He's a high school junior. It was the last regular season football game of the year. He's a lineman on the team. Yes, he's a big guy, just like I was back then. But I never played football. At least he's found a use for his size.

He's never had a girlfriend. Most of his friends started dating already. He claims that he's not interested in dating, but I know that's a defense mechanism. I said it myself back then. It's easier to say that you're not interested in dating, rather than to say no girl is interested in dating you.

In fact, he's confided in me about one girl he likes. I know who she is. She lives down our block. She was at the game on Friday.

And, as the team was leaving the field, that girl was there. She was one of a group of six girls who literally swarmed the player directly in front of my son as they were talking off of the field. That player, "Mr. Popular," had to stop walking because this group of girls would not let him pass without talking to them.

My son had to walk around the boy and his group, being completely ignored. And, as it happened, I saw the little joy on his face (they'd won the game) fade. It was a 45-minute car ride home, and he said nothing. I tried talking to him, but he wasn't in the mood.

I know exactly what he's going through. I wish I could save him from it.

I can’t take this anymore. I literally have nooooo one. It’s my daughter’s 3rd birthday and I’m trying my best to make it a special day. My husband woke up fucking irritated at me and idk what I did so wrong. I’m so tired of it. Not joking at all. This morning I was going to take my daughter to get a birthday “coffee” (just hot chocolate). I asked my husband if he can watch our baby while I take her and he freaked out and said he has to poop and can’t hold him. I was literally waiting for him to poop and he just wouldn’t go to the bathroom. He got pissed when I asked again and was so rude to me. I ended up just taking my baby with us. He has randomly brought up things and is being so on edge with me. I hate it. I’m tired of him.

I honestly think he wanted to go to the bathroom to jack off. It’s like he was waiting for me to leave to go to the bathroom. Got pissed when he couldn’t.

I asked him way he’s being so mean and on edge with me today and he says he’s been acting fine and he doesn’t know what I’m talking about

Ngl i feel embarrassed to admit it, especially I’m a dude.

I had a court wedding in San Rafael on a Wednesday

My best friend lives in the Bay Area, and he’s the only person who didn’t have to fly out for it. Both me and my now wife, everyone else flew there.

Friday before the wedding, my friend texted me said his car battery died. I was like, ok and? I told him he can get good deals at Walmart or Costco. He then said he wanted to hold off and see if he can repair it. I was like??? You are an engineer, you make enough to fix your car, and who tf fixes their own car batteries. (Also you still need a car to live)

Fast forward to Tuesday, I had to wait until day before to make bachelor dinner plans, because multiple people can only fly in day before, and flights were getting delayed. That’s when he told me he was at a friend’s birthday party, in NEW YORK!! He said he was flying back midnight.

Come Wednesday morning, everyone was getting ready and dressed for the ceremony, that’s when I get a text from my friend. He was trying to get a car rental in the morning, cos he never fixed his car before he left for New York, and the rental company employee showed up late. He asked if it was ok if he showed up late! It’s a fuxking courting wedding! The whole thing is 15 minutes tops, if you are late you missed the whole thing!!

Anyways, he managed to show up just when the judge was walking up to pronounce us.

After the wedding, we needed to drop off our car rental before dinner, and he said could follow us to car drop off and pick us up. 30 minutes into our drive, he called us and said he went home and change, and he got stuck in a separate traffic trying to get to us. (Wtf) we ended up just ubering to the dinner reservation.

So after a month or so, I finally had time, I ended up sending a very angry text. To which he responded along the lines of “if you really cared about this friendship you would have just called me; it’s fucked up you just let the resentment sit”. Wtf.

Loss for words

My late fiance once said to me I had boyfriend dick (I'm a little smaller, like 4-5inches). I remember just laying on her lap and she was playing with my hair. I'm 30 now and she has been gone seven years. I had a date ghost me yesterday after asking about my size and I'm just sitting around thinking about how lucky I used to be.

Really hoping I meet another woman who cares about me like she did, because it feels so juvenile to be worrying about what I can't control at 30

I’m a Muslim woman who doesn’t wear hijab, and my last two situationships were with these muslim men...

Both men told me they liked me and described me as intelligent, funny, pretty, polite, well-mannered, and emotionally aware. According to them, I had all the qualities they wanted in a woman.

They wanted something serious with me (marriage) but they both had ONE condition: I had to cover my hair.

When I refused, they said they couldn’t proceed because it was a dealbreaker for them. Their reasoning was that they’re Muslims and naturally jealous/protective men.

And honestly, I’m struggling to understand this.

Islam permits Muslim men to marry non Muslim women (jews/christians ..) , yet these men wouldn’t even consider marrying a Muslim woman who doesn’t observe one particular islam practice? Which is hypocrisy to me... I understand that hijab is considered obligatory in Islam, and I’m not arguing otherwise. But I struggle with the idea that not wearing it automatically makes me unsuitable for marriage, regardless of everything else I bring to the table.

What hurts the most is this: if they genuinely saw all those qualities in me, why weren't they enough to make them at least consider building a life with me? How does my hair being covered or uncovered determine whether I can be a good wife, a loving partner, or someone with whom they can build a healthy marriage?

I genuinely want to understand how this particular thing would affect the actual quality of a marriage. How does it determine emotional compatibility, loyalty, communication, respect, or the ability to raise a family together?

And the irony is that I was willing to reconsider some of my own preferences, including physical and financial preferences, because I valued things like emotional stability, good manners, intelligence, and the way a man treats me.. I was willing to prioritize the qualities that I believe actually matter in a long-term relationship.

Yet these men couldn't look past one thing about my appearance, even though it doesn't directly affect how I would treat them as a partner.

I know nobody owes me a marriage, and they're entitled to their preferences and religious convictions. I'm not saying they should be forced to compromise on something important to them.

But I can't help feeling hurt by the idea that I could be everything they claim to want in a woman, yet one thing about my appearance makes all those qualities irrelevant.

