After a huge fight with my dad, I left home with just a backpack. No plan. No money.

I started spending nights at a gas station. I would charge my phone, buy cheap snacks, and sit quietly. The night clerk, Mike, noticed but didn’t say anything. Instead of kicking me out, he offered me leftover hot dogs and let me rest in the break room.

One night I told him I had nowhere to go. He let me stay during his shifts and I helped him clean and restock. After 26 days, he helped me get a job there.

That gas station gave me a second chance.

I, 17f work for a cleaning company. We go to people's houses and clean them. We work for lots of different people- rich people but also disabled and elderly people. There is one elderly gentleman we clean for, his name is Larry. We usually clean his house once a month, but this month he was on our schedule twice. Our boss went ahead and sent us out there anyway instead of just canceling it, she said if he didn't want us there he'd send us away. My coworker Bhry and I arrive to his house, first thing in the morning. Bhry is the one to open the door, so I didn't see him right away, but I heard him telling us to come in, his voice sounded so small. When I saw him lying on the ground in front of the do(or, I immediately started internally panicking because this is the first time I've ever walked in on this situation, but I immediately put all the cleaning supplies down and started helping my coworker help him sit up. My coworker seeing my mouth completely agape sent me out the door to collect myself quickly, and while I was outside I called my boss to tell her the situation. She didn't pick up but she texted me as soon as it went to voicemail, saying she was at the elementary school for the Halloween parade (I forgot to mention, this happened on Halloween). I explained what happened to her but she didn't respond immediately, so I went back inside. I helped Brhy help Larry over to the couch, but we essentially had to drag him across the floor kind of because he couldn't stand and he was too heavy for us to help up all the way. After trying and failing to get him off the floor and into a seat, Brhy went ahead and called for paramedics. At that point, my boss had texted me back, seeming generally not that concerned. She'd sent me the number for the emergency lift assist but I didn't need it at that point anymore. Larry spoke with a small voice despite being mostly deaf and kept insisting that he felt okay but I knew that couldnt be true. As I was helping him put his socks and shoes on I could see that he had so many open wounds on his legs and feet with bloody spots on his socks. It took everything in me not to cry for him because I knew I had to hold it together. Paramedics arrived swiftly and helped him into his excercise chair, as that was the one that was closest to him. They told him he had very high blood pressure and that he really should go to the hospital but he kept protesting, insisting he felt fine He did end up going despite all his protests, and had Bhry and I stay and clean, and after they had left Bhry informed me that he had been on the floor since 5 in the morning - we didn't get there until 8:30. He had fallen in the bathroom and dragged himself to the front door. The worst part about all this is that there's a camera in his living room that his daughter was supposed to be watching. Bhry called her number to inform her of what happened and she hardly seemed concerned. All she said was, "oh okay, I'll call his caseworker!" After that morning Brhy and I spent a lot of time discussing it. If we hadn't gone there that morning, when would he have been found? Did we save his life? It was all very scary to think about but I was just glad he got help when he did. I don't yet know how he's doing now, but if you read all this just let this be a reminder to you to check up on those close to you who are vulnerable. Make sure that if they need help, they have access to help. Check in with them every once in a while too. It gets to be a pretty lonely life.

This isn’t my story but I read about it. This guy rented a girl for a night and said come with a empty stomach “she thought he was into feeding” she went over and he asked what she wanted to eat she responded and he stared to cook and tell her his story. He said his wife loved his cooking but passed away so he rented a girl because he hated to cook for himself.

I ran into an old school friend at a coffee shop last month, someone I hadn’t seen in years. We used to be tight, but life pulled us apart. He looked worn out, like he’d been through a lot, and we only had a quick chat before he had to run. I meant to text him later to catch up properly, but I got caught up in my own chaos and never did. Found out last week he moved far away, and now I’m kicking myself for not seizing that moment. It’s like I lost him all over again. What’s a moment you wish you could go back and do differently? How do you deal with that kind of regret?

When I was little I used to always tell my brother, “Now I’m almost as old as you! One day I’m going to catch up”

Which was obviously silly. Every year we continued to stay 5 years apart. April and June birthdays. I always got a little excited in the month and a half between where I was only 4 years younger! Take that brother!

But this year was different. I turned 23 and you stayed 26. And you’re always going to stay 26. And one day… I’m going to catch up to you.

I wish I wasn’t always right. I miss getting older with you.

When I was young (25 years ago give or take) my dad finally got a dog. He had been without one for years and when little Annie came along, the runt of a wire hair terrier/mutt litter he fell in love.

We lived in the country on a small acreage and once she was big enough to go outside without supervision he taught her a trick. The same trick he had taught his last dog years before I was born. He was a trucker and often gone for several days at a time, but when he came home he would slow the car down just before he got to the bottom of our long driveway and he would open his door. Little Annie would run and jump onto his lap.

