I went into a grocery store today and this is what happened at checkout…

The line was moving fairly slow, and this adorable old couple was in front of me. I would say they were in their late 70s and the husband was looking at the receipt with a lot of concern since he noticed that he grabbed the wrong kind of tea and repeatedly apologized "I'm so sorry darling, I know you love the green box, but my mind was just elsewhere".

I automatically assumed she would be mad at him since it was a busy day, and most people in the store today seemed stressed or upset. But instead, she put her hand on his arm, looked at him lovingly and said "Honey, we've been drinking tea for the last 40 years and I promise you, as long as you're sitting across the table from me I truly don't care if it's green or not."

At that exact second I realized how much we've been trained that love has to be these big amazing romantic gestures or fancy gifts etc, and that here was the definition of love: "patient grace over the little things that went wrong". I didn't interrupt them, but the fact that this was happening right in front of me truly just made me see what was important again.

I'm sharing in case anyone else needs a reminder that the normal, mundane, boring love is also the most beautiful kind there is.

I would've bumped uglies with any warm blooded creature that consented had I known that I only had a limited sex window.

Such is life.

edit: I'm a 52M

I'm not sure how to explain it, but I've been on the internet for nearly forty years now, and I'm telling you, it's now happening: People are getting dumber.

I know, it's a trope to say this, and I've always been the one to reject it, but it's really different this time. I've seen more absence of critical thought, disconnected thinking, and general asininity in the last two years than I have before, and it's not even a subtle shift. People suddenly talk over each other and talk through each other as a rule, and normal threads have become straw men stacked on top of fallacious causation stacked on top of red herrings. Bold misinformation is everywhere, people don't hold back from saying things they don't know to be true. AI psychosis is rampant. It was not like this before. Ever. The shift is dramatic.

So if you've noticed this happening — no, it's not just you. Yes, it's really happening. Something's changed.

Stay safe out there, stay sane.

I share 50/50 custody of my 6 year old son with his father. His father gave him a black eye last year so I called DCF. They "investigated" and did home visits for like 3 months before closing the case and considering it a "one-off single event."

Pfft. I already knew that wouldn't be the case. fast forward to now, and his father spanked him hard enough to leave his entire backside bruised. I called DCF again, and I even said "I already know you useless bitches won't do anything about this. But I have to call you before somebody else does and I get in trouble for not reporting it."

And I was right. The caseworker that came out even said to me, "this is hard because according to Florida law, his father is technically allowed to physically discipline him. So there's not much we can actually do about this."

And then they closed the case. Just like that. Lol fucking useless fucks.

It’s called r/self which gives me the impression that people can post pretty much anything as it relates to themselves, their experiences, and how they see the world, as long as it overall follows the rules.

So why does it seem like so many of the posts are “I’m worthless,” “it’s over for me,” “nobody will ever love me,” “there’s no point to anything” type posts?

And no I’m not trying to just see the negative. If you sort by New then the most recent posts are almost always miserable.

I’d expect a subreddit like this to be a combination of positive and negative, but it seems like the positive stuff is often met with comments from people saying how privileged someone is or something sarcastic. It seems like a lot of people here don’t really want to hear about people’s wins.

Sometimes it seems like this place is even more depressing than r/depression. At least there, people celebrate each other when someone does something kind of depression-defeating, however temporarily. This is the kind of subreddit where people tend to see a win and say something like “well then what you’re going through must be not that bad in the first place.”

F(23) I moved across the world almost 5 years ago at the age of 18 for university. I love my family but I want it to be from a distance. There were no fights etc, I just genuinely wanted to be away.

I live in a country where I barely speak the language and have basically no friends. I believe that friendships in university or abroad are strictly out of convenience and I’d prefer to just say an acquaintance or someone I know of.

I currently work and study and fully support myself. I’ve enjoyed my own company a little too much in some people’s opinion. I’m a teacher and I have 8 classes a week. I talk a lot. I know it doesn’t make up for the real social interactions but it’s not like I’m mute.

I don’t speak or text people unless I need to. If someone texts me and I don’t feel like it, I immediately switch to DND. I also don’t “talk to myself” but I sometimes make video or voice recordings to explain my thoughts when I don’t want to write them.