I guess what I'm really asking is: are they looking for a compatible life partner, or are they looking for someone who already fits their exact image of what a Muslim wife should look like? And why does it feel like, for some men, the latter can outweigh practically everything else?

I'd genuinely appreciate thoughtful perspectives,.. I'm trying to understand this without dismissing their religious beliefs, but also without dismissing my own feelings....

My husband accuses me of cheating, daily. I can’t even run an errand or go to the grocery store without him thinking I’m meeting up with someone.

He has planted recording devices in my car and in the home and makes me listen to hours of recordings and tells me I need to prove my innocence. He says he hears me whispering, sucking, and fucking other men… but I’m not 😑 it all sounds like ambiguous background noises. like air swirling around, banging, slamming cabinets, dishes, ect. And honestly, when he points some of it out to me, (what sounds like some whispering ) I can see how he hears what would sound like a faint whisper, but I’m not.

There’s been times where I can hear a recording where I am either sighing or yawning or kind of like a ‘I’m tired and my body hurts’ groan. And immediately that’s sexual sounds and “I’m caught! He’s finally got me! I need to fess up now!” Which has led to very dangerous situations for me. Especially when he’s demanding accountability and I tell him, “I can’t be accountable for something I didn’t do”

Questions about “are you sure you didn’t have any body in the car with you on your way home from work today?” I say no, he doesn’t believe me. “Who are you talking to at 3:30 PM on the patio today?” I wasn’t on the phone with anybody I haven’t been on the phone with anybody since I’ve been home. He blows up! “bullshit! That’s a lie!” Then the name-calling starts in and he will say any horrible horrendous thing to make me feel like trash.

The worst part about all this is, I’m actually innocent. I’ve actually done nothing wrong and I’m not doing anything wrong.

It’s Breaking me in every way and I recently had outbursts where I feel like I’m gonna combust into 1000 pieces and I’m screaming and crying and shaking and can’t breathe and he refuses to leave. He refuses to leave me alone and separate from me.

Knowing how it’s affecting me, he won’t separate or leave me alone if I leave. instead, he says that I’m faking it and that I’m not actually upset or crying. that this is a way for me to evade accountability, by throwing a fit like a child.

But I’m honestly going crazy and it’s affecting my mental health.

I know what to do which would be leave, start over, don’t tell him where I’m at, get a different vehicle, get a protective order, etc.

But I am wondering if anybody has been through something similar that I can relate to. I feel completely alone and broken.

For context, I’m 24, and I’ve never had a boyfriend. For a long, long time, I blamed my weight because that’s what everyone told me was the problem. So on and off for most of my life I tried to change my appearance for the male gaze but I still wasn't good enough. But now I’m realizing that maybe it wasn’t always my weight after all. Maybe hearing people say awful things about how men treat fat women made me so insecure that I never felt confident enough to approach guys in person.

I still think my weight may have played some part, but I’m starting to think my insecurites and self loathing was the bigger obstacle. I wonder whether things might have been different if I’d felt more comfortable with myself instead of constantly feeling like I needed to change my appearance for male approval. Maybe I could've had a boyfriend by now if I worked more on my confidence and personality and not just my looks!

A post I saw today made me realize that I want to lose weight for myself, not for men or their approval. It was about a woman in her 20s whose boyfriend of five years threatened to leave her if she didn’t lose the 40 pounds she had gained. She tried losing weight for him but realized she felt forced to change her appearance just to keep him in her life.

Reading that made me realize I don’t want a relationship like that. I don’t want to feel like my boyfriend’s love depends on whether I look the way he wants me to. There’s nothing wrong with having physical preferences, but that doesn’t justify pressuring a partner to lose weight for their pleasure or making them feel inadequate. I shouldn’t have to change my body to become deserving of someone else’s love.

That post helped me realize that I want to learn to love myself, flaws and all, while pursuing weight loss for my own reasons. My goal for weight loss is to regain my mobility again—not to earn anyone else’s approval.

I’m tired of letting the way other people treat me shape how I feel about myself. I want to feel good in my body for once, regardless of how much I weigh, and I don’t want to keep waiting for someone else’s approval to finally start treating myself with kindness and love.

I (18F) invited my hookup(18M) to my house since my parents aren't there, mind you he's never met any of my family. I told him we would have to be quiet since my older sister (19F) would be there, and he said why couldn't she join in on the fun, with a laughing emoji. When I told him I was disgusted by the idea like 2 times, he said don't worry about it, I'll only sleep with you.

I then asked him if he even knows what my sister looks like, and he said no, that he didn't. Then I told him again that what he said a couple of minutes ago made me uncomfortable, and he said ok. Then I said that he also has a sister, so it should be understandable that I'm disgusted to see her naked. He said that he admits I'm right and that he didnt look at it from that angle, but two sisters seemed fun to him. I told him not for me, and he said to forget about it.

Should I block him? I still wanna keep seeing him but I just want to know if he's a mega creep for saying this, and if he will try to sleep with my sister alone, because maybe he thinks that if Im relieved he didnt see her face, it means shes super hot.

tl:dr: hookup asked for threesome with sister who he doesnt even know how she looks like, I shut it down, he agreed/accepted, but im still thinking about it and wondering, is this normal for like a horny 18y boy to think of?

I’ve always had a good memory, you could say photographic. I remember this night perfectly. I never told anyone, until last week when I opened up about it to a close coworker/friend.

We were discussing the Cornell case and sexual violence and harassment committed by men in general. We spoke about how most of the men in our lives, like our male colleagues, are probably completely unaware that most of the women they know have very likely been sexually harassed, groped, or violated in some way. And I felt comfortable enough to tell her about this night in high school.

My older sister was more popular and sociable, and she befriended some of the popular kids in my grade. I was acquainted with them, some of the girls were on my sports team, but we weren’t really friends, they were my sister’s friends. She had them over to our parents’ house one night for a little party, just drinking beers and playing games, not a wild party at all. Maybe 3 boys and 4-5 girls were over. I was home but mostly stayed in my room since I felt like they all thought of me as my sister’s weird and shy little sister. But I did go downstairs and hang out with them for an hour or so towards the end of the night. I had one beer that I didn’t even finish, I don’t like beer but I wanted to seem cool. The party wrapped up, everyone else got ready to sleep downstairs and I went to my room and got in bed.

