I’m now an addict and have no family.
I just want someone to see things the way I do.
How can I stop doing❄️
I do 8balls by myself
Can someone give me some advice on how to overcome this
I am actually very new to Reddit. I literally just made this account and this is my first post.. so please forgive my ignorance lmao. But I am a 31F. I have no one to turn too family wise. My father passed when I was 16. Parent wise he was my HERO and my only REAL PARENT. He was a shining example of what a parent SHOULD BE. Unfortunately, he also lost his father @ 3. So I never had a grandfather. His mother and my aunt (dad’s sister) are the CLOSEST THING I EVER HAD TO MOMS. honestly my grandmother more than my aunt. She was mom. Sadly, I never got to appreciate them for the role they so heavily in my youth. When my father passed I got really angry with everyone and everything. NOW for the villain of our story. The human incubator I affectionately call her now or my biological mother in official terms. THIS WOMEN IS THE DEFINITION OF WHAT THEY MAKE DOCUMENTARIES ABOUT. She is pure evil. One day maybe I’ll drop the lore on her. But long story short I went no contact with her when I was 27. And over the past couple years I have never felt so alone in my life. I watch everyone w their families being able to go ask their parents for help advice or even just shoulder to cry on. If not their parents they have someone. But not me.. I don’t know how to heal any of this and I feel wrong for just wanting to be treated like I deserve a family….. if anyone could give me some advice guidance god jus a ear to listen… again im sorry this is long.. my heart has been heavy and I see people on YouTube going to Reddit and finding community and just not feeling well so here I am. This is my first throw of a life vest if you will.
And to the people who actually read this 🥂
Content Warning: Mentions of Sexual abuse, child endangerment, grooming behavior, implied harm, body horror, psychological manipulation.
I work property management. This was found in a foreclosed home in [redacted], stripped to the studs after the bank took it back. No next of kin listed. Police ran the name in the entries through missing persons databases no match. No reports filed under that name anywhere in the state. I'm posting this because someone might recognize something, or someone. If this crosses a line, mods, I'll remove it. But I can't be the only one who read this and felt sick.
The diary itself is a purple composition notebook, the kind you'd buy for school. Handwritten. Some pages are stuck together from what looks like water damage. I'm transcribing the legible entries as faithfully as I can I haven't changed the spelling or grammar. This is exactly how it reads.
Entry, no date, front cover inside.
This is Lili's diary. If you red it you are BAD and you will get in troble. The end.
Earliest entry, scattered, written in pencil.
Today I start a new life. We movd to a new house! Mommy says it is special because it is just for us. No one elses house. I like it but the floors are colld.
Mommy says I cant go in the basment but I herd noises last nite. I askd her and she sed thats just the house settling sweety go back to slep. She was not in her bed tho. She was by the door just standing there. Watching me sleep I think. She sed she was just cheacking on me.
Entry, a few days later.
A man has been watching my window. Mommy sed he is the mann who helps us" and not to be scared. He brings groceries. He touchs my hair and says I am so big now. Mommy makes me hug him when he comes. He smells like chemicles. Mommy says not to talk about him.
Entry, different handwriting appears for a single line in the margin.
She remembers. Don't let her remember.
The rest continues in Lili's hand.
Entry, the handwriting is shakier, letters uneven.
I told mommy I did not like when he touchs me and she got mad. She sed I have to be good and quiet and do what we are told. She sed it is for our famly. She sed if I tell anyone she will have to go away and I will be all alone. I dont want mommy to go away.
But she is not my real mommy rite?
She has mommy's face but the way she talks is wrong. Her hand are cold even when she is warm. When she smiles her eyes dont move. I tride to remember my real mommy's face but it is blury.
Mommy says stop saying that. Stop saying that.
Entry, one word per line, then trailing off the page.
she is not she is not she is not she is not
Entry, calm again, almost cheerful, wrong.
I have a new rule! Mommy says I am not to go to school anymore. She will teach me at home. She says the outisde is dangerus and the people are bad. I have to be good. She huggd me for a long time and said she loves me so much and she will keep me safe.
I love my mommy.
I love my mommy.
I love my mommy.