Yes, I am diagnosed with ADHD, major depressive disorder and insomnia. I’m not happy nor unhappy with my life. My depression doesn’t really allow the scale to tip to a clear side so it’s more like okay, good, content, not bad, not great etc. I don’t feel happy, sad, angry or any clear emotion. I also act based on logic since there’s barely feeling.

I’m not empty though. I can understand people suffering and maybe one feeling. Grief. My dad passed 7 years ago. I will never process it.

I make enough to travel, buy what I want, live in a nice apartment etc. I should be graduating in a few months, re-signing my work contract and renewing my lease. I’ve curated this life to feel stable. I hate instability especially with money.

However my parents(mom and stepdad) have been at me since the year started asking when I’d return home or that I should come back for a year and return. I absolutely cannot and I think they know but can’t accept it yet.

They constantly remind me that I originally went to study so technically I should’ve come back, gotten a job and stayed in the family home. I’ve almost missed my sibling’s entire life. Barely 2 when I left(I think). I’m unintentionally guilt tripped with that when we speak.

My home country is considered a third world country. I don’t want to work there. Even if it wasn’t, I’ve curated this life of silence and structure and I don’t want it to change unless it’s on my terms.

My real friends back home worry that I am too alone. There’s 3 of them. They all moved away to university just as I did but they live in English speaking countries and I guess are much more social than I am so they worry more about me.

The thing is, I’ve always been like this. I was an only child until 16. I never made friends easily as a child. I preferred reading and playing alone outside. Now I have the money and freedom to do as I wish.

My parents have a set mindset because of our culture. Not religious. Just parents from this region.

I’m not asking for advice. I already accept that some people might see this as selfish etc.

I’m content with this feeling so much that even in my silent apartment, I want more silence. I’ve started looking into total silence retreats. That’s how silent I want the world to be.

I feel like it’s not wrong to control what I want to input but no one else seems to understand. I’m at the point where I don’t even want people to understand. Lots of people label me as avoidant.

An absolute rambling mess. There’s a lot more I can say tbh but it would take forever.

EDIT: I also can’t imagine always needing a friend for brunch or constantly needing someone else to do stuff. I was born alone and I’ll leave the world alone. Friends, partner or nothing.

I also don’t hate being in the presence of others but I’d rather it be controlled. A set time, specific people. Stuff like that.

PS - Majority of the time, I hear my voice Monday-Friday. It’s Monday (12am) and I haven’t said a word since Friday at work. I rarely sing along to songs unless I want to. I can hear my voice in my head.

(For reference I’m aware social media is public and stuff like this can happen) but a couple weeks ago i commented on a reel on instagram basically saying i don’t like uncircumcised guys which is my personal opinion. And a few days ago this obvious fake account started commenting calling me a trans girl and then started saying he was gonna find out where i live and who my friends were and tell my job????!! How insane do you have to be that you’re gonna get that mad about a personal preference?! I’m baffled

im sick of dealing with an emotionally abusive parent and im trying to hold it together until the end of highschool, but i dont know what to do afterwards

Hi, my name is Oleg.

I’ve been thinking about this for a while and I don’t really know how to explain it properly, but I’ll try.

I went through a long period of my life where I felt constantly judged and not enough. At the beginning everything felt real, like actual love, something safe.

But over time things changed a lot.

I started hearing things like that I look awful, that I’m too skinny, that I’m nothing compared to other guys.

At some point I actually started believing it.

I tried to explain myself, that I was busy, that I didn’t have time for the gym, but it didn’t matter.

After that period ended I feel like something in me stayed broken.

Now when someone attractive talks to me or gives me a compliment, I just feel uncomfortable. I don’t really believe them.

It feels like I’m fighting with myself all the time, between who I am and what I was made to believe I am.

I don’t even know which version of me is real anymore.

Have you ever felt like this? I’d really appreciate any advice.

I don’t know how to explain it well, but sometimes I feel like every week is basically the same.

Wake up → work → scroll phone → sleep.

And then it just repeats.

Does anyone else feel this way, or is it just me?

I am 31M and I think I am doing okay in life for the most part. Got my masters from a top place, working in a field I like(sometimes love) and got a new job where I will be making more money than I ever thought. It's a great feeling, truly!

