(24M) I live with my parents, and my father always was an overly critical person. I wouldn't say i have daddy issues, bc i don't dislike him nor want him to change. I just wish he wasn't so critical. Actually we love each other, but sometimes he is so critical and demanding at me that i end up feeling a complete piece of shit. Since i was a kid, he would yell at every thing i did wrong. Some toy i let on a different place, if i forgot the TV on, the way i was dressing myself, the way i kempt my hair, if i talked too high or too low. It is the main reason i didn't have that "rebellious phase" ,like other kids and teenagers did. He always was an angry person and if i caused any trouble or didn't behave well, the dragon would wake up and toast me hahahaha. I was never able to hide anything from him. I was in general a well behaved and chill kid, but he made a storm out of every mistake.

I grew up and i'm a wretched pile of insecurities, full of frustrations. My dad is still a controlling person, even though he loves me. Currently, i'm unemployed and studying to tech school. He often come at my room to reprehend me. On how i should have been more "responsible" and bold if i want to be a succesful person. He starts those " your cousin James is younger than you and did this, did that. Smith's daughter is about to buy an apartment. Your school mate ,Carl ,did this. You need to be more". I mean, sir, i did mostly everything you taught me, and it is still bad?! Sometimes his lectures and complaints made me want to be a robot, which he could configure himself the way he likes. Bc i dont know if i would ever reach his expectations.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how different my life could’ve been if I’d made a few different choices. Nothing terrible happened. I just feel like I spent so many years thinking I had all the time in the world. I stayed in the situations longer than I should’ve, let friendships slowly die, passed up opportunities because I was scared, and kept telling myself I’d figure things out eventually.

Now I’m at this weird point where everything is changing. People I used to talk to everyday are basically strangers. Everyone seems busy building their own lives, and I’m sitting here wondering when all of that happened. The worst part is I don’t even know if I miss my old life or just the person I was before I had so many things to regret.

Sometimes I’ll randomly remember a normal day from years ago, like sitting around with friends doing absolutely nothing, and realize I had no idea how much I’d miss it. I know it’s easy to look back and think you would’ve done everything differently, but I genuinely wish I’d appreciated certain people and moments more while they were still part of my everyday life.

Does anyone else ever feel like they’re grieving a version of their life that wasn’t even particularly great, but at least felt familiar.

My mom has a bit of a gambling addiction in my opinion. She’s semi retired but works at local farms and is usually paid in cash, a somewhat common practice even if technically illegal.

My mom recently was paid $5,000 in cash but for some reason, it was all paid in $5 bills. She asked for my help in exchanging them for $100 bills. I agree to help and we start heading to the bank but she drives past it at one point. I asked her why she didn’t make her turn and she says that she wants to exchange it at the local casino. She claims that exchanging it at the casino is better as asking the bank to change $5000 worth of $5 bills looks suspicious. Her plan is to take the $5 bills and insert them into a slot machine then hit the “CASH OUT” button so that it prints a voucher. She then will take the voucher to the cashiers cage and ask for $100 bills.

I argue that looks even MORE suspicious but she says it’s fine. We get to the casino and she gives me $1000 and says to only put $500 into each machine and cash them out and bring her the vouchers. I start to do this but I feel uncomfortable so I call my sister who surprisingly defends our mother.

My sister claims that going to the bank and exchanging or depositing an amount that large triggers a report by the bank to the IRS. I look it up and according to Google, the amount is 10k but my sister says Google is wrong and not to believe it.

I finally finish and find my mom and give her the vouchers. I asked where her vouchers are but she says she doesn’t have any and is just straight up gambling with her $5 bills now. After she loses about $1000 we go home and she says she’ll exchange the rest of her money later.

I argue with my mother that this was just her giving herself a reason to go to the casino but she still stands by her belief that it’s more suspicious to go to the bank. When I call my sister again later that night, she says no matter our mom’s reason, to just let her enjoy herself.

Oh well. Any thoughts?