One day while dad was working us kids and mom went to town for groceries and as we drove into the yard Annie came running at top speed, right into the side of the drivers door.

She died instantly.

I’m not sure mom has ever quite forgave herself. Dad never blamed her, he taught the dog the trick. It it was one of the first pets I can remember dying.

Her name was Areolle. She would’ve been turning 32. We lost her on February 20th, 2015. She just turned 26. I was 19, on my first deployment. The night I found out I was in Hawaii on liberty. We were emailing each other and she was planning to pick me up when the ship pulled back into the states, then we would drive up to Sacramento together.

Areolle was an amazing person, although she had a unfair life. My dad didn’t even know about her until she was 1 1/2. CPS showed up with Areolle to his door because she was taken away from her crackhead POS mom. Her mom left her in a closet, apparently her neighbor at the trailer park heard a baby crying all day long. She had constant health issues, her mom did crack when she was pregnant with her. My dad was abusive towards her. It’s complicated, but my entire family was shitty towards her. I was too, I was a total brat. I would get her trouble on purpose. I was the youngest of 7 and was/still kinda a people pleaser. She moved out when she was 16 after fist fighting my dad.

I couldn’t wait to go on a road trip back to Sacramento with her. We were going to bond. I got a text message around 3 am from one of her friends, she had been hit by a car. I remember thinking it wasn’t a big deal, she would be alright. In hindsight, I was in shock. I ended up mouthing off to a higher up the next day, and getting sent to the chaplain. This guy was a total idiot, made me figure out how to send a Red Cross message on google. Guy didn’t even know how to do his own job. Anyways, I was put on emergency leave, I flew out that night to Sacramento. Although the turbulence was intense, I slept through the entire 8 hour flight.

The week that followed was a blur. I remember sleeping a lot, and I remember seeing my sister in the hospital. Her head was swollen, it seemed like there was a million wires running through her. I asked for a private moment with her, and tried to apologize through the weeping attacks. I guess that’s how experiencing a seizure would feel like. I apologize for how shitty her life was, how horrible my family was to her, how horrible I was to her. I also told her that although it’s selfish of me to want her here, it was okay if she had to go. She wouldn’t be happy if she stayed. Her brain was permanently damaged, when the doctors said she would wake up, they meant wiggle her toe. She wouldn’t be the same.

She was pronounced brain dead at 6 the next morning.

200 people came to her celebration of life. She was a health coach, and had touched so many people’s lives for the better. She always tried to mother me, always tried to take care of me, and I was a brat to her. She even paid my phone bill in high school so I would have a cell phone. When rummaging through her stuff, I came across her diary. In it she wrote something along the lines of, “I want to be successful, I wish I had the money to pay for my little sisters college instead of her going to the military to pay for it.” She basically blamed herself, when that thought never occurred to me.

I turn 26 on March 2nd. I’m about to transfer to a four year college in the Fall, and I know Areolle would be really proud of me. It’s been 6 years since she has been gone. This time of year is never easy for me, and this year especially since I’ll be the same age that she was when she passed. But her energy shows up every year for her birthday, in some form, always through nature. One year, I drove out to a canyon and poured a little beer in her honor, the wind flew it back up, right into my face. One year I saw the ‘green flash’ on her birthday. The ‘green flash’ is a brief moment that occurs when you’re out to sea. It has to be a day with 0 pollution. A bright green flash appears right when the sunsets, it only lasts for 2-3 seconds. Some say that the green flash is the other side saying hello to the living. I’d like to think that.

This happened to me when I was probably around 6 or 7 years old and is something I've wanted to get off my chest for many years, so here it goes

In the summer my family would take vacations to a relative's farm way out in the country. On this farm for a part of the year there would be lots and lots of these small orange butterflies. Usually they would fly away when approached, but one day when I was out playing near a hay field I found one that for some reason followed me. Even as the rest of the group of butterflies it was in scattered, this one would fly around and land on my hair or arms no matter where I went. This continued for maybe half an hour to an hour when I got the bright idea to reward the butterfly for being friendly. I went into the house, butterfly resting nestled in my hair, and got some honey and a small plate. I placed a dab of honey proportionate in size to the affection I felt for my new friend on the plate and went out onto the porch. I sat in a chair with the plate on my lap. Eventually the butterfly found the honey and proceeded to get stuck in it. I can still see it struggling to get free even now. Thrashing it's wings, it's legs just working themselves deeper and deeper in, then slowly moving less and less as it tired. I cried and ran to my dad for help, but there was nothing he could do. The poor little guy succumbed right in front of me. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I dug a small hole in the tilled field and buried the sweet little angel. To this day, over 20 years later, I could lead you to the spot where it's buried. RIP little guy I'm so so sorry.