Smudged entry, pencil, pressed hard.
The man comes more now. He and mommy talk in the kitchen late. I cant sleep. I herd him say "she's ready" and mommy lafd. She has never lafd before. It was a long time and it did not stop. I put my head under the pillow.
He has a room in the basment now. Mommy sed it is his office. She told me NEVER go down there or we will both be in troble. She sed it is for me. She is making it speshul for me.
I herd a child crying from down there today. Mommy sed it was the TV.
Maybe i can play with them.
Next several pages are torn out.
Entry resumes, pen now, ink smeared like the writer was crying.
I went in the basment.
I went in the basment.
I went in the basment.
There were pictures on the wall. SO MANY pictures. They were all me but from before I dont remember. I was smaller. I was in a different house. A different room. There was a lady in the picture that is not mommy but she had on mommy's close and she had mommy's face.
I took one picture.
I still have it.
The photograph was not included in the notebook, only a rectangular outline pressed into the page where something had been taped and then removed.
Mommy knew I went down there. She was standing at the bottem of the stairs. She did not say anything. She just looked at me. Her face did this thing where it slipped. Just for a second. Like when you pull your socks off and the skin comes with it. She pulled her face back on like a mask and she smilled.
She smilled so big.
She smilled so big and her teeth were too long.
She said come here sweety lets have a talk about boundries.
I ran to my room and hid under the bed.
Entry, the handwriting has regressed, very childish, crayon pressed hard.
I am bad. I am bad. I am bad. I am so bad. Mommy sed if I am good she will keep me. If I am good she will not throw me away. I do not want to be thrown away. I will be good.
The other children were thrown away.
She told me.
She told me.
Entry, final page, the handwriting is different throughout, like multiple sessions were scrawled in one sitting.
I remember now.
I remember the real house. The real kitchen. I remember Daddy. I remember he was big and he laughed loud and he burnd the dinnner every nite. I remember my real mommy she had freckles and she sang when she did the wash.
I remember the van.
I remember not being able to get out.
I remember the mask over my face.
And then I woke up here and she was there and she had mommy's face and she said welcome home sweety and I believed her.
I wanted to believe her so bad.
I think I have been here for a very long time.
I think the man takes pictures.
I think he has a room.
I think there were others before me.
I think they are still down there.
Last line, written in something dark brown, pressed so hard the pen tore through the paper
She is downstairs. She is in the basement. She is coming up the stairs.
The diary ends there. That's the last entry. I want to be clear, I found this as-is. I called the non-emergency line when I got back to the office and they took a report. Detective seemed more annoyed than anything. Said they'd flag it. Haven't heard back in two weeks.
If anyone has any idea what I'm looking at here, I don't know what to do with this. There was no child found in the home. No remains. The bank has no records of who owned the property before the foreclosure. It's like the house itself just appeared on the county rolls with no history.
--------------------------------------------
THE END.
We got him when I was 3 or 4. I'm 19 now. I'm starting the rest of my life now. Starting a business, thinking about where I want to live after I make enough money. Rn I'm parked in the driveway about to get groceries for dinner tn. I didn't want to mourn near my mom because I didn't want her to try and hug me or anything. Nearly 2 years ago I almost ended it all, just lucked out of death, but I'm better now. I can't even remember a time without him though. He was there through my parents divorce, through my dad's death, through all my days when I didn't go to school because I was so hopeless. It all just seems stupid. I was going to get a food trailer today. Maybe it's a sign from God not to? I don't know anymore. Life just sucks. I miss my dad too. He didn't have the mentality of a 6 year old, like my mother does. I wish I learned more from him and I wish I went to his funeral. I'm glad that I'm not the dumb little kid from just a year ago. Some big ass burgers I made.
I know the current situation in the country is much bigger than what I'm about to say, and I almost feel guilty posting this, but it's been bothering me for a long time.
I've been going through one of the hardest periods of my life. Over time, I've realized that no matter how much effort I put into people, I often end up feeling like I'm just not worth anyone's time. I know the advice is to stop giving energy to people who don't care, and I understand that. But I still can't wrap my head around how people can just forget someone who has always tried to be there for them.