Yeah so uhh, a few months ago I was in a constant state of never leaving bed basically. I stopped using hair ties as I realized years back that tying my long hair in a bun did not prevent bad knotting at all. So I began using hair clips, which worked pretty decent in comparison if I just twisted my hair up and clipped it.

Well sadly it won't help much at all if you stay in bed and/ or sleeping for weeks at a time (from a depression so deep in still barely poking my head out from it) and hence my hair became unknowingly, and INCREDIBLY matted to the point is yo to my entire scalp, and you might as well call it dreads now. It's so freakiI'mng heart breaking because I've always been really proud of my hair. But it's just gotten so bad I think my best bet is to honestly buzz it off and start over. But I know I'm not going to be able to handle going around anyone or even looking at myself in the mirror , with zero hair.

So my real question is, howI'm can someone life me, a homeless, broke as all hell, and literally nobody to ask besides you good people of the internet, how and where would I even begin to try finding a wig (nothing special or outrageous) to wear while my hair regrows? I have no money to afford one but I highly doubt seeing anyone willing to just give away one? Idk.. is there a/nything anyone can give advice on any of this? Greatly appreciated...

I knew I hated myself, but didn’t really understand why. Recently I realized that I could just choose not to, and what I was shocked to discover, was the resilience I felt to that. I realized that I enjoy the feeling of caring myself. It’s cathartic, sort of addictive. Like how when you’re a kid with a loose tooth it kinda felt good to press on it even though it hurt. Like this disgusting sort of perverse pleasure in just fucking despising myself. I mean it’s not like I’ve done some horrible thing. I’m not perfect I’ve definitely done things I regret but nothing worth despising someone over. But just hate myself and for some reason, I get some sick pleasure out of it, so I don’t know how to stop, or why I’m like this. Especially because I’ve only ever been given love by my family and everyone in my life. Nobody taught me to be this way. I was never even bullied.

3 months ago around the start of June I had a really bad panic attack where it felt like I was dying which was due to lack of nutrients because I was recovering from dental surgery. Ever since then I’ve been dealing with extreme anxiety, shaking, always being on edge, heart palpitations and a whole load of other symptoms. Then I got into a car accident which left me feeling scared. I’ve never felt like this before, before the panic attack I was so normal but now I feel like I’ll never get back to it. Anxiety is eating me alive and I’m always scared of something going wrong with my body or me dying. Ive also become more conscious of my mortality and I’m afraid of death. I’ve gotten checked out for a lot of stuff and i have a heart monitor currently and they’ve said Im fine but I just can’t rest. I’m so tired of it all I just want to go back to normal. Right now I’m feeling a tightness in my stomach and chest. I’m just restless. I don’t have money for therapy but I’m considering it.

I am no spring chicken, but where are all my kings and queens without a middle name? When people ask what my middle name is and I say I don't have one, I always have to pull out my license as proof. I actually feel special being the only one in my department with no middle name. Has anyone else ever had this encounter? How do you feel about NOT having a middle name?

I see a lot of people complaining about how no one loves them like they love others - but I’m experiencing something I think is worse; I feel like I don’t have love in me to give to others.

At least with the first problem there is hope that you will find someone who reciprocate your love. There is so much love out there and I’m sure you’ll find it. I know cuz I’ve had lots of love around me, but yet I can’t give it back. I don’t feel much anymore. I will never be able to connect to people, and that’s worse than people not appreciating your love. At least you have love in you.

OK before we start i need to say I am not a native English speaker,really sorry if my wording looks wired TwT
When i was in elementary school and middle school, i lacked close friendships due to my introverted personaility.
Being alone all days isn't a good feeling. I hardly opened my mind to anyone in the school.
This even led to me being bullied and I can't bulit intimacy during that time.
However things began to change when i entered the high school. Luckily,I met many good friends. They have great empathy and patience.
One of them,who was an art student,she is really important for me. Because she not only gave me a lot of comfort when i was feeling bad,but also brought me into the world of drawing and creatiing.

