Anonymous Venting for Mental Health and Emotional Support

So about 3 weeks ago me and my friend and I decided to go to a pool hall well I was already in my pajama pants and a jacket (what I usually wear at night time) the pajama pants are like a extremly plush fuzzy material and the jacket was a super soft fleece I just simply enjoy being comfortable when im at home lol reason im going into detail about what I was wearing is because when we got too the pool hall everything was cool for a couple hours until my friend started talking smack to some guy well the guy pushes my friend and when he did I jumped between them and when I did my pool stick fell out of my hands and was laying on the ground. Well when I stepped between them I just so happened to be standing over the pool stick and 2 guys picked the pool stick up at the same time and racked yanked up hitting me dead in the middle of my balls I remember feeling the stick literally splitting my balls in half I remember looking down and seeing the fuzzy pants and the outline of my balls around the stick and the guy that was behind me rubbed my shoulder and said "you got a nice soft jacket on oh and your pants look soft too" and when he said that he reached down and twisted my dick while the pool stick was still between my legs i remember moaning extremly loud and grunting while he twisted and squeezed also at the same time yanking the pool stick up higher into my balls he finally let go and I dropped too my knees instantly I was extremly sore for about 3 days and my girl friend is extremly sexual and is still asking why I didnt wanna have sex for that week and she loves my pants and jacket i really dont know how too explain this to her

omg I don’t know why i’m on here I’m at band practice rn so I can’t actually talk face to face with someone about this but BASICALLY. a couple weeks back on my birthday my friend got PISS drunk despite me not wanting her to at this other friends house and she ended up throwing up everywhere for like five hours. it sucked. she said she’d make it up to me and hasn’t, and then half an hour ago had a go at me for being pissed at her all the time with no explanation. shes so weird. im so weird. our relationship is so fucking weird. guitarist and drummer tension ig. and she just talks like everything is normal but it’s not but how would she know??? I suck at communication and the conversation or her having a go at me ended like 30 minutes ago i cant just bring it up now and UGH oh my god I feel like an idiot. id go more into depth but I can’t be bothered. sos for terrible grammar im not reading this back

I fucked up, and there is no polite or delicate way to phrase that, so I shall simply admit it outright: I cheated on my boyfriend, the man who has been nothing but loyal, generous, and patient with me for the past two years, the man who has shown me a stability I honestly never believed I deserved. I am twenty-five, he is thirty-two, and somehow we made it work, despite our differences in age, character, and temperament. Our life together is not some pathetic fantasy, it is real, concrete: we share mornings, dinners, moments of silence, the dull routines that, ironically, are the foundations of happiness. And yet, in one miserable night, soaked with alcohol, foolish laughter, and the kind of reckless bravado that makes people believe they are untouchable, I allowed myself to betray him. I was drunk, yes, but that excuse is thin, pathetic, barely a fig leaf for my own conscious decision to let another man touch me, kiss me, fuck me. I woke up the next day with the stench of someone else’s body clinging to mine, with a splitting headache and a gut full of disgust. Have you ever stared at yourself in the mirror and seen not your face but only the lies you will soon have to tell? That was me. My first thought was not even about what I had done, but about how I could possibly pretend it had never happened, and isn’t that the most revolting detail of all? That my instinct was to hide, to bury the truth, to spit on his trust while smiling at him over morning coffee.

Now I am stuck in this vile space between confession and concealment, and neither path seems bearable. To confess would be to throw a grenade into our shared life, to obliterate all the good moments, to shatter his sense of safety, to perhaps lose the one person who has ever truly made me feel like I was worth more than the sum of my reckless impulses. But to hide it? To swallow this filth and act as though nothing occurred? That would mean rotting from within, keeping a secret that gnaws at every embrace, every kiss, every “I love you.” And which is worse? To kill something with blunt force or to poison it slowly? I keep replaying the night, trying to find some crack in the memory where I might have stopped myself, where I might have said no, but instead I only see my drunk, stupid grin and the rush of feeling desired by someone new, someone meaningless. Do you know that absurd thrill, that tiny, stupid surge of ego when a stranger wants you? That was all it took for me to throw away my dignity. And for what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I gained no satisfaction, no joy, no sense of fulfillment—only guilt that drips like acid through every second I spend with him now. He looks at me with those calm, patient eyes, and I want to scream, to confess, to throw myself at his feet, yet I choke on cowardice. It is ridiculous, but even in my own shame, I feel a twisted sort of hope, as if perhaps this mistake might shock me awake, force me to grow up, to stop treating life like some chaotic experiment. Maybe the very act of ruining something reminds you how precious it actually is.