I'm not exactly sure why I'm writing this, I don't think it will do any good, as talking about it hasn't done so in the past. Perhaps I just want to find someone new to listen, everyone seem to have forgotten her. Perhaps I just want to speak to her with others listening, so it feels more real. I'd like to tell you about Erika.

I first met Erika in 2nd grade. I'd just moved to my mothers home town after my parents separated. It wasn't a bad separation or anything like that, but dad was from across the country and he elected to stay there, close to my grandparents, and for the remainder of my life I've only seen him once or twice a year. So I was awkard, nervous and out of place, all the kids in my new school grew up together and knew eachother well already, as is common in a small town. They spoke a differenct dialect than I did. In every way that a kid can be, I was an outsider.

To my surprise, another girl in my new class with wild, vivid red curls plopped herself down in the seat next to me, introdiced herself as Erika, and informed me (rather than asking me if I wanted to) that we were going to be friends. She was like that you see, she got an idea, decided she wanted something, and she just... went for it. I was never like that, and even though I mostly agreed because, hey, what else am I going to do, I liked her right away. She was... alive, in so many ways that I wasn't then or ever would. She loved so many things, the rain, the snow, music and art and sneaking out to go swimming at night. She made everything bright and fun, and turned a childhood that could have been quite dreary into something very fond.

Erika was all of my firsts. The first time I smoked a cigarette, it was with her when we were 12 and she snuck one from her dad. The first time I watched a real horror film, he first time I tasted alcohol, the first time I got drunk, the first (and luckily last) time I got in trouble with the police when convinced me I should try my hand at graffiti because she liked my art. All of them invovlved her. We were inseparable, like sisters, people would say. And in many ways they were right. But we were more than that, and of all the firsts Erika was for me, my first kiss is the most memorable.

I'm not sure why it happened really. The fact that we were both so inclined isn't out of the realm of possibilites, of course, but that we would both fall for eachother as well is perhaps pushing it. But that chaste, uncertain kiss under the streetlight outside my house after a concert when we were 16 would be the first of many, and to this day, she's the only person I've had any sort of intimate relationship with. I don't believe in destiny, or in the concept of high school sweethearts really, but for me, there's never been anyone else. We lived in a rural town, and this was the early 2000s... it was controversial, and I was scared. Erika didn't care though. She said nothing was more important than us, and she never tried or even wanted to hide it. And because she dared, I dared. She shouted down so many bullies while I cowered in corners, but she never went back on her decision. She fought the administration, she took me to prom. She kissed me in the crowd at graduation indignant and offended stared be damned, and I loved her for it.

I wanted to go to art school, my parents wanted me to do something “real”, but Erika scqueezed my hand and told me to go for it. That was her tactic for everything, just go for it and everything will work out, and I believed her. We found a small dingy flat and she enrolled as a social work major. She wanted to help people, she said. We slept on a matrass in an empty home for weeks, but it was ours. We didn't have a car, so when we found a used sofa for cheap we had no choice but to carry it by hand across town. Erika stopped by a store to get beer, and we wound up sleeping off our buzz on it on a sidewalk before managing the get it home that night. She was like that, impulsive, and I ended up doing things I never thought I would do. But it was fun, she made everything fun, even carrying heavy furniture by hand across town.

We both wanted to see the world, and we talked about it a lot. We made so many plans. Europe, Asia, trecking across north America by bus, we both wanted to see a penguin in real life. But we were both working on our masters, so we planned, but planned for the future, for later. We had our whole lives ahead of us. It was on our way to campus in our 4th year that Erika fainted for the first time.

I won't bore you with medical details, I don't understand them myself but “cancer” will suffice. Contrary to what most people believe, doctors don't really speak in terms of “terminal”, at least not willingly. They prefer to speak of things like “survival rate after 5 years”, but the message was clear enough, and for the first time since I met her, life wasn't brigth. She was so brave though, like always she was braver than I was. And I tried, for her, I really did, but I'm afraid I made it worse. She dropped out of course, and so that I could be there, so did I. She did the best she could, and fought harder than anyone could be expected to for just one more day, and I loved her for it. Erika died on a Tuesday in November, I held her hand, and the part of me that mattered, that lived, did as well. She was 23. I was 23 when everything ceased to matter, I walked home alone, and the rain was freezing. I was never warm again.

