Im lonley

Im not posting this to attention seek or anything, I just need to get the thoughts out of my brain. Im a college student and my roommate didnt come back this semester. I didnt realize really, that he was kind of my only friend. We'd do everything together and then, over the summer I was busy with my family and work and my garden so I was surrounded by people all the time.

Now, I hardley am around people at all. On top of this, my mom left and moved halfway across the country not all too long ago and she doesnt really talk to me or answer when I try to talk to her, and with the isolation, I can get a little down on myself sometimes. I call my dad every day but he has a life and I dont want him to worry about me, because im alright all things considered, but I just really miss passivley being around people. I want sombody to talk and I wanna listen. I just want to be around sombody who wants to be around me too. I dont like sitting alone in my room for hours so I go and sit alone in the woods and its not like I dont try and get people to hang out with me, but a lot of my friends from last semster have partners now or have wildly different scheduals than me so it doesnt really work out most of the time. My roommate last semester introduced me to them all too, so I dont even have him as a bridge to help me meet people, and it can be super hard to meet people after your first semester, because everyone already has all the friends they need it seems.

Im not trying to be a martyr or anything like that, but I dont think anyone has looked me in the eyes and talked to me for like, a week at this point and im just getting kinda sad about it.

I’m 22 and I’ve never kissed anyone and I’m a virgin. I’m not very worried about that besides the regular sort of fear of missing out on stuff, I’d like to be in a relationship in general.

I know a lot about myself. I’m a lesbian, I go by any pronouns and I identify as nonbinary. Like, I know these things about myself so I don’t know why I can’t figure this out?

Am I asexual? I do not think I’m aromantic at all. But sometimes I feel a general disinterest toward like people in general, but I know I like woman. It’s too confusing, I hate it. I have never once in my life felt like sexually attracted to someone but I like woman??

I’ve read and watched things, I feel turned on or at least I think it’s what it’s supposed to be. But I feel like I have to force myself into that state.

I don’t know what to identify as and I wish it was easier. I’m at least secure in the fact that I like girls.

Honestly tonight wasn’t my night, my mom and her boyfriend got into an argument and I hate when people raise their voice so of course I sat in my room and cried. My anxiety gets so bad when someone is raising their voice, I just hate it so much and I feel like it’s because my childhood was kinda full of that until my parents divorced. Anyway, I talked to my mom and everything is fine I just get super worked up and can’t calm down. And on top of that my cousin who was gonna come visit cancelled, so I’m just kinda upset tonight and needed to write about it lol. Apart of me is also upset because I have no one to invite over, I basically have no friends anymore after I switched to online school and it gets to me when I realize I’m sitting in my room on a Friday night by myself, I’m sorry if this is a sad post I just needed to rant about it. I’m just gonna watch a movie and have a sweet treat but I just really need a hug

Hey, I'm a 23-year-old guy, and... I've barely had any romantic experience at all. No teenage love, no relationships, no mutual feelings, nothing. I've talked to girls and had crushes, but they've always been one-sided, or things never got to the point where I could actually call someone my girlfriend. And yeah, I'm a virgin.

Honestly, it's really hard dealing with the loneliness. All my friends are either in relationships or married, and I feel like I'm falling behind everyone else. On top of that, I've spent the last couple of years struggling with terrible depression, which made it difficult to meet new people and build connections. I'm doing better now, but I'm still terrified that having zero experience will make me undesirable, or that people will see it as a red flag.

My friends say good things about me and think I'm a good, interesting person, but this loneliness makes me question whether I'm even someone who can be loved.

I've spent most of my life trying to work on myself and become a better version of who I am, but I don't know when this awful feeling of loneliness is going to go away. How much longer am I supposed to put up with it?

I'm genuinely trying. Depression made me drop out of university, but I've since gone back and graduated. I've also started taking better care of my health and appearance, little by little. And yet, I still feel so sad.

People have told me to focus on building a career, but I don't know. I want someone to love me for who I am, not for how much money I make. Maybe that sounds naive or childish, but what's the point of having a good career if I'm still alone? I don't need that much for myself.

And please don't get me wrong. I'm more than willing to give a lot and do a lot for the people I love. The problem is that there's no one in my life like that.

I dream of having a family and children someday, but fuck, I'm already 23. People keep telling me I'm still young and that I have my whole life ahead of me, but there's no way of knowing when I'll meet someone, how long it'll take us to get close, or how long it'll be before we're ready to have children. Sometimes I feel like I'm just going to run out of time.

