u/GoodGirlGoneMid

I absolutely hate being perceived.

I hate walking across the street while drivers are staring at me.

And I’ll hold in my pee to the point of pain because I’m too embarrassed to go to the restroom in a crowded restaurant.

Or it could just be wearing a new outfit for the first time in public.

I’m definitely an anxious person, but it’s more than that. There’s a shameful feeling attached to everything I do, and it’s feeding my paranoia.

For context, I’m a woman and I struggle with depression. Sorry if this is triggering to anyone.

When I can’t sleep, I go on long walks at night hoping someone will hurt me or finally end my suffering.

I recently started putting on revealing clothes on these walks to be more enticing. I choose Friday and Saturday nights because there are more drunk people around. I have my favourite isolated lane ways and side streets. It’s a ritual at this point.

I live in a big city. But unfortunately nothing more than catcalling has happened to me. I should be relieved but honestly it just makes me sadder.

I can’t even get someone to hurt me. How pathetic is that?

Why do bad things happen to innocent people who actually want to live and I’m stuck in this hell?

Hearing people laugh and have fun from my window is so painful. It makes me feel more lonely. It just reminds me of everything I’ve lost to my illness. I wish I could disappear but I’m too much of a coward to do it myself.

EDIT: Hi I’m so surprised and overwhelmed by all the kind comments. I just want to say thank you. You’ve given me a lot to think about and new hope. ❤️

I couldn't sleep. As usual. Too many thoughts.

I live in a city on a loud street. Hearing people laugh and have fun makes me feel more lonely and depressed. Especially on the weekends. It reminds me of everything I had lost. I wanted to die.

So I did a thing I’ve done a few times, which is to go out late at night into sketchy areas hoping a drunk / dangerous person would hurt me or end my suffering.

Around 2 am I got up, put on a revealing outfit, and walked around for a while. I have a route I prefer that connects many deserted side streets.

Unfortunately I only got catcalled. Like last time. And the time before. It’s so frustrating because I can’t even do this right.

Why do bad things happen to innocent people who actually want to live and I’m stuck here in this hell?

For oily, sensitive skin. Preferably suitable for face and body. I live in Canada if that’s helpful. Thanks!

I dated two guys at once for a couple years in my early 20s. I was deeply insecure and emotionally stunted back then. Please don’t come for me too harshly.

I had recently moved to a big city after living a sheltered life in the suburbs. I wanted to experience new things but I never intended to do anything nefarious like cheating.

One guy was a schizophrenic artist who regularly went MIA because he was in and out of hospitals. And the other was a much older sous chef with a drug problem. I don’t say this to justify my behaviour but to give context to the situation.

The sous cook was my main partner and the artist guy came afterwards.

It wasn’t difficult to coordinate our times together. Sometimes I’d see them on the same night. I’d meet up with artist guy first and then sous chef after his closing shift.

I think men tend to be fairly trusting of women. Maybe that’s why I was able to get away with it for so long. I’m also a petite introvert who’s painfully shy and soft spoken.

Eventually the artist had a suspicion and broke up with me and I continued dating sous chef.

Fast forward a few months later, I discovered that sous chef was cheating on me with a coworker.

He felt really guilty about it. He cried in front of me. But I never admitted my own infidelity. I let him wallow and beg. He tried to make it up to me with more attention. In retrospect, I was just as bad, probably worse. But I played the victim because I’m a coward.

Anyways, the relationship never recovered and we broke up but continued to stay in touch. To this day, he feels guilty and doesn’t know what I did.

I’m well aware of my faults but I’ve grown a lot since then. I’m happily celibate now.

I’m a 29 F who is in recovery. My scars are not in a visible area unless I’m naked. I’m also not self conscious about them normally. Only when I have a new partner.

So I’ve been hanging out with this guy for a few weeks now and I want to take the next step but I’m nervous. We’ve talked about my battle with bpd and depression but he doesn’t know that I had sh’d. He doesn’t have the same struggles that I do so I wonder how he’ll respond. So far he seems very understanding and patient. But my scars aren’t the sexiest thing.

How do I approach the topic beforehand? Just so I don’t blindside him in the moment. Any advice? Thanks.

I (29 F) am attracted to men who are in prison or have been to prison. The longer the sentence the better. The more tattoos the better.

And before you ask, the charges do matter to me. Predators are gross. But drug / robbery / weapons offences are super hot. I have written to a couple American prisoners in the past (I’m not American). And I dated a guy who was habitually in trouble with the law. Every time we would break up, he would spiral and get arrested for petty crimes or fights. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on. As awful as that sounds.

I’m not sure why I like violent men. My childhood was uneventful although my parents gave me little affection. They would let me watch Dateline as a kid so true crime was something I was introduced to early on. It’s definitely a fascination. A contrast to my boring life. I have a corporate job. A routine. And I’ve never been to jail. Yet I like being treated like shit. Lied to. Cheated on. I don’t know how to tell my family or friends. I know they’ll judge me.