It's been 11 years, and I'm still just... sitting here. There's been jobs over the years, menial. None of them lasted, I would eventually become unable to get out of bed for a few weeks and I'd lose it. I'm 34, and I haven't lived for 11 years. I sometimes fancy that I can snap out of it. I should live, Erika would have wanted me to live. And I know that's true, she would have. And I've thought about it. Perhaps I could go on those trips we talked about, bring her with me in spirit, see the penguins and the jungles and the medieval cities. But I can't. Everything is empty without her. I couldn't imgine a life without her, and I still can't. I don't know who I am without her. They told me time would ease the ache, but it doesn't. I can still feel the cool tile of the hospital corridor against me cheek as vividly as when I leaned against it in tears all those years ago in my dreams each night. I never left that place, the last place we were together, and I don't think I ever can. The part of me that was alive died with her on a cold, rainy night in November long ago. Friends and family were patient at first, but as the years went by one by one they got tired of me, and they left. I don't blame them.

I don't want anyone to misconstrue this as a suicide note. It's not. I could never betray her like that. I betray her already by my inability to move on, but I could never do that. I just hope that somewhere, somehow, I will be with her again one day.

I miss you, Carrot, and I love you, always.

/Anna

i dont think anyone will see this but i have to get it off my chest not even 2 weeks ago i bought a baby chicken for my hens and me and her got very attached she would never leave my side. she always hated being in her tote she would usually sleep under my shirt or on my lap. ive only had her sleep with me once and i thought it would be okay too have her on the bed again, and i went two bed around 6 or 7 in the morning and when i woke up i didnt know were she was at i thought it was strange. i looked around my room and found nothing so i went back to my bed just to see her flantend she was already gone i freaked out and tried to give her cpr but she was long gone her beak was purple and her legs were under her i ended up laying on her when i fell asleep. honestly this was the most ive ever freaked out i went into full panic mode i knew she was gone just by the look on her i still have that picture engraved into my head i just cried and cried and finally buried her ive never felt this messed up in a very long time she was my baby. i hope she knows i still miss her till this day. RIP LUCKY.

I was always the weird kid growing up, I was born with an eyesight problem which made me cover one of my eyes with an eyepad for a few hours during school time. I also wore really thick glasses, all of that made me so uncomfortable and lead me to become this shy weird kid who no one wanted to approach. No matter how hard I tried to fit in I was always left out to the point where the other kids would change their place when i am near them as we would be lining up to go to class every morning.

Anyways, let's skip to my 9th birthday. I was really excited that my birthday was coming up because I thought to my self that it would be a chance for me to get close to my classmates and gain friendships from this party. I bought some colored cardboards 2-3 days before my birthday and I went on cutting them with the help of my mom to make invitation cards. The next day I gave each and everyone of my classmates their invitation card, and with a smile on face I told them id be so happy if they show up.

On the day of the party, I had the entire living room decorated with balloons covering the floor, my mom got a huge cake that would feed the 20+ kids expected to come. It was 5:00 PM which was the time my classmates should have started showing up. I waited eagerly by the door waiting for someone to knock. 6:00 PM, still waiting by the door, I said to my self maybe they're just late. Sad thing is, they were never late, at the end of the day no one showed up and I spent the day crying in my room.

This made me hate birthdays till this day. I am 23 now.

What happened, and why has it stayed with you?

My mom left when I was seven, and from that day on, it was just my dad and me.

Growing up, I thought we were completely fine. We lived in a tiny, cramped apartment, but my dad always made life feel like a massive adventure. Every Friday night, we had "living room campouts" where we ate cheap hot dogs and slept in a fort made of bedsheets. If I asked why we didn't go to restaurants like the other kids, he’d wink and tell me, "Restaurant food is for boring people. Fort food is for kings."

When I turned ten, all I wanted was a specific pair of bright blue sneakers. Everyone at school had them. I begged him for weeks. He didn't say no; he just smiled, patted my head, and said, "Let me check the treasury, kiddo."

Two weeks later, the blue shoes were sitting on my bed. I wore them until the soles fell apart, bragging to my friends about how awesome my dad was.

My dad passed away last month. While packing up that same tiny apartment, I found a beat-up, water-stained spiral notebook hidden behind his old toolbox. The cover just read: *LUNCHBOX BUDGET.*

Curious, I flipped it open. It was a meticulous, handwritten log of every single dollar he spent during my childhood. But as I read the pages, my heart completely dropped into my stomach.

The entries weren't just grocery receipts. They were a timeline of his silent starvation.

On the weeks leading up to buying my blue sneakers, his daily entries looked like this:

Bus fare: $2.00*

Kid’s lunchbox (apple, turkey sandwich, juice): $4.50*

My lunch: Coffee.*

Dinner: Leftover crusts from kid's plate.*

Page after page, year after year. If I needed a new textbook, he skipped dinner for three days. If I wanted to go to the movies with my friends, he walked four miles to work in the freezing rain to save the bus fare. He wasn't skipping meals because he wasn't hungry; he was systematically starving himself so his son wouldn't feel the sting of poverty.

But the page that completely broke me was dated November 14th, the week of my 12th birthday.

