I'm talking about silly harmless stuff like "I believed in Santa Claus till I was 13", and not deep existential stuff like "It took me till adulthood to realize that my parents were doing their best despite their their failings".

I've posted about my mental health issues on Tildes before, 1st post 2nd post.

I reread my other 2 posts before writing this, and I definitely cringed a bit at them. I was not doing good and did not have a real sense of what to include and not. However, I really needed to feel seen and heard, so I also don't regret either of them. I didn't have anyone to open up to in my real life.

I've gotten a much better understanding of what I went through as a kid over the past year. My sister physically and emotional abused me since before I can remember until she left for college, and my parents always ignored it. That's fucked up, and there's nothing wrong with me for being so damaged because of it.

I moved to Portland, and it was definitely the right choose. I can't imagine living in the suburbs again. I went to my first concert, I got my first tattoo. I tried weed for the first time, and it really helps me gain emotional clarity. For first time in my life, I have some real hope for my future.

As the final note, I'd like to thank all the nice people here again; you really did help a scared, lonely kid more then you think.

2020. That's when I met her.

To some of my close friends it sounds silly to them when I tell them we loved each other. It's hard for some people to grasp the intensity that a long distance relationship can have. But I don't have anything to prove to anyone - I truly did love her.

Being with an ace, I thought, would make things more complicated as I am not asexual myself. But if anything it made things simpler. It made the long distance easier to deal with. It made it easier to be patient. Easier to deal with her not being in my life all the time, because when push came to shove, she was in my life when I needed her to be. In fact, she was the main reason I labeled myself as polyamorous this year. I realised that I didn't want to pretend we were just friends anymore. I cared for her too much for that.

In so little time, she changed me into a better person. She taught me subtleties about love, sex, relationships but also about life in general. She helped me through mental struggles. She was my first call when we got my SO’s sister out of Kyiv this year. In fact, the day of the war, we talked for over six hours in a row.

She was always, always positive no matter the challenge. A true constant. Saw the flip side nobody else could see. No matter how ill she would get, she'd always brush it off and get back on her feet. In the two years I knew her, she had never made me cry, and her messages would always put a smile on my face.
Difficulty tends to make people stronger. She's had an incredibly difficult life, and was the toughest person I knew.

None of those challenges defined her. She was not defined by her gender, illness, sexuality. She was defined by her constant, absolute positivity. And her unending love for Korea.

She believed, as I do, that we're all one entity - the universe experiencing itself. That her role here had been to spread love and positivity. I hope everyone here will be lucky enough to meet someone like her, at some point in their life.

She was 30. The world is worse without her in it.

Like the title says, over the past couple of years, I think I slowly forgot how to have fun. I'm looking for any advice anyone might have (whether you've gone through the same process or not) on how to have a bit more fun.

The past 4 years have been transformational and formative for me. At 21 I decided to switch majors and move out from my parents' house to a more urban city. I mentally (depression) and financially struggled for the first 3 years, going broke in my second year of my second chance at undergrad at one point, eating bowls of rice. I identified my shortcomings (lack of achievements and disposable income) and worked on them. In the 3rd year I worked part-time while also taking a TA position with a full engineering course load. Last summer I completed an internship while also working as an independent contractor for a startup and kept the contractor position while being a full-time student up until this year. I signed a full-time offer at a big company this January and have one course left to fully graduate. I'm also correcting exams and tests on a part time basis for a professor. All this to say, I suddenly had a significant boost in income the last couple of months, and even more free time, whereas I was living on ~20k/year previously, with no free time.

This doesn't mean I don't enjoy or appreciate any fun activity I partake in. When I do go out with my friends I'm having a lot of fun and I'm breathing in every moment. I'm not depressed (not anymore), but I find myself having a more neutral mood outside of hangouts. What I'm struggling with is initiative with regards to fun. What can I do to have fun? I live in a cramped-up studio which I plan on moving out of in spring, but for now I don't have space for a TV let's say. I don't have a gaming pc, because up until now I couldn't afford one. I have a ps4 with a couple of old games, though sometimes I struggle to play them because of a lingering feeling of guilt from using it as a medium of procrastination in my teens. People mention lifestyle creep that follows an income boost, but I think my financial situation in the past has some lingering effect on me that's inhibiting even a small healthy dose of that. It's hard for me to justify upgrading some of my stuff, because they still work. Or buying some items I've wanted, because I'm doing fine without them. The isolation in a studio and the now gone uncertainty that was during the pandemic before I signed a full-time offer also played a role here I think.

So, having read through all that, I welcome any ideas or suggestions on how to spice my weekly life a bit more. I want to shake off the fight-or-flight phase that I was in. What are some things that you do that you think I could adopt to have a bit more fun by myself?

What’s a subculture you’re part of, and what insights can you give to outsiders about it?

What’s important that people outside the subculture know? What are some common misconceptions they have?

How and why did you get involved with it? In what ways is it meaningful to you?

I have been experiencing this for 3-4 years now. It used to be that I daydream only when I am bored lying in the bed but for the past year my daydreams have been becoming more and more involved in my life. I can't think of myself as anything but my character in my dreams. It lasts for hours in a day and is sometimes my only source of joy. I sometimes am so out of it that an hour has passed of me dreaming and I don't remember what I was doing originally. I honestly don't really feel comfortable in my real body either. I want to live as the person I see in my daydreams. Is there anyone who experiences this or has recovered from it? I am honestly really scared...

In light of our 4th anniversary here, I believe it is time for another thread on those beloved furry/scaly/feathered friends we all know and are beholden to.

So fellow Tilderinos, share your pets! Photos! Stories! Antics! Attitudes! How they've changed your life! How you've changed theirs!

I would love to hear stories of all the tilderinoes here who somehow acted on their impulses to somehow upend their lives, that could be in small or big ways -- moving to another country, changing careers, changing their name, anything else.

I very often think about how someday I'll finally take hold of my life and suddenly start doing all the things I'd like to if I do some "big thing", whatever that currently is (changing my name, moving abroad...). So I was wondering if it is at all realistic, if anyone here actually has experience with something similar and if it actually helped to improve their life.
I always really enjoy reading advice people give here, even though I sadly do not ever actually really use it. Thank you.

I'm more than pleasantly buzzed right now so apologies ahead of time, but y'all need to know that my husband is a delight. It's been over 10 years, and we're still together, still happy, and still very much in love. He's awesome.

What do you love?

(If there’s a better way to word this question, feel free to edit my title.) I’m interested in aspects of your self-disclosure that others are often surprised by or that they disregard as false/overblown/fabricated.

It can be anything, big or small. What is it and what is it like to have people disregard it so regularly?

I've been rewatching Ozark. The third season features a bipolar character, and his storyline has been hitting me hard.
There is an emphasis on "getting better". Staying somewhere and getting better. Giving things time.
It's been making me wonder if time really makes things better.

Time heals wounds, but it doesn't fix broken things. It helps with grief. It helps forget the things that make it worse.

Twelve years ago, things got bad enough in my life that I attempted suicide. I had no psychological safety nets at the time. No mental security. What saved me at the time was a mix of luck, a couple of smart decisions on my part, and the good will of some people I barely knew.

I have since spent a lot of time creating and nurturing safety nets to make sure this never happens again. A variety of social, technological and mental mechanisms to stop me at every step, should things ever get this bad again.

And now, I'm... alive. Things got bad this last month. Really bad. Worse than twelve years ago. Worse than they've ever been. But I'm alive. My safety nets worked. I wouldn't be writing this without them.

