r/TrueOffMyChest

had the most caring, loving, understanding man possible and i genuinely loved him so much and i could say with conformity that he loved me more till i found this.

A few days ago he sent me a screenshot of his post history on reddit (related to something else- how he was so stressed for his exam and made continuous posts for study material and stuff)

Obviously it had his username in it. So curiosity got the best of me and I took a peek (it's going where you think but 5 times worse).

His activity was hidden but I got an NSFW warning when I opened his account. Made me uneasy REAL QUICK but i thought it might be vague stuff that often gets flared as nsfw. Fine.

But I just couldn't set it aside, why would he post NSFW stuff at all? (His account is newer than our relationship)

I went on some websites to find out what he's been posting on reddit and found out he'd been commenting on r*pe kink subreddits saying he wanted to ...yeah you know what. It not only broke my heart it disgusted me. He's the SWEETEST guy. How is this even happening?

The worst part is this particular subreddit is banned so I can't even access the actual posts. Just his comments.

I thought the website was tripping, so I used another and then another...nope. same username, same OP, same comments word to word, same date. One website even opened the comment thread for me.

He's asleep right now. He has no idea I have this. I have zero clue what i should even do.

Edit: I'm getting a lot of comments on where I think this is cheating, i had set my boundaries very clearly even before we got into a relationship that I am not comfortable with him watching porn, engaging with others online or entertaining somebody. And he went ahead and did all the three.

Genuinely how is sexually engaging with someone else is not cheating? Porn has ruined you all.

A guy that I matched on a dating app came over today. I made cinnamon rolls, we ate, then we cuddled.

Which was weird because I did not let any guy cuddle me with a sweet intention in a year. And I did not realize that I missed it really bad. We kissed, almost had sex ( he had no condoms, so we had to stop).

We had dinner, we kissed a lot, cuddled naked, felt very nice, we were all over each other. I did not realize how much I missed this feeling.

And I hate missing this feeling, because all the time it came with costs.

I don’t know If I will see him again. I want to see him again, but I am scared to say and ask.

I am so tired of being alone.

A week ago I made a very very poor decision and tried to take my life. It was a huge regret. I immediately went to the hospital and was put in a pavillion, I’m so happy to say I am alive and doing so much better!!! The therapy really helped and I got my meds situation for proper outside care. Everyone in there was so so nice and kind and we laughed a ton, I’m so blessed to be alive

I’m a healthy 32 year old girl who works a job with a smile on her face and lives with my boyfriend. However I think I really am not okay. I get into these ruts where I can’t stop day drinking before my shift (career server at a very nice restaurant) but I’m always just the person that everyone thinks is the happiest and most helpful person. I’m well revered and respected and I love my status at work. I train new servers and am often told I am the best worker they have. Sometimes though I wake with a sense of dread and anxiety I can’t place. I will stave it off with a couple of drinks and maybe a shot before going in. I know, go to AA… get help… yeah. I know what I should be doing. But it’s like I can’t. I can’t explain it besides cowardice. I don’t know. Just felt like writing it out. Thanks for listening

My son recently turned one, and a few weeks ago I made one of the hardest decisions of my life. I decided to distance myself from my parents, especially my mother, and stop allowing them to interfere in my marriage and how my wife and I raise our child.

I'm almost 35 years old, and I feel ridiculous admitting how difficult this has been.

For some context, I grew up in Brazil during the 90s. My parents became evangelical Christians when I was about a year old, right around the time the whole Satanic Panic thing was spreading through churches here.

And my parents went ALL IN.

They were already pretty strict. Lots of yelling, physical punishment, controlling pretty much everything my brother and I did. But religion took it to another level.

I remember having my toys burned, trading cards destroyed, sticker albums thrown away, videogames scratched up. All because some American pastor had convinced them that Disney movies, games, cartoons and basically anything that wasn't Christian had demons hiding in it.

I couldn't even listen to regular music without being warned that I was inviting demons into the house.

As a kid, I was genuinely terrified. I had nightmares, woke up thinking I could see shadows watching me, and constantly worried about going to hell.

I developed terrible anxiety, which followed me into adulthood. I struggled with it throughout university and still deal with some of it today.

But the weirdest part is that I also became extremely attached to my mother.

Whenever anything went wrong, I needed to tell her. It didn't matter what it was. I felt like she HAD to know, because somehow she would fix it.

It's hard to explain. The same person who made me terrified of so many things was also the person I ran to whenever I was scared.

And that continued for decades.

Now, before I go any further, I really need to explain something. My parents weren't just awful people who treated me badly my whole life.

They've also been incredibly generous to me.

We weren't rich when I was little. Quite the opposite. I remember my mom crying because we couldn't afford meat.

Things got better financially when I went to university. They sold a property, made some good money, and our lives changed quite a bit.

When I bought my first car, my father paid about 70% of it. Whenever I needed help with money, they were there.

When my wife and I got married during COVID, I was unemployed, and they helped us financially every month. Even after I found a job, they insisted on continuing because they said they wanted to help.