Not long ago, I lost my grandfather and my 14 year old dog around the same time. Being the "man of the house," I tried to be the rock everyone else could lean on. During the ta3ziye (mourning), I watched my siblings' friends from different stages of their lives come to support them. I was genuinely happy they had that.
But I couldn't stop asking myself: What kind of bastard must I have been that nobody came for me? I'm not the funniest or most charismatic guy in the world, but... nobody? Not even one friend.
Has anyone else ever experienced something like this? How did you deal with that feeling?
June 25, 2026 — 10:28 PM
In 2016, I met a girl online.
We were both in 8th grade. She was a huge K-pop fan, while I was obsessed with anime. I spent most of our conversations teasing her about how “gay” her favorite idol groups looked. Looking back, she knew me during my immature and homophobic phase.
Despite that, we became friends.
By 2018, we were already following each other on social media. We talked about school, life, and our crushes. Ironically, she was my crush.
Of course, I never told her.
She liked someone else, so I pretended to like another girl too. I made up stories about my own crush, complimented this imaginary girl, and even teased her about the guy she liked. I became very good at hiding my feelings.
Then 2019 came.
Life got busy. We stopped talking. I focused on academics, and she had her own life as well. Love was nowhere in my priorities. I never confessed. I never dated anyone. I simply moved forward.
In 2021, I logged back into the game where we first met.
To my surprise, she was online.
I sent her a message, and before long, we were talking again. She convinced me to try another game, and I immediately agreed.
Those months were emotionally overwhelming.
I was happy because I got to spend time with her again.
I was surprised because she treated me exactly the same way she always had.
I was scared because my feelings never disappeared.
And I was sad because she reminded me that our relationship would always remain a friendship.
One conversation stayed with me.
She told me she once rejected a guy from her school because she had already placed him in the “friend” category. The friendship wall had been built, and she couldn’t see him differently.
I remember reading those words and realizing I was probably standing behind that same wall.
In 2022, she moved abroad to continue her studies.
I was happy for her, but I was devastated.
The distance made everything feel impossible. It felt like we lived in completely different worlds. I still hadn’t confessed, and now it seemed even less realistic.
So I created a dream.
I told myself that I would work hard, become successful, improve myself, and build a future worth being proud of. Maybe then I would finally be good enough to tell her how I felt.
Maybe then my chances would be better.
By 2023, our conversations had become less frequent.
Our last meaningful conversation happened in December.
I was lonely and unhappy, but I convinced myself that silence was necessary. Perhaps if our friendship faded away, the wall between us would disappear too. Perhaps there would be room for something more someday.
I held onto that hope.
In 2025, I graduated from college.
I spent months reviewing for my licensure examination.
Whenever I felt exhausted, I reminded myself of my goal.
The truth is that she was my motivation for all of it.
I passed the exam.
I found my first job and gained experience, though not without trauma and disappointment. Still, I kept moving forward.
Then 2026 arrived.
I started working at a new company.
And there, I met another woman.
She reminded me of my first crush.
She was calm, intelligent, beautiful, and brave. I remember watching her stand up to a man who was harassing her and her friends. That moment left an impression on me.
Slowly, I developed feelings.
We talked about our interests. She loved K-dramas, while I had long lost interest in movies and television. Still, I watched the shows she recommended. She reacted to my social media posts. We exchanged conversations whenever we could.
I told nobody.
I didn’t want coworkers turning us into office gossip. I didn’t want anyone making things awkward between us.
For the first time in years, I thought I might actually have a chance.
Then, during the last week of April, I learned she was resigning.
She only had a week left.
I panicked.
I couldn’t bear the thought of losing another opportunity because I stayed silent.
So before she left, I confessed.
She was surprised.
She smiled.
She thanked me.
And somehow, I already knew the answer.
Then she said something that stayed with me.
She admitted that she thought I was gay.
I laughed it off in the moment, but the words hit harder than I expected.
When I asked whether I ever had a chance, she told me I was simply too late. She was moving to another project, and there would be no opportunity for us to go out.
You could argue that rejection should have been the painful part.
But strangely, it wasn’t.
What haunted me was the realization that she saw me differently than I saw myself.
Her comment reopened old insecurities.