I used to dislike any art styles when i was little, because everytime when it comes to art just made me feel pressured.
But I found that, for herself, art could be a way to release emotions. It gave me motivetion to start trying it.
Through my conversations with my friends, I gradually became less lonely.
There are friends matter me. When i realized it,my mind really changed.

I was very uncofident about my ability to learn. But i made a good progress last year. I even drew fanart for the indie game i like! It's very wonderful,I never thought i could do this!
I use an iPad to draw. I have to say that starting to draw without any basic isn't a very easy thing,there are many difficulties waiting you. But the feeling of overcoming every difficult is soo exciting. (*////▽////*)Although i am a lazy person actually.
Looking back though, I think one of the most important things is overcoming the insecure,anxiety and nervousness. That would make you start trying do someting you truly love to do, and there are endless happiness in the process
I wish my story could encourges everyone trying to bravely become whoever you want to be.

I don’t mean this sexually. I want to be useful to the people I care about. More than that, I am willing to be used by them, even taken advantage of, if it means they can benefit from me without feeling that they owe me anything in return.

I want people to feel completely comfortable taking from me. I want them to ask for my help, accept what I offer, and make use of whatever I can provide without feeling responsible for my wellbeing, my feelings, or the balance of our relationship. I do not want my generosity to become an obligation they must repay, nor do I want them to feel that accepting something from me means they must give me affection, attention, or intimacy in return.

If someone I care about benefits from my presence, I can justify what I give through their interests alone. I do not need them to become closer to me, appreciate me more, or even think of me particularly fondly. I would still want to contribute to their lives if I knew that I would receive nothing relationally in return.

I am not saying this because I believe every unequal relationship is inherently good, or because I necessarily enjoy being mistreated. I do not particularly desire expendability for its own sake. Rather, I am willing to accept it as the cost of ensuring that the people I care about never feel obligated to me. I would rather be someone they can freely use than someone whose needs, sacrifices, or expectations make them feel responsible for giving something back.

I want to be useful to others, but I do not believe that their willingness to care for me is sufficient justification for my receiving that care.

When someone makes an effort for me, gives me something, shows me affection, or goes out of their way to help me, I do not experience the act as something I can simply accept. I feel indebted to them. The debt does not disappear when they tell me there is no debt. In some ways, that makes it worse: I have received something they were under no obligation to give, and I cannot identify what justifies my having accepted it.

I do not believe they have necessarily wronged me by giving, or that I have deceived them into doing so. The problem, as I understand it, is that I have permitted myself to receive something I cannot justify receiving. I can understand why another person might choose to be kind to me without accepting that their choice resolves the question of whether I ought to have accepted their kindness.

I do not consider receiving anything beyond what is necessary to maintain my ability to function adequately justified. A person needs food, sleep, and basic care to remain alive; those things have an identifiable purpose. But what justifies receiving affection, gifts, consideration, or someone’s time when those things are not necessary for my continued functioning? Why should another person’s willingness to give be enough to establish that I should receive?

This is not simply a matter of believing that I must earn everything through hard work. Repaying someone with an equivalent favour would not necessarily resolve the problem, either. If anything, I sometimes prefer an explicit debt because it is at least transactional: I know what I owe and can discharge it. The more difficult kind of debt is the one attached to a relationship, where I cannot determine what repayment would mean without turning affection into an exchange.

My difficulty is not that I believe people are incapable of caring about me. It is that I do not regard their willingness to care about me as sufficient justification for receiving that care.

I do not believe I have to be actively harming someone for my presence to feel unjustified. I regard myself as occupying space that would be better reserved for someone who has a legitimate claim to it. I regard accepting someone’s time or affection as an imposition even when they freely offer it, even when they are not inconvenienced, and even when they assure me that they want me there. The absence of demonstrable harm does not, in itself, resolve what I perceive as a question of justification.