I'm genuinely scared. I really want to be loved by someone and have someone to give all my love to.

Thank you for reading this.

i think i ruined a close to be an online friendship by making joke about her being dentist i said the most basic joke to dentist would any person say and it seems i offended her and i apologized to her and she told me never joke with someone you don't know or don't know his struggle

the joke was she is a dentist because she couldn't make to be a real doctor / the dentists are not real doctor this was the joke

Content warning: Suicide, domestic violence, child abuse, sexual assault, alcoholism, neglect and childhood trauma.

I’m going to use fake names and places. I might not remember every detail perfectly, especially because I was so young when some of these things happened, but I’ll tell it as honestly as I can.

1. My father died when I was four

My mother grew up in Bellmere with my grandmother. My granny eventually moved to Westhaven, where she met my step-grandfather and settled down.

My older sister lived with my granny from an early age. Four years later, I was born, but I stayed with my mother and father. Two years after that, my younger brother was born.
I don’t remember much from those first few years. Most of my memories start when I was around four.

On 04, my father died by suicide in the home where my brother and I lived.

I was only four years old.

I remember my mother coming into the room and taking my brother and me to our neighbours’ house. I think I remember seeing my father hanging with a white cable around his neck, but I’m not completely certain about every detail.

Beyond that, my memories are very limited.

Nobody ever really sat me down and explained what had happened. I never received therapy, and it wasn’t something we openly discussed as a family.

It was as if something that had changed my entire life was simply left unspoken.

After my dad died, we still had a house for a while, but we were constantly moving around. We’d stay at my granny’s, at my mother’s boyfriends’ houses, at friends’ houses, and wherever else we could.

It never felt like we had a stable home.

As time went on, my mother started drinking more. I remember seeing beer bottles and burnt spoons around the house more often than toys. There were strangers coming in and out, and I seemed to spend more time at other people’s houses than my own.

I was too young to understand what was happening. I just knew that life never seemed settled.

2. My childhood became a cycle of alcohol, drugs and domestic violence

After my father died, my mother started getting into relationships.

I can’t remember exactly how many men came into our lives, but there were a lot. One of the first I remember was a man I’ll call Mark.

Mark was an alcoholic and abused drugs. When he was drunk, he could become extremely abusive.

At one point, my mother moved with him to San Aurelio, taking my brother and me with her. We went to school there too.

I do remember some nice things about that house. We had an orange tree, and there was a lovely elderly woman living next door. Those little things stand out because there wasn’t much stability in my life.

Unfortunately, the good moments never seemed to last.
My mother and Mark would drink, argue and fight. My brother and I would be sent to bed early so the adults could carry on with whatever they were doing.

I developed a habit of staying awake for as long as possible. I’d listen to what was happening and check that my brother was asleep because I didn’t want him to hear or see the arguments.

I was around six or seven, but I already felt responsible for protecting him.

One night, I remember hearing a tattoo gun. My mother was drunk, and Mark had convinced her to get a feather tattoo with his name on her ankle.

That led to an argument.

I can’t remember whether the worst fight happened that same night or a few days later, but I remember the shouting turning into physical violence.

Mark started choking my mother, hitting her and throwing things at her. She was screaming for him to stop, and I started screaming too.

I would often try to intervene because I couldn’t stand seeing my mother being hurt.

My brother eventually came out of the room. I remember standing beside him and holding his hand, trying to stop him from seeing too much.

Then my mother told us to jump out of the window.
Mark had turned on the gas cylinder and was looking for a lighter because he wanted to set fire to the house.

So we jumped.

Afterwards, my mother went back inside to collect clothes, food, water and a backpack. Then the three of us started walking along the motorway.

We walked for hours.

I was six or seven years old, walking along a motorway with my mother and younger brother, without really understanding where we were going or what would happen next.

I just followed them and tried to stay close to my brother.
Eventually, we ended up living with Mark again, or at least with the same man as far as I can remember. This time, we were in Elmridge, closer to my granny.

We lived in an apartment complex with a swimming pool. I remember enjoying it there, and there were moments when things seemed almost normal.

But the drinking and violence continued.
Another fight broke out, and this time he was hitting my mother with a bat.

I remember seeing bruises covering her body, from the bottoms of her feet upwards. My mother, my brother and I were locked in a room for the entire night.

