Loneliness

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Ooh let me introduce myself

I'm Jenni, 48 yo female from NC. I'm separated from my husband for the past six years as he couldn’t handle my disease. We were together for 28 years total married 10 I have an adult child who’s 30 who is my full-time caregiver. I have two kitty cats but love American bulldogs. Unfortunately our last American bulldog passed away six years ago and I’m still not over it. I’m here to make connections and a possible Friend. this disease can be really lonely

I also have Crohn’s disease, anxiety, and depression

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When You Don’t Like Yourself: Learning to Be on Your Own Side

When you spend most of your life feeling unseen, it’s hard not to let it affect you mentally. It affects your self-esteem, your confidence, and how you perceive yourself. And for me, I’ve always struggled with being comfortable in my own skin.

Recently, I was hanging out with a close group of friends. Most of the time when I’m with them, I can be myself without feeling too in my head. But this time around, I was so trapped inside my head. I kept thinking that literally everything that came out of my mouth was annoying. The sound of my voice. The “foolish” responses. And the underlying fear that I was being either too much or too quiet.

Lately, I’ve just been doubting my every move. I feel so insecure and have just been in an overthinking loop of negativity. I haven’t been treating myself very kindly, and I keep thinking that I’m just a nuisance. That I’m just a waste of space. That I’m boring, dull, and just…there.

It’s been really hard to like the person that I am right now. In fact, I’ve always had a difficult relationship with myself. Sometimes, I genuinely appreciate the person that I am. I’m stronger than I thought possible. But other times, I look at myself with a level of disgust I hate admitting.

I think part of the reason I struggle so much with liking myself is because I’ve spent so much of my life feeling overlooked. When you don’t feel seen, it’s easy to start wondering if there’s a reason for it. You start questioning your worth. You start wondering if maybe you’re not interesting enough, important enough, or good enough to be noticed. Over time, those thoughts stop feeling like insecurities and start feeling like facts.

What makes all of this so frustrating is that if a friend spoke about themselves the way I speak about myself, my heart would break for them.

The thing is, I offer great advice, but I never take it for myself. I always remind people of all the good things I see in them. I tell them that their feelings are valid and that they matter. I’m there for them in every sense of the word.

Yet somehow, it’s always easier to extend that kindness to other people than it is to myself.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking so much about the idea of becoming someone I actually enjoy being.

I don’t think I need to become a completely different person. I’m just tired of feeling like I’m constantly at war with myself. I’m tired of viewing myself critically. Tired of assuming that everyone else sees me as negatively as I see myself.

I think that’s where this starts.

Not with confidence. Not with self-love. And not with suddenly waking up one day and feeling comfortable being me. But with questioning whether the voice in my head is telling me the truth.

Because if I’m being honest, I’ve spent years assuming that the way I see myself is the truth. That every insecurity is a fact. That every criticism is accurate. And that every fear I have about myself must somehow be justified.

But what if it isn’t?

What if I’ve just spent so long listening to my inner critic that I stopped questioning it?

Because maybe I’m not a nuisance. Maybe I’m not boring. Maybe I’m not too much. And maybe I’ve just spent so long looking for reasons to dislike myself that I’ve stopped looking for reasons to appreciate who I am.

Because when I step outside of my own head, I know that isn’t the whole story.

I know I’m someone who cares deeply. Someone who shows up. Someone who feels things deeply because I’m deeply connected to the people around me. I know those things exist too.

I just forget them sometimes.

And I know I haven’t become someone I actually enjoy being yet. But I think the first step is learning how to stop assuming the worst about myself.

It’s going to be a long process on my healing journey because there’s a lot to unlearn. I need to unlearn years of thinking there was something wrong with me.

That’s why this feels so difficult.

You can’t spend a lifetime believing you’re not enough and expect to undo it overnight.

But I’m trying.

And maybe becoming someone I enjoy being doesn’t start with loving myself.