And I was always grateful for that.

But over time I started feeling like the money came with strings attached.

Almost like, "We're helping you financially, so we get to have an opinion about everything you do."

And I let it happen for years.

Then my son was born.

My wife had a very difficult delivery. She needed an assisted vaginal birth, was badly injured, and was in a lot of pain afterward.

Our son was having trouble breastfeeding, wasn't gaining enough weight and had jaundice. We ended up spending five days in a pretty awful public hospital.

We shared a room with several other mothers and newborns. There was barely any privacy, nobody was sleeping, and my wife was in a terrible state, physically and emotionally.

At one point she was moved to a different room where I couldn't stay overnight.

The next morning she texted me saying she couldn't take it anymore, that she was feeling awful and needed help.

So my mother and I went to the hospital.

I was filling out some paperwork when my mother went into my wife's room first.

Apparently she walked in and immediately started yelling at her.

She told my wife to stop being dramatic, stop making a fuss, and give her the baby so she could take care of him. She basically took the baby from her and told her to go to the emergency room if she was in so much pain.

My wife told me all of this while crying.

I was furious, but I didn't really confront my mother the way I should have.

I said something to her, but I didn't push it. I was exhausted, worried about my wife and son, and frankly, I was still scared of confronting my own mother.

I hate admitting that.

A day later we finally went home, and my mother stayed with us to help out.

We really needed the help. My wife was still bleeding and recovering, and I was taking care of her while we both tried to figure out how to take care of a newborn.

We also run a small business together, so we couldn't just completely stop working. We had clients to answer, things to sort out. We took turns watching our son while the other person handled work.

About a week after we got home, my mother started yelling at my wife again.

I wasn't there when it happened.

She told her she wasn't taking proper care of the baby, complained that the house was dirty and smelled like poop, and criticized her for working.

She even brought up some story about a neighbor from 30 years ago who supposedly went crazy after giving birth, and warned my wife that she might end up the same way.

My wife came to me crying again.

This time I lost it.

I confronted my mother and told her she was completely out of line. That we had asked for HELP, not someone to criticize my wife while she was recovering from childbirth.

My mother immediately started crying.

She went on about how apparently we just wanted a maid, a silent servant, a slave who wasn't allowed to have an opinion.

And I said something pretty shitty in response.

I sarcastically told her, "Great, that's exactly what we need. Someone who helps and keeps quiet."

I'm not proud of saying that. I was just so angry and tired of seeing my wife being treated that way.

My mother spent the following day sulking, barely talking to anyone.

My wife eventually told me she couldn't take it anymore and that we needed to figure things out on our own.

I agreed.

That evening, when my father came over, I told my mother, half jokingly, "Mom, you're fired."

I thanked her for helping, but explained that we needed some space and wanted to find our own routine as parents.

She took it terribly.

My father later told me she cried the entire drive home.

After that, things were never really the same.

Whenever my parents visited, my mother would constantly try to take over everything involving our son.

Changing diapers, holding him, deciding what needed to be done.

But something else started bothering both of us.

Whenever she picked him up, she seemed to look for an excuse to leave the room with him. She always wanted to be alone with him.

And if we followed, she seemed annoyed.

I don't know how to explain why this bothered me so much, but it did.

Fast forward several months.

My mother went on a trip abroad, and since my father is getting older and has back problems, my wife and I decided to stay at their house for a while.

Things were fine at first, although there was an incident where I accidentally saw a WhatsApp message my father had sent my mother, saying that my wife and I didn't know how to do anything and couldn't properly take care of our own son.

I wasn't snooping. My wife had hurt her ankle, and I was using his computer to schedule a medical appointment. WhatsApp was already open on the screen.

We argued about it, but eventually he apologized, and we agreed to put it behind us.

When my mother returned, we continued staying with them.

We were actually considering living there temporarily because my wife and I are planning to move abroad, and my parents have a large property with plenty of space.

It sounded like a good idea financially.

It was not a good idea.

Within about ten days, my mother was controlling everything again.

If we said we wanted to do something one way, she would do it another way.

It didn't matter what it was. She always had to be the one making the decisions.

My wife was getting increasingly frustrated, and I was trying to keep the peace while also supporting her.

Eventually, my mother once again tried to take over something involving our son. I told her no, and she got angry and started sulking.

I decided we needed to have a serious conversation.

I told her that living together wasn't working, that we would be moving back home, and that she needed to understand something very simple.

He's OUR son.

Not hers.

I told her that I understood she wanted to help, but that her constant interference was actually making our lives harder.

And then I brought up what happened at the hospital.

I told her that the way she treated my wife, just days after she had given birth, was completely unacceptable.

She looked me straight in the eyes and said:

"If I hadn't been at that hospital that day, your son wouldn't even be alive."

I can't even describe how angry that made me.

My wife had suffered so much. We had spent five days desperately trying to get our baby to gain weight, barely sleeping, doing everything we could.