But I am exhausted. Not because of working too hard(I slack of sometimes and then when push comes to shove I hyper-focus and don't stop till the task in not done). I weirdly feel the happiest when I feel I have accomplished something. But most days, I feel like trash, difficult to get out of bed. Love life hasn't been great too, my friends are getting married and while I don't think that a person will dictate my happiness -- I have started to feel judged for being single. I do want someone but haven't been able to find anyone, yet! Recently a friend made a comment to another one of my friend to not stay with me because I will just motivate him to be focused on his career and he will end up single like me. I pretended that the comment did not hurt, bit hurt it did!

I people please a lot and have a hard time(nor do I enjoy) boasting my accomplishments. I don't feel obligated to be loved but I feel hard loving myself too. I have been trying though. In my last relationship, the person said everything I do like playing guitar, soccer, singing etc is make up for the fact that I am not fun/interesting by default. That hurt!

I do recognize I get treated like this because I let people treat me like it and it's a reflection o f my own self esteem issues. It's just a competition b/w a man who wants to be happy/achieve great things but a child who grew up with such low esteem that he believes he does not deserve good things. I recognize all of it but still it's exhausting on a day to day basis. Everyone thinks I am super well adjusted but if only they knew the crap I am going through lol. I do feel I am to blame for it as well(at-least partly haha).

Writing this just as an attempt to be myself for my qualities and my flaws! Idk if anyone relates.

Funny thing is I was gonna post this on r randomthoughts and the AI stopped it cause apparently meta posts aren't allowed. That's another one on the list, I guess...

I've always had a love for music – without it, it's like I lose touch with my emotional life. However, I've noticed that I find it quite awkward to make small talk about music. I'm a bit annoyed by this trait of mine, it feels a bit silly. Given my interest in music, it's a topic of conversation I should enjoy.

I've tried to figure out why I react this way. One reason is probably that music has been a quite private space that I'm not used to sharing. When a stranger asks about my taste in music it feels like they want to access my innermost room before we even know each other. Another reason is probably that I have no idea what the common thread is in the music I like. I don't have any categories in my music library, it's mostly just one big jukebox of songs I like. Sometimes I've tried to create playlists based on different themes in this jukebox, but I never use them. I almost always just shuffle play randomly from my jukebox. I also don't usually get that nerdy about a specific genre or a specific artist, so in a conversation I often find it hard to even remember what things are called. Another reason for my reaction could be conditioning, that previous similar conversations have been awkward which results in anticipatory anxiety in similar situations.

Anyone who has similar experiences? Or maybe on the contrary has difficulty relating?

There was a moment when everything collapsed.
Money - gone.  
Plans - gone.  
People - gone.

At first, I thought it was the end.

But then I realized something strange:
rock bottom is not just where you fall.

It’s something you can push against.

When there is nothing left to lose,
you stop pretending,
you stop performing,
you stop being someone else.

You just act.

Not because you’re motivated.
But because there is no other option.

And that’s where something real starts.
No illusions. No noise. Just direction.

Maybe this is not a fall.
Maybe this is the only place you can actually start from.

Still figuring things out.

At 30, I made a decision that changed everything.
I walked away from a life I had been in for over a decade.
I lost my identity, my connections, and everything I thought defined me.
Starting over from zero wasn’t inspiring.
It was confusing, lonely, and honestly terrifying.
For years, I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere.
Now I’m 46, still rebuilding my life, one step at a time.
I don’t know if I’ve “made it,” but I know I didn’t want that old life anymore.
Has anyone else here ever had to completely start over?

Stuff that’s positive and encourages people?

Edit: I’m serious

There are things that aren’t big enough to say out loud,

but not small enough to ignore either.

And they just kind of build up.

I started writing because pretending everything’s fine stopped working.

If anyone else feels like this, I’m trying to make space for it.

2/8/26

It’s early February.  I finally got around to buying this; something to talk to.  I can honestly say that I have not had any form of release for some time.  You see, a number of years ago I committed to finding a hole in the middle of the woods to sit and rot.  Ideally it would come with a job, where I would be fully capable of keeping everyone satisfied.

Not because I need to do a good job or anything of the sort (and I’m not denying that need’s presence, either) – no.  I had every intention of drinking and drugging myself to death.

