I surprised myself. After spending so many years not aware of it, trying to hide it, identifying it, and feeling embarrassed. Something changed. The hairdresser pointed out the unusual breakage on my hair and I admitted I have trichotillomania. I pull out my hair when I feel anxious. It didn't feel scary to admit it strangely. What changed?
I have been going to Post Secondary schools for the past 10 years and have over $125,000 in student loan debt with no degree and way of paying it back.
I fell for my British cousin Linda when she came to Canada for summer vacation. It started at the drive in when we were 16, I don’t remember how but she ended up rubbing my cock though my pants and I felt her tits. Later it led to full blown sex and anal. We saw each other a few weeks each year for 3 years after that, always fucking ourselves silly. I miss her so much. I would have married her if it were legal.
So many times in our grade 8 PE class @ boyd i looked you up and down, watching the sweat drip during the hour class. I was emo af and repellant to you..but the desire has lingered.
I wanna do over.. maybe never.. maybe for temporary relief.. maybe to feel at ease… maybe to try again.
I was in a relationship with this guy since April 2018, and we recently broke up. I tried to be the best girlfriend and gave my 100% to this relationship. Apparently, my 100% wasn’t enough to please this guy. He was my first boyfriend ever. Maybe that’s why I did not want to let go of this relationship that easily. I changed myself a lot for him. I just wanted someone who could love me, care for me and understand me. I have learned the hard way that you can’t make someone feel something. Emotions and feelings come from within. Coming from a broken home, I just craved a cure little family of my own. I just wanted to live with this person forever and create a family with him. It’s heart breaking how money changes people. He had become so money minded. Everytime while spending time with me, he would be thinking that in that time he would have made money if he was working. Or he would be checking his phone all the time for social media videos. I wish my live story was different…
We met in the bar I said I was 57 she said she was 26...I said I still live with my mom & dad in my basement suite and I have a small fridge by my bed with beer and snacks...she said no....am I ugly?....I still go to church so I'm a nice man.
When your young child is diagnosed with a disability or a severe learning disorder, or both, you grieve. It is an exquisitely painful grief. The heart is wrenched and torn in directions you didn't know were possible. You rage, and you bargain, and you at once curse the gods you deny exist while begging the same for impossible deals. There are no atheists in pediatricians’ offices. You may negotiate for your little one’s normalcy in exchange, for instance, ten years off the end of your life span, maybe twenty, or the failure of the left kidney. You would give up your eyesight in a heartbeat if it would help them, or even your life. In your irrational, unhinged and ungovernable agony, these do indeed seem like the kinds of cruelly irrelevant and useless things human-invented deities would gleefully take in exchange for the good of The Child.
However, in time you realize that you are not grieving for The Child, you are grieving for yourself, and specifically, what your expectations of what you imagined your life and The Child’s life was going to be. They were going to attend UBC of course! They would major in biology, or better yet… chemistry? Maybe computer science.
No. The Child will never even speak. You will never even hear them say “I love you, Daddy.”
You go on though, and you make it through every day, often hour by hour or even minute to minute, because you have no choice, and because it is what you do. And every tick of the second hand is another victory chalked up upon the wall your formerly selfish expectations built between who you were then and who you are now.
You just love them. You love The Child with every last elementary particle in your battered, broken, but ever-raging heart, and in the end, you wouldn’t change anything, ever, for every left kidney in the world.
I was walking to work on Tuesday morning when some young deranged schizophrenic pulled a knife on me. He looked like he could pass for a young guy in his mid 20s. I called 911 and all the cops did was “talk to him.” I’m getting sick and tired of lame bleeding hearts excusing these “mentally ill” people for their bad behaviour. Some ignorant idiot told me it’s better to call Fraser Health Authority since is a mental health issue, but I digress. There are some toxic people out there that don't deserve any sympathy whatsoever. It’s up to that person’s parents to get help for their own son. That’s their responsibility to call Fraser Health but it’s up to them. How can you help any family that refuses to help themselves? Pulling knives on people and threatening them with violence is nowhere near acceptable. Take responsibility for your actions.
Living in Vancouver is like playing Sims while on a bad acid trip. People are passive aggressive, social awkward, cold and distant. It’s no wonder we have a homelessness crisis, no one looks out for each other. Even friendships here feel like you can never break the ice, you chip away at it, but never break it. Maybe if people weren’t so broke and the only industries here weren’t evil tech corporations then people would be a little nicer. After 8 years here I’m reaching a breaking point. It’s a shame how one of the most beautiful places on Earth can be so mishandled to create such a sterile, broken-spirited society - if you can even call it a society.
I used to love Vancouver, but realize I was in love w
Some people feel like small towns. Spend a day with them and you feel like you’ve known them your whole life. It’s a comfortable familiar luxury these days. To belong, to know, and to be known. Some say this city is a small town. I suppose it depends on the circles you run in. I’m still looking for that sense of belonging here.