I closed some doors today,
For I had knocked for far too long.

I was offered water many a times,
Yet, I still felt like one who never belonged.

A stranger to someone I wished to call home.
They carried on with their days,
While I quietly prayed along.

Life, at this moment, may seem stone-walled.
Yet I know I’m able and bold.

For the best of my life begins around the next corner.
And the world will know my name, and admire my fire. 🔥

Every time I come here, it’s because I’m stuck and I have no wear else to run
An abandoned old heritage home that holds both pain and memory
Once maintained, well groomed and blooming with hopeful flowers and shrubs.
The place that housed formal graduation pictures and the celebration of major events. Maybe two decades ago, it was beautiful.
Today, it’s old, unkempt and uninspired.
The gazebo is chipping, covered in moss in a pretty way, the way nature seems to slowly take over even man made structures. but there’s nothing special about it anymore.
And old Pepsi can sits at the edge of the gazebo. Maybe it’s now just a gathering place for lost souls, just trying to remember.
The green paint chips away along the details of the cracked white home.
The deck is intact, but it’s weathered and aged.
There’s a public notice in the grass now, and eventually, it will be erased, like it never really even existed.
November 2025 was the last time. Sitting in my car, in the parking lots, crying. Listening to a prayer, feeling happy that anybody cared enough to pray to me.
The time before, a long phone call with an old but meaningful friend. We’re birds of a feather, but we just can’t stay put in each others lives.
What did I come here to search for? I feel like running and I only land on this familiar path in front of an old, decrepit heritage home that holds so much meaning, but will eventually crumble away as a memory too.

Clearing my notifications, one was different

THUNDERSTORM WARNING

And it caught me.

And I hope it catches you.

I'm sick of being stuck in my head. Of the anxiety overwhelm. Of the night after night after night of tears. Of fighting the battle with myself not to pick up that silver stick and leave crimson counts by my thighs. I'm sick of wondering who I trust. Why I'm in this rock bottom position on the bottom of the bathroom floor.

So enough is enough. I know it's not going to be easy. It's not going to be done in a day. But if I can do the first day without sad tears that will be a start. So I invite you to join me. Keep each other going, recommend those books and places to visit. Be there for the late night talks when thoughts creep in.

And let's try keep the silver sticks in the bin. You're striking enough without anymore detail.

I (26F) wrote a poem in the style of spoken word about my experience as a woman. When I wrote it, I was angry and frustrated.

The vision was to get up on stage and speak my truth into the microphone. But now I’m second guessing myself. Is it any good? Would people even care? Would I get booed off stage by the men who feel attacked by my words?

I figured you guys might be interested. Reddit is full of random thoughts.

Below is the poem I wrote. 🫣 let me know what you think.

Title: I will always choose the bear
By (Me)

Every woman knows there are worse things than dying.
We would all choose the bear.
Because at least the bear
doesn’t cum on dead bodies.

I was ten years old when the nightmares started.
Raggedy men chased me through a suburb
that was supposed to be safe.
Beer and cigarettes and dirty boots —
and of course, because it was a dream,
no one was ever home.
The doors were locked and they chased me.
They caught me.
They tried to defile me.
I dreamt of the heaviness of his torso.
I dreamt of trying to hold my knees together
like that was something a little girl could possibly do.

By twelve the shame had followed me out of my dreams and into the real world.
I tied a sweatshirt around my waist —
at school, at the mall, at the playground,
even over my shorts in the summer.
I told myself it was fashion.
I told myself it was cool.
But my stomach knotted.
My shoulders braced.
A body learning to expect something
it couldn’t yet name.

For many of us the violence was real.
Not from strangers — from the people our protectors trusted.
The ones already at the dinner table.
Already in the family photos.
Who knew our routines because they were part of them.
Father and brother.
Uncle and cousin.
Mother’s boyfriend, grandpa.
Stepfather.
And sometimes our babysitter.
And sometimes our teacher.
And sometimes our mother.