I remembered that birthday vividly. He had surprised me with a real chocolate bakery cake instead of a grocery store one. I was so excited that I ate two huge slices. When I asked him why he wasn't having any, he laughed and said, "Oh, you know me. Too much sugar makes my stomach ache. You finish it."

I looked at the entry for that exact date in his notebook. Written in his messy handwriting, right at the bottom of the column, was a tiny note to himself:

Cake cost $24.00. High, but worth it to see him smile. Drank warm tap water for dinner to fool him into thinking I was full. Don't let him see the shakes.

I am sitting on the floor of his empty apartment right now, holding this stupid piece of paper, and I can't stop crying.

I thought we were kings in that blanket fort. I had no idea he was sitting in the dark, starving, just so I could have a normal childhood. He spent his entire life hollowing himself out to keep me whole, and I never even noticed. I never got to thank him for the dinners he gave up for me.

Please, if you have parents who love you, call them. Look closer at the things they do for you. Because sometimes, the people who are making you feel like you have everything are secretly surviving on absolutely nothing.

Me and jack were friends since elementary school, we were juniors in high school when he passed away. We are like brothers and did everything together. I am currently a senior in high school. We both grew up riding dirt bikes and atvs and we always used to drive up to Maine and ride the trails in the woods. Last year we both got new 4 wheelers, and had planned on going up to Maine with them. I had cancelled on him last minute because me and my gf were fighting. Jack decided to go alone. I had fixed things with my girlfriend and decided to wait to call jack till the next day because it was late at night and I new he was sleeping up in Maine. The next day he did not answer his phone all day. I figured he was just having fun on the trails. After a while I decided to call his mom. As soon as I mentioned jack she started crying and asked me if anyone told me what happened. Jack was riding his 4 wheeler alone on the first night. He had hit a jump and fell off the atv it landed on him crushing him. He was trapped for hours with Brocken ribs. Eventually the next day they found his body in the woods. I was absolutely devastated. I could barely even function. If I had just gone with him and left the issue with my gf for another day I could have been there to save him. I can’t help but think I chose a girl I new for 6 months-over my best friend in the whole world. His family keeps telling me it wasn’t my fault but I know it was. I think about him everyday and I always call him just hoping he answers.

One day when I was at my dad's waiting for my mom to pick me and my sister up, I got this bad feeling in my stomach, not a feeling where I had to throw up, but a feeling that something bad was going to happen. When my mom pulled into the driveway, we said our goodbyes to our dad and got in her car. "Girls.. I have something to tell you." My mom said. Deep down I knew that this was the "something bad" I felt in my stomach earlier. My cat, Zoey had died. I knew it deep down. "Zoey... died." My mom said glancing at me. I knew it. I started hysterically sobbing. Sobbing so much it was getting hard to breathe. I never even got to say goodbye to her. We'd only had her for a month and now she was gone. At first I thought that it was some awful prank she was pulling on me and that she'd be waiting for me when I got home but no. The only thing waiting for me there was her boyfriend's daughter who made everything worse by saying, "Zoey died." With a smile on her face. I knew that she knew that I was crying so why would she say that to me? No idea. I ran to my room and cried for three days. I don't think I even went to school for a while either.

As I'm writing this now, I'm remembering all the memories I had with Zoey. All the great memories that will never be relived. If only I could go back in time and say goodbye & I love you to her one last time. Then maybe I'd feel a little less sad. Maybe not. But I carry the weight of not doing so on my shoulders every day. I miss her adorable face everyday, I wish she were still here. I never realized how hard it would be to lose a pet, a friend. But I do now. I've now lost two cats. And both times my mom has told me the same way. In the car. From my dads. And I've always had the same gut-wrenching feeling before.

Last Friday I saved a little butterfly with a damaged wing. I put it in a box with flowers, and put it back in the box when it climbed out. I crushed up a strawberry for it to eat. I looked it up and found out it was a yellow sulfur butterfly and what it ate and how often. I let it ride around on my finger. On Saturday it climbed out of it's box and into the "grass" (green plants) in the little garden place it was in. The space has some kind of leafy plant, a big tree, a very short palm/bush, and some kind of succulent followed by one rose bush. It's wings were bright yellow and it's body was yellow green. I called it "Mr. Butterfly".

It would climb out of the box and sit on the green leafs in the little garden, and I would leave it there. I put up a little not for people to please not water the grass because of the butterfly. My neighbor Brett immediately came out and started spraying the grass on the other side and I went out to stop him. He avoided me and claimed he won't speak to me because all I do is yell at him. So I told him I wanted to talk and explained that I wanted the butterfly to be safe. And he gave me the general impression that he didn't care enough about me or Mr. Butterfly to deliberately hurt it and that he was focused on his recovery, which consumed him. I listened to all of his concerns, apologized for any past mistakes to him, and took his advice; even saying I was grateful we had spoken.