I'm getting the feeling that I'm going to carry this burden for the rest of my life. Time didn't fix shit. I just got better at defending myself since.

Goodhart's law:

When a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure.

For example: my parents' health insurance company incentivized physical activity¹ by giving rebates to people that got a certain number of steps daily, as measured by Fitbits. While my parents genuinely did make an effort to walk more, there were also days where they attached their Fitbits to the dog, gave them to someone else who was going for a walk, or even aggressively tapped their feet with the device on their knees while sitting in order to meet the measurement. Thus, their step counts ceased being an actual measure of physical activity.

How does this play out in your life, job, industry, field of study, etc.? What measures have been made targets? How has that changed the reliability or validity of the measures themselves?

Also, have you experienced any counterexamples? Are there measures in your domains that haven't succumbed to Goodhart's law? Why do you think that is?

1. This was the face value reason given. I'm more cynical and feel it probably wasn't about physical activity but instead about data gathering.

My time going back to traditional forums has made me realize that Tildes is missing a general lounge kind of space. This group comes the closest, but even the threads here are focused in a way that feels a bit different.

So here I only ask: what's on your mind?

I don't know about you, but I love reading about other people's dreams and occasionally sharing my own.

Let this be a place to share your dreams, whether they're super mundane or absolutely wild. Reply any time you feel like sharing to your last comment, so we have a thread where each top level comment is a different individual.

I've been thinking of writing a follow-up to my post about my now on only mostly lifelong depression. And surprise, this is that post. :) Its mostly stream of consciousness style, but I did try and edit it a bit.

I've realized that I have never had a friend before. I've cared about people, but the trust required to consider someone a friend was something I wasn't capable of. I only realized a few months back that trust is an emotion; it was always a rather cold calculus for me. I would think something to the effect of 'While I trust them not to kill me or physically hurt me...'. I would think a similar thing about best friends, 'Well they are literally my best(think closest) friend'. People have cared for me, but since I couldn't reciprocate, I can't call that a friendship.

It does explain a lot of things that didn't make sense to me before. Everyone I knew always acted like I hated being around them, and in a sense, they were right. I hated being around people because I couldn't actually connect with them. It was like watching people feast while you are starving. I had to impotently attempt to form connections that were impossible for me, while the other person blissfully formed that connection without even thinking about it.
I still have issues trusting people, but I have gotten massively better in this regard. There are a few people I consider casual friends now, but I cannot say I have a close friend.

I also have a fair bit of anger towards people who called themselves my friends. I cannot remember a point when I felt like any of them seriously tried to help me. And its not like I didn't have people who stated they loved me, I've had a few, but that I never felt that love breathed into actions. I imagine I will always wonder if it was just because it was too hidden or if no one ever really tried. I have also realized that I don't think anyone ever realized how bad off I was. To be fair, I couldn't have told you how bad off I was then either, but I have the excuse of not knowing what happiness was.

I've also realized how little people who have not experienced something like lifelong depression understand about it. I've discussed it with a few people, and even the one's who have been depressed and who have had serious issues, do not understand. In particular, a lot of people will use the phrase 'Making up for lost time' and do not understand how incorrect it is. There is no making up for the lost time; I will have always lived roughly a third of my life devoid of happiness and meaning. Nothing will change that, and nothing could ever remove the weight of that burden. Even if I live my best possible life from now own, it won't make my past self happy. Also of course I want to live my best possible life, but that's probably the most universal desire in existence. And my point isn't to insult the people who use this phrase, but to offer a particular example of what I mean by not understanding.

This type of comment also implies suffering from being in a bad situation, not suffering from being in a void. (Though I imagine the vast majority of people do not understand the difference) What most people call suffering is being in the dark, a metaphorical, or sometimes literal, punch to the face; something clearly delineated and demarcated. Some moment of shadow within a wider context of light; even if the shadow greatly outweighs the light, there is still both light and shadow. The suffering of the void is a separation from even the dimension of light/dark itself. And it is a hungry void, it consumes everything and turns it into the Same. Even people who have experienced the suffering of being in a void for a time have memories of light/dark as a reminder of what they are looking for. I do want to be explicit here, I don't think suffering is useful or valuable. Suffering doesn't make you strong or interesting, it just fucking sucks. Nothing pisses me off more then when people dick measure with how bad their life has been. I do kinda feel like an angsty teen talking about this, but it is something I have feel so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I have also been steadily seeing how fucked up some things in my past were. For example, as a 7 year-old I had to learn how to careful couch all my words to avoid pushing my mother to suicide. I realized that not feeling physically safe anywhere is a problem.

I got a job working at a local restaurant. Its a mediocre job, but I wanted a zero-stress job and it provided that. I have a few coworkers I consider friends, but the one I am closest to just left which is a bummer. I do also feel like I am down with this period of my life, and I just want to move on right now but I still need to wait a bit.

I am moving to Portland, OR in February. Its definitely the next step I need to take, but its obviously still scary.

I have been working on some coding side-projects that I have enjoyed. One is a weather alert that only sends me alerts if X condition is met, so if the temperature drops 20 degrees or a blizzard is coming type of thing. I have the core logic working, but I am still working on the notification method. I am also working on a stenography theory that attempts to use semantic relationships instead of phonetics as the base dimension. Its still really, really early, but its in that fun, highly theoretical stage.

I have realized that I am not actually ugly, but you know a little too overwhelmed to recognize normal people's interest. I was also surprised how enjoyable it is to wear clothes that look good on you. Unfortunately, there is no one I am particularly interested in right now, but at least I would be able to act if I met someone. I also still have no idea how to date; like do you just approach someone and ask them? Is that it?

This post is much longer then I was originally thinking, so if you read through to the end, thanks.

This could definitely just be in my head, but I HATE it when people look at me for extended periods of time or repeatedly (when I'm not talking, minding my own business, doing errands, working out, etc.). I know it's related to trauma that I'm learning to ignore/ not be reactive to. The feelings it brings up in me is just invasive. I find it happens a lot on job sites and when working out, I just get this feeling that I'm being visually undressed or being fantasized about, like ew, stop. I can tell the difference between day dreamers (glossy eyed) and active lookers. Again, I've learned to ignore it these days, I can't control other people, only myself. I can only vocalize to stop looking at me or focus on your work excavator operator, the grounds down there...

Anyway, enough about me, what about you?

Let's not call them resolutions. Resolutions seem to get a bad reputation for inevitably ending in failure. No need for any grand declaration. What's been kicking around your brain lately in regards to self-improvement and trying to become a better you as another year comes to a close?

Rounding out my year in review posts with something not media focused: what were your personal highlights for 2021? This can be anything that was great for you: a success, a milestone, an achievement, a fond memory, a new love, etc. What were the best things that you did or that happened to you this past year?

I know this was undoubtedly a difficult year for many of us, but I do think there's worth in looking back and panning the past year for gold, even if it's hard to come by.

“Dream” as in something you’d love to do as a job, with no consideration for its feasibility whatsoever. You don’t have to worry about pay, location, requirements, trainings/skill development, etc.

If you could choose the work that you do without having to worry about everything else tied into that decision, what would you do, and why?

So I just recently graduated university this year and am 21 years old. I live with my parents and am able to make good money by selling stuff on eBay, and I'm also a musician. I just seem so confused on what I truly want out of life. The idea of working a 9-5 job scares me so bad because its like I can already see what the next 40 years of my life will be. Wake up every morning, go to work, pretend to like my coworkers even if they piss me off, eagerly wait until my shift is over, waiting for Friday to come, and then during the weekend dread waking up on Monday morning. Rinse and repeat, while possibly having a family of my own along the way. Then I retire, possibly move into an old folks home, then die. I thought I wanted security by just getting a good job, moving into the suburbs, and living a stable and peaceful life, but now that I'm actually an adult that life sounds monotonous and boring and it honestly scares me.