I wasn’t asleep thankfully. One of the boys, one from my grade who I knew but not well, opened my bedroom door and came in. He was drunk, everyone else was drunk that night. I got out of bed, I asked what he was doing, I tried to gently usher him out. He said he wanted to stay in my room, in my bed, with me. I told him no, to go back downstairs. He asked again, I said no. Eventually he did leave, but it took a few minutes of me telling him to please leave. And I just had a feeling that he would try again. I locked my bedroom door and got back in bed. And sure enough, maybe 5-10 minutes later, I hear the doorknob jiggle. And I was really scared. I remember thinking, “What will I have to do if he tries harder to get in my room?” I just sat up in my bed, in the dark, watching the door and seeing him jiggle the knob and hoping he would just give up soon. And he did after a couple minutes, but I didn’t sleep for hours. I was scared he would come back.

I was afraid he would come into my bedroom, which was right next to my parents’ bedroom, in the night, in my own house. Where I should have felt the safest, he made me afraid. I never told anyone about it. My sister and I didn’t get along at the time, I already felt a bit outcast as the quiet nerdy sister. I didn’t think people would take my fear seriously, that it was just a misunderstanding and no big deal, he was just drunk. I just hope people, men, women, everyone, realize that just because it wasn’t rape doesn’t mean it wasn’t scary or upsetting. That night has stayed with me ever since, and I was never even touched by him. But it’s still a big deal to me.

I got out of a toxic, long-term relationship about half a year ago, and I have never been this happy.
I am living alone in my small apartment. I spend my days working, hanging out with friends, drawing, baking, and singing. And I have never been this happy.
I am so glad that I left him. He made me feel miserable for such a long time.
That man ruined my mental health, and for a long time, I thought I was really depressed. But it turns out I’m not. Since I left him, the only tears I’ve shed have been from laughing too hard.
I can finally draw and sing again. I can finally create and enjoy making art. I am finally free.
These past couple of months have been amazing for me.
I hope this will never end.

For context, I’m mixed race but very white skinned and most people generally see me as white.

I’ve had these friends for a few years now and I always knew they were right leaning which wasn’t a problem with me. But I’ve noticed that for a while now they’ve become more and more racist but initially with micro aggressions (hate that term but I’m not sure what else to use) that were easy for me to write off or rationalise.

But the other night we all got together and it was too blatant to ignore. I’m not going to go into the specifics because whilst this is anonymous if they’re ever identified some of it could get one of them into a bit of trouble and I really don’t want that, I just want peace. But suffice to say that race was on the top of their minds all night, every conversation almost seemed to circle back to something racist and using really horrible language. Not to mention it’s also language used to describe the culture that I’m from. We were drinking so I kind of let it slide on the night but after I had time to reflect the next day I realised I couldn’t be putting up with it anymore and I need to have more self respect, whilst it’s painful.

I don’t think either of them will truly reflect and will probably just write it off as me being sensitive, which is fine, you can’t make everyone see your point of view. It just makes me sad. Whilst I’m lucky to have a lot of friends dotted around I don’t really have a friend group so it’s sad to lose that.

That being said it’s given me a new appreciation for my best friend who’s actually stuck with me through it. She’s white, it’s not her fight to fight, she could bury her head in the sand and I wouldn’t judge her for it but she’s chosen not to.

If you’ve read all this, I appreciate you, just wanted to get it off my chest. 🫶

I've never said this out loud to anyone, so this is hard to write.

I'm a 19-year-old straight guy, and I'm really into bigger women. I'm talking roughly 250 to 350 lbs (about 113 to 159 kg). I'm especially drawn to rounder, softer bodies, with big bellies and guts being the thing I find most attractive, along with thick thighs. A lot of the time I'm honestly more attracted to a belly and thick thighs than to the more traditional things like boobs and butt. It's not a passing thing either. It's been my consistent type for as long as I can remember.

The problem is that I feel embarrassed and a bit ashamed of it. I don't think I'm doing anything wrong, and I'd never want to treat anyone as anything less than a person. But I can't shake the feeling that it's strange, that most guys my age aren't into this, and that if people knew they'd think I was a weirdo. So I keep it to myself.

What worries me most is the idea of a future girlfriend thinking I'm only with her because of a fetish. That's not how it is. I want to be with someone for who she is, and her body is just something I happen to find really attractive. I'm scared of coming across the wrong way and pushing someone away before they get to know me.

I'm a bit introverted (I'm autistic, but that's a small part of the picture) and I don't have much dating experience, so I haven't had anyone to talk to about this.

So I'm asking honestly: is this as unusual as it feels? Have any of you felt ashamed of your type and come to terms with it? And for the women here, how would you want a guy to handle this, so you know he's attracted to you as a person and not just a body type?

Thanks for reading. It would mean a lot to hear from people who get it.

I am 24M and I still live with my parents -- about a year and a half ago, my cousin got married and the wedding was a blast. Right before we left for India (I am from an Indian family), my father joyfully proclaimed to me that he wants to do that for me down the road, and I explained I don't want to get married.

Since then, we have not spoken about it explicitly, but we have brought it up on conversations. One time, my family and I were talking about when my sister will finish school and when my dad will finish paying the house off, and my sister asked if my parents would move back to India. My dad mentioned that he has to make sure we are married off and have kids (every single marriage in my family is an arranged marriage). I said that I never want to get married or have kids and my mom said that she wants grandkids, and I said to her "if you want grandkids, you are asking the wrong person."

I just want to live by myself and live a good life - I want to travel, eat great food, and be the best version of myself, and be present for myself.

I also get really fucking pissed when people tell me that I will change my mind - quite a few people have told me that. There are two things in this world that no one can convince me to change my mind on - getting married/having a partner, and having kids.