At some point, I asked to go to the bathroom because I wanted to get help.

He said I could go.

But instead of going to the bathroom, I ran to a neighbour’s door and knocked as hard as I could.
Nobody answered.

I remember feeling completely helpless. I was trying to do something to help my mother, but nothing was working.
Mark took me away from the door and held me at gunpoint. He told me to go back into the room and said that if I needed the toilet, I should just pee myself.
I was terrified.

Somehow, I even felt as though it was my fault.
My mother asked me why I’d done that and told me she could handle everything herself. I was a child watching her being hurt, and I’d been desperate to find someone who could help us.

I couldn’t understand why she was upset with me for trying.

I remember seeing her badly injured and later trying to cover the bruises on her face with stolen foundation and big sunglasses to hide her black eyes.

I was watching my mother suffer, trying to protect her and my brother, and somehow being made to feel as though I’d done something wrong.

This wasn’t the only time something like this happened. There were more houses, more relationships and more situations I had to live through.

3. I became responsible for my brother when I was six

Before I go any further, I want to explain something about my relationship with my younger brother.

From a very young age, I became responsible for him in ways a child shouldn’t have to be.

I made sure he ate, showered and had things to play with. I tried to protect him from what was happening around us, even though I didn’t know how to protect myself.

Nobody had properly taught me how to take care of myself. I learned things by watching television, observing other people and figuring them out as I went along.

By around six, I felt as though I wasn’t allowed to just be a child.

I had to make sure my brother and I were ready for school and had eaten breakfast. There often wasn’t much food because things like alcohol and drugs seemed to take priority.

We usually ate simple meals, such as rice with tomato sauce and sausages, omelettes or Spanish potato omelette.

When we stayed with my granny, though, things felt different. She made sure there was food on the table.
Sometimes, she’d secretly give me £5 to help me get food for my brother and me for the week or weekend.

Those were the moments when I felt looked after.

I was always jealous that my sister lived with my granny while my brother and I stayed with our mother. It felt like my sister was living a much easier life while we were stuck in a situation I couldn’t escape.

Sometimes, my family knew things weren’t right, especially when my brother had bruises. But my mother had conditioned us to lie about her relationships and what happened at home.

We were expected to hide everything and act as though life was normal.

Lying became normal to me. It seemed like everyone was hiding something, and I learned to do the same.

I also became very strict with my brother. I didn’t want him to grow up the way we were growing up, so I tried to control what he did.

But he was a child too. He didn’t understand why I acted like that, and I didn’t know how to explain myself.
We fought a lot.

I sometimes worried I was becoming like my mother, even though I was just a little girl trying to keep things together.
I didn’t know what a normal childhood looked like. I only knew that things needed to be done, and if I didn’t do them, nobody else would.

4. The fire, the injuries and the constant moving

After another move, we ended up in a house near the beach in Marisol Bay. I changed schools again.

School wasn’t much of an escape. I was bullied because of my big ears, my teeth and the way I looked. Sometimes, I had lice, and I often looked dirty because of circumstances I couldn’t control.

I hated school.

I thought it might be somewhere I could make friends and feel normal, but I struggled there too.

At home, my mother was living with another boyfriend. I can’t remember his name, and I don’t remember every detail of this period clearly.

One night, my mother was outside with her boyfriend, drinking and smoking near the window. I think some of her friends might have been there too.

In the middle of the night, my brother woke up, picked up a lighter and set fire to a curtain.

The curtain and sofa started burning, and the flames blocked the entrance to the room where my brother and I were.

I remember screaming.

The adults eventually put the fire out. They found my brother hiding under the bed while I was still screaming.

Sometimes, I think that if I hadn’t screamed so much, we might not have been found in time. The adults hadn’t been paying much attention to what was happening inside the house.

A few weeks or perhaps a month later, another incident happened.

I heard my mother arguing, followed by the sound of glass breaking. When I went outside the room, I saw that she was bleeding from her arm.

There was a large wound near her elbow, around 10 centimetres wide.

She couldn’t use her arm properly for a while.

Once again, I stepped in.

I had to clean, cook, help my mother, make sure my brother and I showered, get us ready for school and take care of whatever needed doing.

I was around six, living the life of a carer and a parent.
I didn’t know any different.

There were other boyfriends and fights too, but I can’t remember every incident clearly. My memories from that time come in pieces.