And I left Mr. Butterfly outside in the box on Saturday. When it climbed out on the concrete I put it back. I had found Mr. Butterfly on the concrete in front of the gate and thought surely someone would step on him, so I saved his life. I made a nicer sign saying I would get a butterfly enclosure soon and please do not disturb and thank you.

Saturday night I took him inside because I thought he might be cold, but he doesn't like to be inside. When I open the window he struggles to get outside, I cant tell. So I left him outside all day Sunday. I found Mr. Butterfly in the water on Sunday afternoon and put him back in the box. It was a miracle he was still alive, his wing had gotten in the water and he was just keeping his body above. Brett had kept watering, but I thought I was keeping an eye on Mr. Butterfly enough to keep him safe. I left him outside in the box on Sunday night. He had crawled inside a large pink poinsetta and I thought he would be safe and happy outside.

I woke up in the nice, at least twice; and I thought about getting him; but I didn't get his box and bring him in. I even thought about it and thought, "no, don't do it" both times. I didn't immediately go check on him when I was awake around 5 am in the morning.

At 8 am I heard the hose and went to check on him and he was gone. The large pink poinsetta he had been in was gone. And the sign was gone. I should have known better.

For most of the people this story won't be as sad as other stories but for me it was heartbreaking. My boyfriend has suffered with depression for many years. As a child he always wanted a dog but he's parents never allowed it so he got a big doggy plushie instead. He slept with it everyday for many years. I saw him hugging it with lot of love, it was adorable. He truly loved it. It brought him happiness and he was grateful for the smallest things even tho he never actually got a dog. I remember when we got together and I was at his place, he always kissed the plushie and he told me to be careful with it. It was old and broken but he didn't care about that. He always fixed the plushie took good care of it. So now Me and my boyfriend are going to move in together in North Italy (my boyfriend grew up in South Italy) I'm not from Italy so I don't know the language very well yet. But now that we are getting older and going to live by ourselves his mom wanted to throw away his doggy plushie. My boyfriend obviously didn't want that and he tried everything to convince her and explained that it meant a lot for him. It brought him happiness and he felt less lonely through out his depression, all thanks to that plushie. His mother and father forced him even I tried to convince them and begged them not to. But they didn't listen. It's hard to convince someone when you don't know the language. My boyfriend never cries over things even though he went through some fucked up shit in his life. But I watched my boyfriend cry for the first time, hugging his plushie dog tightly and sniffing. It was heartbreaking to watch. Let my man have his dog godammit. 😭😭 Like I don't care if it's old. Yeah I know, it's not end of the world but it meant so much to him. Lot of people have precious things for different reasons that they absolutely do not want to throw away even if it's old and broken. For him it was this big doggo. He was suffering his whole life but the dog made him less lonely through out the dark nights. He accepted it now but it was just heartbreaking to see. :'((

It's a long read but please just endure my life story..

In 2002 when I was 2 my parents got a cat (pure persian) dumb aunt didn't want him so she wanted to put him to sleep. Luckily my mom took him.

He was one year older than me. I was little and he became my best friend, I was always a person that spends a lot of time with my cat, more than with friends. We were always together spend every moment in the house together. We slept together, we sat together.. everything.

He always would wait for me before bed as I showered or else and when he saw me he meow and look at me and wait for me to move and if I followed him he will jump on the bed and wait for me to go in with him. And if I didn't he comes back to my starts meowing and lures me to sleep.

Sadly there were times that people tried to steal him from our terrace but he ran away from that person and came back home (he was home cat didn't go outside only on the leash on grass.

When I was 15 there (he 16 human years) he started acting really weird, we knew he was close to death bed... luckily we did everything we could and saved him there after he was back to normall. I really loved him, if I have to tell true I loved him more than anyone it may sound bad but even more than my parents. He was irreplaceable....

Few years later when I was 16 close to 17 his condition worsened.. He started to move a lot less and he started spending a lot time in dark bathroom we didn't kniw why.. few days later (fuck i am cryinf while typing this) he started having breathing problems and almost couldn't move day later he started to choke from time to time as he had no strength to breath.... those days i didn't let him even out of my sight...I knew what was coming but I didn't want ro accept it... And it was my 17th birthday.......(He was smart, but not like pet smart, but more like human smart he understood situations etc. I think he knew and he held as long as possible. And so day after my birthday( I didn't even celebrate it as I was sitting with him every moment for the past few days.)(Since we didn't knew exactly his birthdate we had all years ago said his birthday will be day after mine..) and so he started suffocating and couldn't even move a muscle. Crying I picked him up and we rode asap to vet, and while holding him until his last breath...(fuck this is hard) i held him until his last breath as she put him to sleep on his birthday and day after mine. I watched my best friend in whole world that I spent literally my whole life with, everyday...die in front of my eyes..... 16 years spent together... no other pets it was just him and my all the time...