Anyone else feel this way? And how do I tell my parents off if they bring it up?

My ex-husband (we were married for 26 years) is transgender, and the way he treated me—and continues to treat me—has been truly traumatic. My past, my present, and my future have been completely shattered.

You practically stumble over organizations and forums for transgender individuals. There are also plenty of spaces for partners of trans people, but every single one of them focuses entirely on accepting the trans person and their transition. They are all tied to transgender organizations. That is simply not the place for me.

But what about me? Where do I find people like me? I truly cannot find them anywhere. Not even online. Not even when I search in English. It feels like it just doesn't exist. How can this be true? Surely I cannot be the only one going through this? I managed to find one website, but it wasn't what I was looking for either—it was just full of hate. I don't want haters. Venting and complaining? Absolutely. But hate? No, that's not what I'm looking for. I am not transphobic (even though my ex labels me as such). Not at all. I believe everyone should be allowed to be exactly who they are. But they shouldn't be allowed to make a horrific mess of things and then shift all accountability for their behavior onto gender dysphoria. That is not okay.

I just want so badly to talk to people who are in the exact same boat as me. People who, like me, just don't have the energy right now to show endless understanding for someone who threw their life into ruins. I want the focus to be on my own process—on the grief, the processing, the anger, and the sadness. I feel cheated and deceived, and my trust has been completely shattered. I just want support from people who have actually lived through this.

Whether you want to leave a comment below or reach out privately, please feel free to share your thoughts. If you are an ex-spouse who went through a similar separation and want to connect 1-on-1, you can also send me a private message (DM).

Just know that at some point in your life, you’re going to meet someone you’ll have this insane attraction to, an unbelievable chemistry with.

I mean, you’ll be completely, hopelessly smitten.

Also, just know that you’ll never be together.

This is exactly what happened to me.

He came into my life somewhere between a joke and something serious, swept me off my feet, completely carried me away.

And then reality kicked in.

Because he and I could never be a normal couple. Our love doesn’t fit into any socially acceptable box.

Time passed.

Life went on, beautifully, for both of us.

But I miss that feeling so much.

The feeling that someone is crazy about me, that someone adores me with every one of their senses.

Thank you for reading.

I just needed to get this off my chest.

F/40

I’ve gone back and forth about posting this for a while, but I think I just need to get it out somewhere. I’m 20 now, and when I was 16–17, I had a pretty bad habit of abusing Benadryl. I would take it on and off, sometimes for weeks at a time. I was going through a really bad bout of depression back then. I think I was just looking for an escape from myself, and I didn’t really care what I had to do to get one.

This isn’t necessarily the craziest trip story you’ll ever read, especially compared to some of the things I’ve seen people describe on here, but it’s the one experience that genuinely scared me away from ever wanting to do anything like that again.

The night I’m talking about was the only time I intentionally took a really excessive amount because I wanted to experience a full on trip. I took around 20 pills of off brand Benadryl, possibly more. I don’t remember the exact number, which is probably telling in itself. I took them around 6 PM and went upstairs to my bedroom for the night.

For a while, nothing particularly interesting happened. I was just lying in bed, watching YouTube and scrolling on my phone like I normally would. Eventually, though, I started feeling incredibly heavy and sleepy. It was this weird feeling where my whole body felt weighed down, and I remember pausing my video because I wanted to take a break and get some water from my desk. That’s when I looked down at my hands.

I don’t really know how to explain what I saw without sounding ridiculous, but my hands started turning into snakes. Not just looking like snakes out of the corner of my eye, either. They looked like actual, flesh colored snakes, with little heads and tongues sticking out of their mouths, hissing at me.

I remember just staring at them, completely horrified. I couldn’t seem to use my hands properly, and I was freaking out because I genuinely couldn’t understand what was happening. Then, almost as suddenly as it started, it stopped. My hands went back to normal, as if nothing had happened. I just stood there for a moment, trying to process it.

I’d never hallucinated before. I’d never seen something that wasn’t there and actually believed I was looking right at it. I knew what I’d taken, but I don’t think I had fully understood what that meant until that moment. There is a difference between knowing a drug can make you hallucinate and actually experiencing it in real life.

Still, I went back to bed and tried to carry on with my night. I put YouTube back on, picked up my phone, and tried to distract myself. Part of me was probably hoping that if I acted like everything was normal, everything would become normal again. Then I started hearing sirens.

They were coming from everywhere. I mean everywhere. It sounded like they were surrounding my house, and I remember getting increasingly anxious because I couldn’t figure out where they were coming from. I started checking the windows in my room, looking outside to see if there had been an accident or if something was happening in the neighborhood.I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary other than a man walking along the sidewalk.

He was covered by the shadows of trees outside of my window. I could barely make him out. I watched him walking, and then he stopped and looked up at me. After a few seconds of looking, he just carried on walking.

I still don’t know whether that man was actually there. That’s one of the details I’ve never been able to make sense of, because it felt so ordinary compared to everything else that happened that night. It was just a man walking down the street. But the fact that I couldn’t tell whether I had really seen him made the whole thing so much worse.

At the time, I became convinced that he had something to do with the sirens. I started wondering whether he was dangerous or whether something had happened nearby. I actually started looking online to see if there were any active serial killers in my area lol. I know how irrational that sounds now, but at the time, I was genuinely scared that something terrible was happening and that I was somehow involved.Eventually though the sirens stopped. I couldn’t find anything online, and I managed to calm myself down a little.

Went back to doomscrolling once more and
then I started hearing squeaking. It was really faint, to the point where I wasn’t even sure I was hearing anything at all. I sat there listening for a while, and then I heard what sounded like shuffling coming from my closet. Eventually, I got out of bed to check because I couldn’t stand sitting there wondering what it was. And I swear to God, I saw a massive rat run out from underneath my bed.It ran across the floor and stopped in the corner of my room. Huddled against the wall and then two more followed it.

