u/Ok-Gene3633

دايم نسمع ناس يقولون عن شخص: “عنده قبول”، أو تشوف أحد بالواقع أو حتى بالنت وتحس الناس تنجذب له بشكل طبيعي، كأن فيه شيء يخلي الكل يرتاح له.
بالمقابل، فيه ناس يحسون إنهم العكس. وأنا بصراحة أحس إني منهم.
مو قصدي إني شخص سيئ أو أتعامل مع الناس بطريقة غلط، لكن أحس مهما سويت ما عندي هالقبول الطبيعي اللي عند بعض الناس.
إذا كنت مقتنع إنك فعلًا ما عندك هالشي، كيف تتعامل مع الفكرة؟ هل تتقبلها وتمشي بحياتك؟ ولا تحاول تغيرها؟ وهل سبق وحسيت كذا، وبعدين اكتشفت إن نظرتك لنفسك كانت غلط؟
ودي أسمع آراءكم.

When I was 11 years old, both of my parents became seriously ill within a short period of time, and I suddenly became responsible for my family of four siblings.
Before that, my childhood was already unusual. My mother would often come to me and complain about my father, even though she knew how attached I was to him. She shared problems with me that no child should ever have to hear. I became the person everyone unloaded their pain onto.
Then everything changed.
My mother developed an illness that doctors were never able to identify. She gradually lost the ability to move, speak properly, and take care of herself. A few months later, my father started showing signs of Alzheimer’s, but it wasn’t just his memory that disappeared. He rapidly lost his ability to speak, walk, stand, eat, and eventually needed help with almost everything.
Because all of this happened so quickly, there was no one left to keep the household running.
My oldest brother spent most of his time with his friends and treated the house like a hotel. My second brother couldn’t handle no longer being the center of my mother’s attention and started having emotional breakdowns and creating conflicts just to be noticed. He later admitted that himself. My third brother was chronically ill and also needed constant care. Then there was a baby.
I was the middle child, and I stepped in.
I became responsible for buying groceries, running the household, taking my mother to her medical appointments, buying diapers for both my father and the baby, caring for my sick brother’s medications, and helping raise my baby sibling. My second sister helped when she could, but most of the responsibility fell on me.
I don’t know why I’m writing this. I just feel like I grew up overnight.
I became the father, the mother, and everything else just to keep my family from falling apart.
I never imagined having my own future. I never dreamed about falling in love, getting married, or building a life for myself. I was always too busy taking care of everyone else.
Now everyone is doing better.
And I’m the one who feels empty.
I’ve never really felt loved by anyone. I never had friends to talk to or spend time with when I needed support. I spent years sacrificing myself for everyone else’s comfort.
Now, after all these years, I have no passion, no dreams, and no motivation left. Sometimes it feels like I was so busy keeping everyone else alive that I never got the chance to become a person myself.

I have bulimia, and I’m wondering if anyone else has experienced something similar.
Lately my eating disorder has gotten a lot worse, to the point where I’ve become scared of drinking water for reasons I don’t want to mention because I don’t want to influence anyone else.
I fast from both food and water all day. Even when I exercise, I might only take a tiny sip just to wet my lips, and that’s basically all the water I drink until it’s time to eat.
Then, when I finally do eat, I end up drinking huge amounts of water. It’s not because I’m thirsty or even want to drink it. I do it for another reason I don’t want to mention, and it feels completely obsessive and out of my control.

Why do I feel like DBT is a scam?
Maybe “scam” isn’t the right word, but that’s honestly how it feels sometimes.
I’ve spent my whole life thinking this way. These thoughts and beliefs aren’t just habits—they feel like part of who I am. They’re so deeply ingrained that I can’t imagine myself without them.
I know some of them are harmful. I know they make my life harder. But if I change them, then who am I? It feels like I’d be getting rid of my current self and replacing it with someone I don’t know.
What if I don’t like that person? What if changing means losing the only version of myself I’ve ever known?
I guess that’s what scares me the most. Not the work itself, but the feeling that recovery might require me to become someone else entirely.