And my mother genuinely believed she was the reason our son was alive?

I demanded that she take it back.

I told her that saying something like that completely dismissed everything my wife and I had gone through.

That was pretty much it for me.

My wife and I went home, and after talking about everything, we decided we were done depending on my parents.

No more financial help. No more allowing them to interfere in our marriage. No more treating their opinions as if they mattered more than our own decisions about our child.

We've also decided to severely limit their contact with our son for the time being.

And now comes the part that's been eating me alive.

My mother is devastated.

She cries whenever I see her.

During the few visits we've allowed, she'll hold my son and say things like, "You're my dream come true," "You're everything I've ever wanted," and "I love you so much it hurts."

She kisses him constantly and still tries to find excuses to be alone with him.

I know those might sound like perfectly normal things for a grandmother to say. Maybe they are.

But something about it, especially after everything that's happened, makes me extremely uncomfortable.

I don't want to accuse her of anything. I don't even know exactly why it bothers me as much as it does. I just know that it does.

And the worst part is that I still love my parents.

They've done so much for me.

They helped me financially when I needed it. They supported me through university. They've helped other people too. They're not monsters.

I genuinely believe that, in their own minds, they're just trying to help us.

But I also feel like their version of love has always involved some degree of control.

And for the first time in my life, I'm refusing to play along.

I'm nearly 35, married, with a child of my own, and I'm only now realizing how much of my adult life I've spent worrying about upsetting my mother.

It's such a strange feeling.

On one hand, I feel relieved. Almost free.

On the other, I see my parents getting older, crying because they don't get to see their grandson as much anymore, and I feel like the worst son in the world.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm overreacting. If this is just a generational thing. If I should have been more patient or found some other way to deal with it.

I keep remembering everything they've done for me, and then I remember my wife crying in that hospital room.

I don't know.

I just know I don't want my son growing up feeling the same fear, guilt and obligation that I grew up with.

And I don't want my wife to ever feel like she comes second to my mother.

I guess that's why I'm writing this. I don't really know what to do with all these conflicting feelings.

I always thought that finally standing up to my mother would feel like some huge victory.

Instead, it feels like I'm grieving a relationship with someone who's still alive.

It's been about approximately half a year since my brothers and I lost our mom to the vile dragon that is cancer. For several long months she battled it hoping she can come back home to us. But unfortunately we don't get to that. Since then it's been a slow, tiring process recovering from such a fact. But then my dad, who's been more than affected by her passing, decided to fuck it all up in a single decision.

I had been in contact with my dad's boss for a while now. Occasionally he says hi and checks up on me so I thought it was another one of those times. He did his usual thing asking how I was but then he asked me if I my dad had been bringing women over. Turns out he was! Specifically a s3x worker and paying her for upwards of 2,000 across multiple nights. Poorly hiding it from us to the point he just had her cooking stuff in the kitchen.

He promised us multiple times to me and my brother's faces that she wasn't going to be replaced. She had specifically saved quite a lot of money for us in the event of her leaving us. And for all we know my dad could've been pulling money out of that for that woman. My mom would've been disgusted.

I had to step in with my dad's boss along with my grandma to get him to stop this shit. And you wanna know what he does? Even after promising nothing like this is gonna happen and that he's going to rehab? He had the nerve to have someone else over last night, no shame. Not at all. I am so fucking tired. And he wonders why I'm going into therapy! Precisely because of his nonsense!

I’m 30 years old and have had kidney failure since I was 8. This year has been the hardest health wise, knowing I’ll probably won’t see 32 years old or more has made me go into the deepest depression I’ve ever been in. I’m not taking care of myself at all, not eating right, not exercising and not taking care of my mental health. My parents are so scared, my friends are too. I’m SCARED. I want to take it myself, I want to stay, I want to live to an old age. But it’s so hard when I’m so depressed and turn to food to cope with it all. I don’t know what I’m doing by and I’m denial about it all. I don’t want it to end, I just want this suffering to end.

I was 11 when it happened. It started when I told my parents that I’m growing, that I’m hitting puberty. I used to love my dad, we would have tickle fights when I was younger. Now I’m disgusted bc what if he was plotting to do that to me at those day and age. At some point, I thought we were gonna play and have another tickle fight. Until he started touching me inappropriately. He put his hand under my pants and kept asking me if it was good. I didn’t even know what he was talking about that time, I thought he had asked that bc I made lemonade just before it happened. So I said yes. This happened multiple times for months. I wouldn’t even move, I felt like a Barbie getting drawn on, letting it happen. It happened multiple times for months no end until I eventually told him to stop. I started to ignore him. As I grow up, I started to get moody and I wouldn’t even hide how I hate him. My mom knows I hate him but she doesn’t know the reason. She keeps asking and I just keep crying. I recently got scolded by her, apparently he rambled to her on how I didn’t even greet him or acknowledge his existence when I came back home from a 2 days trip. she asked me why I don’t have respect for him and she told me that whatever it is we have to forgive him anyway. I think she assumed that I don’t have respect for him because he cheated on her and I knew abt it. At that point I just kept crying and told her she doesnt understand. She kept rambling and lecturing me about respect. How can she even lecture me about that when she doesn’t have respect for herself? She got cheated on for Christ sake. While she was rambling I was so close to telling her about it, but then I started thinking about the effect it will have later on in our lives. I don’t know what both of my parents are capable of doing. What if they kill eachother off? Even worst, what if I tell my mom, she confronts my dad and he tries to kill us?? What if he kills himself? What if my mom kills herself?? (I’m an overthinker). I want to tell her at some point but in this point and time, I’m still a teenager living under their roof. I’m thinking I should get away from here at the age of 18 and move. Which is btw next year.