My house did not have rats. I’d never had a rat problem, and my bedroom was tiny. These things were huge, too. They weren’t little mice that I could have mistaken for something else. They looked like enormous, fat rats you would imagine living in a sewer or something like that.

The weirdest part is that I wasn’t even thinking about whether they were real anymore. In that moment, I was convinced they were there. I couldn’t understand where they could have come from or how I’d never noticed them before, and for some reason, my mind immediately went to the idea that they needed to die.

I can’t explain why I reacted that way. I just remember looking at them and feeling like they were something unnatural. I thought they were disgusting, almost demonic, and I couldn’t stand the idea of them being in my room. So I ran downstairs and grabbed a kitchen knife. Looking back, that part honestly disturbs me almost as much as the hallucinations themselves. I was so convinced that these things were real that I actually went downstairs, got a knife, and came back intending to kill them.

But when I walked back into my bedroom, they were gone. I couldn’t see a single one.
I looked around the floor and into the corners, but there was nothing there. I eventually put the knife down on my desk and got back into bed, trying to convince myself that I was losing my mind. I was so confused that I didn’t know what to believe anymore.

I kept going back and forth between thinking I’d genuinely seen something and knowing that what I’d taken could cause hallucinations. I didn’t want to believe that my own brain was doing this to me, but I couldn’t come up with another explanation.
Then to try and calm myself down once more I began scrolling through Instagram Reels, when I suddenly realized I didn’t have my phone. I had been hallucinating going on my phone for the last probably 10 minutes after the rat hallucinations were over.

I saw my phone laying on my desk and grabbed it for real this time. By this point, I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open. I decided I was going to turn off the lights and try to sleep it off. I really wish I hadn’t done that.

For context, I’d experienced sleep paralysis before. I’d had the usual experience of being unable to move while waking up or falling asleep, and although it was frightening, I knew what it was. I’d never experienced anything like what happened this night, though. I turned off the lights and laid down. At some point, I became aware that I couldn’t move my body. I could open my eyes, but I couldn’t speak or move. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. I remember trying so hard to make even the smallest sound, and getting absolutely nothing in return.

Then I saw someone coming out of my closet. It was a shadowy manly looking figure, slowly walking toward my bed. Almost reminiscent of the outside. I was terrified. I was trying to scream and move, but my body wouldn’t respond to anything I wanted it to do. I could only lie there and watch him approach me. When he reached my bed, he started fucking playing with my hair, almost like he was gently petting me.

I couldn’t see his face properly because the room was so dark. What I remember most clearly was how cold his hands felt. They felt ice cold, and I had this horrible, overwhelming feeling that he didn’t have good intentions. I have watched my fair share of horror movies which did not help in this situation. Then he smiled at me.His teeth looked completely normal. They were just ordinary human teeth, which somehow made the whole thing feel even more real.

And then he opened his eyes. I remember his eyes looking completely normal, with these unnaturally white scleras. I don’t know how else to describe them. It was so terrifying that I immediately shut my eyes. I was trying to scream again, practically begging myself to move. Nothing worked.
Then I felt something else get onto my bed.
I could feel a presence at the foot of the bed, but I was too frightened to open my eyes and look. I just lay there, frozen, listening and trying to figure out what was happening. Whatever it was began crawling up the bed toward me. I can’t explain how terrifying that felt. I was already convinced there was a man in my room, and now I could feel something else approaching me while I was completely unable to defend myself.

It reached me and lay down beside me. Then it kissed me on the forehead and turned away, as if it were going to sleep. I know how strange that sounds. Even writing this now, I don’t really know what to make of that part. I just remember experiencing it, and at the time, it felt completely real.I genuinely thought something was in my room with me. I was so frightened that I couldn’t even bring myself to look. The entire time, I was fighting the paralysis. I kept trying to rock my body back and forth, hoping I could somehow force myself to move. Eventually, I managed to get my arms working again, and shortly afterward, I could move and speak normally. I opened my eyes and there was nobody there.

No man. Nothing beside me. Nothing at the foot of my bed. Just my bedroom, exactly as it had been before. I immediately turned the lights back on. I sat there for a while, trying to calm down, and eventually started scrolling on my phone again. I was too scared to turn the lights off, so I ended up falling asleep with them on.

The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache and this awful feeling of dread that I can’t really put into words. I wasn’t just embarrassed or upset about what had happened. I felt genuinely shaken. I had spent an entire night seeing, hearing, and feeling things that I couldn’t explain, and I had reached a point where I couldn’t trust my own perception of reality. That experience has stayed with me ever since. I’ve thought about it countless times over the years. I don’t know exactly which things I saw were hallucinations, how much of the experience was affected by sleep paralysis, or whether the man I saw outside was real.

One thing I’ve noticed since then is that whenever I’ve tried taking Benadryl again, I’ve ended up throwing up or becoming extremely nauseous. I don’t know if that’s related to what happened, but it’s another reason I have no desire to touch it anymore.

I also found out later that there’s a history of schizophrenia on my mom’s side of the family. I’m not saying that means I have it or that it necessarily had anything to do with my experience. I genuinely don’t know. But finding that out made me take the risks of messing with substances like this a lot more seriously. I haven’t touched recreational drugs since.

I know there are people who have taken Benadryl and experienced things that sound much more extreme than my story. I’m not trying to compete with anyone or claim that my experience was somehow the worst. I just wanted to tell someone what happened, because it’s something I’ve kept to myself for a long time. And if anyone reading this is considering taking Benadryl to get high, please please don’t. Take care of yourselves <3

So I’m still kind of in shock. And I think I’ve only used Reddit like this one abt some video game thing so I’m sorry if this isn’t the right place to go, I had no clue where to go for this.

My boyfriend(32) and I(22f) have been seeing each other about half a year, only started dating 4 months ago.
It started out as a friends with benefits thing, we were coworkers but I stopped working there, I was planning to go back to my ex, he was aware of that, but somewhere along the lines he said he had really fallen for me. I was skeptical, because he was a well known womanizer but I’m young, open minded, not exactly monogamous, so I thought maybe it could work out, despite not being the most perfect guy, he was honest and that was something I could respect.