However, I can't tell if this is a valid way to feel, or if this is just me being "childish" or lazy. I thought my adult life would be so straightforward and that I should just go the safe route like everyone else says to do but I feel like I'm gonna be so depressed in the coming years because I'm not gonna truly enjoy my life anymore. I like what I do now because I don't a set schedule and I find it fun searching for things to sell and making a couple of dollars here and there off my songs, but I don't know if I can expand those two things enough that I can live off both of those things while having enough money to move out on my own. I thought I wanted to work in tech and i have a degree in a tech field (Informatics with a concentration in Data Analytics) but even then I still don't know if I like it enough to enjoy a job, even though I do truly love technology. Its like my heart is telling me that I kinda need "chaos" or instability in a sense that I want to do something new everyday to feel fulfilled and have fun, but then my rational mind tells me to just work at a decent job where I know I'll be doing the same thing everyday and live a quiet life. I don't know, I guess I'm just lost. Do you think I'm just acting like a kid, or do some of you feel the same way?

Today dear tildster I’d like to ask you about your absolute favourite place in the world, and why it holds that place in your heart. Maybe you lived there and liked the atmosphere, maybe you met your SO there, or maybe your family is there and nostalgia is driving it.

We tell our self stories of who we are to build a narrative, motivate us, make us feel good, etc. What's something you learned about yourself that didn't sit well with you once you realized it? How'd you react to the feeling/behavior?

I'm not sure if this is my imposter syndrome/anxiety speaking, but I've had to face some not nice things about myself that I personally think I have strong data for. I don't think it's weak to admit an insecurity or flaw. I have flaws, I'm allowed to vocalize them. I think, maybe, I can also vocalize how in over my head I am to try and "fix" or improve it. I think facing my own music is a way I can take my behaviors into consideration when I approach specific situations.

For example, I'm a pot head, I know I have trouble with my marijuana usage/depend on it to get out of my low moods; so, when I'm ready to quit or slow down, maybe it isn't best to drive that route home where that dispensary is/ try to avoid looking at that billboard (among many other things I can do to get to the root cause of the low moods).

I have other flaws that are related and unrelated. What I'm saying is that I know myself, I'm not invincible just because I'm aware of my short-comings. I try my best to consider my short-comings while approaching specific situations. But they are short-comings nonetheless; something that will always need to be considered, maybe to varying degrees depending on my experience with it.

Good morning/evening tildes. What are you procrastinating on today?

What's the thing you keep meaning to do but can't find the time to because, let's be real, you'd rather do something else and it's not important anyway?

What's your favorite memory from a birthday (yours or someone else's)? This could be a favorite experience, gift, interaction, cake, anything! It can be more than one!

I'll go first.

My favorite memory of my own birthday was in high school when my friends surprised me with a grocery bag filled with my favorite treats (various sour candies! XD!). For some reason, it made me feel seen.

A funny memory of my birthday was when my family treated me to IHOP for breakfast and later on that day my friends surprised me and took me to IHOP... the same one!

My favorite birthday memory in general was my significant other's. I got us tickets to a comedy show in Madison Square Garden/a weekend in NY (we were living in the west coast at the time). NYC in December: walking in Central Park, bars, donuts & pizza, good public transportation, making a little snow man, walking.

Oh, and you could also state if you had a horrible birthday experience.

Sorry if this comes out as a stream of possibly unrelated thoughts. I hope it makes sense anyway. If it doesn’t, or does it poorly, then I’m probably already insane.

I’ve been lying to everyone about my situation with regard to university. I didn’t use to be a blatant liar like I am now, but things have gone out of control. I think the last time I actually showed up for an exam was more than a year ago, maybe two. Since then, I’ve been faking going to exams, only to tell my parents and friends I had failed later.

Despite being in my twenties I’m acting like a child who doesn’t want to go to school, or doesn’t want to take responsibilities in general. There was a time when I genuinely liked what I’m studying at university, but I don’t know if it still holds true now. It’s been a long time since my first year at university and I feel like I’ve lost direction (I should have graduated years ago). Actually, I don’t know what I like anymore, because I don’t have strong opinions on anything. I’m in a loop of denial of my own situation and pleasure-seeking behavior (doom-scrolling, porn, etc.).

I’ve been thinking about suicide for years, but the fact that I don’t act on it makes me think I’m yet another attention seeking person who’s just pretending to be sick in order to avoid responsibilities. It’s difficult to understand what’s truly going on in my head. It’s very possible I’m lying to myself. Suicide is scary, especially because I have no access to methods that are simultaneously quick, painless and lethal. Though it’s possible that I didn’t research enough. Sometimes I think that If I had a gun, I would have already killed myself. The reality is that survival instinct is very strong, and so is the suffering of those left behind.

I often think about life as a big scam: you don’t ask to be born, someone else decides that for you. But what if I realize I don’t want to live any more later in life? I’m literally stuck here because killing myself would make other people suffer. Ironically, it would make the very same people who put me here suffer. It’s absurd that suicide is regarded as selfish, when the only selfish act I see here is giving birth to someone who may not want to live. You grow up surrounded by love and stuff to ease your journey into adulthood, only to realize life’s been a joke all along.

Maybe I’m just an undisciplined whiner: I’m unable to stop eating junk food, procrastinating, or watching (problematic) porn, among other things. There are short virtuously-lived periods during which I sleep and eat well, exercise and read regularly, interrupted by long, dark times during which I’m the worst, letting go of everything. Then there’s a whole bunch of regrets that keep cropping up in my mind (and which happens to increase over time), causing me distress in totally unrelated situations, for example when trying to focus on studying.

I should also mention that I feel like I’m losing my sense of morality lately. Since I started blatantly lying about my situation it seems like a line has been crossed, and the more I go on with life, the more moral lines get crossed. I also have the feeling that there’s no going back from this, similar to the mantra “once an addict, always an addict”, or the opening of Pandora’s box, so to speak. I feel stupid trying to convey some meaning with such poor examples, but I hope you get it. To be really honest, I’ve never been that virtuous, since I have a fair record of bad things I regret having done, especially in my high school years. It’s possible that I’m just noticing it more now.

Yeah, I know: I should see a therapist (am doing), practice meditation (kinda did, want to retry that), yada yada yada.

Again, maybe I’m just whining. After all, I don’t live in a poor third world country. I don’t have any chronic disease (that I know of). I didn’t have a miserable childhood. I consider myself privileged, if you ask me. Maybe I am the result of contemporary society: if I were a peasant in the Middle Ages, I wouldn’t even have the time to dwell on such things. Granted, I would be unhappy in other (probably worse) ways.

Maybe it’s just that being a loser is easier.

Wish you happiness.

My experience has mostly been:

"It's fine, your teeth sometimes feel weird but that's it"

"It's stabbing my cheek a little"

"It's destroying my cheek and it has taken my appetite away"

(Top one is by far the most frequent, haven't felt bottom one in months.)

The initial recommendations made are relatively strict but they're not meant to be followed until the apparel is off, only until the 'glue' is solidified. First time I have flossed regularly, since you can't really brush the braces, although I still brush the stuff above the braces since I find anything that ends up on that area hard to reach by flossing. Occasionally the metal wire in the middle can often escape, which is how it can stab your cheek.