Alright so I went to a party like two days ago and I got a bit too drunk. The thing is, even if it's hazy, I still remember what happened. There were like 15 people there. So, it started off lightly, at some point we went out of the house for a walk. That's when it started hitting me, I was walking like an actual lunatic, and I mean it, I couldn't walk straight. At some point a girl helped me back to the house where everyone returned to. And that's when things took a wild turn. I started crying, sobbing and screaming, saying that I should be perfect, I hate my chest, genuielly things that I've never said before and never intended to say. But this isn't even the worst thing. I even admitted that I slap myself every day and that I think I deserve it, that I should just kill myself etc. I was in a room with two other guys, one guy was trying to cheer me up, the other guy was comforting me. I kept apologizing to the hosts and telling them that I'm not like that and that I really wanted their party to be perfect. I even said that "I slap myself because I can't cut myself". I even raised my shirt at some point because someone asked what my problem is (if I remember correctly) I almost knew no one in that party and even people I didn't know texted me the next day asking if I was fine. Even a girl who was sleeping it off told me that she could actually hear my screams. I'm so fucking ashamed of myself, like, I wish the earth would just open and swallow me, I'm not even joking. It's been two days and I just can't take this whole thing off my mind, I see the host and the guy who was helping me almost everyday and I just don't know how to face them tomorrow. I never intended to reveal such things and nothing like that has ever happened to me before. I don't deserve their care or concern. They should've just locked me in a room until I stopped behaving like that.

Hi guys, this is my first post here and I really need advice.

For context, I (18f) have been friends with my best friend for almost 4 years now (also 18f). We have become so close that I’m practically a part of her family. Her parents and siblings loved me and were practically my family (since I have a very complicated relationship with my own family). We had other friends outside of each other of course, but we had an undeniably special and close bond.

Since last May, I started to notice that she was drifting away from me. But I tried to stay as close to her as I could. When we saw each other for the first time since May in September, I sensed that something was really off between us. But, (and this was a HUGE mistake) I let it be because I thought I was crazy. Turns out, I wasn’t.

I reached out to ask if things were okay between us, and she let me know honestly (which was my request) that I was being a really shitty friend to her the past year, which I was completely unaware of. I was casually leaving her out of things, prioritizing others while she prioritized me, and just not being a supportive friend. She held all of that in for months because she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, and I really wished she had told me. While I hadn’t actively tried to do these things, that didn’t matter. She was still extremely hurt and I feel absolutely awful.

I apologized for every single individual mistake I made that she mentioned, and put them into context while reassuring her that her feelings were completely valid. I made sure to let her know that I didn’t deserve forgiveness, but I was happy she said we could still be friends.

It’s been two days since I found all of this out, and I feel physically sick because of the anxiety, guilt, and sadness this confrontation has brought me. This is not at ALL saying that I am the victim. I want to make that extremely clear. I’m just wondering if there is anything else I should do for my friend, because I sincerely want to make it up to her. Also because this person was truly my bestest of friends, and it was my fault our friendship took a hit.

Any advice on what I should do, or how I can cope with this? Any comments (even critical ones) are greatly appreciated. Thanks.

I've been dating a guy for nearly a year. We hit it off right away, he wasn't ever exactly romantic but I had no doubts about his romantic intentions from the start. But after months when I did want to have the 'what are we' talk I basically just got the 'I'm not ready' talk, and that we should discuss it at a later date, but he likes being with me. He did introduce me to family and basically all of his friends, although I've never actually heard him use the word "girlfriend".

He's apparently been burned by his non-that-recent divorce, that's why he's "trying to focus on himself". Still, we hit it off, and I'm not actually sure how often he went on any other dates, as it wasn't an open topic of discussion between us. All the while he has been very attentive to things I say, surprises me with thoughtful little gifts, never cancels any plans and very very slowly have been hitting "relationship milestones" without really acknowledging any of them.

He also planned a travel with his friend back in March to a Very Far Country (won't name it just because I don't want the post to be too recognizable). Back then, since we were very early and such and I didn't have any idea whether we would be together later down the line I obviously didn't really insert myself into their plans. Then I honestly just sorta forgot about this trip coming up. We went on a short vacation of our own in August.