Maybe it starts with finally believing there was never anything wrong with me in the first place.

And maybe that’s where becoming someone I actually enjoy being begins.

What is one negative belief about yourself you’re trying to unlearn?

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.”— Buddha

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #Loneliness #Depression #MightyTogether

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Using this app for the first time, I don’t know what I’m doing

Chatted with a person from 988 And they gave me this like a support group thing. I don’t know how to use this. I am sad Going through a break up and I am very lonely which One of these groups should I join?

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GRIEVING THE LIVING FATHER WHO CHOOSE TO WALK AWAY

i lost my mother to suicide. and now, i turned orphan by a living father

he is still alive FUCKKKKK, but he has walked away from us by choice. he cut all contact and no longer wants to know anything about my brother or me

i never imagined i would have to grieve someone who is still alive, and this person are my father, unbelievable

life has taken so much from me that sometimes i don’t even know how to process it anymore

i feel like i've had to grieve things most people never have to think about in their lifes

the hardest part is knowing that this wasn’t taken from us by fate, illness, or death, or well... a suicide

IT WAS A DECISION

sometimes i feel angry. sometimes i feel heartbroken. sometimes i feel nothing at all

i keep wondering if we deserve this, even though deep down i know children are not responsible for their parents choices

losing my mother was devastating.

losing my father while he is still alive is a different kind of pain—ONE THAT HAS NO FUNERAL, NO GOODBYE, AND NO CLOSURE

my brother and i are left trying to make sense of a loss that nobody seems to understand

we are learning how to survive without the people who were supposed to love us unconditionally

i don’t know what to feel anymore. i am grieving, confused, angry, hurt, and exhausted all at once

some days i feel abandoned. other days i feel forgotten

most days i just miss having a family..,,:.;;()))%)$

other thing that hurt most is realizing that someone can be alive, and still choose to become a stranger

my life is a fucking sadism of some god, thats it

#Loneliness #Father #Suicide #suicidelossurvivors #suicideloss #Depression #mother #passivesuicidalideation #SuicidalIdeation #personalitydisorder #Suicide #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #Anxiety #heartbreak #Depression #MentalHealth #Grief #Addiction #

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I saw this posted on Facebook and it's lovely