I also use/have also used palatal expanders, mine looking like this and this for bottom & top respectively. Generally speaking, if you grit your teeth a lot, the top expander will probably not last very long, or at least mine didn't. In a lot of occasions the top expander has to be glued to not just fall off. In these cases, eating can often become very frustrating and it will probably be guaranteed to take longer than it used to.

The bottom one is much safer from your mouth, although in my experience it can often pop out of the lower cavity while being used. You always take it off before eating something or drinking something other than water and only put it back in after brushing your teeth. It doesn't take up too much of the space your tongue occupies.

I'm 21 years old. I'm studying for a bachelor's degree at a very selective institution. I have a high-paying job lined up after I graduate in the spring. I'm physically active and in good health. I see my friends and family regularly. I'm able to do most of my hobbies often, and I enjoy them. I've been in therapy for a long time for no specific reason and making little specific progress.

I apologize if this is in the wrong section. I've been unable to stop writing for the past several hours and I must stop. This is where I feel it belongs the most.

When I was 18, I noticed that I was going out of my way to make female friends, but not male friends. It may have been because I thought women were more attractive or likable, but my college dorm was mostly full of women, so maybe it was just statistics. In either case, my best friends were all men. We liked to do manly things, like drinking hard liquor, lifting heavy weights, and beating each other in wrestling matches. Over the next few years, I developed a very masculine, muscular body, which I took pride in both aesthetically and sexually. Women validated my physicality and spirit in speech and action. Acquaintances referred to me as a paragon of non-toxic masculinity.

But I felt increasingly uncomfortable in male-dominated spaces, and I remember wishing that I could introduce myself as (she/her) rather than (he/him), even though that didn't really match who I was or how I felt. I enjoyed participating in activities that were full of women. I read Judith Butler and attended feminist lectures. I even took some classes at a women's college by way of a consortium. I did not cross-dress. I did not take hormones. I did not reject my identity as a man. I couldn't; I was and am decidedly male. I was reluctant to associate with men not because I felt disparate from the male psyche, but because I did not like men.

The incongruity of my supposedly virtuous masculinity and my disdain for men is striking.

When I was 19, I fell hopelessly in love with a girl at school. We discovered by chance that we very much enjoyed each other's company. We spent a great deal of time together. One evening she invited me to her bedroom to study. I had a lot of work. I painstakingly notated Hume for three hours. At midnight, as I stood in the doorway to leave, she asked me if I wanted to stay for the evening. Par for the course. I did, but I couldn't say it. I became extremely conscious of the over-neutrality of my facial expression. It turned into something approaching a pained grimace. My core contracted intensely and I spoke slowly: "I'd really like to, but I can't." I left.

We saw each other the next day. I stayed over this time. We did not have sex, but I did kiss her.

Another day passed. I invited her over this time. We tried to have sex. It didn't work.

Some number of weeks passed. We saw each other occasionally. She'd lost interest in me. I was absolutely head over heels.

Some number of months passed as we went home for the winter. I thought about her every single day. I struggled to sleep. I was listless and anxious.

We reunited in February. She was taken with me. I'd stopped thinking about her constantly, just often. We spent more time together. She would brush up against me as we walked. She would speak to me with interest and excitement. We would dance at parties. We would look into each other's eyes and smile. My affection toward her grew beyond the realm of friendship again. Then a virus struck the Eastern Seaboard with a ferocity I'd never have expected within my lifetime. Our school announced its closure. We met the night before departing to say goodbye. I wanted desperately for her to stay with me forever. As she stood up to leave, I pulled her into an embrace and, my eyes tearing up and my voice nearly breaking, whispered, "I don't want you to go." She left.

We texted over the next few months. We grew very close; closer than we'd been in person. My life was comprised of misery, separation, and apathy. I couldn't stand to be in my home any longer. I couldn't stand to be in my city any longer; I found it endlessly oppressive. I did not like being observed. I was always, always being observed. I wanted to be alone. I was never truly alone. I wanted to be with one person. I was never with her. I could not work. I could not sleep. I could not socialize. I could not breathe.

The virus found its way to her. I was very concerned. She was fine. She could not smell. She was in good spirits. I escaped. I traveled to her. We met in a hotel. We spent several days together. I returned to my prison. I stepped foot inside and fell back into the crater I'd carved for myself.

Some number of months passed. I had to see her again. I scrambled out of my crater and broke free of the cell. We met in another hotel. We spent several days together. We went on an adventure. I became lost within myself. I needed to be near her. I could barely speak to her. She wanted me to leave. She would not say it. I could see it. I could read it. I did read it. In the middle of the night, I felt an overpowering, overwhelming, push to GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. It put the fear of God into my soul. I could not disobey, or I would die. I tried not to wake her. She heard me putting on my boots. She asked where I was going. I said that I needed to take a walk. I left as fast as my body allowed. I went out and forward. I had no destination; I just needed to depart immediately. I found a lake. It had a path nearby. The path continued into the woods, away from the water, windy and very dark. I walked along it for hours, hours, hours, hours, hours. The air was freezing. I was walking so vigorously that I had to take off my jacket. I could see the outlines of houses at some places along the path. The windows were dark. There were cars in the driveways. I intended to walk until I reached a town. I would look for a church, or a bar. Anywhere that would take me. It was cold again. I continued walking. There was no town. I continued walking. There was still no town. I continued walking. I saw lights in the distance. I continued walking. There was a lake. I approached. It was the lake I had found before. I halted and stood in place for ten minutes. I did not understand how this had happened or could happen. I sat down on a bench. I looked at the water. Across the lake, I saw a man walking alone. He took that path I had taken and disappeared into the darkness. I sat still for a very long time. Thoughts raced through my mind. I decided what I had to say to her. I went inside. A woman or man stood in the lobby. They took the elevator upstairs with me. I asked what floor. They gave some sort of answer. I pressed the button. We reached the floor I'd selected. They did not get out. I asked if this was their floor. They said no. I waited for the doors to close. We stood there in silence. The elevator brought us to our floor. I walked out. They followed me. They asked for a cigarette. I did not have any. I explained that I had to go to sleep. I walked quickly to my room. I entered. I closed the door behind me. I walked past the bed. She was awake. She asked how my walk was. I did not say anything. I could not look at her. I undressed and got into the bed. She made further conversation. I did not know what to say. She asked if I was feeling alright. I said that I was not. She asked why. My face tightened. My core tightened. I could not speak. I said, "My mind often takes me places." I paused for a long moment. "It gets anxious about people. Because I've been with you all this time, it's getting anxious about you." She said that that sounded like "normal social anxiety." I said, "No, it's..." I did not finish. I did not know how.

We have not spoken in months. I think about her every day. At many moments I feel as though I have never wanted to see someone again more. At other moments I forget her completely, if only briefly. Then the loneliness comes back.

Some weeks ago, I found myself in a distant place full of strangers. I made the acquaintance of a woman there. I liked her. She was older than me. She was very beautiful. She looked much younger than she really was. We drank wine and danced romantically at a party. Tango, waltz; whatever we could manage. She was the most attractive person there, and everyone knew it. She moved with a special mastery of her own body that I rarely saw in anyone. She was funny, and she could make really good drinks. Her friends commented on her beauty with pangs of jealousy. My heart fluttered when she entered the room, and I was drawn toward her. We spent more time together. People observed, but did not pry. She was confused or insecure about why I liked her. I offered kisses and flattery. The feeling was genuine; she had beauty beyond measure, and I felt remarkably comfortable in her presence. We had sex five times. We parted ways with a very heartfelt kiss. My mind returns now, uncontrollably, to two women.