Why do people assume I’m gay?
Why do coworkers joke about it?
Is it my voice?
The way I speak?
The way I carry myself?
Questions I thought I had already buried came rushing back.
A few days later, my coworkers found out about my confession.
Apparently, she had mentioned it while I wasn’t around.
Some people laughed.
Others teased me.
But something unexpected happened.
On her final day, she visited our department.
My coworkers asked me what I liked about her while she was standing right there.
They were recording.
For once, I didn’t hide.
I told her every single thing I admired about her.
Her intelligence.
Her confidence.
Her kindness.
Everything.
I didn’t hesitate.
When she left, even the coworkers who had teased me admitted they were impressed.
Some said they respected me.
Others said they could never have done what I did.
Ironically, after that day, fewer people joked about me being gay.
For the first time, people saw confidence instead of hesitation.
Yet despite earning their respect, I somehow lost respect for myself.
Because the woman who made me confess wasn’t the woman I had loved for nearly a decade.
The woman who changed me.
The woman who motivated me through school, through board exams, through countless nights of self-doubt.
I never confessed to her.
And tonight, ten years after we first met, Instagram suggested her profile in my “People You May Know.”
I clicked.
She has a boyfriend.
Just like that, the dream ended.
And what hurts the most is that I am grieving her more than the woman who actually rejected me.
The office crush rejected a possibility.
My first crush took away a future I had imagined for ten years.
A future that never truly existed.
I keep wondering what would have happened if I had confessed years ago.
Would she have said yes?
Would she have rejected me anyway?
Would we still be friends?
I’ll never know.
That uncertainty is what hurts.
People tell me they respect my courage now.
But courage arrived ten years too late.
Tonight, I feel miserable.
I am grieving.
I am questioning myself.
I am wondering whether I will ever meet someone who feels right.
And if I do, what will she think of me?
Part of me knows life moves forward.
Part of me knows that this chapter is over.
But another part of me still looks at her profile and whispers the same impossible wish:
I hope that “someone” is still her.
God damn it.
If you could send a one piece of advice back in time to your 13-year-old self, knowing everything you know now, what would you say—and why?
Hi, I’m 18 and I’ve been struggling for a while now and I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me.
For ages I’ve had these thoughts telling me to kill myself over and over. The thing is I don’t actually want to die. I have people I love and I know I don’t want to leave them, but the thoughts just keep coming anyway. If I’m distracted they’re not as bad, but if I’m on my own or stressed it’s like they just flood my head. It almost feels like there’s another part of my brain constantly saying it even though I know it’s me. I hate it and I don’t want to be thinking like this.
I’ve self harmed before as well. At the moment I’m more scared of the thoughts than actually wanting to die, but they can get really intense and it’s exhausting constantly fighting with my own head.
Lately I’ve actually started feeling a bit better in some ways. I’ve got a hobby now, I have a bit more energy and I’m not as numb as I used to be. But for some reason that doesn’t feel good. It actually scares me. Feeling better feels wrong somehow and I don’t even know why. Part of me almost doesn’t want to recover because then I won’t have an excuse for not being able to do things like homework or normal everyday stuff. I know that probably sounds stupid but it’s genuinely how it feels.
I also find it really hard to explain how I feel. Even telling the truth about little things feels long, awkward and complicated for some reason. Opening up makes me cringe and I hate asking for help. When people tell me they’ve been through the exact same thing I know they’re only trying to help, but instead it kind of makes me feel worse and I don’t really know why.
I’ve wondered if this could be OCD because the thoughts don’t feel like something I actually want, but I honestly have no idea. It could be anxiety, depression or something completely different.
Has anyone else had anything like this? Especially the part where feeling better actually feels uncomfortable or scary? I just feel really confused and I don’t know what’s going on with me.
I lost a few friendships last year that genuinely meant a lot to me, and even though life has moved on, it still hurts sometimes.
What made it harder was how it all started. Two close friends began hanging out with people who had not been kind to me and knew there was history there. It all unfolded on a day that was really special and emotional for me, which somehow made the whole thing sting even more. To this day, I don’t think they fully understand how deeply it affected me. In the process, I also lost a mutual friend who was closer to them. Everything kind of collapsed at once.