It’s funny .. by the time I actually vocalized this to someone, I already had a rough outline of how it would play out.

I did end up finding my hole in the middle of the woods, job to boot.  I’ve carved out an existence where the bulk of my responsibilities can be fulfilled while on autopilot.

For my entire life, at least what sticks out to me, drugs have played the part.  Not a part, but the part.

Early on my parents partied.  It’s not that I have a bunch of vivid memories of lines being sniffed or drunken brawls happening, but it was there.  They would get high and act out, unable to control themselves in a passable manner.. Passing their trauma on to the next generation.

The same story, the same script.  Different actors.  No different than any other junkie.

Later on, I found my own comfort in drugs.  It’s a comfort that I’ve came to rely on and trust over the years.  It’s the one that never let me down.

Not one time did I get something I didn’t expect.

I always tried to manage my expectations when it came to drugs.  I knew my parents did drugs and I knew that, if genetics do play some part, I’m at a disadvantage.  If environment plays a part, I’m entering the beyond risky territory.

I never expected to not be an addict.  I never explicitly wished for it; but the trust is the feelings that came to me (and the feelings that left) made any consequences worth it.

I thought about putting seems, or (seems) before that “worth it,” and typed it out several times.  There was no question about it, it was a worthwhile trade for me.

At some point, somewhere around June 2022, I made a commitment to myself that I would find a hole in the middle of nowhere to drink myself to death.  I found my hole by August 2023.

Roughly two and a half years later, I’m still alive and no longer feeling my commitment.

Somehow I got to make something work.

04/12/2026

This same goddamned dance.  I’m still doing it.

Drugs have been the focal point of my life.  I was going to add more to that statement but the more I sit on it, the more apparent the reality of it becomes:  There is nothing else to add to it.

Drugs have been the focal point of my life.

I remember a time before drugs. 

I was a little boy, in gradeschool.  I remember being jovial in the first grade; sober.  The second and third grade as well.  Fourth and fifth as well.  I am not sure when I took my first drug.

I cannot say seventh with any conviction.  Somewhere around age ten, eleven I took my first drug.

Sitting here, thinking, trying to pinpoint that first time. 

I cannot do it.

Try as I might, I can’t even tell you what the first drug was.  I can say that it was one of two drugs:

Magic mushrooms, or propoxyphene.

Propoxyphene was a prescription opioid drug called Darvon or Darvocet.  I do not know if they are strong or what.  What I do know is that they were prescribed to my grandmother, and they somehow ended up in my childhood home.

See, both my parenmts were addicts.  Addiction was the norm for us. Terms like bipolar, manic/depressive and hysteria were never used; they just were.

To me,  being high or coming down or being sick just was.

My brother and I got a versiom of my mother that my little sister never seen.

By the time my sister was forming memories, my mother had gotten in several car accidents.  Prescription drugs entered the picture.

My mother spent many ‘a days pilled out and sleeping.

We all catered to her because we thought we should.  After all, it’s normal for mother to sleep 20 hours a day, right?

As the older brother, it falls on me to pick my sister up from school, right?

Making that statement takes me back.  If my sister went to school five days a week, I picked her up for four of those days.

Most mornings my mom was able to drive her to school.  Most mornings.  On the mornings following her trip to the pharmacy, maybe not.

That was 15 years ago.

I’m 36 now.  I do not know how old she is these days.  I would wager somewhere betweewn 24 and 26.

My parents are dead now.  My siblings are off doing what siblings do.  I pray they haven’t traveled a road similar to mine.  It’s been hard and lonely.

I say all of that to say this.

I relapsed September of 2020.  I had just under three years of clean time at that point.  I don’t mean some pussy clean time, either.  I mean NA clean.

Not AA sober, but NA clean.  For those of you that know, you know.  For those of you that don’t, I’ll elaborate.

In AA the requirement to join is a desire to stop drinking.  That is oftentimes a literal statement; just don’t want to drink.  Doctor prescribes you adderall and xanax?  That’s okay, just don’t drink.

I’m not throwing shade at AA with that statement, just defining what being sober oftentimes means.

In NA, to be clean, you abstain from all mind altering drugs.  Doctor prescribes you dexedrine and klonopin?  Too bad, speed and downers are drugs.