Then we're still together now, and he went to VFC with his friends, who are a couple btw. One member of the couple actually expressed that it's unfortunate I'm not coming with them, as she'd have another woman to hang out with, and go to sex-segregated places, and how bad that I can't come. And that was surprising, as I never said that I "couldn't come". Like maybe not to the full duration of their travels, but I could have accompanied them for most of it (they have a lot more PTO than I do). I actually organized another travel to another Very Far Country with a family member, and obviously I was sorta motivated by missing out on this trip. And I realized that it wouldn't have been that more expensive to join them last minute while checking ticket prices.

Even though I'll be traveling myself soon to an exciting place, looking at my boyfriend's pictures is triggering me now so bad I just paused them for a while on social media. He never once brought up the possibility of me going with them in all the months leading up, and doesn't express any sadness over me not being there, but he's not really the type to say anything like that anyway. We talk daily and he gives updates, but it's very barebones stuff of all the fun things they do and some pictures and asking what am I up to at home, but never anything "meta" about our relationship or him telling me he misses me ever. I feel like I held back on expressing any hurt so far or have been grateful for breadcrumbs for so long, I don't feel like I have room to express these feelings in our relationship.

At this point I honestly feel like I just want to ghost my way out of our relationship. I feel like this is an especially sensitive period in our relationship, but he still thinks I'm this cool, independent woman who thinks nothing of him going away on a vacation without me for 3 weeks. It's also a destination I'd have really liked to visit at least once, and apparently he isn't all that enamoured by it, so I doubt he'd like to go again. And it makes me want to be even less with him, this incident feels like it'd hang around like a lasting resentment if we stay together, and I don't know how it became such a huge deal for me. I feel like he doesn't know me at all, but I also don't want to start discussing this while he's on a vacation.

TL;DR: Boyfriend who's not actually ready to get serious went on a very long vacation with friends and never even once tried to get me to go even as we stayed together and got "official" in front on his friends. Now he's on this trip and I'm having a really rough time, and almost just want to pretend he doesn't exist and move on with my life.

I used to think life was about experiences, making something of the time we have. My brother understood this too. He was probably one of the most liked and extroverted people I'll ever know.

Every weekend he'd have plans with friends, whether it was partying, playing sports or just hanging out. I have access to his Snapchat memories, downloaded and secured ofc. They're filled with hundreds, maybe even a thousand moments that anyone would classify as core memories. Moments from a life well lived.

We had our ups and downs as a family. Dad became bipolar back in 2010 and lost his job. He didn't tell my mom, and they ended up losing the house at the height of the housing crash. They were left in severe debt, dealing with mental health issues, and there was a lot of turmoil for me and my brother to deal with.

I was always the class clown, making jokes and having a good group of friends. But after everything that happened with my parents, I became the middleman as the oldest brother. The guy who had to fix everything between my dad, mom, brother and grandparents. They were much more temperamental than me, and I found some sense of happiness in cooling down the room whenever anger heated it up.

Unfortunately, being this type of person, with feelers out in every direction to sense when something was about to go wrong, comes with its drawbacks. I soon developed anxiety, became less sociable and took to being the quiet observer, ready to step in if someone needed a "fixer".

My brother, on the other hand, quietly quit the family dynamic. He retreated to his room, played video games with his friends and went out whenever he could to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere at home.

By this point, my parents had been divorced for a long time. Mom had started drinking a bit too much. Not enough that it was noticeable from the outside, but enough that it affected her emotions, both on and off the wine. Irritable before, volatile after.

Dad was jumping between jobs and girlfriends, some nice but most of them a little crazy. We moved around a lot, and it wasn't a stable home. Sometimes things got too much at my mom's, so we'd choose the lesser of the two and move in with him for a while. At least we had our computers and could stay in our rooms, escaping for a bit.

My brother kept living with my dad, becoming more and more frustrated with school. All he really wanted was to spend time with his friends, party and go on adventures. He eventually got his high school diploma (or the equivalent where I'm from) and started working, first in retail, then selling charity subscriptions. And that's where he found his calling.

He'd always been extroverted, and suddenly he had a way to earn money and find success. Something he hadn't really thought was possible for him because of how school frames success. He had more free time to see his friends as well, going to parties, working out and getting really fit. He started reading and was gonna take a math course to become a realtor and then he died.

He was 21, almost 22. He was out partying at a festival. It was 39 degrees Celsius, and he hadn't been drinking enough water. In the evening he'd disappeared from his camp, which wasn't unusual for him. He loved talking to new people when he'd had a little too much to drink.

He'd become ill and maybe confused due to dehydration and wandered onto open tracks that ran straight through the festival with no fence (amazing design). He'd tried following them to get home, as he lived close to the tracks, but went in the complete wrong direction and then fainted. The train didn't see him lying on the tracks until it was too late. He was killed instantly.

This is what we think happened. We don't know.