I’m trying to read a full book in English for the first time, so I’m looking for something easy to follow but also exciting enough to keep me hooked. I get bored pretty quickly if the story is slow.
I’m not really into romance. I usually enjoy fiction, thrillers, mysteries, crime stories, or anything with a lot of suspense that makes you want to keep turning the pages.

What book would you recommend?

I’m trying to read a full book in English for the first time, so I’m looking for something easy to follow but also exciting enough to keep me hooked. I get bored pretty quickly if the story is slow.
I’m not really into romance. I usually enjoy fiction, thrillers, mysteries, crime stories, or anything with a lot of suspense that makes you want to keep turning the pages.

What book would you recommend?

This is something I’ve always been curious about.
When it comes to BL manhwas, do you prefer the uncensored version or the censored version
Personally, it doesn’t make much of a difference to me since I can enjoy both. That said, I do appreciate the amount of work artists put into drawing all the details in the uncensored version, so it sometimes feels a little unfortunate when those scenes end up being covered or removed in the censored release.
I’m sure some readers genuinely prefer censored versions, though, and I’d love to know why.
Which do you prefer: uncensored or censored? Does it affect your enjoyment of the story, or do you mainly focus on the plot and characters?

As a kid, I was always more excited about the free stuff inside than the cereal itself. I would pick whichever box had the coolest bonus item, and I honestly didn’t care much about the flavor or even the brand.
Maybe it’s just nostalgia, but I miss that. It made grocery shopping feel a lot more fun.
It’s kind of sad that those little extras seem to have disappeared. They made ordinary things feel a bit more special.

I’ve been trying to recover for less than a month, and today was by far my worst day.

My recovery hasn’t been perfect or consistent, but I was at least able to stop for a couple of days at a time. Today felt completely different.I feel like a failure. I had a binge episode and tried to purge several times, but nothing came out.

Now I’m terrified that this means I’m losing control again. I’m scared the bingeing will keep getting worse and that I’ll end up back where I was years ago when everything felt completely miserable.

I’m one of those people who cares more about texture than flavor. I love finding foods with weird, unique, crunchy, chewy, or otherwise satisfying textures, even when the taste is pretty average.

I don’t really know how to explain this properly but I’m 25 and my little sister is a teenager.
Lately my sister has been talking a lot about joining a gym. Normally that wouldn’t be a bad thing, but she’s very influenced by social media and spends a lot of time watching influencers, celebrities, and fitness creators. Much of the content focuses on having a tiny waist, abs, bigger glutes, being super lean, and all that stuff.and all the other beauty standards that are pushed online.
The thing is, she doesn’t need to change anything. She has a completely normal body for a teenage girl. She’s not overweight nor underweight, she’s just average. She also isn’t lazy at all. She plays soccer and basketball and is generally active.
The reason I’m so worried is because of what happened to me.
When I was around her age I was bullied a lot because of my weight. I started exercising at home and at first it was pretty innocent because I didn’t know anything about calories or dieting. Later I got my driver’s license and joined a gym and that’s when everything changed.
I learned about calories, weight loss, body fat percentages, all of it. What started as trying to improve myself slowly turned into years of disordered eating. I’ve struggled with binge eating, restricting, purging, and pretty much every extreme in between.
I’m still dealing with it now and honestly it’s been one of the worst things that has ever happened to me.
Seeing my sister become interested in the gym brings up a lot of anxiety for me.I know that exercising and going to the gym can be completely healthy, and that most people don’t develop eating disorders because of it. Still, because of my own experiences, it’s difficult not to worry that she could end up facing some of the same struggles I did.
I don’t want to project my own issues onto her, but I also don’t want to sit back and watch her get pulled into calorie counting, body checking, comparison, and all the other things that completely took over my life.
Has anyone dealt with something similar? How do I support her without being controlling or making her even more interested in it?