My grandson begged me to play Dungeons & Dragons.
"It's just one session, Grandma. Please. We need a fourth player or the campaign falls apart."
I'm Vivian. Seventy years old. I read romance novels. Watch Jeopardy. Play bridge on Thursdays. I don't do dragons.
"What even is Dungeons & Dragons?" I asked.
"It's like..... cooperative storytelling with dice. You create a character and go on adventures."
"I'm seventy, Marcus. I don't go on adventures."
"Exactly why you should try."
I only agreed because his friends were coming over anyway. Might as well supervise. Make sure they weren't doing drugs or whatever kids do.
Saturday night. Three kids showed up. Marcus handed me papers. "Character sheet. You're playing a wizard named..... you can name her."
"This is ridiculous."
"Just try for an hour."
I named her Elara. Don't ask me why. It just felt right.
The game master-a kid named Devon with purple hair-described a tavern. "You're all sitting there when a mysterious hooded figure approaches......."
For the first twenty minutes, I was lost. Dice rolling. Rules. Weird words like "constitution saving throw."
Then something clicked.
Devon described a dragon attacking our village. "What do you do, Elara?"
And I said, without thinking, "I cast a shield spell to protect the children getting evacuated."
Marcus's eyes went wide. "That's....... that's perfect. Roll for it."
I rolled. Succeeded.
Devon described my magical shield shimmering into existence, families escaping safely.
Something in my chest...... opened.
For three hours, I wasn't Vivian the widow. I wasn't Vivian whose kids moved away. I wasn't Vivian whose husband died and left her in a too-quiet house.
I was Elara. A powerful wizard saving villages. Making choices that mattered.
"Same time next week?" Devon asked when we finished.
I heard myself say yes.
Week two, I showed up with snacks. Homemade cookies. "Adventurers need provisions," I said.
The kids loved it.
Week five, I was fully invested. Bought my own dice. Fancy ones. Learned all the spells.
"Grandma's better at this than us," Marcus told his friends.
Week eight, something happened in the game. Our party faced an impossible choice. Save the village or chase the villain who'd murdered families.
Everyone wanted revenge. Chase the villain.
But I said, "Elara stays. She protects the village. Revenge won't bring the dead back, but we can save the living."
The table went quiet.
Devon nodded slowly. "That's....... that's really wise."
After the session, Marcus walked me to my car.
"That thing you said. About saving the living instead of chasing revenge. Were you talking about Grandpa?"
My throat tightened.
My husband died five years ago. Medical malpractice. Clear-cut case. I could've sued. Everyone said I should.
But I couldn't. Couldn't spend years in court reliving his death. Couldn't let anger consume me.
People thought I was weak. That I didn't care enough to fight.
"I wasn't chasing revenge," I told Marcus. "I was choosing to keep living."
He hugged me. "Elara would be proud."
The game kept going. Every Saturday. I started inviting them to my house. Made dinner before sessions. My kitchen filled with laughter again.
Devon's mom pulled me aside one night. "I don't know what you're doing, but Devon's been struggling. Depression. Anxiety. This game, your house........ it's the only place they smile anymore."
I didn't know what to say.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For seeing them."
Month four, Marcus asked if his friend's grandma could join. "She just lost her husband. She's really lonely."
Janet was seventy-two. Skeptical. "I don't understand games."
"Neither did I," I said. "You'll learn."
She played a warrior. Strong. Fierce. Everything she couldn't be in real life while caring for a sick husband.
After her second session, she cried. "I forgot what it felt like. To be powerful."
We're eight months in now. Our group expanded. Six players. Three of us are over sixty-five.
We play every Saturday. Six-hour sessions. We've saved kingdoms. Fought gods. Made choices that mattered.
Last week, my daughter visited. Saw the dice, the character sheets, the books.
"Mom, you're playing a children's game?"
"I'm playing a game where my choices matter," I corrected. "Where I'm not just Grandma or widow or retired teacher. I'm Elara. And Elara saves people."
She didn't get it.
But I do.
I'm seventy. I play Dungeons & Dragons every Saturday with teenagers and other grandmas.
And I learned this, You're never too old to pretend. To create. To be someone brave.
Real life took my power away. Made me small. Made me scared.
But in this game? I'm level 14. I wield lightning. I protect villages.
And somehow, that makes real life bearable again.
So try the ridiculous thing. Join your grandkid's weird hobby. Play the game. Paint the picture. Write the story.
Pretend you're powerful.
Because maybe, just maybe, you'll remember you actually are.

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Saudade (sow-DAH-day) - A Portuguese word which describes a deep, bittersweet emotional state of longing for something or someone beloved that is distant, lost, or perhaps never truly possessed. It's accompanied by the knowledge that what is longed for may never return, and yet finding a strange, melancholy beauty in the feeling itself. It is grief that has made peace with itself, but not quite let go. This resonates deeply with me. What are your thoughts?

#MentalHealth #Addiction #Depression #Anxiety #ADHD #Trauma #ComplexPosttraumaticStressDisorder #PTSD #Loneliness #Grief

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Solivagant - wandering alone, or a person who does so. It comes from the Latin solus (alone) and vagans (wandering, roaming). There's something beautiful about the fact that this specific experience of solitary wandering, not lonely but intentionally alone in motion, warranted its own word. It implies a kind of quiet purpose to it, a chosen aloneness rather than an imposed one.

#MentalHealth #Depression #Addiction #Anxiety #ADHD #Trauma #ComplexPosttraumaticStressDisorder #PTSD

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The Fear of Being Myself Kept Me Hidden for Years

I’ve struggled with many fears throughout my life. The fear of public speaking. The fear of failure. The fear of change. So many things that have truly held me back. And to be honest, I still haven’t fully gotten over those fears. But one that I’m proud to say I’ve slowly started to accept—and even appreciate—is myself.