I've heard from his friends that he was always the one telling others not to go onto tracks when drunk. I'd talked to him about the dangers of this as well, and he seemed to genuinely respect it. The police investigated whether someone had placed him there, as it was unusual for anyone to wander off in that direction, but they found no drugs in his system. Only alcohol.

That was how his life ended.

I gave a speech at his funeral and recited poetry I'd written for him. I thought back to the speech I'd given at his confirmation. I carried the casket with my dad, his two best friends and two of our uncles.

More than 300 people showed up. Basically everyone knew my brother somehow. This was the worst day in many people's lives, young and old, family and friends.

I buried his ashes a few weeks later, after the police were done investigating his death.

His friends still place beers at his grave three months later. There are so many that we have a special arrangement with the gravedigger to pour them out at his grave and take them away sometimes.

Here I am, 25, my little brother gone forever, and I feel like I'm the one who died.

Growing up with all these issues and seeing him overcome his circumstances in his own way gave me something to live for. He was experiencing his life, I was experiencing mine, and when we met up we could live vicariously through each other. We'd had the same childhood but ended up living very different lives, and we could put ourselves in each other's shoes.

Now I'm living half a life, filled with the grief of losing my brother, of my parents losing their youngest, and of my brother's friends losing the glue that bound them together.

I continue my education as an engineer. I continue meeting with my friends, my brother's friends and my family. I continue, but why?

Life is not about material things, but about experiences and relationships. But what comfort is that when relationships end and experiences can hurt so unbearably?

I don't know anymore.

I will leave you with one of my poems.

What answer would you give,
If I asked why I live,
In a world where death is certain,
And love is made a burden.

The same love that we trust,
A heart of gold turned to rust,
Why does death even matter,
If love is rarer than the latter?

How can I ever sleep again,
Dreaming of what could have been,
When I close my eyes and all I see,
Is the darkness where he'll forever be.

So what answer do you give,
When I ask why I live,
In a world where I suffer,
The pain of losing my brother.

you can probably guess why from the content warning. First time posting here, so please excuse if there’s a rule I’m not following.

When I was a young child, I was repeatedly sexually assaulted by my older brother for some time. I don’t remember the exact timeline, and I honestly don’t even want to figure it out. I just know I was young, sometime from around/during 4th grade and it stopped sometime before I entered middle school.

I’m 21 now. Never told anyone about it, even now. I don’t think I’ll ever tell my family.

I was openly no-contact with my sibling for a long time. My brother had many other mental health problems, so I had something else to justify me distancing myself from him on to my parents instead of the truth. My parents are genuinely kind and good people, and untimely respected my decision.

Whenever someone would ask if I had siblings, I said “no.”

My brother had tried to indirectly apologize to me every now and then when I was still a teenager, but I just brushed it off and firmly kept no-contact.

I’ve done a good job of coping over the years, but it’s something that’s haunted me. Ever since I realized I was assaulted as a child, I have wished to myself that my brother died or went missing and I never had to see or deal with him again.

I’ve wished for this more times than I can count. But I didn’t want it to come completely true, because I wouldn’t want my parents to experience the grief of loosing their first child.

When I woke up this morning, my mom and dad sat me down to tell me my older brother was found dead in his apartment via suicide yesterday. He was found by his landlord, and my dad got the call from the police.

I was shocked, and just hugged by parents while they cried and i told them I’m sorry. They said they know I wasn’t close to him, but he still loved me and I was his baby sister. I know that was true, I just don’t return the sentiment.

I feel so so bad for my parents right now. I sincerely hated my brother more than anything but I didn’t want my parents to suffer this. I think they’re dealing with it pretty well at the moment, and have a good support system with the rest of my family.

I don’t think his suicide completely surprises them, as he’s been dealing with mental problems for a long time like I mentioned.

I don’t exactly know how to feel myself at the moment. Im a bit numb. But a large part of me is utterly relieved that he’s gone. It’s like there’s this giant weight lifted off my shoulders and my conscious.

I’m not a religious person, and I don’t really believe in karma. I don’t think I manifested this or anything. I don’t think this is something the universe did for me. But, even just talking about my brother made me shut down, and now that he’s dead, I don’t really feel that burden anymore. He’s gone, forever. I won’t ever see him in person again. The person that abused me is dead.

Right now, I’m just mentally preparing myself for the future events you would expect from a death in the family.

There’s not really anyone I can confide in about this, which is why I’m posting to Reddit instead. If anyone else has experiences, please feel free to comment and share your story.

18 years old, it’s time for college applications. But as I talk to people my age, I realize I am woefully unprepared. And that’s not an immoral thing. It’s just the fact that I’m not as great or special as I thought I was creeping in. Actually, it’s the fact that I’m realizing what kind of person I am and what statistically is ahead for me.

Let me tell you what I’ve spent the past 18 years doing. I was a nightmare child. Always the bullied crybaby victim, the ruthless bully that picked on others for fun, the sulky jealous kid that didn’t win, the kid who disrespected teachers, and so on. Anything bad, that was me. I’m not gonna say that’s solid evidence that I’m a piece of shit, because that’s pretty lazy. Kids can be dumb and develop late-onset maturity. Just not me.