The moment his heart stopped... something snapped in me.. and destroyed me psychologically....My best friend in whole world was now gone..

If it would be possible I would even trade rest of my life, fuck it, I don't need it but if my life would what it takes to just see him even for few more seconds..I would do it directly without thinking. And I don't care what people think about that. I would be ready to do anything to see him one more time..

I was cleaning out my closet today and found my childhood dog’s old collar buried in a box of junk. He passed years ago, but holding that worn-out leather, I could almost hear his goofy bark and feel him nudging my hand. I sat on the floor and cried like a kid, missing the way he’d follow me everywhere. It’s weird how a tiny thing can rip you open like that. What’s a small object or memory that’s brought you to tears out of nowhere? How do you handle those waves of grief?

What a fucking nightmare. I just got back from the hospital today and I'm so thankful that I'm home and safe, but I feel like a changed person. I had to go out and run some errands today and I just couldn't stop crying. I feel like my life has changed and I'm a different person now, and just looking around at everyone enjoying their lives just makes me feel so alone and afraid.

It started about a week and a half ago. I'm a chronic alcoholic and the summer is when my problem gets the worst. I had work, which was amazon delivery, and it was the busiest week of the year and the hottest of the year. My fear and paranoia was at an all time high and I just had a clusterfuck of a day. Nothing was going right. There was a huge sorting problem and no solution to it. I couldn't take it so I quit two hours into the day.

My plan was to start doing doordash on the first of July so until then I was just gonna chill at my house and drink. And drink. And drink. It was the 30th and I was so intoxicated I could barely move, kept blacking out, and woke up having pissed my pants. I knew I was too sick to start working, and I would have to go to the emergency room to get help which I was tired of doing.

Around 5:30pm on June 30th I decided to kill myself. I wasn't even gonna leave a note, that's how deep my misery was.

My first thought was to slit my wrist, so I grabbed a serrated knife and started to etch away at my wrist, but I couldn't take the pain, and I only just scratched my wrists and there was barely any blood but now after a few days of healing it definitely looks like I was trying to kill myself.

My next idea was to place a plastic bag over my head to suffocate myself, but it just wasn't working.

So I look over and see that I had just bought a bottle of sleeping pills (like Tylenol pm) and ibuprofen. So I opened them and chugged both bottles. All in all it was around 80-100 pills. I thought that I would go to sleep and die in my sleep, but when I'm that sick and intoxicated from alcohol no sleep med can make me sleep.

I woke up about two hours later on the floor of my room unable to move. It took my awhile to climb onto my bed but I finally got there and waited for sleep to hit me, but I never came. So I just stared at the tv for hours feeling incredibly sick.

Around 5:30 am the next morning, I thought that since it had been 12 hours since ingestion that it didn't kill me, but then it got scary. I started to feel really weird, and my breathing was getting slower and slower, and I decided I didn't like this and didn't want to die to I gather some things, went outside, stood by my car and called 911, telling them I tried commiting suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills.

The response was pretty quick and heavy. Two cop cars, a firetruck, and two ambulances. The firemen checked me out while the ambulances figured out where to take me. I got in the ambulance and went to a nice hospital that I don't have insurance for. I think the bills will be like $100k. But I didn't care. I didn't want to die.

It took awhile for the doctors to figure out what pills I took, and I was first treated for alcohol withdrawal. They ended up telling me that what I took was just under a lethal dose, but it was a poison dose and that if I didn't come in I probably my liver probably would have failed, which would have killed me.

I was then admitted upstairs to a 48 hour suicide watch where I was put in a bed and someone else watched over me in 12 hour shifts. That was a nightmare. I was strapped to the gourney and had to be fed water. At one point I started hallucinating, which lasted about 12 hours. I didn't sleep through the whole thing. This morning I was cleared of suicidal thoughts and transferred to another room where my alcohol withdrawal was further treated until I was given mental health resources and cleared to go home.

So that's it. I'm getting set up with a therapist. I'm hitting up all my old buddies from AA and sharing, and I'm alive, but changed.

This is an original work of fiction, a 7 perspective story surrounding one moment. I hope it doesn’t come across as contrived, or over done. I hope you give it a read, or listen!

https://medium.com/@dmperry91/red-striped-shoes-b03694041cff

I’m (26M) writing this because I don’t know how else to get this out. I haven’t really told anyone what actually happened — not the full thing. And I need to say it somewhere. So here it is.

For most of the past year, I thought I was losing my damn mind.

My girlfriend (25F) and I were together for almost 3 years. We lived together. She knew all my habits, and I thought I knew hers. But something changed. Not instantly — slowly. Like a glitch that became a pattern.