It’s been over a year now. We don’t follow each other anymore, and our lives have completely separated. And honestly, I have so much to be grateful for. I have amazing friends and a loving family. So this isn’t coming from a place of loneliness.
But sometimes I still think about how strange it is that people you trusted so deeply can suddenly become strangers. These were people I truly thought would be part of my child’s life growing up. We even considered asking them to be guardians for our child if anything ever happened to us but that conversation never came up.
In a way, I’m glad things ended before we became even more intertwined. But there’s still a part of me that wonders if they ever think about it now. If they ever miss what we had. Or if it all meant as much to them as it did to me.
Has anyone else experienced friendship breakups that still quietly hurt long after you’ve “moved on”?
The way you are being held. Taken was what you once said.
And nobody from all these followers seemed to notice. Does your friend tell you it's alright? Does your guardian dog say anything else besides how beautiful your bruised skin is? I think they love to see you suffer as long as you do it with a smile. If you would just talk to me. If you crave the pain, I can give it to you.
Just don't send your dogs after me when it hurts.
I don't really know what to feel anymore. I'm just tired, upset, and frustrated all the time. This has been on my mind every day for years, and I feel like I can't get it out of my system. I also don't feel like I have anyone I can really talk to about it.
I've been overweight for a long time, and for the last few years I've been trying to lose weight. I did lose weight once a few years ago, but I gained it back. Since then, it's been a cycle of losing a few kilos, gaining them back, trying again, and feeling stuck.
This year feels different because I can't even seem to get started. Before, even when I struggled, I could at least stay consistent for a few days or weeks. Now I feel stuck before I even begin. It's frustrating because I don't feel like I eat very differently from the people around me. I mostly eat normal home-cooked food, the same kind of food my family eats.
The biggest problem isn't even just my weight anymore. It's the comments.
I live in a joint family, so there are always people around. For years, I've heard comments, advice, suggestions, and jokes about my weight. Some people think they're helping. Some people are joking. Some people are serious. But no matter what their intention is, it always reminds me of the same thing.
Because of this, whenever I'm around family, I almost feel anxious before anyone has even said anything. Part of me is constantly thinking:
"Please don't mention my weight today."
"Please don't make me the topic of conversation."
"Please don't joke about it."
Even when we're all sitting together normally, that thought is in the back of my mind.
Sometimes people joke about my weight and everyone laughs. Sometimes they make comments that seem small to them but don't feel small to me. Sometimes they give advice I didn't ask for. Sometimes they talk about it as if it's just a normal topic.
When those comments happen, I feel attacked.
I know they may not see it that way. I know many of them love me. I love them too. That's part of why this is so confusing. I know they don't necessarily mean to hurt me, but I still get hurt.
Most of the time I stay quiet because I don't know how to respond. Many of these people are older than me, and I don't feel comfortable talking back to them. Even when I do try to reply, it feels like they always have something stronger to say back. If I explain myself, they have more advice. If I say it hurts, they say they're joking. If I say I've tried, they tell me to try harder.
After hearing the same things for years, I feel like I've lost the energy to keep defending myself.
What hurts is that people make these comments and move on with their day, but I don't. I keep thinking about them afterward. I replay them in my head. Sometimes a comment that takes a few seconds for someone else stays with me for hours or days.
Over time, I've become uncomfortable with being noticed. I don't like standing out. I don't like attention on me. I feel more comfortable when people don't notice me at all.
Sometimes I don't even want to go out because I feel like people will look at me and judge me. Whether they actually are or not, that's how I feel.
The strange thing is that when someone doesn't mention my weight, I feel genuinely grateful. If someone just talks to me normally and doesn't bring up my body, I think, "Wow, they're such a good person."
Looking back, I realize that's a very low standard. I'm grateful for something that should be normal. But that's how much all of this has affected me.
I feel relieved when people don't comment on my appearance. I feel safe when people don't make jokes. I feel thankful when people let me exist without turning my weight into a conversation.
The hardest part is that I don't feel like I have anyone to talk to about these feelings. I don't feel comfortable talking to my family because many of them are part of the reason I feel this way. I have friends, but I don't feel close enough to them to say, "My family hurt me this week," or "I'm really struggling with this."