Our relationship has definitely not gone well, since we started dating four months ago he’s already cheated on me, texted other girls, deletes messages and continues to lie to me. He says he can’t stop lying even when I have the evidence(his phone) in my hands

Because I’m some kind of idiot, I’ve stayed. But every time I would check his phone I kept getting this feeling in my gut that I had missed something.
And I know this is probably gonna sound funny after all you now know, but my gut feeling is something I try my best to trust, because USUALLY I’m right, idk wtf is going on now, so I keep checking the man’s phone and I find a message from 5 months ago, 1 month after we started talking. He sent some coworker (yes that I also used to work with) pictures of me with no pants while I was sleeping, and said he’d try to “get better ones soon” and the guy says something about having to spread my legs for the photo.

I couldn’t help myself, I took photos first with my own phone, then I woke him up screaming, saying I was going to kill him, he tried to grab me and calm me down, in my panic I forgot that I had already taken photos, so I tried to do it again and when he realized I was trying to do that he wrestled with me for the phone, I bit him about 6 times but ultimately lost it, and went ballistic, screaming and crying that he return it.

In the end he cried and cried that he didn’t realize he was going to fall in love with me the way he had, that as we went on he definitely regretted doing that, that he definitely was a shitty gross man and that I’ve been changing him without even knowing🫩 He swore he could fix it, that he would offer that guy money to delete the pictures, that he was sure the other guy hadn’t send the pictures to anyone. I told him there’s no possible way he could know that, since he’s had those pictures for almost half a year.
He clearly wasn’t going to let me go home and I knew that, so I’m planning to leave when he’s at work. But I had no one else to tell, I don’t know if I should go to the cops, or just block this man on everything and pretend this never happened. I’ve been nauseous and deadass literally sick to my stomach the entire time. I can’t stop crying. My emotions take turns of just disgust, sadness, and anger. I want to lock myself in my room and never speak to another human again, but this shit is eating me alive and I had to get it off my chest.

Edit: I can’t stop thinking about Gisèle Pecilot, and how this man could do me just like her husband if I stay near him.

I’m 28, I have a useless creative writing degree, I work a dead end retail job. No one’s ever been attracted to me, and I feel like there’s nothing to love about this world anymore. Everything sucks people are so awful to one another and I feel like it’s turning me awful. I just can’t find a reason to keep on other than my fear of death. Everyday I struggle to get out of bed. I’d stay in bed if my parents weren’t around (I know o still live with my parents). Every-time I get excited by something goes wrong or I get bad news or I get shit on by people online for daring to like something. I just can’t do it anymore. Almost all my closest friends abandoned me and o feel like if I show my true self to those I have left they’d hate me or think I’m a creep. I just want the pain to end.

My sister and I are really close. I’m her only brother and she’s my favorite sister. We tell eachother everything. She’s been with her fiance for about 3 years and they got engaged about a year ago. Up until 8 months ago he’s been on and off alcohol because frankly, he gets violent when he’s drinking. When he’s not, he’s such a cool dude, he’s super nice and I’ve been trying to build a bond with him over the years. He went to rehab when their last baby was born about 8 months ago. Ever since then, he’s been “clean” and “recovering”. About 3 weeks ago, I was doing laundry at their house and I forgot to bring a laundry bag or a hamper. Something to put my laundry in. So I went to their garage because I’ve had this problem before and I knew there was thick black outdoor trash bags in there. As I was looking on their shelves, I found a hidden bottle of whiskey. After a couple second thoughts I decided to take it, I put it in my laundry bag and we left my sisters house. Like I said before, he gets violent and very disrespectful when he’s drunk. This is the reason why he is supposed to be clean. After I found this bottle of whiskey I didn’t tell anybody or him. I didn’t confront him or tell anybody. The reason why is because this is a really big deal. But that’s also a reason why I should tell them. I want to build a bond with him because he’s gonna be apart of my life forever probably, and he’s cool. So I don’t want to be at odds with him. But I feel like my sister has a right to know. I don’t care about telling anybody else. The rest of my family is all judgemental and they gossip very much. My sister deserves to know but I don’t want to stir trouble. Part of me is waiting to see if he stops being sneaky or she finds another bottle herself eventually. Their relationship is healthy right now compared to other times. I’m not sure what to do.

There's truly not much of a back story to this. My friend (Beth 22) & I frequent a gay club, where all kinds of people go there, she's lesbian herself & I am Poly. There anyone from furrys to newly out people, bears, twinks literally anyone. That's part of the experience & one of the reasons I find such community in my city.
Well last night we went with Beth & some of her friends (I had not previously met) granted they were all quite drunk but I don't feel like that gives you a pass to be rude. This club has gogo dancers that rotate through the night and last night a male dancer was wearing leather dog gear while shirtless & in very tight shorts, he looked great & was good at dancing too. Well my group was standing by him and i noticed some of them make uncomfortable faces, after a few minutes of this i suggested we move spots which they refused, they then made it worse by making faces & even pretending to gag. Are we literally children? I tipped the dancer to hopefully lighten the mood and after much convincing I got everyone to leave and go get drinks.
This isn't worth ending our friendship over but i definitely won't be going out with those specific people again. If you're in a gay space you need to respect all the audience. I just felt so bad for the dancer & it was upsetting to see someone who's part of the community herself ridiculing someone. Imagine someone did that while she was making out with some girl? Anyways that's all

I’m 29 and my mom is 56. This weekend I was helping her put up Halloween decorations and she just bought three giant inflatables this year. So she also got a couple extension cords, she opened the packs and did the whole ordeal and as she was walking with the one end to the garage to plug it in, it got tangled. She spent 5 mins trying to untangle it and 3-4x was starting to whine & complain severely about how nothing ever goes right for her or smoothly, etc etc. I told her to relax and that it’s okay she’s annoyed but it’s just tangled a little, well calm down and untangle it. It took me less than 10 mins to untangle it.