أنا متخرجة من الجامعة من سنة وكانت الحياة الجامعية بالنسبة لي جحيم كانت أسوأ مراحل حياتي وبسبب هذا الأمر جلست الفترة الماضية في رحلة علاج نفسي ومحاولة التعافي من هذا الأثر الشديد.
أنا الآن خائفة ان أقدم على وظيفة وتكون بنفس سوء مجتمع الجامعة خصوصا ان كل الأشخاص الي حولي يتكلموا دائماً بالسلبية عن العمل، وما احس أن نفسيتي المتدمرة تقدر تحمل مرة أخرى هذا الكم الهائل من التعب النفسي والجسدي.
كيف ممكن تجاوز هذا الخوف والبدء في التقديم على وظائف دون التأثر بالتجارب السابقة أو الطاقة السلبية المحيطة؟ ايش تنصحونني لتجنب بيئات العمل السامة او للمقبلين للعمل من خبراتكم ؟

I don't have anyone to share this news with, so I wanted to tell someone that today I didn't purge, even though my whole body is shaking right now. I don't know why, but I'm really fighting this thought. Wish me luck to stick in recovery

My fear of changing
Hi im. 24f how is struggling with (BPD, ED,OCPD )
I posted this in another subreddit before, but I wanted to ask from a doctor’s perspective how someone like me could actually be helped, because I genuinely feel like I’ve reached rock bottom.

im really struggling because I’m stuck in a cycle of bingeing, purging, and using the gym as a torture chamber for self-punishment. But as much as this life hurts, the thought of changing it terrifies me even more.
I have this deep-seated, irrational fear of letting go. Every time I try to seek help, my brain goes into survival mode and resists everything the therapist says. It’s not that I don’t want to get better; it’s that I’m scared to death of who I would be without these habits. They are my only sense of control, even if they are killing me.
In the past, therapists have looked at my resistance and told me I’m "playing the victim" or "refusing to cooperate." They don’t understand that it’s not a choice it’s pure, blinding terror. I want to move forward, but I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and therapy is asking me to jump without a parachute.
Because of this fear, I feel like a side character in my own life. I’m just a ghost going through the motions, serving others and punishing myself.
How do I overcome the terror of change when your disorder is the only "identity" you have left? I’m tired of being told I’m not trying hard enough when I’m actually fighting a war inside my head just to stay present.

السلام عليكم اولا حابة انبه عن شيء انا مو سعودية بس شيء صاير بالتيك توك مو قادرة اسكت عنة
محد ملاحظ من اول ما انشال الحظر عن البثوث كثرت بثوث الكورين او الاسيويين مع العرب و البنات و تطيح الميانة معاهم
احس الموضوع في استغلال كبيير بس مو عارفة ايش هو بالضبط 💔

Since I was a child, I’ve always mirrored and imitated the personalities of people around me. If someone was kind, I became their reflection; if they were toxic, I’d adapt to that too. Or they were the 'bad guy', I would be the same I never knew who I was. Now that I’m older and completely isolated with no friends and no FP to anchor onto the chameleon effect has faded, leaving me with a terrifying void. I realize I am just a blank canvas, completely empty inside, with no stable sense of self
For those who have gone through recovery or therapy how did you finally start building your own authentic personality and discover who you really are?

My relative was separated from his family in Uzbekistan and never found them(im using fake names)

I am sharing a story that has weighed heavily on my heart. It is a story of war, survival, and a lifelong search for a family that vanished into the fog of history.
The story begins in Uzbekistan during the early years of \*World War II*. The protagonist, \Julian\*, was only 6 years old. His family a mother, father, and siblings were a middle-class family whose lives were upended as the war intensified.
To escape the violence, they fled their city, jumping between crowded trains. During one desperate stop, Julian’s father had to leave the group to find food. Fearing for Julian’s safety in the chaos, the father left him with a family of strangers, asking them to watch him for two or three days until he could return with supplies.
But the war moved faster than he did. The fighting reached them suddenly, and the strangers, fearing for their lives, fled the area taking Julian with them. In that moment of panic, Julian was separated from his biological family forever.
The family that took Julian eventually settled in another country. However, they soon began to see the young boy as a burden. They put him up for adoption, and he was taken in by a man who became his worst nightmare.
This man, unable to have children of his own, was cruel. He treated Julian as a laborer rather than a son, subjecting him to years of physical and emotional abuse. Julian was forced into the harshest jobs, and if he didn’t bring home the required amount of money each day, he was forced to sleep on the streets.
Julian endured this until he was 15. Having mastered a trade through years of forced labor, he finally managed to escape. He found work with a kinder man who provided him with food and shelter in exchange for his skills.
Eventually, Julian built a life for himself. He met a woman, fell in love, and got married. From the outside, he had found peace
But Julian never forgot. Because communication was nearly impossible back then and he was so young when he was lost, he had no way to track down his parents or siblings. He lived his entire life with a hole in his heart.
He passed away in tears, still mourning the loss of his family. He died without ever knowing if his siblings survived or what became of his parents. He lived in the "dreams of the past," wondering if he was the only one still holding onto those memories.
I’ve always struggled with the "what ifs" of this story. I want to know:
In the chaos of WWII, did families usually keep searching for lost children, or did they lose hope?
Is it possible they believed he had died, or did they spend their lives looking for him just as he longed for them?
Has anyone here ever discovered a long-lost relative through DNA or old archives from the Uzbekistan/Central Asia region during that era?
I just can't shake the feeling that somewhere, another branch of this family might have been looking for "Julian" all along