Consequently, I do not permit myself to ask for things from people simply because I want them. I do not want to test whether they care, make them prove that I matter, or turn my desire for closeness into a demand they must answer. I recognise that they are free to choose whom they want around. But I also impose a restriction upon myself: I do not believe that wanting something from another person is sufficient reason to allow myself to receive it.

I do want to be sought out, rather than merely approached when I can help. I want people to initiate conversations with me, to enjoy my company when I have nothing to offer, and to show affection that is not a response to something I have done for them. I want to be included because my presence is wanted, rather than because it is convenient. I want to be known as a person, not simply appreciated for what I can provide.

I see forms of intimacy between my friends and other people that I have rarely, if ever, experienced to the same degree in my own relationships. I have invested considerable time and effort in those relationships, but I have often felt that I am appreciated more readily for what I do than sought out for who I am. Even as my capacity to contribute has diminished, I have become increasingly uncertain of my place in other people’s lives.

I do not believe that greater intimacy would resolve the underlying problem. Even if I were more frequently sought out, included, or cared for, I would not suddenly regard myself as justified in receiving those things. Greater closeness might soften the alienation I experience, but it would not eliminate it. I would still have to contend with the same convictions about what I am entitled to receive, what I can justify accepting, and whether another person’s willingness to give is sufficient grounds for my receiving.

I do not believe my friends owe me greater intimacy because of what I have done. Time invested, favours given, and loyalty demonstrated do not entitle me to affection. I consider it wrong to treat my generosity as a claim upon another person.

But I apply this conclusion to myself in a way that goes beyond respecting other people’s freedom. Because I am not owed affection, I do not consider that fact alone sufficient to justify wanting it. Because nobody is obligated to choose me, I do not regard my desire to be chosen as a reason that I should be. Because another person is free to give without being obligated, I want to ensure that they never feel obligated to me; yet when they give freely, I still regard my own acceptance as requiring a justification that their willingness does not provide.

The asymmetry is fundamental to how I understand these relationships. I can justify giving to someone because I regard their interests as important independently of what they might do for me. I do not extend the same reasoning to myself. I can recognise another person’s needs, desires, and interests as sufficient reasons to give them consideration, while refusing to treat my own desires as sufficient reasons to receive it. Their willingness to give does not settle whether I should receive, and my desire to receive does not settle whether that desire is justified.

I recognise that this can resemble low self-esteem, people-pleasing, codependency, or an attempt to earn affection through usefulness. Those interpretations may explain aspects of my behaviour, but I do not consider them sufficient explanations for the entire pattern. I am not simply hoping that enough generosity will eventually make someone love me. I can genuinely want to give without expecting that outcome. Nor do I regard giving as a bargain whose unspoken price is reciprocation.

The more fundamental issue is that I do not regard myself as having the same standing to receive that I readily recognise in others. I can acknowledge that desire is not the same as entitlement, but I do not consider that distinction sufficient to establish that the desire is justified. I can know that another person has freely chosen to care for me and still reject their choice as a sufficient reason for my receiving that care.

I do not know whether this is generosity taken to an extreme, an aversion to imposing on others, a moral standard I apply asymmetrically to myself, or something more fundamental in how I experience relationships. I also cannot confidently distinguish how much of my willingness to be used comes from a genuine commitment to others’ interests and how much comes from my refusal to grant myself permission to receive from them.

What I do know is that I want to give without creating obligations, while I experience receiving as an obligation even when nobody else intends it to be one. I want others to be free to take from me without having to consider what they owe me, but I cannot extend that same freedom to myself when someone chooses to give. I do not believe that another person’s kindness automatically makes my acceptance justified, and I do not believe that the absence of an obligation to reciprocate makes the experience of receiving any easier.

I also want to be wanted, but I do not regard that desire as a claim upon anyone. I can respect another person’s freedom to choose while still experiencing the distance between being useful to someone and being someone they actively want in their life. That distance is alienating, and greater intimacy might lessen it. It would not, however, resolve my underlying conviction that I cannot justify receiving what another person freely offers me.