So what do I do, really? Do I unload this shitstorm into his lap, admit everything, beg for forgiveness, knowing full well he might walk out and never look back? Or do I take this filthy secret to my grave, let it burn me in private, and in return keep the life we built intact? I am not some saint, clearly, but neither do I believe I am a monster, and maybe that’s why I cling to the thought that redemption might still be possible. I cannot decide if honesty here is noble or selfish, because confessing could easily be seen as nothing more than trying to ease my own conscience while dumping the pain onto him. Hiding it could be argued as protecting him from useless suffering, yet is it not arrogant to assume I have the right to make that choice for him? Fuck, it is a twisted dilemma, one that I suspect many would simplify with “just tell him” or “just shut up,” but reality is never that neat. Life is messy, human beings are messy, and love—even the strongest, most mature love—has cracks that appear when you least expect them. Despite everything, I still believe in us, still believe that we can survive my stupidity, though I am uncertain of the method. Maybe this betrayal is not the end but the grotesque wake-up call I needed to finally stop taking him, and myself, for granted. Perhaps the future is not destroyed but simply altered, and maybe, just maybe, there is a chance to rebuild something stronger on the ruins of my failure. Or am I just lying to myself to soften the blow? Would you, in my place, confess and risk it all, or would you stay silent and fight like hell to make every future moment worth the guilt? 🤷‍♂️

For the people that saw my goodbye post. I didn’t succeed in my attempt. It’s just gotten worse as my family members know and now I will be getting a therapist soon. I just want to go. I don’t want to stay longer.

I find it hard to believe how complicated it is to express myself online using abstract language. It's something that fulfills me because it's precisely the language I need to express what I feel. From there, I seek to talk about my life.

Indeed, I feel this is about saying that life holds a complexity beyond what is normally presumed to be a life. It's an act of respect. It's a constant demand to adapt to a language that I find insufficient.

When I vent, I do so in order to talk about my life and be able to visualize it. Being overwhelmed, I can't see what I have to say about my life, which is me and what surrounds me in some way.

Speaking in a format that many seek, considered simple, being reductionist, is precisely preventing the way in which my visualization is necessary. This isn't talking about anxiety or an obsession; it's an effort to understand how I am.

Without a doubt, we can talk about nervousness about everything I have to say. However, I don't experience anxiety because I don't feel an imminent threat; on the contrary, I feel that this is more of a sign that I'm about to get out of something. Nor can I speak of obsession, because we're not even talking about recurring thoughts.

Speaking of venting, I am indeed talking about my life, and it consists of details, which may be various, encapsulated under a single theme. However, the fact that the question relates to a single person, a single situation, doesn't indicate being obsessed with a topic or anxious; at most, it indicates that one goes beyond the ordinary regarding said topics and considers oneself strange.

Today, and with the advances that have occurred in all areas of knowledge, I am surprised, I must say, that the strange is worthy of rejection, especially when it comes to people, a matter that requires precise treatment to be inserted. In short, venting itself, it must be said, makes us strange because it allows us to delve into details that are unknown even to us, even to ourselves.

It is often argued that we should think before speaking, when this issue represents or points to the difficulty of recipients receiving varied information. We can categorically say that no person thinks before speaking; at the same time they speak, they think, and they used to think even when they were silent. And the fact that their thoughts coincided with the words expressed, sonorously, expresses the obstruction they represent for us, simply a compulsion.