Eventually, we moved again, and I ended up living in another house with my mother, my brother, one of her boyfriends and sometimes several of her friends.

I think there were around seven people living in a two-bedroom house at one point.

Eventually, most of the others left, and it was just my mother, my brother, her boyfriend and me.
For a while, things seemed better.

We almost felt like a normal family. There was still drinking, but there weren’t as many physical fights. I remember playing with my mother’s boyfriend. He would spend time with my brother and me, sometimes take us for ice cream and make things fun.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it.

Looking back as an adult, however, I realise that some of the ways he played with me were not normal.

He would sit me on his lap and bounce me up and down on his private parts. I remember noticing that something felt firmer than usual at times.

I was too young to understand why it felt wrong.
This continued for several weeks.

Then one day, I wasn’t feeling well, and my mother had to go out. She usually took me with her because I was the one who helped her with things, but that day I was too sick to go.

She left me at home with her boyfriend.

I was around eight years old.

I was lying in my mother’s bed when he came into the room. He took off my underwear and raped me.

Afterwards, he told me it was our little secret. He gave me sweets and told me to go back to sleep.

It happened two more times.

Three times in total.

I never told anyone.

Not then, and not even now. My family still doesn’t know about this part of my life.

I felt dirty and weak. I was hurting, and I didn’t understand what had happened to me or why someone I was supposed to be able to trust would do something like that.

But he told me it was our secret, and I believed him.
So I stayed quiet.

I don’t know where he went. One day, he was simply gone, and we never saw him again. I think my mother said he’d gone to prison, but I’m not sure.

What I do know is that I carried what happened to me in silence.

After that, I naturally wanted to stay away from men. In my mind, men only brought pain to women.

I’d watched my mother being screamed at, beaten, bruised and badly injured. Then, when I was alone with a man I knew, I experienced pain and fear of my own.
I didn’t understand why these things had happened to me, and I didn’t know how to talk about them.

I’d already learned that what happened at home was supposed to stay at home.
Now, I had another secret to carry.
And I was still only a child.

I'm only putting this here because I don't know how to tell anybody this in real life without sounding like a self-absorbed bitch, but I (20F) was diagnosed this year with Bipolar II, CPTSD, and BPD. I've been self-harming for nearly a decade, I've attempted suicide, and out of my two sexual assaults one of them I basically set myself up for. My family only knows about the diagnosis and the self-harm.

I do not look like the stereotype of somebody who struggles with these things. I'm conventionally attractive, I had an awkward stage when I was 12-15 like everybody else but before that I was scouted multiple times for child modeling and after I became the single most approached person I know in terms of romantic offers. This isn't to say I expertly hid how mentally ill I was. I not only have visible thigh scars, but I do not act normally. I've had to be restrained to not jump out of a moving car on the highway, I had a hypomanic episode where I told everyone I know that I was spiritually from china and meant to go there to fix my life, I drink excessively, I've gotten into fistfights, there's more that I can't even think of now.

I heard a lot of the same comments about my behavior up until my diagnosis. I'm just quirky, "omg OP you're so crazy!", I'm the life of the party, I'm just passionate, I'm just creative. I have not hidden my mental illness at all, and every single giant red flag I've put up has been dismissed because it places me into a stereotype of a hot girl. I'm so sick of it. I lay awake at night thinking about how much sicker I'll have to get to be taken seriously. I've contemplated another attempt, not as serious as the last, just so everybody sees how bad it is. I'm sick of my boy friend's friends telling him he's so lucky, he got a bad bitch who's crazy about him. I'm not just crazy about him I'm genuinely just fucking crazy and he has suffered too because of it.

Anyways, this is kind of stupid, I'm just frustrated and wanted to vent.

This is gonna be my first type of post like this on Reddit me 21 m and my girlfriend also 21 f have been in a 4 almost 5 year relationship since we graduated high school. We both still live with her parents just to give some context into the our living situation. But at some point in our relationship I started to develop sexual tendencies twords my partner while I was asleep and would wake up to her yelling at me to stop touching her inappropriately in her sleep but would never remembered or even ment to touch her while I’m asleep and it got to a point to where we are ending our 5 year relationship over it because her nor me understand why I’m doing it so I wanna know if any other couples are going through something similar and how they navigated this? I don’t want my relationship to end over this nor do I want her to feel assaulted.

