I'm 20, and it all started when I was 12 years old. So yeah it's been 8 years since I've been obsessed with this fictional character. I don't want to say exactly who he is, but he is from a real life movie not from a cartoon. It affected me pretty hard mostly on my style/aesthetic choices. He is that 'edgy-goth' type of character so I always tried to be like him for some reason.

It doesn't bothers me at all to be honest. I like to daydream, make up stories in my head, and just do my thing. I never felt such a thing towards anyone in real life. I never dated anyone, and I'm kinda lonely but I don't mind it anyway. I can't really tell what love is, but if it's the same thing that I feel towards him then I guess I know what it is to be.

I never really hated her. But I was way less than thrilled and 100% against when my wife said she wanted to get her. I'm not a cat person.

We have a pitbull and a doberman, who are gentle and sweet creatures. But mixing them altogether seemed like we were just asking for something terrible to happen. Because of this, I tried to distance myself emotionally from the cat because I thought eventually something is going to happen to her, and also because I took such a stand against getting her in the first place.

So here we are, 9 months later, these animals all LOVE each other. And the kitty is awesome just an absolute great cat, seemingly raised by our dogs, doing dog-type stuff and being cool all the time. And I love her. And I act like I don't for no reason. I'm not fooling anyone.

I'm glad I got this off my chest.

We were together for almost a year. During that time everything was great I always had so much fun. I think he likes me but couldn’t fall in love with me. And that's the problem. I’m completely heartbroken because I loved him with all my heart, we had a such great chemistry and now I miss him more than ever.

More specifically a nose. I was 7 or 8 at the time and I didnt quite understand death. My grandfather had passed away and we walked up to the casket to pay our respects. I stood there looking at him and thought he was sleeping. He was Italian and had a pretty big schnoz. I decided to boop him on the nose to see if I could wake him. My dad quickly moved my hand out of the way and scolded me.

MacCostello 

Ilovemyanimals024

Since I started drinking alcohol I have never puked. I don't drink often. In fact, I probably drink once a month or once every few months at times, but when I do, I just let the party carry me through.

Everyone generally has a good time but eventually when I wake up, I always wake up "coming to" and have a hard time remembering everything from the night before.

"Browning out" is what it's called.

It's been this way since I started and just feel anxious about all the conversations I had with people, worried I said something offensive or too personal without realizing it.

I never "hit on" people cause I'm in a great relationship but I can't help but feel annoyed at my self that I always forget conversations I had from the night before.

Anyways just wanted to confess that I hate how I feel after "Browning out" because I don't really remember the fun I had the night before. My friends all say I was having a good time but it's frustrating because I don't always know if I'm saying things I shouldn't be.
MOTIVATEDTOBEFIT

My grandad died two years ago and had Alzheimer's.

I knew I didn't visit him enough or try hard enough with the relationship, but I didn't do anything about it. Life got in the way. When he developed Alzheimer's I felt less bad about it because I knew he didn't really know who I was anymore anyway.

Cut to the last day I visited him, perhaps a month before he died, and as we go to leave, my dad puts his hand on my shoulder and asks my grandad if he knows who I am. Grandad smiles at me and says "Of course, that's Grzzlrbr!"

Devastating. I always be ashamed that I didn't spend more time with him.

I feel more connected to my friends and I feel so guilty. I know your family was supposed to come first but I've always felt disconnected from them. I have an amazing older sister and two cute but annoying younger sisters. I have a mom and dad and I'm pretty sure they love me, but i just don't feel like I'm part of the family.

There are things that I tell my friends that none of my family members know. I always have an invisible barrier between my family members as if they're strangers. I know its wrong and I don't know why I feel this way.

parathesian

As a child, I always wondered how much cooler it would be to grow up and do “adult things”. Now as a teen, I realise how much of a f**k-up my life is. I don’t have goal or ambition I’m passionate about but I’m trying to find out what I would like to truly do. Not knowing what my future could possibly hold for me really scares me and I’m just so afraid of having to go through that.