In this society, many things are defended with which I do not agree. I believe that we all truly want to face life, but it is at the cost of our constant exercise with it, and in the worst circumstances, which is to be alone. This society supports not doing that; after all, that would imply that this individual can do without them, so in the event of any reprisal from a majority, it will be indispensable. It must be said that many of the things that are pointed out as bad are ways of expressing that one should not be something that could be harmful, being against it. They call it politeness, but it's clearly anxiety. It's clear that those who base their lives on thinking that something isn't right and therefore need to change it, thanks to the obsession that it represents, since these are recurring thoughts that result in displeasure, seek said change as a result of the obsession itself. If we notice, anxiety and obsession are the entities that most often support each other.

Proper relief allows us to escape these situations because it allows us to tune into them and continue with our routine, with those thoughts that lead to its consolidation. However, change is used as an excuse to maintain the routine, invading other spaces, naturally encouraging narcissistic behaviors that weren't present before. We can safely say that anyone who seeks a constant routine and doesn't let off steam, given the changing essence of those elements external to our routine, which also change them, leads us to be potential narcissists. It must be said, these are not the things many therapists talk about.

Many therapists enjoy entering this field without having integrated their knowledge of the subject, which leads them to become simple victims of a system. Through their sessions, they seek to force others to succumb to it through their integration. They become counselors, simply detaching themselves from the discourse, from the particularity of the patient, to provide developmental treatment as an individual in their individuality, to bring them to a collective one, where the notions of anxiety and obsession are supported as accusatory elements, of that which runs beyond conceived limits. Indeed, these are against the idea of ​​letting off steam.

So, with psychotherapists, we can't let off steam. Nor with the environment, because it would be a struggle for a normality, furthermore, by not entering into it, making these individuals incapable of developing themselves and consequently segregating ourselves. Frankly, I don't understand how an individual can develop in this world, particularly. It's being at the mercy of situations that are camouflaged through discourses considered normal, open to everyone, but that prevent us from understanding what my life consists of, starting from the smallest details and which joy leads to a holistic spirit.

It's not fair that people like me, to say it without any fear, are at the mercy of such treatment. I know there are people like me who are also on these paths; it would be somewhat prejudiced for me to say that there is no one else. Of course, those who haven't been in the same terrain as me and only notice me will say that there is no one else like me. Of course, they take what they know as a sample and project it onto the rest of the world when, as can be seen, many are those who don't dare to delve into anything beyond my surroundings. How contradictory, frankly.

Hey everyone, I’m not usually one to air my personal stuff, but I really need some advice here. For the past few months, I’ve had this gut feeling that my wife might be cheating on me, and it's eating me alive. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but the signs are starting to pile up, and I’m just not sure what to do.

It all started when she began staying late at work more often. At first, I didn’t think much of it—she’s always been dedicated to her job. But then, she became super protective of her phone. She used to leave it lying around, but now she keeps it close and seems to be on it all the time, even at odd hours. And when I casually ask about her day, her answers feel...vague? Like she’s hiding something.

Then there are the little things. She started dressing up more than usual, even just to “run errands” or meet friends. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone. I’ve tried to brush it off, telling myself I’m being paranoid, but every time I bring it up, she gets defensive or says I’m just being insecure. It makes me feel like maybe I’m overthinking, but part of me feels like my concerns are valid.

To make things worse, I found a receipt for a fancy dinner that she said was a "work thing," but I know her company usually doesn’t do dinners like that. I keep second-guessing myself, and now I’m stuck in this loop of anxiety. I don’t want to accuse her without solid proof, but I also can’t keep living in this uncertainty.

So here I am, asking for advice. Has anyone else been through this? How do you confront someone you love without it turning into a huge fight? Should I even bring it up again, or am I just being paranoid? Any advice would be appreciated—I feel like I’m losing my mind here.

For the longest time, I’ve been stuck in this cycle of excuses. I’d wake up every morning telling myself I’d make changes, that today would be different, but by the time the day ended, I was back to square one. Whether it’s eating healthier, exercising, or even just cleaning my space, I keep putting it off. I’d tell myself, "I’ll start tomorrow," but tomorrow never seems to come.

Yesterday was my breaking point. I was scrolling through social media and saw an old friend post about running their first marathon. I remember how we used to run together, how much I loved it back then. And now? I can’t even jog up the stairs without feeling winded. It hit me like a ton of bricks—what am I even doing with my life? Why do I keep finding reasons to avoid what I know I need to do?