The incongruity of the deep affection I feel and my inability to express it is striking.

TW. When I was 20, I lived far away from my friends. I spoke to my acquaintances cordially. Many of them looked up to me. I drank far too much alcohol. I saw a counselor. She spoke to me very candidly. I felt less alone.

A girl down the hall, fresh out of high school, begged me to take her virginity. She was very intoxicated. I refused. She sat on my lap and kissed me. I froze. I thought of my woman from before. She put her hand on my crotch. I gently moved her off. She asked me again. I said no. I couldn't bear to have anyone witness this. I took her outside. We walked along the road, into the darkness. She asked if we could do it tomorrow instead, and I said no again. I explained that I could not sleep with her. She did not understand. We sat down on a bench. I was exasperated. She sat on my lap and kissed me again. She asked me to squeeze her ass. I resisted. She begged. I gave up for a moment and complied, and she tried to pull me in closer. I moved her off me and stood up. We walked back home. I made sure she went to her room. I turned to go to bed. I could hear her crying through her door.

I felt that I had to leave that space. I could not. I lived there for six more months. I told no one. I avoided the girl down the hall. She and her friends always ate in the room near mine. It was hard for me to leave without being seen. I could say nothing. I pretended as though all was well with my other acquaintances. When I saw my friends, I did not tell them either. I distracted myself and moved on.

The incongruity of my unbelievable narcissism and my pitifully diffident response to unconsensual sexual acts is striking.

I'm 21 years old. Good or bad, all of that is behind me now. But it really isn't. I'm left with impressions in my mind that cannot be removed. I will never, ever forget these people; not by choice, but by imposition. I must accept this reality. In doing so I will allow myself to forget the worst parts, and so diminish the accursed reminders I presently face.

If you read all of this, thank you.

This will probably make some people uncomfortable and even angry, but it needs to be said.

Adoption isn't happily ever after.

The media loves to portray it that way, especially for foster kids. Everyone loves the fairly tale story about the poor abused kids that get rescued by the selfless hero foster parents who then adopt them and everything is all good after that. I mean, the kids now have loving parents and a stable home. That's all they need right?

People love a happy ending. But fairy tales aren’t real and life isn’t that simple. Adoption is messy, and I don't mean the legal process, I mean the actual adoption itself. Adoptive parents aren't selfless heroes, they are regular flawed people just like everyone else, they just happened to choose to adopt.

These kids have been through bad things that are beyond the imagination of most people who don't have experience with the kids themselves. I hear it all the time. People say "They just need a good loving home". Loving and stable homes are great, but they don't make those bad things go away. Even if the adoptive parents were perfect (which they definitely aren't) these kids will be dealing with their trauma for the rest of their lives.

And for these kids trauma isn't simple like so many people assume it is. It isn't just bad dreams and sadness. It's rage. It’s frequent meltdowns over the smallest things. Sometimes it’s hurting pets, or even other kids. Sometimes it's trying to burn the house down. Other times it’s stealing from kids at school. Sometimes it’s grade schoolers finding ways to look at porn. Sometimes it’s trying to molest other kids. This doesn’t describe all kids from foster care. It’s not meant to scare you. It’s meant to show you that there’s more than what you see on the outside.

For these kids meltdowns have a completely different meaning than for most other kids. A meltdown isn't crying and getting angry for 10 or 15 minutes. It can be hours. Hours of true screaming. Hours of punching doors and walls. Or punching us. Or hurting themselves. Total non-compliance. It's a total inability for them to calm down at all. Sometimes we have to physically restrain them for safety reasons. Usually, they have to physically exhaust themselves before they finally begin to come down.

And it's not their fault.

And we parents aren't perfect either. Sometimes we scream back at them. Sometimes we escalate the meltdown even more. Sometimes we restrain when it's not necessary. Sometimes we just layer on consequence after consequence, not because it's helping, but because we are mad and caught in a power struggle.

We take them to doctor appointments. We adjust meds. We get to counseling every week. We literally pull them out of public school because they can't function there. We are usually exhausted. We are often hopeless. We fear they will never have a normal childhood. We fear that they won't have a good life as adults.

We can never replace their birth parents. They will always miss them, no matter how bad the abuse was. They will mourn what could have been. They will mourn what should have been.

They point that hurt and anger at their adoptive parents. They say they hate us. They say they will kill us.

We aren't a fairy tale family. We aren't some success story about the power of love.

We were the safest option in a bad situation.

We will always love them as our kids. We will always strive to be there for them, to support them, to give them what they need to have whatever healing is possible.

For them though this will never be as good as having birth parents that were safe and loving in the first place. This will never compare with what should have been.

I've spoken about my personal journey over the past six months in comments a few times, but I felt the need to make a post about it, mostly as catharsis for myself, but if it helps other people out, that would be cool too. Also, I may be doxxing myself a bit here, which is a little unavoidable if I want to tell this story accurately. I'd appreciate not being stalked.

I'd like to detail my journey of what is, so far, the most difficult time in my life, what I've been doing to cope, how I'm doing now, and what the future may hold for me. This may be a little long and detailed, but I'll try to hit the high points.
Lets start at the beginning here.
I'm a 34 year old part time military officer in the US. I met my ex wife years ago, in high school originally. We were casual acquaintances back then. We had a couple of classes together, and I would tease her a little bit (I was immature when I was young, and totally unable to communicate well with girls). We went to prom together, but mostly lost touch after high school.

After college, I came back to my home town, started developing my career in IT, hanging out with friends and coworkers. One of the people I worked with happened to be dating a girl who was good friends with my ex wife, and we started all hanging out, and reconnecting. My ex confessed that she always had a crush on me, and started actively perusing me. It started out as a casual relationship that I didn't see going anywhere, but it lasted. Eventually, I fell deeply in love with her, and we moved in together a short while later.

I was so devoted to this woman. We were so alike in so many ways. We shared the same interests, the same type of humor, we developed our own language and style of communication. I had never really seriously considered wanting kids, and over time and a bunch of thought, I decided that I didn't really agree with the institution of marriage. In my mind, when two people love each other, that should be enough, and either party should be free to walk away at any time without any legal burdens or extra hoops to jump through, because I wouldn't want someone to be obligated to stay with me for even one minute.

Both things were really important to her however, and we almost broke up over it. Eventually, after spending time with kids, and some deep introspection on my own part, I came around on kids, and coming around on kids almost necessitates coming around on marriage. You don't need to be married to have kids, of course, but it certainly provides a more stable environment and smooths out a lot of practical, logistical concerns. I asked her to marry me shortly after that, after five years together, in 2016.

What followed were the happiest couple of years of my life. My wife had worked her way up in an accounting firm, she was managing a department, on track to become a partner in a few years. She had so much determination, ambition, and grit. It made me glassy eyed to think about how proud I was of her, all the personal growth and progress she'd made since I knew that girl in high school. I was developing a successful career in network engineering as well, and frequently flying out for short stints and conferences and design meetings. We were still best friends, and always wondered about people in unhappy marriages. Why couldn't they just be like us? Why were we so good at this?

We took trips together, we watched shows together on the couch, I couldn't get enough of her.

Her job had always been stressful, but some time around 2018, the stress had come to a head. She was frequently working until 10pm on week nights during her busy season, then she'd come home, down a few glasses of wine, go to bed after me, and wake up far too late, continuing the cycle of stress. This continued on for a few months. I tried to be there for her, prepare meals, support her however I could, but to little avail. She was angry, stressed out, upset all the time. She'd cry from the stress frequently, and was totally unable to cope.