I do not want this reduced to a simple narrative about secretly expecting repayment, lacking confidence, or needing to learn to accept compliments. I am interested in how other people understand this distinction between giving and receiving, particularly when the person giving does not expect anything in return but nevertheless finds it difficult to accept care from others. I am also interested in whether the reasoning itself is coherent: whether the freedom to give can be respected without granting oneself permission to receive, and whether recognising that nobody owes me anything can reasonably lead to the conclusion that I should not allow myself to want anything from them.

I am not asking for reassurance that I deserve everything I want, nor am I asking anyone to agree with my interpretation of myself. I want perspectives that take the reasoning seriously, including those that challenge its assumptions rather than simply dismissing the experience behind them.

Just had a thought experiment I imagine this isn't a mythical unknown gem of philosphy but it seems motivational to me so I'd like to share it on here.

No action being neutral includes inaction. Like if you have a clear goal in mind (if you don't get one immediately) then no step you take (or don't take) is neutral. It is either a plus or a minus, even if very slightly.

Some are obviously bigger pluses than others so I'd say fnid the biggest plus and do it immediately. Then rinse repeat.

I am a group leader and I've been far too considerate with their schedules and comfort.

We have this short film that is due on Monday, last Sunday, I sent the script and told them the date of our shooting which is on Tuesday btw, a member asked if it's okay to shoot on another time, I told them "no, we can't. The school might be closed since we have an educational trip starting from Wednesday to Friday" but when I learned that the school is still open at that time. I made a poll asking for their opinions on what works best for them since they're the actor.

The majority voted for Thursday, so then we moved it to Thursday. Time skip, today is Thursday and a member told me that he might not make it because he's tired from the trip, his muscles hurts. So then I told them

"Are there other actors that can't make it? If not then let's just move the shooting because what's the point? If we're not doing it today then let's just move it tomorrow, but make sure to finish it. Take note: I am not available tomorrow so you'll deal with it on your own."

I have made a lot of adjustments, I have life outside school too, I have more events and responsibilities. This is why I don't want to be a leader, I am far too kind and considerate because I care too much about their grades and comfort, this performance will play a big role in their cards so as much as possible I want us to be complete.

It's strange how lonely life can feel sometimes. Since yesterday, I've been lost in a daydream I can't seem to shake. I think about it when I lie down, and it's still on my mind when I wake up.

There's a woman. She's a cellist who also plays the flute. We share a home, and together we're finishing a song that was left unfinished. She's carrying our baby. And we're making memories. The kind that, years from now, when our child is all grown up, they'll be able to look back on and say, "So that's how Mom and Dad met."

Well... I imagine us playing our music while our little one sits there listening. I don't know why this particular dream has stayed with me so deeply. Maybe it's just loneliness. Maybe it's the longing for a life I've never had, with someone I've never met. But who knows? Maybe parallel universes really do exist. And maybe, somewhere out there, we're sitting together, finishing that unfinished song. And we're just writing a song of our own with a life together. This gave me an idea that I'll make a song about this, though not sure about its title yet.

I'm 18, and I have a pretty feminine or androgynous voice. I recorded myself, and I kinda sound like a woman with a deep voice or a woman trying to sound like a man lol

I don't know why I don't sound distinctly masculine. I just sound the way I sound, I guess.

I don't really mind it since I'm agender non-binary, so I don't mind if people can't quite tell. But sometimes, it still bothers me a little because people might just assume I'm a woman based on my voice, and I don't want to be perceived as one either.