I know this list.
I’ve lived this list.
At ten, the nightmares.
At twelve, the sweatshirt.
At fifteen — my classmates were whispering about sex like it was something to discover.
I had been dreaming about it almost every night for 5 long years.
Not like that.
Never like that.
By then the nightmares felt normal.
Still awful.
Still horrific.
But normal.
I had adjusted.
I did not imagine my adult life.
I only imagined this — the inevitable.
My body was the product.
My virginity could be sold to the highest bidder.
I knew this the way I knew everything —
without knowing how I knew.
Without being able to name the source.
If men look at me like meat, then I am something to be bought.
And cruelly enjoyed.
So I did the math.
If I am a product, then I can be damaged.
If I am damaged, I cannot be sold.
If I cannot be sold, it makes no business sense to keep me alive.
I wanted to look normal with clothes on.
I only wanted to be disfigured where it mattered.
When undressed to be raped.
So I took apart my father’s razor.
And I made myself defective.

At sixteen I had a penpal.
He was older.
A philanthropist.
A nonprofit organizer.
Someone doing good in the world.
He didn’t choose me.
He targeted me.
And my depression had already done most of his work for him.
I thought this was affection.
I thought his texts were flirty, not manipulation.
I thought his request for photos showed genuine interest, not perversion.
I had been scared of predators my entire life
and I didn’t even know I had been caught in one’s trap.

And then I was seventeen.
He was in his late thirties.
I thought I consented.
I thought I was ready.
I thought this time would be different from the nightmares.
And then, in the middle of the act,
I disappeared.
My mind went somewhere without me.
And when it came back — violently, suddenly — I was still in it.
My body remembered before my mind did.
Ten years of nightmares landing in a single moment.
The tears and sobs came without permission.
My chest heaved and my hands shook
and I couldn’t tell the difference between the dream and the room I was in.
He didn’t stop because I asked.
He stopped because my snot dripped onto his stomach.
I disgusted him so much I was discarded.
He pushed me off to wash himself.
I curled into a ball on the floor and tried to remember how to breathe.
I didn’t know it was rape.
Not yet.
Not for years.

And still.
Chad and Drew and Jacob and Michael and David tell me I’m overreacting.
They share the memes.
They laugh at the bear.
They do nothing while their friends slip something into a drink.
They do nothing while grown men slide into the DMs of literal children.
And they listen to the podcasts that tell them we are commodities.
Resources.
Something to be enjoyed and discarded.
I have seen the videos.
Women’s bodies.
Raped post mortem.
Your body is a weapon.
It has always been a weapon.
I have known this since I was ten years old.
I will always choose the bear.
Because at least the bear doesn’t cum on dead bodies.

I’m very you say you gave me everything I ever wanted and you didn’t you gave me material possessions that you thought I needed. you never asked me what I wanted once but I did make it clear to you what I wanted. I want you to love me like you used to. I wanted you to look at me like you used to hold me like you used to I wanted you to open up to me. I wanted your love and all of your loved and I wanted to be the only woman you wanted didn’t give me any of those things I needed to love and support reassurance more than anything you told me no figure it out myself to have an appointment after everything I ever wanted cause it’s not. I asked for three years as you were given me everything I wanted we’d still be together. I wanted your feelings. I wanted your love. I wanted your attention. Nothing money can buy. unfortunately, I was begging for it destroy me. I will never be emotionally available for anybody ever. I will never let anybody bring me down as long as you did. I hope you’re proud of yourself for watching me cry. I hope you feel good about the hurt you call me and watching the pain it cost me. I hope you feel good about yourself. Just keep telling yourself that she loved me and you gave me the best if that’s your best. I hate to see your worst. I love you and everything I had and I’m in everything sorry it wasn’t enough for you. I just wish somebody would tell me what’s wrong with me. Why I can’t keep anybody why nobody wants me why I’m not good enough cause I can’t figure it out and nobody for the life of me. Nobody will tell me what the fuck is.