One day, she came to me with a proposal. She would quit her job and start her own business. I always knew that she wanted to do that eventually, but I had hoped it would be after she had amassed significant savings to do it. Her business idea was to start a tabletop gaming cafe. We had gotten pretty deep into board games and TTRPGs, and she thought that with her business sense and accounting knowledge, she'd be a perfect fit to do this job. I agreed with her, but a significant part of me thought that it was a massive risk, and financially, we were on the cusp of being truly independent. This would set us back a few years in the best possible scenario. She was my wife though, and I saw what this job was doing to her, so I agreed.
She would work six more months while planning, save her money, and then quit to start this venture.

As everyone told us it would, it did not exactly go according to plan. Securing a location and funding was far more difficult than she anticipated. She was stuck waiting for 8 months for a location that didn't pan out. She wasn't used to having to push people and follow up and annoy people to get them to do what they'd say they did, all of that was new for her. No one would extend a small business loan to an unproven entrepreneur with a fairly novel business plan. All in all, between the location, and the build out, and delays with licensing and permits, she mostly waited around for two years. In this time, I could see she was spiraling. She'd wake up at noon and do puzzles or binge watch tv all day. At night, she would go out drinking with her friends. I would join sometimes, but I couldn't, and didn't want to most of the time because I was just exhausted from work.

Around this time, I discussed with my ex wife, and took a new position in the military, and got word that I would be deploying in 2020. I'm a leader of about 150 people, and preparing for this kind of thing is extremely involved, so I was working a lot. Meanwhile, my ex wife was going out constantly, 3-4 times a week, and coming home absolutely wasted. Sometimes she ubered, but other times she drove. In late 2019, I told her that I was concerned about how much she was drinking, that I thought it was unsafe. This was a bit of a wakeup call for her, as she had struggles with alcoholism in the past. She told me she was going to stop drinking and start going back to AA. I told her that if she thought that was what she needed to do, I would support her. She started her sobriety journey, and things started improving. She still was in limbo with her business, but construction was at least starting, she could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

In spring of 2020, I left for my deployment in the middle east, hopeful and optimistic. Her business was coming along nicely, I was taking this fairly prestigious position, and I was excited. We were sad to be apart, and it was heartbreaking to say good bye, but I'd see her again in ten short months.

The deployment was stressful, but rewarding. I accomplished a lot of things I'm very proud of while I was out there, and about halfway through, my wife finally opened her business! This is where things started taking a turn. She was unable to secure funding still, so she basically dumped all of her debts on my lap. She never directly asked me for the money, but she worded it in such a way that I couldn't really refused. "Hey... so the contractors are asking for their 60k... I don't have any way to pay them... so... I need to figure something out". Of course, she was my wife, I had the money, why would I say no? I had always been very good at saving, and had a decent amount in investments. All in all, I spent about $160k directly funding her business. It was an emotional, somewhat sickening feeling parting with that much money. My life savings more or less. This wasn't part of the plan, and I was upset at her for putting me in this position.
I told myself that it was ok. This was an investment in us. She'd make that back eventually, and what's hers is mine and what's mine is hers. Besides, this was my wife, and above all else, I wanted her to be happy. I stuffed those feelings of pain and resentment down, and continued with the deployment.

During the whole time I was gone, I would get messages from her about how hard it was being alone, how difficult taking care of the dog and business was, how lonely she felt, how much she missed me and she couldn't bare it anymore. I felt truly awful, but there was very little I could do 10,000 miles away. I texted with her often (the signal wasn't so good for live video or audio calls). We would sext a bit, exchange nudes to try to tide each other over, but I could tell she was struggling in that area as well.
About five months in, that kind of thing abruptly stopped. At the time, I thought she was learning coping strategies and adjusting to life with me gone. How little did I know.
This winter, I came home finally. Stepping off that plane into the terminal, a few hundred yards away from my wife was the most excited I've ever been in my life. I was giddy, there was a huge smile on my face as I walked down the concourse in my uniform, and the first glimpse I got of her standing there, my god, it was like being in the desert and stumbling upon a pristine oasis. She had requested that my parents not be there, so against my better judgement, I told them that they were not to come, but I didn't think about that at all. She was standing there in a ratty sweatshirt and jeans, but she was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I went up and hugged her tightly, kissed her, and told her how much I loved her. Having her in my arms after so long was just such an amazing feeling.
We went back to her car, and things quickly became much more... 'clinical', I'd say. Instead of feeling like we hadn't seen each other for ten months, it was like we were just hanging out on the couch after a long weekend, talking about practical things very quickly. It didn't really strike me as odd at the time, only now looking back on it.

We went home, had sex, I got a burger, we were content. The next week or so, that same 'clinical' feeling persisted. She took one day off of work, then went back, saying that because the business was so new she couldn't take much time off. Fine. I stopped by the shop often, but every time I was there, I got a cold feeling from her and her employees, like I wasn't truly welcome. She would come home late each night and we'd watch something or have sex, but I didn't really see her much. I really wanted to go do a trip together, spend some quality time together, but it didn't pan out. I spent my time fixing up the house which she'd let fall into disrepair or playing video games to relax.

One night, a week later (February 9th), I'm up late waiting for her to get home. 12:30 rolls around, no word from her. 1:00, nothing. Finally I message her, ask her when she's going to be home. She said she got caught up at work, and would be staying over her friends house for the night. A bit odd as her friend lives maybe 1/2 mile down the road, but whatever, she told me she'd been staying with this friend a lot while I was gone to stave off loneliness, so maybe she just misses that. I go to bed alone disappointed.

The next day, she comes home at 10, I'm on the computer. She sits down on the couch, and doesn't say anything. I can tell she's upset, so I ask her what's wrong. No answer. I turn the computer off and walk over, and ask her again.

She blurts it out. "I want a divorce".

This didn't even register for me. I didn't even hear her at first. After a few seconds, I just immediately assumed she was joking. It was a frequent joke of ours "You don't like this movie? We're getting a divorce!" it was one of many things we did to mess around.
I smiled a little, then it vanished. "Wait... you're serious?"

My head fell into my hands. "I don't understand... why?"

The reasons she gave me made no sense. I wasn't affectionate enough. I wasn't outgoing or social enough. She didn't like the nicknames I gave her. Stuff that had never come up before, and besides, I'd just been gone for close to a year, why are these suddenly issues now?

I thought, easy, I can fix all of that stuff no problem. We'll go to couples counseling. No, I'm tired of counseling (We never did any form of counseling together).

Okay, lets take that trip, lets work on the marriage. No, I'm tired of fighting.

None of it made any sense. She had to run some errands, I asked if I could come, I just needed to spend time with her and get to the bottom of this. She went to work. I stopped by, tried to get some clarity. She reiterated the same points, said that we don't communicate well. Referenced a fight we had at a party 3 years ago where we didn't talk for a day. I barely even remember what the argument was about. I hugged her, whispered to her that I can't lose her. She responded "Wellllll.....". That night, she told me she was staying at her mom's.

I talked to a friend of mine who is a divorce attorney a couple of days later. He told me that he hates to bring this up, but 99% of the time in situations like this, the wife is cheating. I hadn't done any snooping until then, but she had an old phone at the house. I opened it up. There it was in black and white. She'd been having an affair with one of the regular customers at her store for six months. "I love you baby" "I can't wait for us to be together" "You make me so happy".