Back then, it used to bother me more because I felt like my voice wasn't normal, or that it wasn't what a guy was supposed to sound like.

this isn’t a question or anything, i just want to share my thoughts.
when i was 15 and in my last year of school, i had no friends. they had all excluded me, started rumours about me and just abandoned me. i was miserable. i would fake being sick so i didn’t have to go in most days. but on the days i did have to go in, i would sit with the teachers instead, or sit on my own and just put my head down with my headphones on.

then this girl in my english class started talking to me, and i was surprised at how genuinely kind and nice she was, with no ulterior motives. wanting nothing in return. i was used to people speaking to me as a joke as i was the weird autistic emo kid, but she just spoke to me like a normal person. we were very different, we liked different things, we had different music tastes, she was a christian and i’m not religious…yet we still became friends. (i’m usually wary around religious people because they tend to be judgmental and not accepting, but she was very accepting)

we found things to talk about. she showed me some things she liked, i showed her some things i liked. i was the first person she came to when her mum died. i was genuinely in shock at how this girl could be so kind, so good through and through. how she wanted to be friends with me although i had issues, was failing most of my classes and dressed weird. but of course, good people often get taken advantage of, and she had a really shitty boyfriend that she wouldn’t leave because she thought she could change him. she told me he’d threaten to break up with her over the smallest things. not to mention he had no personality at all, meanwhile she was a literal ray of sunshine. i hated him, and i just wanted the best for her.

now i’m 21, and we’re not friends anymore. not for any particular reason, we just grew apart. she went to university far away and is now a costume designer in training. i still see her sometimes on instagram and still wish the best for her. she’s still with her boyfriend. i hope he realises how lucky he is.

unfortunately i don’t have it in me to be that kind, cheerful person, and i’m still alone. i have anger issues, i’m jaded, and i don’t trust easily. i don’t have talent and i’m not good at talking to people. i know i can be horrible and hurt people. but knowing there are genuinely good people out there gives me a bit of hope. maybe i don’t deserve to be near them, but i hope they are truly happy.

There's many reasons I'm moving, but I don't want to get too into here. I just feel unsafe in my current living situation. I've been in this house for five years and dealt with a lot of traumatizing situations and poor mental health. This week has been a catalyst of change for me.

I've decided to remove myself from this situation altogether rather than deal with an extremist neighbour. It sucks that it's come to it, but there's only so much bullshit I can handle. I'm so ready for a change. I've realized I just feel trapped in this space because of the cheap rent.

I found a listing the other night and my intuition told me to go for it, sent in my application. Today I went to the viewing and fell in absolute love with the place. Tall ceilings, south facing windows, massive bedroom, claw foot tub. Kitchen is a bit small and limited storage, but it's gorgeous. And right above my favourite bookstore!! Very nice neighbourhood.

The rental agency got back to me this afternoon for some more info and I responded as soon as I could. I'm really hopeful I get it! They just listed the property and I'm the first to view it. The agent showing me the place said it's very rare to get vacancies in the building. I asked for a 24 month lease to show I'm committed. Just so damn excited!

ETA: I got the place! Move in date is Jan 1st!

​

I grew up with severe anxiety. Honestly i couldn't properly communicate, was always stuttering if a group of was near. My adolescente was also really lonely.

At college things start to get better, got my first girlfriend, was studying in a great school for a career that most people would only dream to be possible. Bear in mind that in my country, medicine, as in most countries, is really disputed but the best colleges here are actually free and i got in one.

Six years after graduation, married (the absolutely best person in the world) and I hate so much about my life.

I hate working in high stake environments and having to be alert all the time. I hate the long shiftness and I hate so much disease. I cant stand so much suffering. People being fed by gastrostomy. Young patients with terminal cancer. I know most people may have contact with this misery at some point of life, but is my everyday life. I feel like some terrible affliction is right on the corner waiting for us all. I cant stop seeing the faces of some patients that have a tough end and I couldn't to anything.

Most people suggest me to change my practice. Choose a specialization that I dont have to see all of this but I cant stand medicine. I dont think im growing intellectually, I feel it's the world job possible, only satisfying by the salary.

Im 33 years old already and I feel like shit.