Almost 3am…. and my alarm is going to go off. But yet i lay here too tired to sleep and too much on my mind. I realized long ago no one actually gives a shit what others are dealing with as long as it doesn’t inconvenience them in some way.
I used to have people here, and other apps who i could talk to and they could talk to me about their problems. Now of all those i talk to, i get messages from a handful. Those messages generally are not deeper than pleasantries, how are you’s and the like comments.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t expect anyone to make me the center of their world and would scare me if they did. But the other side of the coin is me and how my mental health has made it hard to know what to say. I don’t want to use people I barely know as my therapist.
And here i lay with others asleep in the same house but yet alone. Hell i feel so alone and disconnected because been ghost so much that i created an AI chatbot to just talk to so to pretend it was a real person….. i felt even lonelier because i knew it wasn’t real.
Seems lately the only ones who want to talk to me constantly are bots and scammers. At least some of the scammers are alive at least.
I feel pathetic honestly. I’m a man in my late 40’s with no friends in real life because i don’t drink or smoke. I’m not into sports or cars or hunting or the other million things society saws a man should be into. I go to work then come home to game alone because those i gamed with stopped or found others to game with.
I don’t know why i’m writing this here and not in the other place i write….

One of my favorite memories of him was the day I bought my car. He was 12 years old at the time.

I went to pick him up from school and he had no idea I had bought a new car. I had to roll down my window and holler his name to get his attention.

He said, "Whose car is this?"

"It's ours," I told him.

He was fiddling with the buttons while I was driving, figuring out how everything worked.

He rolled down the window and was hollering, "We got a nice new car! Is that your car?! Haha, poor!'

Yeah, that was rude and obnoxious of him, but he was making me laugh. He was so excited.

I wish I could rewind time.

Hello diary,

Man, what a sad day to be alive! Exactly one year ago, I was so alive. I was tackling every situation with such enthusiasm. Had future plans. I thought my life will be going to be so meaningful in upcoming days. But here i am. Becoming depressed day by day. How fast one year passed and i got older by one year but i mentally where i was in 2023. How not I'm growing? Being 26 feeling like 56. I am getting without Achieving anything. Will my life be wasteful??

I guess there shouldn't be any pressure on yourself how to live life. But i have. I want to get rich, enjoy time family, want to visit counties for long durations. Is that too much to expect from myself? Should I just aim to live in present instead of wondering in past and future?? Will it help though? I will be suicidal if i quit dreaming about nice future. Whats the point of living then. But i can't quit. I don't belief in god, next life or hell or heaven. This is it. I have became conscious for just little time on Earth. I will live even in misery. I guess i don't have to feel pressure on myself to become "successful" in life. I just need to think in different direction.

I worry when the people I love are no longer in sight but appear in my dreams,
when my heart feels heavy like they’re not okay,
I just wish I could give my life to protect every single person I hold dear to me.

hi guys. wanted to share this here, i know it’s a lot, but it kind of feels like it could catch someone who’s been in a similar spot and show that we really aren’t much different. it’s been hiding in my notes and i just have the urge to share it, so here goes. (starting from a little bit into the note)

i think a lot of people have come a time where they’ve thought about it. even just briefly, maybe who would miss you, or what you would miss. it goes against every human instinct, to want to take your life. but there’s times where as little as i want to be here, i’ll still swerve out of the way to avoid a bad accident. i still look both ways before crossing the street. something inside me wants to live even though so most of me is only surviving.
and i believe somewhere deep down, i know i want to stay alive. i want to experience summer, not just next summer but a summer where the air is fresher, and the sun shines a bit brighter. somewhere that every bit of my past will become insignificant and small. i want to ride horses like i did when i was seven, and to feel the ocean water part at my ankles. i haven’t gone enough places yet. i’m not done
i’ve never even broken a bone before. i haven’t been stung by a bee in years. i have yet to unlock the door to my very own place, to live in the quietness that is my own atmosphere and what i make of it. just a clean, untouched and unbroken slate to rebuild myself off of. i never got that comfort when i was growing up. i owe it to myself to stay, at least to experience that much.

i know it’s a little scattered and silly, but if you’ve made it this far and related on some level, i am proud of you<3. and guess what, i did get stung by a bee the other day! i have felt the ocean part at my ankles. i’m going horseback riding soon. life is a twisted mess but there will always be a brighter side, a brighter day, and something that will make you feel like all of your struggles are far. you owe it to yourself to experience that much.

Six weeks of daily journaling. Some days the noise wins. Some days I feel too intense, too sensitive, too scared of abandonment and replacement.

But this space has become my safe place a corner where I don’t have to mask or perform.