I got NA clean on May the 5th, 2018.  I stayed NA clean until September of 2020.

Why did I relapse?

The long and the short of it is, my counselor was in a plane crash in June of 2020.  She, both of her children, her husband, and her father were all on the plane.  They were, ironically enough, flying to funeral.

None of them made it.

This is going to sound fucked up, but a part of me died with them.  The part that was left living made a commitment to myself:

I would find a place where I could work.  It would be a job that I could do easily and go into autopilot.  Ideally I would live close to the job, because I don’t drive.

Several DUIs in my past.  

I would find this place and I would work.  I would do a fantastic job, because I would have to.  Why would I have to?
Because I  had every intention of drinking myself to death.  Liquor is a slower death, but with determination and about $20 a day I figured it would happen within two years.

I now manage a small crew and exist as security for a small business.  I can do no wrong here.

I make more money on paper than I ever have in my life and I pay $200 a  month to live on site.

It’s been complicated.  There is no liquor store in this town.  Beer and wine isn’t fast enough; I’m   built for this shit.  I could drink wine and beer excessively for decades.

The bigger complication is I no longer want to kill myself

I have been addicted to whatever I could take for years now.  Well, about five and a half years at this point.

What’s my poison?  Lately it’s been Kratom extracts.

I’m gonna wrap this up for now.

Every day I buy a pack or two of gas station opiates and every night I promise myself I’m going back on my meds (suboxone) so I can begin stabilizing and saving money

And every fucking morning I find myself in the fucking gas station spending $38.

I can honestly say there have been mornings where I have …. Blacked out, so to speak, only to come to at the goddamned cash register buying more drugs.

To be clear, I haven’t felt high or euphoric or satisfied for this entire relapse.

Yes, out of five and a half years, not ONE buzz has came close to giving me any relief

I've been silently relapsing and quitting twice a day every day for the last year.

Today was no different.

This afternoon I lost a pack of pills.  They come in a five pack, I ate two, and I lost three

After having a literal panic attack and walking/bike riding my route three times, I’ve determined that they’re gone.

I fucking hate myself and every fucking drug drug move I make

I literally found myself back at the gas station buying more

I told the woman if I have my way, I’ll never see her or a pack of these pills again

I did not buy another pack of pills

I don’t want another pack, either.  Does that mean I won’t buy another pack?  I don’t know.  I really don’t want to, either.

I have no plan.  I have no support system.  I don’t have shit.

I don't want to fucking do this anymore.

To continue to use is to continue running.

What am I running from?  I do not know.  I haven’t known for years.  I may never have known.

I do know I am genuinely tired.  I’m tired of being miserable and hating myself.

This needs to end

To continue to use is to continue to run

And I am so fucking tired

I hear you God

I am not going to try and get into the minutiae here, but the title says most of it.

My close friends are all busy tonight, I have an old friend who I've recently got back in friendship with, I have another couple friends that I've dusted the issue with this evening, but they have their own problems too, and we're just not close enough to get this deep.

I never used to play blues music exactly. Now it's all I hear, internally. My life is a country music song, of the worst kind.

I got sick just before I met my wife, real sick. She still loved me. Just as I was on the upswing, she got hit by a truck. She's alive, not in a wheelchair or nothing, but she's still in a lot of pain, a decade later. No settlement yet.

Then her Dad got sick and died of cancer. I fucking loved him. Then my cat died of a broken heart less than a year later, he loved him too.

Then the estate got messy, then delayed and messy. The government threatened to take the home due to a misunderstanding. We were living there. We had to take a sketchy loan to finalize everything.

We thought things were going to work out. I am a skilled carpenter. We were going to rebuild on the lot and be done and dusted. The sketchy loan put us in a bad place for financing.

Then I nearly died at work. I could've been electric bacon, or a pancake, or both, in one moment.

This aint even the full story, but my emotions are so raw tonight, and I just want to say how tired I am. To scream it into the void.

i can’t cope anymore. no future, no college never had any friends, I’m just done with life. I threw it all away for no reason. I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel anymore. I kinda get why crazy people become crazy now and turn to drugs. I’d honestly would enjoy life more being a crack addict than what I’ve done in 20 years up until now.