There are days that patients and their families will scream with you and accuse you of malpractice because an exam was delayed. Five minutes after you had to talk with an young woman with terminal cancer that was crying because she would like to be there for her son 2 years old birthday. Than your boss want to know why you are not discharging the patients fast enough and why you are asking for expensive medication.

Than you see thst even with an reasonable income, you will probably never own a house. Having a big family will be hard. And even if you manage it financially, you would not be there.

I feel as anxious as when I was little but instead of "not cool enough" I feel an agony and racing thoughts all the time about death, suffering and injustice.

I think I grew in how I manage a lot in my life , because of adversity at work. But I think I will go crazy at some point.

I always dreamt of being an writer, dont know what made me choose that miserable path.

Fuck I hate all of this

i’m very scared of aging and i feel trapped in my career like i’m going to be very old soon but i still feel like a kid…i’m 26

When it’s cold and windy outside I love wearing hoodies so much. It’s like having a warm cozy blanket wrapped around my head.

That’s it, hoodie appreciation post.

Growing up I never wanted to spend time with my parents. Now that they're starting to get old, I try to take them out and spend more time with them. Its depressing.

I'm not unhappy. At least, not in the traditional sense. I have things I enjoy. I have people I love. I laugh, I find reasons to smile, and there are plenty of moments when I genuinely appreciate being alive.

But underneath all of that, there's this resentment. Not toward anyone in particular. Not even toward the world, really. Toward the fact that I'm here.

That I've been here for all these years, and I haven't done a single thing that I consider meaningful.

And I know what you're going to say. That meaning is subjective. That the relationships I've built and the lives I've touched have value. That I shouldn't measure my existence against some imaginary standard of greatness. I know.

I understand the arguments. I understand the psychology behind them. I understand why people need purpose, why we seek validation, why we compare ourselves to others, and why those comparisons are often irrational. None of that understanding changes how I feel.

Sometimes I think that's the problem with me. I know too much about things that don't matter and not nearly enough about the things that do.

I can learn almost anything that interests me. Give me a problem, something complicated, something that requires patience and research, and I'll lose myself in it for hours. Days, even. I'll examine every little detail until I understand not only how something works, but why it works and then I'll move on. Just like that. Another subject understood. Another problem solved. Another collection of useless knowledge added to an already overcrowded mind.

What is the culmination of all this supposed to be. Because surely there must be something. Surely a person isn't supposed to spend his entire existence collecting information, imagining possibilities, and accomplishing absolutely nothing with either.

I feel like a man who has spent his whole life sharpening a knife that he's never had a reason to use. Now the blade is beginning to rust.

When I was younger, I genuinely believed I would become somebody. I didn't know what that meant, exactly. I wasn't imagining wealth or fame. I didn't need to be important in the conventional sense. I just thought that eventually I'd find my place. That somewhere in this enormous world, there was a problem I was uniquely suited to solve. Something I could create. Something I could contribute that would make somebody else's existence a little more interesting, a little more enjoyable, or perhaps just a little less miserable.

I thought that was what growing up would be. Finding that thing. Instead, I grew older. And that's about all I can say for it. I worked. I paid bills. I fulfilled obligations. I did what was expected of me, and I watched the years disappear. And the entire time, I kept thinking that eventually my real life would begin.

Isn't that pathetic. To spend decades living while waiting for your life to start and please don't tell me it's not too late. I know it's not too late. People start businesses at fifty. They write novels at sixty. They discover talents at seventy. I know all the stories. I know all the exceptions. But that's precisely what they are, aren't they? Exceptions. Even if I were destined to become one of them, that doesn't give me back the years I've already lost.

That's what nobody seems to understand. I'm not just afraid of wasting tomorrow. I'm mourning yesterday.

I'm mourning the person I could have been if I'd made different choices, if I'd had different opportunities, if somebody had recognized something in me before I stopped recognizing it in myself.