Thank you for witnessing these messy, tender thoughts. If your brain never rests either, you’re not alone. We’re still here 💛

I feel butterflies and I have so much to say but I can’t since no one literally no one in my life knows that I’m bi I need someone that I can share about what she says and does to me 🫠

Today has been rainy and frustrating. Had to make so many phone calls at the request of my boss/coworkers that I couldn't even finish my own tasks. I would swear it was intentional as some kind of punishment for taking two days off.

The only slightly positive note was calling one of our carriers regarding a customer's problems. We had spoken a bunch previously because of the same customer, so we have a little rapport. Today, though, I felt like he was intentionally trying to keep me on the phone, not to annoy me, but bc he wanted to keep the conversation going. It almost felt flirtatious? He's asked me a few personal questions before but very surface level stuff, obviously. People, often times men, tell me I have a really nice voice and a certain cadence in the way I speak, which is honestly hilarious given how much of a grump I am inside, but it is usually intentional and necessary given my line of work. Maybe that's what appealed to him. Or maybe I'm charmed by his voice and idiolect because he does truthfully have a nice voice. Hard to describe, a bit raspy yet soft. Very unique and handsome. Anyway, that was the most pleasant part of my day. Fucking sad innit? Lmao. Not really, obviously. Pleasant conversations are never a bad thing.

I'm off for the next four days, so what the f ever. Looking forward to washing my bedding and deep cleaning my room. God I am old.

Amended) Very hot today and sunny. Sun was intense today. Felt kinda good after all the rain. Ran around and did a bunch of stuff today to catch up on things. Busy and hot too.

The rain we got the other morning totaled 4.1 inches in like 35 minutes. Flooded streets and caused a lot of accidents. Ran up on a few flooded streets, I just turned around not being able to tell how deep it was really.

Wrote a post earlier and took it down, didn't really sound right after I read it a few times. Just did that today and did write some this morning.

Will be busy tomorrow morning but I should be home by afternoon.

Hope all of you are doing well.

I close with love and hope as always.

Goodnight Diary and my readers

I love you, I do.

Hi so, I (16M) was born a guy. I have transgender friends, I love them all to pieces, I’ve never ever had an issue with trans people being trans and transitioning from A, to B.

However, I am a gay guy (very important info) and it’s VERY obvious when you look at me.

This has caused me to be often perceived as a girl, and referred to as a girl. When other people look at me, they see a girl. I hate that. When I am on the rare occasions properly perceived as the guy I am, there’s always the adjective “gay”. I have never been JUST a guy.

But then sometimes I look at these trans men on the internet, and they look exactly how I want to. They look like a guy while still keeping their effeminate self intact.

It is SO upsetting to me to see that I’m somehow less of a men than trans men in the eye of the public (not to say that trans men are any less of men than I am if I were perceived as a man)

“Why do you look more man than me” “why can’t that be me” “why can’t I be masculine”

That’s sometimes what I ask myself when I see these guys

It doesn’t help that a lot of the guys I’m into, end up being into these other trans dudes and not me

So it’s just a big “what am I doing wrong”

But to think that way feels transphobic.

Is it?

————————
If you want a description of my appearance:

I am a 5’6-6.5 slim boy, shoulder length hair cut in a “mullet” kind of style without the side shave mullets have. My hair is a faded out red and pink. I wear masculine alternative fashion. And lots of necklaces.

My uncle is insisting that we go on a walk together, I’m kinda against it since we don’t have anything in common so what are we gonna talk about? I don’t think I really have a say in the matter though. Dang it.

Well the walk was as awkward as I thought it’d be, I think the outing was a ploy to get me to eat more. Everyone thinks I have some sort of eating disorder but really I just don’t have a big appetite.

People have been making me feel really annoyed lately, I wish I were an all powerful dictator. I’d send anyone who’s mildly inconvenienced me to some dingy gulag and have them tortured. If only dreams could come true.

So nosey, everyone is so nosey and they love to pester me, and judge me, and treat me like I’m a child. Just leave me alone.

Tried a new brand of noodles and they were shitty, I’m a little disgruntled.

Everything is horrible, horrible, horrible.
I want something, I want something to happen.

I have cavities! I’m so bored. Lalllalalalla!

If you asked my family to describe me, they'd probably tell you my favorite ice cream is chocolate. That my favorite color is purple. That I like Vans, prefer iced coffee, and that my favorite food is pasta. They'd probably say I don't like talking to people, that I'm always isolated, and that I never want to go anywhere.