I was more covert in acting out as a teenager. I still did crappy things, but I “balanced” it out by telling myself to almost be like a “servant” to other people so I would have a social life. Let me tell you what that meant for me; pretend to care about others as much as possible. Ask as many questions as possible. Express feeling as terrible as possible for the slightest mishaps. Beat myself up as much as possible for everything.

This worked, and I was pretty well-liked. I knew this years-long act was that, an act. I could feel the leash I was putting on myself, I knew there was something “dormant” inside of me. Whenever I neutrally expressed feeling like I was a bad person to my therapists ever since I was 13, they’d laugh it off or be profoundly confused. They’d tell me I have low self-esteem, that a bad person wouldn’t recognize it, and that I’m very polite and honest, so I cannot possibly be bad. I could never bring myself to elaborate due to all the temporary relief that brought.

I am never fully honest with therapists in general. I don’t see other people as people the way I see myself as a person. I never have. As long as I can remember, I’ve always felt like I was the only conscious person on Earth, and could not comprehend that other people have full thoughts and feelings in the way I do.

I’ve always treated people accordingly without even realizing it, like two-dimensional cardboard cutouts that happen to be in my life. This could be expressed though loud childhood bullying to simply dumping all my problems on my friends because I never assume they wouldn’t be in the mood for it. Shame and embarrassment are absolutely unbearable for me, it feels like every part of my body is being brutally attacked, so I never learn from my mistakes.

Let’s just say since turning 18, that act has slipped, and I’ve really been acting “true” to myself in the way I always knew I would due to my newfound freedom. I really was just never given the chance to express it as a kid growing up in group therapy. So, in terms of college and my future, let’s also just say you don’t look at people with my history and say, “Yeah, this person is gonna do great things, make a positive impact on others, and have a grand life.” You say, “This person is going to drop out of college and drink themselves to death by 35, all while thinking they are completely justified the whole time.”

So I really cannot stand when people talk to me about college applications. Where’s the place for all the bad people of the world besides an early grave?

I'm 27. I am happily married to a lovely man. I have excellent friends. A job I like. Hobbies. My family is lovely and close knit. My in laws are also lovely.

I have had low level depression and anxiety my whole life. I've been to therapy many times, and tried lots of modalities, but I've never felt it that helpful. I'm also on the spectrum, which doesn't help.

I do all the things you're supposed to do. I get out in nature, I work out, I eat well, I sleep well, I see people and I do stuff off-line. And none of it is working. I'm feeling increasingly depressed about the future in general, about meaning, about my life being stuck in a safe rut, about everything. I burst into tears at nothing. Its awful. And I know how self indulgent this feeling is too, as a white woman in a wealthy country with a paid off house and a good job. People have real problems out there.

I don't know what to do anymore. I have a constant pit in my stomach and I don't know how long I can keep my mask up around people and hide how I am. It's awful.

i will never admit this to anybody i know, i rather die honestly, but i had a dream yesterday where i hugged a guy, i begged him "please protect me, please take care of me" nonstop

i dont want to live my life alone, i dont want to take decisions, i dont want to be the one living my life, i want someone who controls my money, life decisions, friendships, i just dont want to have the responsibility im scared

that will never happen firstly because i will never open like that to someone and that no one wants to take care of someone like theyre a kid obviously

When we first started dating a year and a half ago, she didn’t really complain too much, but when she did she would apologize and say she’d stop. I told her there wasn’t anything wrong with venting because I know it feels good to vent/rant. She basically took that and stretched it as much as she could because all she does now is complain. I don’t think she’s gone a whole day without complaining about something.

When I say she complains about everything, I really mean everything. When she’s driving, she complains about literally everyone’s driving that’s in front of her even when they aren’t doing anything wrong. She’s always complaining about her job that she hates, but refuses to get a new one. She complains about her family. She complains when I ask her to do something around the house (I clean all the time and take care of our pets). She complains if I ask her to cook dinner one night (I always cook dinner). She complains if I skip a step while I walk. She complains whenever she asks for advice and I give it to her, but it’s not good enough for her, so she does the opposite and then complains about those results. She complains when the wind is blowing in the direction she doesn’t want it to.

You get the idea. I’m just so mentally drained by it. She is constantly finding new things to complain about and it’s almost nauseating. I can’t even ask her to stop complaining because she just gets mad and complains more. I’ve told her she really needs to give therapy a try and she doesn’t want to. Honestly, I can’t even see her taking any therapists advice. It’s gotten to the point where whenever she complains, I just ignore it now. I pay no attention to it anymore. I’ll continue just watching something on tv or doing something on my phone while she does it. I just nod my head the whole time. Most of the time I don’t even know what she complains about anymore. As soon as she starts, I just block it out. In one ear, out the other.

Obviously this isn’t healthy for either of us, but I’m losing my mind.