And yes, I know how that sounds. I know nobody owes me an opportunity. I know the world isn't obligated to discover my potential. But I can't help feeling cheated. Not necessarily by other people. By circumstance. By time. By the strange, indifferent machinery of existence that allows some people to stumble into their purpose while others spend their entire lives searching for it.

Perhaps that's unfair. Perhaps those people worked harder than I did. Perhaps they took risks I was too frightened to take. I can acknowledge that.

I can acknowledge every reasonable explanation for why my life has turned out the way it has. But understanding the reasons doesn't make the result any easier to accept. Then there's the possibility I don't particularly enjoy discussing.

What if I'm wrong? What if there isn't anything exceptional about me? What if I'm simply an ordinary man with an above-average curiosity and an inflated sense of his own potential?

I've considered that, you know. Quite extensively. Maybe all this talk about greatness is nothing more than vanity dressed up as existential suffering. Maybe I want to believe I'm capable of extraordinary things because the alternative is accepting that this ordinary life is exactly the life I was always going to have.

And I hate that possibility. God, I hate it. Because if I'm capable of something greater, then I've squandered my potential. But if I'm not, then I've squandered my happiness chasing the idea that I was. Either way, I've lost something. I don't know how to reconcile that. I don't know how to make peace with a life that is simultaneously everything I need and nothing I wanted. I don't know how to explain that I can be grateful for what I have and still feel this enormous, suffocating absence of something I can't even identify.

And I'm angry. I'm so angry.

Not the kind of anger that makes me want to hurt somebody or break something. It's quieter than that. It's the kind of anger that sits with you while you're doing something you enjoy and reminds you that you could be doing something more important. The kind that makes relaxation feel like negligence. The kind that turns every wasted afternoon into evidence against yourself.

And the worst part is that I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm not ignorant of my behavior. I recognize my excuses while I'm making them. I recognize my avoidance while I'm avoiding things. I can practically narrate my own failures as they're happening. That awareness doesn't grant me the ability to stop.

Imagine understanding the mechanics of a prison so thoroughly that you could explain every lock, every hinge, every weakness in its construction and still never leaving. That's what this feels like.

I don't need someone to explain to me that the door is open. I need to understand why I keep choosing to stay.

Because I'm tired. Not tired of living. I'm tired of watching myself. I'm tired of being an observer in a life I was supposed to participate in.

I'm tired of having thoughts that never become actions, ambitions that never become accomplishments, and dreams that slowly transform into memories of things I once believed were possible.

I think what frightens me most is that one day, I might stop feeling this way. I might finally accept everything. I might stop wanting more. I might convince myself that this is enough, that I've done enough, that I've been enough.

Everyone will probably tell me how healthy that is. How wonderful it is that I've finally found peace. But I wonder whether that peace would be genuine. Or whether it would simply mean that the last part of me that believed I could become something greater had finally died.

As miserable as this longing sometimes makes me, it's also the only thing that convinces me there's still something left worth pursuing. I don't want to lose that.

I don't want to spend the rest of my life hating myself for what I haven't accomplished. But I don't want to forgive myself so completely that I stop trying, either.

I would really, really hate for my final thought to be I could have done more.

I'm a stroke survivor, paralyzed on my left side, living in a nursing home in Michigan. Most of my world right now is one room, one window, and a phone I type on with one thumb.

Awhile back I started writing — poems, little essays, whatever the day hands me. Tonight I found out a story I posted here a couple days ago got 3.9k views. I didn't even know. I just thought a few people were rude in the comments and that was the end of it.

So today I finally did the thing I've been talking myself out of: I started a Substack. Two of them, actually — one for my poetry and stories (Guppy Sages), one for my faith writing (Brother Love). The first piece is about a hard night here, my 94-year-old roommate, and four words from an aide that I can't stop thinking about.

Tonight it got its first ten views. My sister subscribed. My high school French teacher is driving out to visit me Saturday.

I don't know where any of this goes. But a door I've been staring at for two years cracked open a little today, and I figured I'd tell somebody.

If you want to look: https://guppysage.substack.com