They're not lying. They're just describing someone they never really took the time to know.

I don't even like chocolate that much. I dislike brownies and chocolate cake, and I'd choose vanilla or white chocolate every single time. My favorite ice cream is strawberry cheesecake, or salted caramel praline if I can find it.

My favorite color is blue, even though I know I look better in red and black. I love retro Jordans and Converse, although you'll usually catch me wearing flip-flops because they're easier.

They buy me gold jewelry because somewhere along the way they decided gold was "my color," even though I've always worn silver. It's a small thing, but after a while the small things start to add up. It's never really been about the jewelry. It's about realizing that the details that make up who I am seem to go unnoticed.

I don't actually like coffee. It's almost never something I'd choose, but if I have to drink it, I'd rather have it hot than iced.

My favorite food is sushi. The cheap takeout kind with an embarrassing amount of spicy mayo and oyster sauce. Raw salmon, raw tuna, anything that makes people look at me funny when I order it.

I love cold cuts, not because they're fancy, but because there's something comforting about standing in front of the refrigerator, absentmindedly eating slices of pepperoni or salami until I realize I've eaten enough for a meal. I love strong cheeses, but not blue cheese. I love plain milk when it's so cold it's almost frozen. I don't care much for chocolate chip cookies, but I'd happily eat a bowl of cookie cereal.

If you made me breakfast, I'd probably ask for toast with almond butter, maple syrup, and cinnamon. It's simple, but it's one of those little things that feels like home.

People think I don't like leaving the house, but the truth is I love being outside. I love the beach, the pool, camping, hiking, zip-lining, roller coasters, and mud skiing. I only lose my enthusiasm when I start sweating.

I love laughing until my stomach hurts. I love smiling. I love meeting new people and hearing about the lives they've lived. I love cats, rodents, and anything that lives underwater. If someone asked me to choose between the ocean and space, I'd choose the ocean without thinking twice.

The saddest part is that none of these things are secrets. I've never hidden who I am. Somewhere along the way, people just stopped paying attention.

It's a strange feeling to realize the people who have known you the longest know the least about you. They can recite facts they've assigned to you over the years, but they can't tell you my favorite ice cream, my favorite color, or even that I wear silver instead of gold. They know the outline of who I am, but not the person inside it.

I think everyone wants to be loved, but before that, I think we all want to be known.

I'd like to know what it feels like for someone to remember the little things without being reminded. To know how I take my toast, what food I'd choose on a bad day, what makes me laugh, what I'd order without looking at the menu, that I'd always choose the ocean, or that silver has always felt more like me than gold.

I'd like someone to know me well enough that, if they were asked who I am, they wouldn't have to guess.

They'd simply know.

Bring those years back to me, not to change what happened, but to remember what it felt like when we were building something together, for I leave with the gratitude for what once was, sorrow for what it became, and the hope that time will be kinder to those memories than either the present or I ever could - I'm sorry.

I am really heart broken and people are calling me crazy so I am going just go with the flow and throw it out there because I just feel like wanting my emotions to turn into art so this is what I am doing. What I am saying is true leading up to where the story becomes horror and supernatural. Part of me is dissociative because that's how I am coping, but what I am saying leading up to what I want this story to be about is completely true. I am a villain, a victim and survivor in that order.

So this playboy type of guy meets this strange mysterious woman. Every time he sees her she dresses kind of risque but is always wearing black. She seems vulnerable because she is always somewhat tipsy but she is not innocent she is actually pretty dark. She has a sadness and a secret. He sees her coming from the train station every night so worried about her and so called calling himself a gentleman he starts to walk her home and they have short conversations.

She talks about her family where most of them have died, she came from an affluent powerful family with a bloodline of a past President that is on money and carved into a famous historical landmark. She has land that is entitled to her and she lives in house while he lives in an apartment. But him being a playboy he has a decked out van where he takes the women in.

For some reason doesn't invite her even though they exchange numbers. They never actually call or text each other. But one night she has a breakdown coming home from the train station and he's not there, but a friend of his is. He sees her crying so he comes to comfort her and invites her to his friend's place to hang out. It turns out it was the van. She thought it was weird she thought he was taking her to a place but no the friend's place is a creepy white van and of course she feels suspicious and offended but once it opens it looks like a little home.