Growing up, I never seemed to fit in the way that other people did. Social interactions felt harder. I was constantly analyzing myself and wondering why I couldn’t just be like other people. So, I did what a lot of people do when they feel different. I adapted. I adjusted to a life that didn’t feel like mine, but I had to push through anyway because that was expected of me.

Looking back, I can see how much energy I spent trying to blend in. I would try to act like other people. I paid close attention to what people liked, what they didn’t like, and what seemed tolerable. Without realizing it, I spent years trying to become someone who would be easier for other people to understand.

I remember taking on everyone else’s interests as my own because I thought that I would be more likable. More accepted. I pretended to like Barbie dolls at a young age because that was the trend and my friends were really into them, even though I wasn’t. I acted like a girly-girl for certain friends who were that way, even though I wasn’t. Acting became second nature.

But as for my interests? I kept them hidden. I felt like no one would care or take notice of them. Growing up, I was interested in things like baseball, rock collecting, painting, writing, and an obsession with pop culture, especially films.

But, I felt like my interests were boring compared to other people’s. I just never felt comfortable talking about them because I didn’t want to be too much or talk too much.

Still to this day, I keep my interests hidden because of the fear of criticism, even though people have definitely caught on to them.

Right now, I have four main interests—the Dodgers, the same music I’ve listened to over and over again for years (Linkin Park), being a hardcore foodie and cook, and of course blogging and writing.

My friends know me well. They send me Dodgers videos, Linkin Park videos, and new recipes.

It’s nice to know they see those parts of me, even though it still makes me a little uncomfortable sometimes.

It shouldn’t bother me, but it does for some strange reason—I still haven’t figured out why.

But even with my interests being well received, I still adapt to other people’s interests more than I’d like to because I still feel that I won’t be accepted in some way.

And the funny thing is, it wasn’t just my interests that I hid.

I stayed quiet when I had something to say. I laughed when everyone else laughed, even when I didn’t get the joke. Basically, I hid every part of myself—my struggles, my sensitivities, and the parts of me that felt too different. At the time, I thought I was protecting myself from rejection (probably my biggest fear). Because deep down, I worried that if people saw the real me, they wouldn’t like what they found.

And for me, that’s been a constant echo in my mind—that people will never like me for me. That’s why I can’t say I’ve gotten over the fear of rejection, because I’m still very much consumed by it.

Little did I know I was walking around with an invisible illness. One that would eventually give me the answers I had spent years searching for. The things I had spent my life criticizing myself for finally had context.

My struggles weren’t personal failures. My brain just worked differently. And that realization didn’t erase all of my insecurities, but it did give me understanding. And with understanding came self-compassion.

Instead of seeing my differences as imperfections, I began seeing them as a part of who I am. And with that realization came clarity. For the very first time, I felt a part of me embrace myself.

I hugged that little girl who was so confused, the teenager who was so angry and frustrated, and the adult in me, reassuring myself that it’s okay to be authentically yourself.

Now, there are still moments when I worry about being misunderstood. There are still moments when I wonder if I’m too quiet, too sensitive, or too different. But those thoughts don’t control me the way they used to.

My goal was never to become someone else. My goal was to become comfortable being myself. And honestly, that has been one of the most freeing things I’ve ever experienced.

If overcoming a fear means learning to live without letting it make your decisions for you, then I think this is a fear I’ve overcome.

It’s not because the fear never visits me anymore. It’s because it no longer gets to decide who I am.

Have you ever hidden parts of yourself in order to fit in or feel accepted?

“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” — Oscar Wilde

#MentalHealth #ADHD #Autism #AutismSpectrumDisorder #Anxiety #Depression #Loneliness #Neurodiversity

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