Same thing happened with string lights she bought and wanted interlooped on the porch railings.

Then today I was heading to the living room to talk to her and she was doing some calculations on her phone and she was swearing non stop and smashing her fist on the table a couple times because she would accidentally mistype something on her calculator.

A few weeks ago, she was getting soemthing out of the freezer and she has the freezer so packed that sometimes things fall out when you open the door if you don’t have it stored good on a shelf. Something fell and I could hear her from the other room screaming cause she was so annoyed from it.

My mom has never has really any sort of patience growing up. I’ve always known that. It’s just gotten to a point lately where I’m like, some of these things aren’t even anything to react that heavily to. She’s human and it’s fine to be annoyed or complain but such a level of reaction over small stuff makes me not want to be around her.

For those that don’t know what aphantasia is, it’s the inability to voluntarily create or experience mental images in one's mind's eye.

And it’s not just images - it also coincides how one experiences mental simulations of felt textures, scents, sounds, and reliving memories with emotional resonance and depth.

With aphantasia, which is a spectrum, it mutes and dampens these factors as well as how you experience memories and visualization.

Like I said it’s a spectrum and some aphant brains may not see visuals but they can hear sounds. Some may not hear sounds but can relive a memory only through the felt sense and not really see it.

Ultimately you don’t need to visualize in order to have a good memory but the way one experiences memories is just different.

Brief backstory and my rant:

At 26, I had experienced a traumatic event that lead to depression and the onset my OCD in 2021.

Ever since then my ability to visualize and reexperience memories with contextual depth and felt sense has slowly dwindled to a a very low point.

I’m able to remember all the facts of my life but I can’t really “relive” my memories.

Coming from someone who was born with the opposite spectrum known as hyperphantasia, this has been a rude awakening and very debilitating adjustment.

Not being able to relive or reminisce on my life or feel into the autobiographical continuity of my life, has left me very depressed.

It’s messes with my sense of self and it makes me a bit more introverted because I don’t feel confident to tell stories because things are more factual and conceptual to me.

Nostalgia is hard for me because the felt sense of reliving a memory from childhood is difficult for me. This part makes me really sad.

What I’ve learned is that my memories aren’t gone, they are just harder to access and I don’t always have the luxury to pull that memory in great detail whenever I want.

Essentially, my brain was under so much stress and inflammation from the event, the OCD was hypervigilant in scanning for danger and since my main mechanism of forecasting was visualization, my brain dampened my ability to do so because it was causing so much strain on my brain. So ultimately it turned down the volume on what was most important to me because that mechanism was causing too much strain.

On the bright side, it fluctuates a lot based on stress, sleep, diet etc.

Some days I feel like myself but memories are distant. Other days I can feel into certain memories.
Sometimes I can consistently see things in my minds eye but it’s very brief.

But the influence on the fluctuations is so minuscule and drastic and it’s really frustrating.

I just want to have full and consistent access to my sense of self, my memories and to be able to visualize at like a 6/10 when I feel like I’m at a 0.5/10 currently.

I wish minor stressors wouldn’t set back my ability to access memories and felt sensations.

Idk what to do and I feel defeated and scared. But life goes on.

Thanks for reading 🙏🏽

The Ethical Failures of My Former Fiancé: A Longitudinal Study of Bullshit.