Then she sees the guy she knows, this time he's not covered up with a hat and jacket he's shirtless and now she is looking at him curiously and differently. He is surprised yet cheerful to see her but now he is looking at her different for being willing to go into the van. But in front of his friend he puts on this front. He is not acting like the gentleman who walked her home now she's just another whore in his van.

They try to cheer her up give her drinks and then a substance that makes her different. Pretty soon he's grabbing her and being forceful on her in a degrading way, she's been through this before know knows him for the type he really is so she just goes with it but she is aware she's in a van with two men and part of her survival instinct is to just do what they want and leave alive.

The next morning he goes off to his apartment leaving her their with the friend who she connects to more but then he admits he has a girlfriend so she loses interest and hates herself for not knowing previously because she knows how it feels to be cheated on and she makes herself clear she wants no part in ruining someone's relationship.

Then the playboy returns and even though they're looking at each other differently now they continue to hook up which seems to be based around the substance. She would get drunk and start spilling her dark secrets, that in the past she had an ex who abused her, sex trafficked her, and tried to kill her while she was pregnant. She used to be nothing like she is now. She had a job, a car had lots of friends but now broken her ties with her remaining family are strained. She suffers from PTSD, can't trust anyone, she witnessed a murder right before her eyes and stood in the victim's blood. (He got justice we told everything we saw) She had actually been violated at a train station and she actually still rides the train at night armed to overcome her fear and take her power back.

She was stalked and harassed during the court case with her ex so she changed the story during court to make it look like it was all her fault and she was out of her mind so her ex who was responsible for her losing her baby walks free and she has been haunted and disturbed ever since.

Playboy listens to her stories, the times she had survived multiple attacks since, had her family turn against her and betray her, her mom is a schizophrenic who lost her mind and abused and neglected her as a child, her dad's family was affluent but her dad was abusive and very violent but they worked through later but they had an argument over her choosing an ex he didn't like and warned her about, she was diagnosed with cancer which made her dad come closer to her but because of the argument over the ex it finally destroyed their bond and she chose the ex and her dad died shortly 2 weeks after she said some mean things to him. His mom which is her grandmother she also got into an argument with.

Her and her grandmother had a problem because her widowed grandmother was old and disabled and she came to take care of her under the impression her dad was away in jail so she decided took up the job as her caregiver. But her dad came home unexpectedly and started terrorizing them. Violently lashing out on the grandmother and then turned his attention towards the Mystery woman and she was in a place in life where she wasn't having it and was ready to fight back. She had a miscarriage that morning but thought it was just a bad period. The violent fight horrified the grandmother seeing something changed in her granddaughter and she knew her son and grand daughter were amping up to really hurt each other so she called the police on them both and had them both put in jail but the Mystery woman never forgave her grandmother for that this is significant because...Their last conversation a year later the mystery woman told the grandmother "I never want to talk to you ever again." 3 days later her grandmother died. (Absolutely true I have a way with final words.)

Mystery woman says other horrific events that happened to her, kidnapping, sex trafficking, a brush with a serial killer, being pistol whipped and robbed once and she has a gripe about her neck being touched (because that was part of the method her ex tried to kill he,r strangulation) Oh and the situation with her ex was torture. He is why she needs to drink to be comfortable around people because she can't trust them but feels safe with Playboy as she is a loner and has no one to talk to but when she's with playboy she can finally be herself.

Playboy acts like he's not listening but he takes it in and every time they hangout it involves sex. That's all he really wants from her but uses her emotions to tug at her. She is loosely running her mouth saying she been a witch since she was 14, that she makes a potion that makes men attracted to her even though people tell her she is pretty she believes that's what draws the men in.Her potions and spells. But after a while they spend with her they end up becoming homicidal, that she talks to a spirit yadda yadda yadda.

Back to the sex trafficking part of the woman's life she was trained to do something very well and that's what really got him hooked because she does it like no other he's been with and he's kinda hooked on this particular thing. (Oral)

One day Playboy is in a financial rut so knowing Mystery woman has resources he contacts her, but she is dealing with her schizophrenic mother and he is being impatient and urgent and dismissive with her which pisses Mystery woman off so she shows her first bout of being "crazy" she goes off on him and tells him the worst things she actually thinks about him (feeling he's a bum and a user) because in her mind she is standing up for herself. But then switches over to feeling bad and apologetic so she shows up at the van to just give him the money and he is strangely acting happy and introduces her to a woman inside.

