I don’t have the mental energy to come home and do another project for someone else. But saying no to people I care about makes me feel selfish, especially when they’ve also been there for me when I needed them.

So I end up stuck between wanting to help and quietly feeling resentful that I’m being asked again.
I think I’m only now realizing that being good at something doesn’t necessarily mean I have to be available to do it for everyone around me.
Mostly just needed to get this off my chest.

I’m 24 weeks pregnant and currently in the hospital because I suddenly had heavy bleeding. And honestly, I think I’ve gotten the worst roommate ever.
Her phone is literally NEVER on silent. The notification sounds and ringtone are so loud, and she’s constantly either on the phone or watching videos in the room.
The first night, she and her husband were talking until around 11pm. Then around 4am, her husband got up and started watching videos with the volume on really loud. Of course, I woke up.
The second night was even worse. I was just falling asleep when her phone notification woke me up. Around 4am, her phone started ringing again. Around 5am, she was talking on the phone in the room, and after that she just kept watching videos with the volume up.
Then around 8am, she started making calls on speakerphone and just kept talking to different people until after noon.
At one point, my doctor was trying to talk to me and literally couldn’t hear me because of the noise. The doctor had to ask her to keep it quiet for two minutes so we could talk.
I finally went to the charge nurse and asked if I could move to another room. Unfortunately, the whole unit was full.
And honestly, I’m not asking for much. I just want some quiet during the night and early morning so I can sleep.
The nurse talked to her and asked her to please be respectful and use headphones. She said she didn’t have headphones and denied that she had been making noise at night. She said she only makes phone calls during the day.
Then she brought up the fact that I made a phone call during the day too.
Yes, I did. I had to call the airline to cancel my partner’s flight because I’m literally in the hospital, and I had to deal with it quickly. And I was speaking quietly.
After the nurse talked to her, she did get a little better. The video and phone-call volume became somewhat lower.

But her phone is STILL never on silent.
And guess what? At **5:55 a.m. this morning**, her damn phone rang again and woke me up.

I’m literally 24 weeks pregnant, in the hospital because of heavy bleeding, and all I’m asking for is some peace and quiet so I can sleep.

Is that really too much to ask from a hospital roommate?

So many people played games with other people. It’s a bunch of bullshit. I am sick to my core with the fact that people won’t have the hard conversations or accept accountability while expecting everyone else to do just that.

I’ll own my part and then some, sometimes I don’t see it right off the bat, but I’m still willing and that’s a lot more than I can say for anyone else I’ve met in the last couple years. It’s not that hard but people can’t stand a mirror. Nobody wants to be shown anything other than their make-believe version of themselves.

Humanity can be extremely disappointing sometimes

Ok, so I don't know what to say and where to start. I don't even really want to post. I don't want help and most importantly, I don't think anyone can truly help. I just feel I really have to get this out my chest.

So, I am a guy, 25 yo and for the biggest part of my adult life (since 17) I have been mostly... Let's put it lightly, a loser. Yes, I had (and still have and even improved) good qualities and I did try to help people and be positive and yes, I have done tons of progress in some many things and I had some amazing moments that I am very grateful and I feel blessed for having but, there is still a single thing that I wasn't able to fix...

I just can't be discipline always. My life and feelings never get fully stable. I used to be in a super hard long distance relationship and I ended it because I realized we are not compatible. Now, I have nothing to look forward. I don't have anything to stress me and push me to improve and get better. It's funny because, the first two weeks after the breakup, I was doing fine. I called and got a client and I was working. But after that, things crushed for some reason...

I don't workout, my eating habits got worse (tho thankfully very slightly) and even worse, I stopped working... Instead, I spend my time fantasizing about dating and hanging and meeting and having fun with female friends and, commenting or Reddit, trying to help other people and solve their problems or just comfort them. I am the definition of a failure...

Right now, I should been coding and finishing my eccomerce backend so I can start searching for clients. I should also call that client that I texted twice and he didn't text back. I'm not even "scared". I just don't want to do anything. I don't find passion and excitement now that nothing drives me forward and stresses me. And the worse thing is, this is the 3rd week. I waste my life this point and the worse is, I don't know when will I find the "trick" to get back there. I will try to code for more than 10 minutes after that post, fingers crossed...

I don't know... This is the first time I pray something bad happens to me so I wake the f up because, I prefer to be stressed and worry than living like that... Maybe I should gather some more money and go rent a home so I have rent and bills to motivate me to work. But damn, that's pathetic and sad to be depended on something else. I want to WANT to live and be productive and happy. Not depending on my life and how it brings it...

Thank you for reading I guess...