I wanted to vomit. I wanted to break things. I wanted to murder this guy. I wanted my wife back. I felt so much rage, confusion, sadness, worthlessness. I couldn't bring myself to be mad at her though. When I read it, I was on the phone on my friend, and exclaimed "That fucking BITCH!", but I didn't really mean it. Not my beautiful wife. It was the guy's fault. He corrupted her. He was insistent and wore her defenses down. He turned my wife against me.

I contacted a divorce attorney that day. The marriage was over, I knew that now. What followed were the worst two months of my life. So much self loathing and depression. Anxiety. Panic attacks. How could I have not seen this? Where did I go wrong? Why did I go on that deployment? Why didn't I call and text my wife more? What did this guy have that I didn't? My friends and family helped, but some advice was better than others. "Just don't think about her" is not good advice, FYI.

I enrolled in therapy for the first time in my life. It helped a little, not a lot though. I kept up with my gym routine, which did help. I spent a lot of time walking my dog.

Eventually, I called my ex, and I told her "I want to do this quickly and with as little emotion as possible. I have a lot of things I'm feeling right now but I'm not going to bring them up because I want this to go smoothly." I never told her that I knew about the affair. My lawyer said it could only hurt things. Eventually we came to a settlement. I'd keep the house, my dog, my investments, etc. She'd keep her business, including the bulk of the capital I'd spent on it. The lawyer said this was a good deal. I still felt like I was getting fucked. I gave her that money less than a month before she started cheating on me. It was a complete slap in the face.

I spent a lot of time curled up in a ball crying. Prior to this, I hadn't cried in fifteen years. Little things would trigger me. A text from her about finances. Someone telling me about her shop. A smell that reminded me of her.

Two months after our separation, I started dating again. I met a wonderful woman, she sold exotic plants for a living. Empathetic, kind, beautiful, smart. It didn't work out. She needed someone in a more stable place. Looking back it was too soon.

I kept up with therapy and the gym, they both helped a little. I've gone on a couple more dates since then, nothing has really stuck. I'm still struggling with feelings of self confidence/attractiveness.

All in all, I DO feel better than I did, but I still don't feel great. I've been trying to expand my hobbies, I'm playing kickball now, I've picked up surfing. I'm trying to force myself to be a little more outgoing and social. I'd like to make new friends also, but not a ton of luck there yet. I do still cry sometimes. The other day, I was driving home from a bar, taking a route I used to take with my ex when we came from the movies. I remembered how happy I was with her by my side back then and started crying on the way home. I really hope that happens less. It's really unpleasant.

I have lately been feeling like I'm in a little bit of a rut. It's been six months and each week flies by with me doing much of the same thing. Video games at night, work during the day, gym in the afternoon, maybe a date here or there. I wouldn't mind maybe moving to a new city, but the thought of that and all the work that's involved, and having no friends is frankly terrifying to me. I do know that I don't want to live life like groundhog day. I want to experience more new experiences.

As far as I know, my ex wife has gone public with her relationship with the guy she left me for. By all outside accounts she seems happy, but who knows, I don't really keep tabs on her much and only communicate with her regarding a payment she owes me from the marriage. I've come to redirect most of the anger I had towards the guy at her instead. I am extremely bitter towards her and what she did, and I probably always will be. I don't see forgiveness in my future any time soon. I wrote her a letter after the divorce was finalized detailing that I knew everything she'd been doing, and assuring her that what she did was irredeemable, and no matter how she justified it in her head, it was not ok. I don't know if she ever even read it. She's still never apologized for what she did, and I doubt she ever will.

As for me, I'd like to get to a place where I'm happy by myself. That'll be a long road I think, as even before I met my ex, I wasn't happy alone. I'd like to go amass new experiences; see the world, live in new places, do things I've never done before. I feel like I'm getting old, and I haven't done the things I want to do yet.

I'd also like to find someone to fall in love with again. I love having a partner around and I'd be sad if I couldn't find someone to connect with like that again. I've been doing online dating, but man, it's really rough out there. I far prefer meeting people the way I met my ex, but you can't force that.

I hope that I continue to get better. It feels like a kind of plateau right now. If I compare how I feel now to the happiest moments of my life with my ex as a 10, and the month right after the separation as a 1, I would say I'm at around a 5. Not horrible, but not very good either. I hope that number steadily increases, with or without another person.

One "gift" that this whole experience has given me is self awareness of my emotional state. I feel a lot more in tune with the way I feel. I know when I'm having a bad day, and I usually know if I'm feeling bad just because I'm tired, or because I haven't had caffeine, or because something triggered me.

I also feel a lot more deeply now. I cry during emotional scenes in TV shows, I have highs and lows, whereas before I remember even telling my ex that emotionally, I felt a little numb. That could be a good thing depending on how you look at it.

Anyway, I know it was a little long, and if you read it, thank you. If you've got any questions or comments, feel free to leave them, and if this is inappropriate for this board, please feel free to let me know and I'll remove it.

I'm constantly torn between things. It's like I never have a strong opinion or stance on things. It's like I don't have an identity or values. This has become difficult to sustain mentally.

Example #1. I despise Instagram because of the way it transformed people's behavior and because of its privacy abuses. For these reasons, I refuse to have an Instagram account and I don't participate in it. At the same time, Instagram is admittedly essential in today's social life, so I feel I am missing out.

Example #2. Sometime in the past, I got interested in climate change. I read books, papers, articles... You name it. I changed my lifestyle to better align with the values I had internalized. I started preaching others about the real threat of climate change, about the need for action by everyone. Now, years later, I don't care about all that any more. I believe doom is inevitable, and that there's nothing we can do about it. So I stopped pretending.

Example #3. I've been an open source enthusiast for quite some time now. This means I run open source software wherever I can. This idea got to the point where I refused to use any software that was not open source, much like a vegan does with food. No WhatsApp, Spotify, Microsoft Office, ...basically any popular software that everybody uses. Over time, I got tired, and stopped caring about open source that much. I'm even thinking about going all-in Apple now (yes, one of the worst enemies of open source you can think of).

You should have a general idea of how it works by now. One day I'm a diehard Linux enthusiast, the next I don't care at all. One day I delete my social media accounts, the next I create them anew. Not literally the next day, but there's always an internal conflict or a straight U-turn with regard to what I believe in, or what I stand for.

Especially examples #2 and #3 could be generalized to any hobby, habit or interest I pick up. They eventually fade out or are replaced by other things. Things I strongly believe in suddenly lose their meaning or value.

I don't know who I am, or what I stand for. What's wrong with me?

_{I'm not even sure I'm saying something that makes sense. Maybe I'm just conflating totally unrelated issues about myself in one single post.}

Over the past couple years I've transitioned from spending far too much time on Reddit, to spending not as much but still too much time on Tildes instead, to spending much less time on Tildes and a reasonable amount of time reading stuff from https://longform.org/ and https://www.theflipside.io/ .

I've found that these two sites (well, a site and an email subscription) respect my time, don't try to monopolize my focus, and provide decently nuanced info rather than outrage-inducing clickbait. They also don't have comments, which means I never get that feeling of needing to correct random internet users and get drawn into their nonsense.

I'm wondering if there are others internet spaces that people find similarly useful in curbing their social media consumption.

And more generally, I'm wondering what other, non-internet things help keep people off social media.

As an example of the latter, lately I've been trying to get into the habit of going to the park after work and eating dinner there while reading a book instead of scrolling through Tildes comments or watching mindless youtube videos while I eat.

Is this what therapy looks like for other people?