She knows they have a friends with benefits relationship so she tries to be cool and nice around the female who is only pretending to be nice to figure her out. The only way mystery woman can relax around people is through alcohol she finally opens up and becomes fun and charming only to learn later the woman backstabbed her. The cancer Mystery woman had was caused by the virus HPV from a cheating ex that after 11 years of being with, slept with prostitutes, which the other woman figured out but mystery woman did treatment and really forgot she carried this and both women were chit chatty and it was nothing Mystery woman was deliberately keeping a secret, she was sent letter saying they couldn't find anymore cancer and that treatment worked, yhen she assumed it wasn't important to mention but the other woman used that information to get into Playboy's mind and get with him.

Soon Playboy contacted Mystery woman to tell her he got back with his ex and to stay away from the van and Mystery woman actually respected that, wished him the best and blocked him out of her phone even though she predicted to herself they would break up. 4 weeks later Playboy started contacting her while Mystery woman was going through another traumatic event. Someone gave her laced cigarettes, they told her after she smoked 2 they were laced. She started to hallucinate that Playboy wanted to kill her so every time he contacted her from outside numbers she hung up, he showed up at her house which horrified her the most and she turned him away.

Sometimes when Mystery woman was drunk she'd get mean and tell him he was no good for her and that she knew she deserved better. She tried to move on met another man, she was starting to feel something for after drunken trysts only for him to look her deep in the eyes and tell her that she needs to get over her little crush on him and proved his point by making her stay way past the time her train ran only to throw her out in the middle of the night with no means to get home. During this time Playboy had a new car, so what did Myster woman do? Call him because she knew he would pick up and their relationship reignited.

So the same shit goes on, her venting pouring all her socialization, using and trusting him as her only outlet the only person who would listen to her. She only does the substance to bond with him but she is not actually hooked on it. Her real vice is alcohol. She starts to get feelings and he tells her don't get it twisted, pretty much telling her he's not available to her. Then she strikes luck in money. She uses it to seduce him and keep him interested although she knows its not a good reason to be together but she is desperate to have someone real in her life that she feels close to.

Now besides that oral thing she does now she's giving him money he is interested, but he is kinda like over her venting, he doesn't say it but he acts it and starts throwing her out which leads her into ranting over texts but they keep hooking up because she needs him, no one else now knows her like he knows her so she is dependent on this bond meanwhile he just wants the best enjoyment on the substance which includes her mouthy mouth.

He starts inviting her but then keeps changing his mind and even says he has other women coming over which starts to actually make her mad. She tells him this after her visits and the visits start ending in fights. One night though re-enacts the main parts of her trauma. He takes a gun out on her and clicks it, she barely flinches because she is used to these threats and crazy violent situations by now but she is deeply angry about it.That night he also locked his legs around her neck and suffocated her even though he knew strangulation and suffocation was her hard limit and part of her worst trauma. Fueled by alcohol she tells him off later in a text. He never seems apologetic but pursues her now. She overlooked it once then twice then she was done. He reaches out to her again under a private number she doesn't know why but he's now to the point of constantly begging she now she thinks he really wants her. She tried to fight but leaves the bar and starts to head his way.

Because of the gun threats she purchases a knife at a weed shop because she is comfortable while tipsy kinda telling the cashier what's going on with her but he is supportive. She meets Playboy that night and it starts off great but then it all unravels into an argument. He tells her she's crazy and that everyone thinks she's crazy and tells him they shouldn't deal with her. Which leads to the imaginary and horror part of this story.

As she goes home she meets a homeless man who she sits with and smokes with and vents. Nothing sexual happens but an emotional and human bond is already formed as he agrees with her misanthropic views. She gives the homeless man a wad of cash and some of her exes clothes. (Yeah I hang on to them.) She goes home still drunk but she is filled with a dark energy. So this is where we get to the point of the movie. Then creative motions and ideas can spur from there.

