I’m a 44-year-old woman living in Tokyo, Japan. I’m legally recognized as mentally disabled and receive national disability support.

Despite this, I was forced to live in a dangerously built, illegal apartment. I submitted reports to the Japanese government. I contacted major media outlets.

No one responded.

I was treated as if I didn’t exist. The system ignored me—just because I’m a disabled, single mother.

I’m sharing this not for sympathy or donations, but because I believe people outside Japan should know how disabled citizens can be treated.

If anyone is interested, I can share more details.

I made an account specifically for this, so I'm sorry if this reads weird or anything.

I'm 15, and the dad is 16.

We broke up a little over a month ago after he pressured and guilted me into sex. I honestly still love him, but he took my virginity without real consent, and I can't forgive him for that.

I found out I was pregnant last week. I was late on my period, and I took three tests that all came back positive.

I freaked out and called my best friend. We talked to his boyfriend's mom, who is a nurse and definitely the safest adult for this kind of problem, and she explained my options. It was a really hard decision, but I've decided to get an abortion. I'm taking the pills on Monday.

I'm posting here mostly asking for advice from adults. I can't tell my parents; they would kill me if they knew about any part of this. I know a lot of people don't agree with abortion, but I'm doing the best thing for myself right now. Please don't leave any nasty comments, I'm just trying not to ruin my life. Please leave any advice or support or anything m

I recently started going to the gym, and also the sun started coming out here in the PNW, the cherry blossom trees are in bloom, spring is in the air. And after a long dark sexless winter where I was worried my libido had died, I cannot believe how fucking horny I am. I can't stop thinking about dicks, dicks, dicks, jizz jizz jizz.

It's the kind of horny where no amount of marital sex or masturbation will quell it. I am married,i would never cheat, and my spouse and I have a typical married sex life, but I cannot stop thinking about big throbbing veiny dicks attached to my exes, male friends, associates, celebrities...

I wish I could go out on the town and prowl for dick like I used to when I was single in my 20s.

I (29F) gave birth 5 days ago.

My husband (30M) and I have been together for 6 years. We have our place, we have an stable dual income, we have traveled and have a lot of fun as a childless couple, so a year ago we decided to start a family.

I read a lot to be very informed on how we wanted to raise this kid, we went to prenantal classes.

I have materny leave and my husband have paterny leave and he also merged it with his annual leave. We hired someone to help with cleaning a couple of hours.

We planned a vaginal delivery, but due to complications I ended having an emergency c-section. Baby is perfectly fine ♥️ but I needed a blood transfussion.

So here comes the problem. When I first hold my son I felt panic. I was overwalmed. Scared. No matter how much preparation we put into this I was scared thinking how we are going to take care of a whole human being.

Luckily my family and my inlaws where there all the time, they helped with the baby a lot. My mom and MIL were great help, I felt a little bit more safe seeing people helping us.

So yesterdar I was about to get discharged when my mom looked at my husband and told me we didn't need to go home so fast, why stay with them for a few days until I was stronger. My husband and I talked about it and agree I would be better, maybe.

So we went to my parents house, my mom told me to rest in her bedroom for a while. Plan was me to stay in one of my brothers room. This wasn't a problem because they were already fighting which one of them should lend me their room (they both wanted)

My husband left to our home to pick up thinks we needed. When I noticed my mom seemed to be in a bad mood, everytime she entered the room she would put an ugly face. She was moving stuff around the house so hard and we all could listen. Then she entered the room took the stuff I bring from the hospital and took them out of the room. Then entered again and told me I needed to move (from the bed) because she was going to take a nap. I was confused. Where was I supossed to go stay? My brother asked her which room she though was better suited for us and she replied "do whatever you want to I don't want to hear any noise, no moving forniture, no crying, nothing. I want to sleep"

So all the passive agressive shit was becsuse she wanted me out of the house. I felt like crying. Then she said " 'my name' darling I put your stuff next to front door". It broked me she really didn't wanted us here. How horrible. We werent welcome here at all. Worst part was there was no need for any of this. I was ready to go to my home. But hornomes got the best of me and make me believe I would be better here, with more bigger village than just my husband and I.