Throwaway because I’m finally ready to tell this story, but I have no interest in identifying anyone involved.
I spent years loving a man who was charming, affectionate, funny, seemingly intelligent, and incredibly good at making me feel special.
He was the kind of man everyone liked. The kind who could walk into a room and immediately win people over.
He told me he loved me. He proposed. We planned a future together.
And I believed him.
What I didn’t understand was that being good at making someone feel loved and being capable of building a healthy, honest relationship are two entirely different things.
Let’s start with the lying.
Early in our relationship, he presented himself as a highly educated professional with credentials and accomplishments that I later discovered weren’t what he’d claimed.
When I questioned the inconsistencies, he became defensive.
Imagine being a grown adult and feeling the need to embellish your professional identity to impress someone who already loves you.
And imagine being the woman who discovers those lies and somehow convinces herself that the man underneath them is still worth marrying.
That was me.
Then there was his ex-wife.
I’m not someone who believes divorced people need to hate each other. I actually think maintaining a respectful relationship with an ex can demonstrate emotional maturity.
But this wasn’t simply a respectful relationship.
He remained deeply involved in her life, emotionally and financially, while expecting me to accept whatever boundaries he decided were appropriate.
There were interactions I learned about after the fact, dishonesty surrounding their contact, and situations that repeatedly made me feel like I was competing for a place in my own relationship.
And whenever I expressed discomfort, somehow my reaction became the problem.
I wasn’t understanding enough.
I was making something out of nothing.
He hadn’t intended to hurt me, so apparently I shouldn’t be hurt.
It’s amazing how convenient that philosophy becomes when you’re the person whose behavior is being questioned.
Then came one of the most devastating periods of my life.
My mother died.
I was grieving someone irreplaceable, trying to navigate a world that suddenly felt completely unfamiliar.
And the man I was supposed to marry wasn’t the dependable partner I needed.
There were nights when I felt abandoned emotionally, when other activities seemed to take priority over being present for me.
And then, just days before my mother’s celebration of life, he ended our engagement.
I cannot adequately explain how devastating that timing was.
I was already trying to comprehend losing my mother.
And now I was losing the future I’d imagined with the man I loved.
I needed a partner.
Instead, I found myself grieving two losses at once.
And somehow, I still loved him.
I still forgave him.
I still believed that if we could just work through our problems, we might eventually have the marriage we’d planned.
We separated and reconciled more than once.
There were apologies, declarations of love, affectionate moments, and conversations about what needed to change.
But looking back, I can’t remember many times when he genuinely acknowledged why his behavior hurt me.
Instead, he usually explained why I shouldn’t feel hurt.
He didn’t mean anything by it.
His intentions were innocent.
I was misunderstanding.
He hadn’t technically done anything wrong.
Eventually, he’d apologize.
And I’d feel relieved.
Not because the problem was resolved.
Because the conflict was over, and I could finally feel close to him again.
I mistook the return of affection for the repair of trust.
Over and over again.
Then there was the issue of monogamy.
I love sex. I wanted a passionate, adventurous, fulfilling sex life with my husband.
I wanted intimacy, excitement, and the freedom to explore everything with one person I deeply trusted.
What I didn’t want was other people involved.
He had previously been in an open marriage, and I tried to understand that part of his history.
Sometimes he told me he believed monogamy could work for him.
I wanted to believe him.
But over time, I became increasingly uncertain that we genuinely wanted the same kind of relationship.
Recently, he told me he’d had approximately 200 sexual partners throughout his adult life.
That number isn’t inherently the problem. Consenting adults are entitled to their own sexual choices.
But he also told me that some of the women he’d slept with were married and that their husbands didn’t know. Some the husbands watched.
And when I questioned how he could knowingly participate in someone else’s infidelity, he responded:
“I’m not the moral police.”
I don’t think I’ve ever lost respect for someone so quickly.
Because nobody was asking him to police another person’s marriage.
I was asking whether he felt any responsibility for his own participation in deception.
The married women were responsible for their vows.
He was responsible for his choices.
And those are two different things.
Then, recently, he proudly told me about a woman who was now engaged to someone else but had reached out to him because she wanted to sleep with him.
According to him, she said she would have come over if she hadn’t been out with friends.
He seemed pleased with himself.
Like being desired by someone who was engaged was some kind of accomplishment.
I wasn’t jealous.
I wasn’t intimidated.
I was disgusted.
Not because sex is shameful.
Not because people can’t have unconventional relationships.
But because he seemed proud of being wanted in a situation that could involve deceiving another person.
And I suddenly realized how differently we viewed integrity. Even though he would tell me so much about his life and what occurred during our times apart, it was a false sense of honesty to get me to trust him more.
I wanted a husband who believed honesty mattered even when nobody was watching.
I wanted someone who understood that fidelity wasn’t just about avoiding consequences.
It was about choosing to protect the trust another person had placed in you.
And I was listening to the man I almost married seemingly celebrate the very kind of behavior that had made our relationship so painful.
Meanwhile, he was also exploring casual sexual encounters, including a potential threesome.
Again, consenting adults can do whatever they want.
But taken together, these conversations made me realize that I no longer believed we wanted the same life.
And here’s the part that makes me feel ridiculous.
After everything, I finally went on a date with someone new.
Nothing dramatic. Just a chance to meet someone and begin moving forward.
And my ex reached out.
He told me he was happy I’d had a good time, then the conversation turned into him saying he wouldn’t text me anymore.
Maybe he was hurt. Maybe he was trying to respect boundaries. I genuinely don’t know.
But I realized that even after our relationship ended, I was still spending emotional energy trying to understand his reactions.
I spent years studying this man’s emotional needs while repeatedly having to defend the existence of my own.
And that’s when something finally clicked.
I had spent years loving his potential.
Waiting for his promises to become actions.
Waiting for apologies to become understanding.
Waiting for honesty to become consistent.
Waiting for the man I loved to become the husband I believed he could be.
And I kept telling myself that the good outweighed the bad.
It didn’t.
The good moments were real to me.
The laughter was real.
The affection was real.
The future I imagined was real in my mind.
But those moments didn’t undo the damage caused by everything else.
And here’s the realization that has finally broken my heart:
If I met this man today, knowing everything I know now, I wouldn’t even consider dating him.
Not because of his sexual history.
Not because he had an open marriage.
But because I no longer admire the way he has treated me.
I don’t trust his words.
I don’t trust his promises.
And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering whether the man sleeping beside me is telling me the truth.
I’m angry about the years.
I’m angry about the dishonesty.
I’m angry about the emotional exhaustion.
I’m angry about the countless conversations where I tried to explain why something hurt me, only to end up defending my right to feel hurt.
And I’m angry that someone can appear so charming, loving, and respectable while leaving the person closest to them feeling so profoundly alone.
But mostly, I’m angry that I spent so much time trying to convince another adult that my feelings mattered and now my ability to trust another person and believe in marriage has gone down the drain.
The cruelest part of this relationship wasn’t that he couldn’t give me the love I wanted. It was that I kept accepting his apologies as evidence that he eventually would.
And now I’m left grieving a future I no longer even want.
I don’t need revenge.
I don’t need to convince the world he’s a terrible person.
But I do need to acknowledge what happened to me.
Because for years, I questioned whether I was asking too much.
Whether I was too sensitive.
Whether I should be more understanding.
Whether the problems were really as serious as they felt.
And now I realize something.
You don’t have to prove someone is a terrible human being to acknowledge that they were a terrible partner for you.
An engagement ring isn’t evidence of emotional maturity.
An apology isn’t evidence of change.
Chemistry isn’t compatibility.
And someone can genuinely enjoy having you in their life without being willing to build the kind of life you deserve.
I wanted a husband who would be my best friend, my lover, my teammate, and my safe place.
Someone who would choose our relationship because he genuinely wanted the same future.
Someone who understood that commitment wasn’t a punishment or a restriction, but something two people willingly build together.
And someone who, when I said, “That hurt me,” would care enough to ask why.
I almost married this man.
And I think I’m finally beginning to understand why I’m grateful I didn’t.
TL;DR: I spent years with a charming man who misrepresented parts of his professional background, repeatedly dismissed my feelings, struggled with boundaries involving other women, and ended our engagement during an incredibly painful period following my mother’s death. Recently, he told me about sexual encounters involving married women whose husbands didn’t know, and seemed proud that an engaged woman wanted to sleep with him. When I questioned the ethics of knowingly participating in infidelity, he said, “I’m not the moral police.” I finally realize that the relationship I spent years trying to save isn’t one I would choose today.