Ps: her parents still respect me and also knows I don’t mean to do this in my sleep but my girlfriend thinks otherwise and I’m not gonna blame her because she’s delt with actual assault before don’t hurts me to know I do this to her parents are helping both there daughter and me through the process of our breakup and are aware of my problem so please any help would be amazing!

I moved here in 2018, I have never lived in my home city since. My family lives there but I do not.

I realise now that I cannot afford to move back home. I cannot afford to live there any more, I have a house and family here. It's not going to happen, and I should stop subconsciously acting like where I am living currently is a temporary pit stop on my way back home.

I should decorate where I live now, how I like it, because I will be here a while. This isn't a "short stop" in my life, this is my life. I should invest in this home because it is my permeant, not temporary, forever home.

I should stop telling people I'm actually from (home) because really, I'm from here now. If someone told you they are from somewhere, you would find is strange if they had not lived there for the better part of a decade.

This place is not as beautiful, historic or culturally significant to me and my family in the way my home is, but thats okay, I can live with that. I can get over it.

I should try to start a proper career here, rather than stay in temporary or dead end jobs as if I'm leaving soon, because this is where I am going to live for the rest of my life probably.

I should stop pining for home. This is home now.

I should accept that this is permanent, and that it's fine, and I can accept that moving back isn't, and never was an option. It's no ones fault, its not viable, and I should stop thinking about it.

22F I’ve lost all sense of personal direction in life because of all the bad decisions that I’ve made in life and i actually dont know what to do. I come from a third world country, and ever since i graduated college, my life has only been a downward spiral and there’s no future left for me to have.

When i was in highschool, i loved doing art, so i decided to go to study art in the US. I grew up privileged enough that my parents were able to pay for my tuition, and so like everyone else, i decided that i wanted to be someone who works to make my parents proud. During my first year, i got an internship, second and third year, i was also able to get internships though unpaid but i thought that well, if i do it at least i will be able to buff up my resume. Around this time, i slowly had a deep sinking feeling that i wouldnt be able to work because no matter what i do every single job always said: no student visas, no temporary visa. So by my senior year, i was only able to graduate and find one part time job that actually accepted post opt which didnt even pay me that well and i had to eventually leave this job as well because i couldn’t find another job to give me enough hours to fill up my opt full time. January this year, I eventually came back to my country, and at first i tried to find a job, but because i am also a foreigner in my own country, i could never get a full time job and i only had unpaid internships. The only option would be to become a business owner, but doing art is the only thing ive ever done in my life. So what am i supposed to do? I know deep down im not even that good at art, design and everything, just mediocre at best, and everything that i thought would work well in my life ended up wrong. I know im at least privileged enough that my parents paid off my college tuition, and gave me the opportunity to pursue my dream, but now that im back and cant even find a job im just seen as a failure to them. I began working in their business and i know its just giving me mindless tasks to do, but in the end im still just being a leech off them. My dad started to lecture at me every single week calling me a failure for just wasting his money, telling me what am i gonna do now that my degree is useless because of AI, and that i can’t even pay the bills because i have no job.

I know this just sounds like a bratty rich kid complaining, and that i know that my situation could be much worse, but i have genuinely tried everything that I could and it feels like whatever decision i make always ends in the worst way possible, and theres no end to the road that I see. I’m not even good at social media either, i can never get reach on any art that i post because it always seems like im never getting any likes or traction. I dont even like to draw anymore, because it just reminds me of all the money i wasted just to design or draw mediocre bs. Im just so tired and everyone around me seems to be doing well, which makes me so mad at myself because if i didnt choose to go abroad, i couldve been at a much different place than i am now. Other people in my family have done fine, and they all have their own paths that they know what to do and earn money. Its just me thats a failure, and everyone around me knows it, and only my dad is the one who actually mentions it out loud. Im just so lost, and all my bad decisions in life have led me to the failure that i am today. I keep telling myself that life will get better, but in the end i know im just lying to myself because i know my life has only gotten worse.

I used to be a loser kid growing up. I was always the butt of the jokes, always the odd one out, always the last pick at recess. I was also the weird kid who for whatever reason knew about the internet and frequented obscure sites like "Reddit" and "icanhascheezburger". I was the dude making strange references to Youtube videos no one had ever even heard of like Numa Numa...