So I keep most of it to myself.
And after years of hearing comments, trying to lose weight, feeling judged, feeling noticed, and carrying all of these thoughts alone, I'm just tired.
I’m 30 stuck in a relationship going nowhere. We have 3 kids together. All under 3. I got knocked up the first night we met up. I moved 9 hours away to be here with him. His family is horrible. I’m used to the beach. He’s very mean and hateful. He a sociopath with no emotions and puts me down constantly. I’m tired of this but I’m stuck. I have no support and feel like I can’t do anything about it cause I’d rather just disappear. I always imagined a nice life, nice husband, on a boat treated like a princess, at the very least with some respect and upheld as a woman. I wanted a totally different life. I love my kids dearly but I always wanted to wear a wedding dress and feel pretty one day. And the sadness of realizing that’ll never happen for me really sucks. I just hope they will learn from my mistakes and find partners who are so much better than their father and I.
The woman I loved killed herself, and I don’t know what to do with what I’ve learned afterward. I don’t even know why I’m posting this. Maybe because I can’t keep carrying these thoughts around by myself anymore. A few days ago, the woman I loved died by suicide. Ever since then, I’ve been caught between grief, guilt, anger, confusion, and a thousand questions that I know I’ll probably never get answers to.
What makes this harder is that our relationship wasn’t simple. Now her ex is claiming to be her fiancé in the obituary.
When we met, it felt like I found someone who genuinely understood me. We talked constantly. We shared things most people never tell anyone. We talked about the future. We talked about life, goals, fears, art, dreams, and everything in between. She made me feel loved. She made me feel chosen. At least that’s how it felt. Then after she died, I learned things that have completely messed with my head.
She left letters behind. Most of them were written to her ex. Not me. Him. The man she lived with for years. The man she had years of history with.
The man she reached out to in her final moments.
I’ve now read some of those letters, and I honestly don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.
Part of me understands that they shared years together. I understand that history matters. I understand that when someone is dying, they may think about people from every chapter of their life.
But another part of me feels completely crushed.
Because while I’m sitting here grieving the woman I thought I was building a future with, I’m also wondering if I completely misunderstood my place in her life.
Did she actually love me the way I thought she did?
Was I important to her, or was I just important to me?
Was I her future while he was her past?
Or was I telling myself a story because I wanted it to be true?
I hate even writing those questions because they feel unfair to her memory. But they’re real.
I keep replaying our last conversations too.
The last texts.
The last phone calls.
The things she said.
The things she didn’t say.
There was a point where she texted me, and I had absolutely no idea what was about to happen. Looking back now, every message feels different. Every word feels loaded with meaning I couldn’t see at the time.
And the guilt is eating me alive.
I know everyone says that suicide isn’t the fault of the people left behind.
I know that logically.
But logic doesn’t help much at 3 a.m. when you’re staring at the ceiling wondering if one phone call, one visit, one conversation, or one different choice could have changed everything.
The thing that’s destroying me most is that I loved her enough that I would’ve dropped everything for her.
If she had called and told me what she was about to do, I would’ve been there.
Immediately.
No hesitation.
No questions.
And she didn’t call me.
She called someone else.
That’s the thought I can’t escape.
I don’t know if I’m grieving her, grieving the future I thought we had, grieving the version of our relationship that existed in my head, or all three at once.
I feel guilty for questioning whether she loved me because she’s gone and can’t defend herself.
I feel guilty for being hurt.
I feel guilty for being angry.
I feel guilty for making any part of this about me.
But I also can’t pretend these feelings aren’t there.
For people who have lost someone to suicide, especially a romantic partner, how do you make peace with never knowing?
How do you stop analyzing every final message and every final decision?
How do you accept that someone may have loved you deeply while still leaving behind things that make you question everything?
And if you’ve been in a situation where the person you lost seemed emotionally tied to someone from their past, how did you deal with that?
I miss her terribly.
I loved her.
I still love her.
And right now I honestly don’t know what parts of my grief are about losing her and what parts are about losing the answers I’ll never get.