Around 7 pm today, I heard someone knocking on my door. I opened it and it was my next-door pregnant neighbor (she was, I think, in her 7th or 8th month). She was holding a small plate in her hand.

In a very shy voice, she asked me if I can give her some of whatever I was cooking because she liked the smell. I think pregnant women sometimes have strong cravings and they can not resist it.

Anyway, she was shy and apologized a lot for her request since we don’t know each other. I laughed and told her it is ok. I was cooking a traditional meal from my country and the recipe has olive oil, garlic, jalapeños, and some spices. I think the smell was nice. I gave her some of my dinner then she left. I watched her walking home like a cute little penguin who’s happy with her successful little hunting I felt really happy too for some reason.
jaiga99

I passed by a house with a gate and the dog was wagging its tail at me and poked its head out between the bars so I put my hand out in front of him and he sniffed it, sneezed, and walked away.
Richpotatothethird

I woke up to the bathroom in use, and shit touching cloth. Didn't have time to knock and wait so ran into the yard and popped a squat, cleaned up with leaves, then went inside to shower, etc.

While in the shower my partner got up and let the dogs out, and I hear a "what the f**k is that!?". My heart started pounding. She had found it. I hadn't cleaned it up yet.

We have two dogs, both under 5 kg. The shit was the size of the smaller one. I've convinced her it was one of the dogs, so now I'm taking them to the vet tomorrow because "a dog taking a shit the size of its body can't be a good thing".

I'm not admitting it was mine, not now. Hopefully, the vet bill isn't too high.

I was diagnosed with cancer a little over two weeks ago, after a regular checkup. Turns out I have a tumor on my colon that has spread to other areas (liver and lungs so far) and will require extensive chemo and surgery for any chance to live longer than 8 months of not having any treatment.

I haven't told my wife because she'll only pressure me to get the treatment, which results in months of pain and suffering for a relatively small chance. Instead, I'm making sure our last few months together are filled with only happy memories. I'll start to work later and will finish earlier each day, to make her breakfast in bed and take her on dates in the evenings.

My landlord where I rent my workshop from has agreed to let me run my business for free for the next 6 months, which means significantly less financial stress so I can save a lot more, so my wife has something to carry over afterward.

I hope she'll forgive me for taking this path.

My daughter has a rare blood disorder called idiopathic thrombocytopedia pupura (immune) which causes her immune system to destroy her platelets so she just bleeds, randomly. Her eye just haemorrhaged a few weeks ago and an entire half was filled with blood, today, five hour nose bleed.

She can feel when they're coming and she sits down with her bloody nose kit, tissues, a trash bag, a puke bucket for when she swallows too much blood and vomits, gauze, cold packs. My daughter is four. I have been able to convince myself for almost three years that yes, she is sick, but not THAT sick.

Last week we spent four days at the hospital for severe anemia and no detectable platelets. She is THAT sick. I get it now. She is getting a wish, and she is getting worse because she is that sick. We have tried every medication available for treatment of this disease. Nothing helps. Nothing fixes it. My heart is broken.

My 13 year old died in Peru after getting caught in a whirlpool. We were on vacation. His mom (my ex) blamed me for his death and our other son also blames me so he doesn't speak to me. He's now 13 too. I don't force him to see me. When I drive home from work, I pretend that I am talking to my son about how his day was at school, what kind of music he wants to listen to, what he wants for dinner, etc. That is why I haven't gotten a new car. There are just too many memories.

As a kid, my parents always used to go to antique shops. To find things for the house, a unique housewarming gift or just to browse. I was always fascinated by the boxes and boxes of unsent postcards.

I always wondered why there were so many. My parents bought just enough cards for the folks they wanted to send them to. They never had extras. I don't know if this was frugality or what.

As an adult, I travel a ton for work now and I have probably over a hundred postcards. Some filled out. Most blank. I don't think anyone wants to hear from me so I just go my thing. Slowly collecting postcards that will probably get tossed when I die.