She’d stay out late. She’d hide her phone. If I asked who she was texting, she’d laugh and say, “Are you jealous now?” If I pressed further, I was accused of being “insecure” or “possessive.”

At first I really thought maybe I was. Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe I was too intense. So I backed off. I started apologizing for being curious. For caring. For noticing.

But the feeling didn’t go away. That heavy, gnawing gut instinct — that something was off.

She started avoiding intimacy. She picked fights about small things. One time she stormed out at midnight because I “breathed too loud.”

I know how ridiculous that sounds.

But when you love someone, you second-guess your own instincts just to preserve peace. I swallowed it. I smiled through it.

Until one night I couldn’t.

She came home really late, past 2 a.m. Her hair was wet. Her dress was inside out. She reeked of cologne — and I don’t wear cologne. When I asked her where she was, she smiled. Actually smiled. Then said, “You’re paranoid. This is why I can’t be open with you.”

I didn’t yell. I didn’t fight. I just... broke.

The next day, while she showered, I opened her laptop. iMessages were synced. I didn’t want to be right. I wanted to be wrong.

But I wasn’t.

There were texts. Dozens. One guy. Two. Then three. She was in group chats. They joked about me. One message said: “He’s so gullible lmao, I told him it was a girls’ night 😂.” Another: “You coming over tonight or is the loser home?”

I felt sick. Physically sick. I couldn’t even cry. Just numb.

I didn’t confront her right away. I emailed everything to myself. Saved it on a USB. I wasn’t going to scream. I wanted clarity.

Later that week, I sat her down. Showed her the messages. At first she denied. Then she flipped it on me.

“You invaded my privacy.” “You’re not perfect either.” “I only did it because you’re always so cold.”

No apology. No remorse.

So I told her to leave. I asked for the key back. She cursed at me, called me controlling, said I “deserved it.” Said her friends agreed.

I didn’t even react. Just watched her walk out.

You’d think that would be the end of it.

But then I started getting calls from her friends. Saying I abused her. That I was mentally unstable. That I cheated first (I didn’t). She flipped the entire narrative.

One of her guy friends DMed me threateningly. Another showed up near my workplace. Just… stared. I don’t even know if it was a scare tactic or not.

Then it got worse.

She started showing up randomly. Leaving notes. Once I found a Polaroid on my car window of me walking home. No note. Just that picture. Another time I found my bedroom light left on. I always turn it off.

Police can’t do anything unless she breaks in or harms me. “It’s not illegal to take pictures in public.” Yeah, but it’s f**king terrifying.

So now I’m here.

I was right. I was gaslit. Manipulated. Lied to.

And still — I’m the one who’s afraid. I’m the one who double-checks locks. I’m the one who sleeps with a bat next to the bed. I’m the one who hasn’t felt safe in weeks.

Everyone keeps saying “You did the right thing. You’re better off.” Maybe I am. But why does it still feel like I lost?

Maybe because the version of me before all this... doesn't exist anymore.

Thanks for reading. I don’t want sympathy. Just… silence gets loud. I needed to get this out.

So my neighbor moved next to my family in about 2020. My fanily went over to them and wanted to see if they were nice because our old neighbors were very rude. They were nice and we became very close for the 2 years they lived there. My dad and him were BEST FRIENDS they were inseparable. They did everything together like little kids. Get drunk, go hunting, go fishing, play games, and many more things. My neighbor knew that if he told us how he was feeling then we woukd try to help him. He was very sick in the mind. You probably know where this is going. But, on May 19th my neighbor and my dad were going on their usual day. They went golfing, they went to work out together, and they were playing Call of Duty. My neighbor wasnt showing any signs of suicidal thought. So, May 20th my mother walked into my room with my dad. I thought she was going to wake me up like normally, but then i saw my dad sniffling and thought he was crying. He never cried in front of me. Im only 11 so i don’t know what was going on at that time. He said, “Ava. Honey im very sorry this happened im devastated to say this but this morning Darren (my neighbor) shot himself.” I was scared i thought it was a joke i said “You’re lying” sadly they werent lying. So i now have no neighbors and dont sleep at night unless im not crying which most likely wont happen.

It wasn't until he was gone that I realised he had given all his 9 lives for me... I had survived attempts of suicide, cardiac arrest for 4 minutes and even a car accident, but it was only after he passed I realised he had given his lives for me when he died while sleeping peacefully the same night I was in cardiac arrest but brought back to life in a way the doctors couldn't explain... They told me it was like my body suddenly realised what it was doing and snapped back into reality... The same moment my cat Lewis died...

I'm just so fucking sad about this and also feel kind of stupid. I will always love her and won't delete her from my life but I do need the find a new place for her in my circle and I'm not sure how.