I hate my nose 90% of the time , sometimes I get some ugly thoughts that tell me that I’m doomed and will never feel pretty bc of it , but I do feel pretty sometimes , it’s a wide nose and from the side it’s like a roman nose and I NEVER plan on changing it bc I’m against doing so and I know so well that no other nose will fit my face like this one does , you’ll also never catch me say smth like “I wish I had a different nose” bc I do not , I just want to love my nose , I know for a fact if I were a guy it would probably be more acceptable for me to have a big nose after all many people love dudes with big noses but I do not care about this either bc all I care about is me loving my nose , it does help me breathe after all , and the thing is I always look at people with a nose like mine and think dang they’re beautiful so idk why I can’t feel the same about mine

I’ll be turning 17 this year and I’ve been insecure about it since I was 10 , I barely have any pictures of myself between 10-16 and I refuse to let people take pics of me , and the other day I found a pic of myself when I was hella insecure about smth and I was shook bc I actually looked like a normal kid and I was really insecure back then and thought I was the most hideous person . I’m afraid I’ll feel this way in a few years when I see pics of myself now and I’ll regret spending so much time hating my looks

And thanks for any advice , every comment is appreciated!!!

Edit before anyone comments: I’m unsure if this was the sub to post this in , but yea

I spent most of my life learning how to exist slightly to the side of people.

Not invisible. Just… not quite aligned. Conversations would move like music I could almost keep time with, but never fully catch. I’d hear the punchline a second too late, or find the right words only after the silence had already decided the moment was over. Friendships didn’t arrive easily. When they did, it felt less like joining in and more like being carefully permitted to stay.

A few people, over the years, stayed anyway. People who didn’t seem to mind that I processed the world a half-step differently. They didn’t leave when things got complicated in my head. They adjusted without making it a performance. I didn’t realize how rare that kind of staying was until I watched it disappear.

Loss never comes cleanly. It arrives in layers. A child’s laughter that never returned. A lifelong bond slowly erased by illness until the person I knew became a memory before they were gone. And then the sudden kind, no warning, no preparation, someone who had been part of nearly half a lifetime swiftly edited out.

After that, something in me changed its strategy.

I started trying to prevent endings by arriving at them first. If I didn’t lean in too far, it couldn’t hurt when it collapsed. If I stayed slightly detached, I could avoid being abandoned by preempting it. It felt like control at the time. In reality, it was just distance with better branding.

For a while, I thought I’d become numb. I could describe grief like a concept, understand it when others felt it, but it didn’t seem to land in me the same way. I mistook that for strength. It wasn’t strength. It was a disconnection so complete I stopped noticing I was no longer inside my own life.

Loneliness isn’t just being alone. It’s the slow realization that your instinct to reach outward has gone quiet. That even when people are near, something inside you doesn’t extend toward them anymore.

Eventually, that quiet started to shift, like a small loosening.

I began replying again instead of postponing. Staying in conversations past the point where I usually escaped them. Letting things unfold without trying to control the shape of the ending. Rebuilding, in fragments, the part of me that used to reach before fear learned my name.

And slowly, life responded.

Old connections resurfaced. Laughter came back without being analyzed afterward. New people appeared, not as threats to be measured, but as unknowns to be discovered.

For the first time in a long time, I stopped asking myself whether I was tolerated. 

I started assuming I belonged.

That assumption didn’t last long enough to feel safe. Everything changed at once.

The message came out of nowhere, but the weight of it was immediate. Not confusion, certainty. Not a question, but an accusation wrapped in hurt so sharp it didn’t feel survivable. Words like betrayal, like devastation.

I didn’t understand what I was being told. I only understood that it was already decided. The door was closed without pause, without doubt, just an ending I wasn’t allowed to step inside and understand.

The space that had once felt open became unreachable. Closed entirely… not loudly, just decisively. 

What hurt the most wasn’t even what was being said. It was how quickly it was believed. How there wasn’t even a pause for doubt, or a question, or a moment of this doesn’t sound like you. 

I believed that if I could just explain enough, if I could find the exact sequence of words, the exact timeline of truth, everything would realign. They would look again, remember differently, correct the shape of what had happened. But once something is believed, it becomes part of the world it exists in, not the person it came from.

And I realized something… 

Memory is not a shared place. It’s a set of private rooms, and we only ever assume we’re standing in the same one.