Obviously I'd prefer not to be ugly at all, but if I had to be then being disfigured is better. There may be some additional trauma but that's nothing I'm a stranger to. I would rather be disfigured ugly compared to regular ugly. At least then when you're made fun of, people are shamed for doing it. Jobs are still harder to get but at least you have a rightful case for discrimination. When you're just regular ugly life is fucking terrible. People always claim "looks don't matter, what's on the inside counts," etc but reality says otherwise. Unless you've had people point and laugh at you for existing. Seen the look of disappointment in someone's eyes upon seeing you in-person for the first time (job or online friend). Tried applying for jobs, having a good banter until a video call or in-person interview. I've applied for gigs where they needed someone to practice makeup on ghosted me after I showed my face. My hairstylist can't post my picture to her page because the comments just become an insult competition. Every time you wear something nice its "that outfit looks great" not "you look great." Fucking degenerate old men come up to me and think because I'm ugly I'm easy and will let anything touch me. You can have the same behavior as someone else, but because they don't look like shit you're a bitch and they're not. I'd rather get pity from being a burn victim than be treated like a leper and pariah simply because I have bad genes and my family is also ugly.

I miss having a family. I got adopted just to be abused, treated like a maid, expected to take care of everyone, and made to provide money for them. It's sad because I honestly don't know what to do anymore. I just want to have a family of my own, a place where I can feel loved, safe, and cared for. I know I'm a sweet girl with so much love to give, and I guess I just wish life had been kinder to me. Sometimes, I can't help but feel like my life sucks.

Recently (about a month ago) had to leave my ex-girlfriend of 4 years over my porn addiction. I have been addicted to porn since I was 12 years old and was first exposed to it at 8. Exposure to porn at such a young age did irreparable damage to my perception of women and sex. This girl was my first relationship and the first couple years my sexual relationship with her was very strained because I didn’t understand the difference between lust and love which caused our sex life to be essentially only about sexual pleasure instead of genuine intimacy and connection. I was so ashamed of my addiction that I hid it from her for essentially the whole relationship and then told her a week before I left her because the guilt became too much. She had no idea and she acted ok at first but she revealed to me about a week later that she had been cutting herself because she felt like she had no control over her life anymore because she could no longer trust that I wanted only her and no one else. This broke me. I cried to her and begged her to promise me that she would stop but she told me that she didn’t know if she could because it made her feel good. She told me that she had already told a friend about it and that she could rely on them for support because she didn’t want me to have to worry about it. I went home late that night and the next day I drove to her place and told her that the relationship had to end. She made a promise to me right before I left that she would no longer cut herself after I was gone and said “This was all you. Not me.” while pointing at the scabs on her chest. That image has stayed in my head vividly ever since.

I always told myself that I had chose not to tell her because I could fix it on my own and she didn’t need to know about it. In reality I think I chose not to tell her because I cared more about what would happen to me when she found out than I did about how my lack of self-control would negatively impact her. The breakup revealed to me every flaw that I could possibly recognize in myself and I feel like I have been living so thoughtlessly and wasting my life’s potential. The more I reflect on the relationship and my current situation the more angry I become. For weeks I have been consumed by guilt and anger that I lacked the courage to just do the right thing and tell her what was going on and worst of all I am now realizing that I’m not at all the person that I had convinced myself I was. Hell, my LIFE is not what I thought it was. I have been a complete idiot for not realizing how serious my wrongdoings truly are and it makes me feel worse that I know for a fact that I was completely capable of this realization. I am weak willed, I lack self-control, I am lazy, and I am selfish. I let myself hide behind my false pride and these things do not only apply to my relationship but I now I have essentially nothing to show for what I felt was years of genuine love and effort that I put into the relationship but I’m now even questioning how genuine I was being. My achievements in life now feel worthless to me because I feel that despite my success in some aspects of life I am a failure in the aspects that really matter. I really struggled at first to formulate a plan on how to move forward but I am determined to fix myself because I know that I can be better but I still wrestle with self-loathing and guilt. I reached out to her 2 weeks after the break-up to make one final apology and a promise that I would become a better person and she asked me to meet her in person. She got all of her negative feeling out that she had been holding in, telling me that she was confused and angry but she forgives me because she knows I didn’t intend to hurt her. She told me she had been talking to a new guy (which made me very upset on the inside) but she wanted to stay in contact because she wanted to be friends and I originally obliged but after a few days I came to my senses and cut her off again and told her I needed a while before we could be friends because I don’t think I could ever get over her while being in contact, especially if she’s already seeing someone else. According to my friends, all of my ex’s friends and most of her family now hate me because she tells them I treated her like shit despite thanking me for having treated her well when we talked post break-up. I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t trust my own perception of myself.

On a more positive note though all of this has pushed me into a determination to improve myself for when I meet the person I really want to spend my life with and I don’t want to meet that person for a long time because I feel like I’m so far from the best version of myself. I think this experience has rendered me nearly incapable of becoming complacent in my virtue, which I hope is a good thing. I don’t really know what my goal was with this post.