Whenever I see a dog or cat being pet I always think "Oh my god that looks nice!". I want someone to brush my hair, or rub my back. Pets get this EVERY DAY. So jealous.

My 20th birthday was this Monday.

Growing up, I loved and hated my birthday. I was excited for the presents and cake, but every year I dreaded the day after.

You see, it wasn’t supposed to be just me. I have a twin sister. She’s younger than me and lived for a day. She died the day after we were born and every year we visited her grave.

Until the age of twelve I held so much hate and anger and grief in my heart for the sister I never had. I thought about death, her being all alone in the supposed afterlife, and every year I saw my parents cry.

Why her?

There may be a hole in my heart, but the wound is healed. This hole will never be filled and I am at peace with that. I visit her every year to clean and be reunited in a sense.

I love her for who she would have been, and I know she would have loved me too.

I don't know who to choose. Between my boyfriend of 8 years, in which love turned to chores, romance turned to obligations and excitement turned to irritation. Versus a man, a colleague, who always made my day seems special in every possible way.

My manager and my supervisor are in cahoots and they make my working life a world I don't want to be in. Because it is not a place where I make decisions I feel like a victim. Yet I am not strong enough or fiscally sound enough to walk away without having another job making at least the same amount of money.

I'm not proud of my citizenship. And I don't know why. I blame the mass media, the TV, the good looking celebrities from the other side of the world.

(I can't blame my parents who gave me a childhood where I was always compared by others. I don't want to hurt them.)

I'm not happy with the color of my skin. Judging the way I look I think I don't have anything pleasing.

I fascinate other people with a different ethnicity than I am. People who live on rich countries. People who can travel wherever they want on any part of the world. I think of those people to be better than I am, luckier than I am, wiser than I am. I like how the lady, that I saw last time with a skin brighter than I am, well-dressed walking on the garden, taking pictures, was enjoying herself. I also love the color of her hair. I think it was gold or blonde.

I cannot blame myself. I have to confess it, and I wish there will be a time where I can finally love my origin, my family, where I came from, and myself as a whole.

I want to be a writer. I'm 40 and I've always wanted to write stories, but I don't know when and how to start. I mean, I've been writing some things in a while, I write ideas, and I journal. As long as I can have some decent time to sit down and clear my thoughts, I can write.

But I always allow myself to complain about my time, I feel like I don't have enough. Sometimes I find myself complaining about my work, and how much time left do I have to do other things. Stephen King (during the old days) still writes while working on a laundry shop. I admire how he managed to do that. I'm thinking of a way how it will work for me, and with my current situation. I know, I am complaining again.

Productivity tips that scattered online didn't help me. The people who wrote those tips have a little empathy. Their situations are not the same as mine. I am unique. What works to the mass doesn't mean it can work for everyone, including me. I am still looking for the best, although I'm not looking for perfection.

Anyway, that's simply my confession. I want to be a writer someday. I really want to.

Bed

NO, I can never be a 100% mom to you my little ones. I'm done with all the babywearing-and-breastfeeding-workshops season of my life. I tried to be 100%. I dedicated my two breasts to you when you were young. That's more than 6 years (3 years to each of you) —of nipple sucking every 4 hours round-the-clock.

But I also have my own dreams. I want something more than staying with you 24 hours a day 7 days a week. It's not that I am not happy seeing your smile. But I also want to be in a different room or go out and feel how to be a real human being. Now I have to deal with these anxieties. The question of who-am-I? is creeping in. Yes, I could be very skilled about motherhood but the other set of my characters are diminishing. I'm starting to forget how to be a real human, which is more important than just being a good mother.

I long to be a real human capable of being happy on these linear events. To see that on this linear world everyone can have that wonderful experience from simplicity—simple yet anew. To witness ideas and novelties that everyone is also curious to find out whether from the inside or from the other side.

Now you are 7 and 11. I'm still here to attend to your needs and it's my choice. I need to write it so I can somehow figure out the answers that I keep on looking for.

I don't want to escape this season, I promise. You are my joy. I will be your mother until graveyard. We are related. I will always love you more than you could imagine.