I looked around my apartment after that. Clothes piled up on the floor, dishes in the sink from who-knows-how-many days ago, and a gym membership card collecting dust on the counter. That’s when it finally clicked—it’s time to stop. It’s time to stop avoiding the hard stuff, time to stop pretending everything will fix itself, and time to stop being my own worst enemy.

I don’t have a perfect plan yet, and honestly, I’m scared I’ll slip back into my old habits. But I know I can’t keep going like this. If I don’t make a change now, when will I? Maybe writing this out will help me stay accountable. I don’t know who needs to hear this, but if you’re feeling stuck too, maybe it’s time to stop and take the first step. We’ve got this.

I've come to the harsh realization that perhaps, I'm not the nicest person around. In my mid-thirties, I find myself surrounded only by a single friend and a girlfriend, yet I can't shake the feeling that I'm somehow superior to others. My lifestyle is quite reclusive; I shy away from any social gatherings related to work, and most of my routine revolves around my job, hitting the gym, smoking weed, and cycling. Traveling and cycling in the forest are my escapes, the rare times I don't feel swamped by depression.

Interacting with people, especially in groups, is a daunting task for me. The fear of turning red-faced and being judged negatively is always lurking. Thus, I avoid such situations altogether. There's a worrisome intensity in the way I live; I indulge too often in alcohol or getting high, viewing people merely as elements that enhance my own existence. My eyes wander too freely, admiring every attractive woman I come across, often blatantly flirting in the presence of my girlfriend. Even though these thoughts are never vocalized, I often catch myself belittling others or feeling utter disdain towards them internally.

I confess to being a staunch atheist, holding a disdainful view towards those who are spiritually inclined, believing myself to be smarter, better-looking, and stronger. The resentment builds whenever I see someone possessing what I desire, although I manage to keep this anger bottled up within.

Dominating these emotions is a profound sense of isolation, mixed oddly with a perverse comfort in wallowing in my misery. Sometimes, hurting my own feelings seems like a twisted form of pleasure, perhaps because it means feeling something at all.

My family background does little to lighten my outlook. My brother lives with the dark shadow of being a murderer and a former heroin addict. My father was a violent man, devoid of emotions, who ultimately took his own life. My mother, afflicted by illness so severe that she has been bedridden since my childhood, sparks a guilt within me for not taking care of her. However, I've chosen a path of self-preservation as dedicating myself to her care would consume my own existence entirely.

This life I've crafted for myself is one I despise, yet a part of me feels I shouldn't. With a good education, a well-paying job, and an undeniable appeal to women, I should feel fulfilled. Instead, I’m left feeling empty and, frankly, disgusted with myself for sounding like a self-pitying fool. What the hell is wrong with me?

Despite my efforts not to belittle others overtly, the impression that people don’t like me is hard to shake off. Loneliness is a constant companion.

If I were to join a reality show, my character might be polarizing. Would the audience appreciate my brutally honest introspections, or would they be repelled by my self-confessed arrogance and emotional detachment? It's intriguing yet terrifying to ponder how my persona would unfold under the constant scrutiny of cameras and a public audience.

I chose the friendship stories category but yeah it's related to friendship, love, family, work... I am like that.

Got lots of love to give but no one wants to have it. They want the toxic ones.

I grew up in a very religious family where our faith has always guided our lives and choices. The teachings I’ve known my whole life tell me that being gay is wrong, and yet, I feel these undeniable attractions that make me question everything. I’ve tried to push it down, to change, to pray it away, but it’s always there, a part of me I can’t ignore.

I don’t know how to reconcile my beliefs with who I am. It feels like every day, I’m torn between two worlds: the expectations of my family and faith, and the reality of my own heart. Am I wrong for feeling this way? Is this something I can change, or should I even try? I’ve heard so many opinions, but deep down, I just want to know if I can truly be at peace with both my faith and myself.

If anyone has gone through something similar, or if you have advice, I’d really appreciate hearing from you. I feel so lost and alone in this struggle, and I just need someone to help me see a way through this.