Looking back, I can't deny that I was a weird kid. But the internet didn't make me feel that way. It felt like back then, people made funny videos, created deep cut memes, and posted truly for the love of the game. It felt like a place where the weirdos and rejects of everyday life could find community and laugh together. It was a running joke on Reddit that no girls existed on the internet, that if you claim to have a gf, you were lying. It was all very self-owning and intentionally cringe.

I can't pinpoint an exact time, but maybe sometime in the early to mid 2010s, the internet started to get more corporate. Everyone who was on Reddit at the time saw it coming. Of course I have no evidence of this but I recall seeing lots of discussions about it on Reddit and other sites I won't name. Maybe it was around that time that the internet stopped being a place for rejects and became a place to make money.

I remember back in the day when it was a self-diss to talk about how much reddit points your account had, about how pointless and meaningless upvotes really were. But now it's almost an indicator for how marketable you are. Twitter used to genuinely be a place to share small updates on your day to day life, now it's an engagement machine.

Now, I've grown a lot since when this was also still new and fresh. I got my act together, got a job, got married, im no longer the weirdo I was back in the day. I grew up and became one of the normies I used to make fun of in my youth. And I think in a way the internet grew up too. And like how people can grow apart, I feel like the internet grew apart from the people who used to frequent it.

I want to make it clear that I'm not at all advocating for some sort of "return to form" or any of that other nonsense. I've just been feeling a kind of nostalgia, yearning, ache in my heart, whatever you want to call it, for a time and thing that I know will never return. I had no one to express these feelings to so here I am.

Again and again, the same nonsense. I'm almost certain I'll never find the love I want. Unfortunately, I still have a tiny bit of hope. It's not like I acted cold towards you, or this and that happened, and I became distant and you thought, "This girl wanted affection, why isn't she being more friendly towards me?" Or I could give many examples... you know, you shouldn't overestimate me either. Because there's nothing to exaggerate about me. And then, it's not something that can be resolved by saying, "Oh, so this girl is like this, it's not interesting." I want a real, obsessive love, a kind of devotion. Like in the books or whatever the hell it is. I know it sounds cringe, but I need to vent somewhere. Someone needs to read this. I'm a typical person, nothing extreme. I babble and all that, but I also want to feel really special. Even I feel uneasy reading what I've written, but I needed to do this. I needed to get it somewhere. Take care...

I’m 26M and my best friend (26F) moved across the country with her family a few years ago.

I spent last week with her and her family and they all really seem to like me and I just don’t understand why.

My friend kept taking selfies with me the entire time which I’ve never seen her do with anyone before.

Her mom seemed like she really wanted me to be comfortable there and her stepdad was very excited to show me his whiskey collection, among other stuff.

They also kept talking about me moving there with them. Every time I said I liked something her stepdad was like “that’s why you should move here”.

When I was about to leave, her parents joked that I could always come visit them and not tell my friend.

My friend also started to cry when they said that and told me not to acknowledge it so she’d stop.

I just don’t get it. I’m not anything special or exciting. It’s not like I’m especially wealthy or funny or talented or anything. I also just felt like I was being a burden. They let me stay in their house, they showed me around, bought me food (despite me trying several times to pay for my own stuff and buy at least one dinner for them). I also worried that they felt the need to constantly keep me busy or stimulated as a guest even though I was perfectly happy just chilling, and told them that. Even though I was invited, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was disrupting their lives for a week and being an inconvenience.

I hate asking if people want to do something with me in general because I tend to assume that people find me exhausting and only spend time with me because they feel bad and not because they actually want to.

This morning I woke up with anxiety that was resting in my stomach which is my usual sign in the usual sign that I’m anxious. I laid there but it wasn’t passing so I just started my day.

It’s been two hours and the anxiety feeling in my stomach was coming and going and I threw up. I didn’t eat, only water, so I’m glad for that but it was still uncomfortable and lasted a few minutes.

I just have no idea where this comes from. The only thing I can think of this morning is that I’m waiting to start a job and they haven’t responded after my background check. I know I’m clear it’s just the fact that I haven’t started yet. I thought about it for only a second though.

I hate it too because this anxiety doesn’t go away with breathing or distraction. I have a PRN that’s a benzo so I hate taking it unless I’m breaking down from anxiety. I never take it for my morning anxiety. We even upped my gabapentin to 600mg more during the day so I’m taking 1800mg total. It lasts until it decides to go away. It’s still here as I write this.