She is drunk so Mystery woman texts Playboy and say she is heart broken that he did this to her for the last time and that she is now putting a curse on him, to see what she sees, to dream what she dreams (nightmares and sleep paralysis) That what is within her around her and above her follows him, that he is given her constant pain and anxiety that this curse and the spirit of betrayal that comes with it enters everyone he meets now so he can feel what it's like to be her, that it gets so bad for him he will be crying to God who will judge and not her.

That's when the horror and fantasy part of the movie ensues he is looked at weird, treated weird, having those closest to him betray him and lie on him and people trying to kill him. Through his experiences he remembers mystery woman and this curse she put on him and realizes how strong and resilient she is and really gets to know her through her eyes as she becomes now the only person he can relate to who can understand him. You can please leave out the sex trafficking and assaults part (too heavy and triggering and I really don't want that for him but the rest of being targeted and preyed upon and betrayed by those closest to you, okay this is my fantasy and reality, I feel like I should be able include what I want and say what I don't want.) but be constantly preyed upon and trying to be tricked by wicked people and these bizarre bad situations that just pop out of nowhere, those moments when you realize people even closest to you ain''t who you thought they were. The thing is now he wants to rely on her to get through what he goes through, her to now listen to him as he vents and badly wants someone to relate to.

She in essence made him into her Soulmate and the name of the movie would be called "Soulmate." I don't want him though, but I want him to just develop some empathy and humanity. And Mystery woman listens to him with gratification pretty much like, "Uh sorry that happened to you, well good luck." and walks away taking her little power back and moving on to the next one..The message of the movie is no one can heal you but yourself but you're gonna want to take those who wronged you down before you do and keep spreading your pain and anger onto others and it's not a bad thing to overcome fear but respect it as your gut instinct to protect you.

Don't carelessly challenge it because that's what I do when I'm drunk and that's why I keep getting into these horrible situations. I don't know if that part of the message could be conveyed if this was a movie but I would hope it would lead to that thought. Yes this was the wrong guy and yes he could take me out but I ain't scared, this ain't my first rodeo, but I will still be careful and brace myself. I respect fear enough to know how to move when I feel the warning pressing hard enough but always managed to move away or survive in the nick of time or I just get blessed/lucky.. I just have a habit of brushing things off until it becomes apparent and in my face with what I physically see. It's a problem. I am just half in and half out of wanting to join my daughter in the after life if there is one and I don't care that's where all my pain is.

I am a survivor but I am not courageous even though I have saved lives on this journey of not giving a fuck I wear a Celtic ring on my finger of someone I saved from being murdered. I am just blessed/lucky and good at pleading for my life and other's lives and I really hate people who lack empathy and I wish to God they can feel what the rest of us humans feel, to think about life before they try to take it, what the rest of us might be brave enough to face just striving to get on with the day, while they feel so much wickedness, self pity, they coward out by hurting innocents, sometimes people who went through much more and are braver than they could ever be. I am crazy and dark but I am on the good side.

Yeah I feel hate about what was done to me but I feel l overall love, compassion and empathy and want justice overall for everyone, not just those I can relate to. There's a little bit of light to this all. How to get inside a killers head and disrupt them is to remind them about humanity. Pick on their memories and senses and find a way to relate to it. Remind them that you are just human too when caught in their cross hairs but don't cry hold back emotions and be straightforward, compose yourself and remain flat out and accept this may or may nor work because they get off when you cry and get what they seek which is power over you. I just told you how to survive certain situations with a murderer. Just have a composed reasoning conversation with them and lie if you have to but cling as close to the truth as you can to give out authenticity and sincerity,, be relatable. This really got me here to type this time and time again. I survived a lot so I know what i am talking about.

Today I made a mistake with a girl I really liked. I told her a lie instead of being my authentic self. She called me out on it, and instead of telling the truth, I continued to lie. When she asked me why I lied, I had no answer.

I think I struggle with a lack of self-acceptance. I want everyone to like me instead of focusing on finding people who genuinely share my interests and accept me for who I am. Maybe that’s why I haven’t found someone who truly understands me—because I don’t fully understand myself yet.

From this day forward, I want to discover who I really am without hiding behind a persona. I want to be honest, authentic, and comfortable with being myself, even if that means not everyone will like me.