My relative was separated from his family in Uzbekistan and never found them(im using fake names)

I am sharing a story that has weighed heavily on my heart. It is a story of war, survival, and a lifelong search for a family that vanished into the fog of history.
The story begins in **Uzbekistan** during the early years of **World War II**. The protagonist, **Julian**, was only 6 years old. His family a mother, father, and siblings were a middle-class family whose lives were upended as the war intensified.
To escape the violence, they fled their city, jumping between crowded trains. During one desperate stop, Julian’s father had to leave the group to find food. Fearing for Julian’s safety in the chaos, the father left him with a family of strangers, asking them to watch him for two or three days until he could return with supplies.
But the war moved faster than he did. The fighting reached them suddenly, and the strangers, fearing for their lives, fled the area taking Julian with them. In that moment of panic, Julian was separated from his biological family forever.
The family that took Julian eventually settled in another country. However, they soon began to see the young boy as a burden. They put him up for adoption, and he was taken in by a man who became his worst nightmare.
This man, unable to have children of his own, was cruel. He treated Julian as a laborer rather than a son, subjecting him to years of physical and emotional abuse. Julian was forced into the harshest jobs, and if he didn’t bring home the required amount of money each day, he was forced to sleep on the streets.
Julian endured this until he was 15. Having mastered a trade through years of forced labor, he finally managed to escape. He found work with a kinder man who provided him with food and shelter in exchange for his skills.
Eventually, Julian built a life for himself. He met a woman, fell in love, and got married. From the outside, he had found peace
But Julian never forgot. Because communication was nearly impossible back then and he was so young when he was lost, he had no way to track down his parents or siblings. He lived his entire life with a hole in his heart.
He passed away in tears, still mourning the loss of his family. He died without ever knowing if his siblings survived or what became of his parents. He lived in the "dreams of the past," wondering if he was the only one still holding onto those memories.
I’ve always struggled with the "what ifs" of this story. I want to know:
In the chaos of WWII, did families usually keep searching for lost children, or did they lose hope?
Is it possible they believed he had died, or did they spend their lives looking for him just as he longed for them?
Has anyone here ever discovered a long-lost relative through DNA or old archives from the Uzbekistan/Central Asia region during that era?
I just can't shake the feeling that somewhere, another branch of this family might have been looking for "Julian" all along

Hi im really struggling because I’m stuck in a cycle of bingeing, purging, and using the gym as a torture chamber for self-punishment. But as much as this life hurts, the thought of changing it terrifies me even more.
I have this deep-seated, irrational fear of letting go. Every time I try to seek help, my brain goes into survival mode and resists everything the therapist says. It’s not that I don’t want to get better; it’s that I’m scared to death of who I would be without these habits. They are my only sense of control, even if they are killing me.
In the past, therapists have looked at my resistance and told me I’m "playing the victim" or "refusing to cooperate." They don’t understand that it’s not a choice it’s pure, blinding terror. I want to move forward, but I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and therapy is asking me to jump without a parachute.
Because of this fear, I feel like a side character in my own life. I’m just a ghost going through the motions, serving others and punishing myself.
Has anyone else experienced this level of resistance ? How do you overcome the terror of change when your disorder is the only "identity" you have left? I’m tired of being told I’m not trying hard enough when I’m actually fighting a war inside my head just to stay present.