I can't tell you how often I've come to the edge of sharing the following experiences--destructive, traumatic, bizarre: all the opposites of what therapy is supposed to be. For months after the latest incident, I've needed to tell someone. I've struggled so hard with life and with putting things into writing, typing and erasing H-E-L- into the title field on Tildes over and over. Where do you go when therapists are the problem? Then, this morning, I woke up with this idea of squeezing the facts into a lightly comedic lyric. Try as I might, I guess I can't deny my métier. (I can clarify what gets lost in the parody.)

Sing along if you know the tune and have a high tolerance for aural ipecac from the 1980s.

To all the shrinks I’ve known before,
I was ten and your help I begged for.
You said, “Those aren’t real issues,
Please spare some of my tissues.”
You were a shrink I’ve known before.
To all the shrinks who somewhat tried,
Who thumbed their whiskers as I cried,
One had a light-bar toy
And called me a scared boy.
He was a shrink I’ve known before.

The winds of fashion keep on blowing,
With each conference you attend.
The only constant is me going.
What won’t I do for friends!

To the shrink who said, “talk speedier,”
Then stalked my social media,
You came to session with the flu,
And so I got it too.
Now you're a shrink I’ve known before.
One hid his grins with coffee mugs,
While second-guessing my psych drugs.
He phoned the very dude
With whom I had a feud,
Now he’s just a shrink I’ve known before.

The pandemic brought us video,
Any doctor can be seen!
But it’s the same as ab initio,
Behind or just off screen.

To the one who should have HIPAA claims,
Whose spouse listened outside the frame,
I heard him eating lunch,
But you dismissed my hunch,
Now you’re a shrink I’ve known before.
To all the shrinks I’ve known before,
Who apparently could not close doors,
You broke my fragile trust,
So say goodbye I must,
To all the shrinks I’ve known before.

I am just coming out of a lifetime of depression. I am 24 now, and I have no memories of an idyllic childhood, carefree adolescence or an exciting college life. Sure there were moments I enjoyed more than others, but all were consumed by that all encompassing grey void. The one that makes everything have a dreary sameness. The one that steals every good thing and every bad thing, and just makes them both nothing

I have been crawling out of my depression for the last 6 years. I made small steps through college, but due to a horrible junior year, I fell back a lot in my senior year and the year after that. I worked a horrible job as a phone support technician. However quitting that job was my first step of healing, so that was one good thing I got out of it. I have been unemployed for the last year and a half, which has been the most valuable period in my life. I could do nothing but look into my own pain, observe my own wounds. It fucking sucked. But sometimes the only way is through.

Being depressed all my life, I haven't really done anything. I am a virgin and I've never been in a romantic relationship; I still feel a bit ashamed and uncomfortable with this. I've only ever had a few friends, though me having any is a bit of surprise. I've never focused on something, worked on it day-in-day. Thinking of all the opportunities I've never had for friends, for quiet moments, for the nervous butterflies of just meeting someone you like, fills me with an overwhelming sense of anguish. It hurts so much to imagine all the possibilities that I could have had if I had escaped sooner. But dwelling on it doesn't help me at all, so I try and not think about it too much.

Now that I am not being crushed by depression, I am filled with so many conflicting emotions. I am impatient because now that I can experience some of life, I want it all now. I am terrified because I am, for all intents and purposes, a new person who has no experience in anything. I am excited because I have so many first times for so many different things. I am scared shit less because I am unemployed and I don't have a clear path to finding work. I am constantly stressed that everything will come crashing back down around me, and I will fall back into depression. I am happy because I am going to see my best friend soon, for the first time I am on this side.

I am writing this because I want to say it to people who know nothing about me. I want other people to acknowledge my pain. Its a bit selfish, I know, but I am okay with that. So if you read through all of this, thank you

And if you are going through depression or even just hard times, please feel free to message me. And no you won't be bothering me, no I dont have better things to do, no I won't judge you.

I feel like we’re constantly talking about how the last year and a half was the “lost year” and that no one did anything all year. But is there something you managed to do that makes you happy, proud, etc?

My wife and I spent the last few months building an outdoor tortoise enclosure for our pet Russian tortoise, Tortoro. We moved him outside a few weeks ago and he’s much more active and inquisitive.

Taking the time to build him a larger, outdoor enclosure that was designed to maximize his happiness was a nice respite from the stress of the world.

So, for this thread, I'm specifically not asking for detailed explanations about the spiritual or philosophical aspect that goes behind your motivations to meditate. A brief explanation is almost certainly required, though.

Mostly, I wish to know practical things, details that often go unsaid, like:

• What kind of meditation do you practice?
  • How can I Google it?
• Where and when do you meditate, and why?
• Do you do it alone?
• How do you prepare for meditation?
• What you do afterwards?
• How frequently do you meditate, and for how long?
• If you sit at all, in what position do you sit?
  • Where do you sit? The ground, a mat, a cushion, a chair, your bed?
• Do you keep your eyes closed or open?
• Do you concentrate on your breathing?
• Do you breath through your mouth or nose?
• Do you count your breaths or visualize them in any way?
• Is there any particular breathing technique involved?
• Do you use any aid such as noise generators, soundscapes, timers, meditation apps, etc?
• Do you push thoughts away?
• Do you concentrate on any object, physical or otherwise?
  • statues, amulets, images, mental images, mantras, etc.
• What do you do if...
  • your legs go numb?
  • there's a fly on your nose?
  • there's mucus on your mouth or throat?
  • you must cough or sneeze?
  • you're itchy all over?

I never considered myself an introvert or shy. I’ve always been comfortable talking with strangers, whether that was in my college class or just sparking up a conversation with someone next to me in line.

I haven’t talked to a stranger irl since the pandemic started and I’m running scenarios in my brain about how I would talk to someone when I just met them. And every situation I’m going through I’m being awkward and uncomfortable.

I can talk to my family and my cousins, who are essentially my only friends, just fine but that’s different since there’s already an established way of communication there.

I just feel like I’m gonna be so rusty at talking to people, which is a shame because I’ve spent years learning how to talk to strangers in a certain way to make them comfortable and to very easily have a conversation. And I feel like I lost all of that now.

For the past month, I have been reading "The Wisdom of Psychopaths" by Kevin Dutton which delves into traits, behaviors, and motivations behind psychopaths. This book isn't just about serial killers but rather also the "successful" functional psychopaths such as stockbrokers, politicians, and business executives. You can read an excerpt from the book here if interested. A few interesting takeaways that I have had from the book so far are the innate cues that some people have on picking up on psychopathic cues. This is like speaking to someone and getting the heebie-jeebies from them for some reason. Apparently, women are more perceptive to this than men.

So, I'm curious if you have ever met a person that gave off that vibe, and what in particular gave you that vibe?

I've been married for about 20 years. Our bedroom has been mostly dead for half of that. When I left to go take care of my mother, I didn't know if I would come back home. My husband and I like each other well enough, but we have each been in our own personally narrated relationship hell for too long. While I was away, we started writing each other letters, the distance seemed to let us "get it all out." We both seem committed to making the next 20 years better than the first. If there is any interest, I'm willing to chronicle our journey back from the brink of divorce, as well as answer any questions anyone might have. I'm the one with the lower sex drive, and with sex more tied to emotional intimacy than my partner. I like Tildes as my personal space and don't really want my husband to have an account, but I would let him use mine to speak his own words if that is something someone would want to hear. If there is no interest, I'll delete this topic in about a week, as I would find it a bit embarrassing in my history.

Edit: I would also be interested in hearing how other people worked through this if anyone would like to talk about it.

How do you tend to your digital selves? Do you create archives for your blogs/journals/social-media-interactions? How meticulously do you organize your pictures? How protectful are you of your backups? Have you thought about where it'd all end up after you've died?