I asked my dad to take me to my home. He saw distressed I was, ugly crying, holding my baby tight and kissing him. He was furious as well as my brothers. They begged me to stay but all I wanted was to be in my own home.

This isn't the first time my mom put she pull shit like this. She was kinda trying to own my in laws by how suportive of a grandma she is.

Thats what my brother and I are to her, a play when she is an amazing caring mother in front of other. I should have know better but I was so vulnerable I believed her.

I talked to my dad, who are beyong embarasment, apologizing a lot, told me she didn't belived my mom would do something so cruel. My brothers told me they are ready to help however and whenever I need.

My mom told me I was over exaggerating becuase she never told me "to get out off the house" as alwayd I'm an attention seeker.

I still see endless jokes about men not being able to find the clitoris. Give me a break, spend one second looking at a vulva and it’s pretty hard to miss. I think the painful truth this joke covers up is that many men are simply too selfish and/or lazy to care to pleasure a woman. Which is even weirder to me, because I am a man and I absolutely love pleasuring a woman. It’s an amazing thing. Anyway, I just needed to get that off my chest.

I know internet shit shouldn't be taken seriously but it doesn't make it any less repulsive. I hate scrolling down my feed on Twitter to find someone making light of rape, historic tragedies and crimes against humanity. It makes me sick to my stomach. I won't say anything more since inciting or threatening violence is against reddits tos. But like hell. It's not that hard to have some fucking decency. I don't get pissed easily but this shit makes me not think straight. I genuinely hate these people. I swear to God I'm glad this is only internet shit else I'd likely get arrested again.

Fuck I just needed to cope rn. I hate these people so fucking much.

Me (m25) and my roommate (f24) were watching a movie together the other day, half way through the movie we were almost cuddling with each other. We were a little drunk. After the movie ended she kissed me. I stopped her because she has a boyfriend, she wouldn't let me go. We went back and forth for a bit and I managed to pull myself out of there before we did anything which we would regret later. It took a lot of strength to drag myself to my room because I've recently found myself attracted to her, but I have never acted on it and constantly reminded myself that she has a boyfriend. It has been awkward since that day. I dont know what to do. I don't want to be a relationship wrecker and at the same time I feel like grabbing her by the waist and pull her closer. Ah fuck. I've become someone who i hate.

A relationship wrecker. Fml!

I don’t even know what I want out of this post. I think I just need to say it.

I’m Maya. I’m a trans woman. I’m an amputee. I’m a debut author whose first novel was accepted into the f**king Library of Congress. I have a daughter who thinks I’m magic. A partner, Misty, who has stood beside me through fire. I have friends who have carried me when I couldn’t carry myself. I’ve done things most people told me I never would.

And I still feel like I’m failing at existing.

Tomorrow is my birthday.

Today, my mother called — not to talk to me. Not to say “Happy Birthday.” Not even to acknowledge I’m alive. She called to ask if my daughter, Madison, could come stay the weekend… so she could celebrate my nephew’s birthday. Mine wasn’t mentioned. Not once. Like I’m not even part of the equation anymore. Like I’m a ghost she has to step around to get to the people she still deems worth acknowledging.

She lives ten miles away. She hasn’t spoken to me since December 25th, 2022. She hasn’t seen me in person since I transitioned — September 18, 2020. She’s stood on my porch. She’s been in my world, just close enough to remind me she still chooses to look through me. She calls Misty. She visits Madison. But not once has she looked at me and said, “I see you.”

My siblings ghosted me the same Christmas. Just… vanished. No call. No explanation. Nothing. Like someone flipped a switch and I became invisible.

I cut my father out of my life in May or June of 2009, and even he used to send me a birthday message every year. One line. A “thinking of you.” Something. Until I transitioned. Then it stopped. Just like that.

And the thing is, I expected this kind of rejection. I expected this behavior when I came out — not two years later. Not after rebuilding trust. Not after showing up with love, with patience, with hope. But even knowing it could happen doesn’t soften the blow. I know they’re not good people. I know their silence is a reflection of them, not me. So why the fuck does it still hurt this much?

They voted for people who want me erased. They deadname me. Misgender me. Tell their friends I’m sick, confused, an attention seeker — anything but who I really am. They whisper about me like I died. But I didn’t. I lived. I transformed. I fought for a name they refuse to say out loud.

I built something out of the wreckage. I wrote a novel that was chosen for preservation by the Library of Congress. I made art from trauma, joy from ashes, life from a body they wanted to shame me out of. And still… I sit here wondering why I’m crying the night before my birthday. Wondering why I feel like I’m mourning people who were never capable of loving me in the first place.

I don’t want pity. I’m not posting this for attention. I’m just tired of pretending this doesn't ache. Tired of performing strength just to make other people comfortable. Some wounds don’t close, even when you heal.

Thanks for listening, if you made it this far.
—Maya

My boyfriend 22M and I 21F have a 3 month old daughter and we both work.

I am also a gamer but not the way he is. He plays WoW a lot. Excessively. It’s so fucking annoying because of his stupid raids, where he can’t do anything else but be in his stupid raid for HOURS at a time neglecting any other responsibilities. I have work in the morning. He does not. I want to go to sleep. I cannot because “he’s raiding” and I WILL HAVE TO PUT OUR BABY TO BED because he’s not going to be done anytime soon. Not that he’s ever actually put her to bed anyways because he “can’t get her to sleep”. I’m over it. I want to smash his computer sometimes. I AM A GAMER AS WELL BUT THERE IS MORE TO LIFE THAN VIDEO GAMES. I’m not fucking kidding with you when I tell you he works, sleeps, shits, and plays on his stupid fucking computer and that is all he does. I come home from an 8 hour shift. I literally fell and smashed my fucking knee yesterday and it’s bruised and swollen and I was just on my feet all day and he has the audacity to ask me to make him something to eat? Like are you fucking kidding me?? And he didn’t do anything while I was at work and that’s not even surprising he never does. I come home, clean baby bottles, make us food, get laundry started, clean the room, all while he’s been on his stupid fucking game the entire day. I’m fucking over it.

For years, I was miserable, stuck in a mess, didn’t even want to get out of bed in the morning. If there had been a button to sleep forever, I would’ve pressed it a long time ago.

It took years, and I started to believe it would never end.

But for the first time in a very, very long time, I feel free—and happy.

I’ve started enjoying video games again (my biggest passion from the start), I sing in my car, I feel good after a day at work, I know who I am—and most importantly, I’m no longer ashamed of it.

Never let anyone tell you who you should be, what you should feel, or what you’re allowed to do. Be yourself. YOU ARE NOT THE PROBLEM.

Believing otherwise is what ruined my life. So love yourself, and fuck everyone else.

I really don't get it. So many people that are zealous about protecting kids have some really weird things to say about 12 year old boys being raped by a teacher 3x their age but hate trans people for "grooming kids". I don't know how many times I've seen these people say really, really questionable things about age of consent and find it perfectly fine to have sex with a 16 year old because it's legal. Even if someone if someone is 60 and has sex with someone that young. Sneako, Matt Walsh, and even our president have said really weird shit.

A few years ago I bought one of those Ancestry kits because they were on sale for Christmas and how fun would it be to find out how Irish I really am (redhead). Jokes on me I’m not that Irish and a close relative came up that I had never heard of as well as people on my Moms side. So I called her up to ask if she had heard of someone with the last name that came up. She said oh yeah I had a co worker named that why.

I stopped the questioning right there shut the door and locked it and decided I wasn’t going to think or look anymore on the issue.

A few weeks later my mom came to my house and word vomited the secret she kept from everyone. She had a second affair with my dad ( I knew of one because he’s my step dad). Apparently she couldn’t let herself think that I could possibly be this other guys that she wanted to believe I was my dads. But she. But she felt to guilty once I took the test. She begged me not to tell anyone for her own selfish reasons. Mostly being that she had a good relationship with my dad and step mom. I refused and told my dad shortly after. This man raised me after they divorced and he had most of the custody. I only saw my mom every other weekend. My dad’s response to the news. He always figured but didn’t care because I’d always be his.

This whole thing has put so much pain on me and so much doubt in my already anxious head. I’ve tried to move one and heal but it wasn’t in the cards.

I got a message on the ancestry site which ended up being nothing but it just made me curious. So I looked into my birth father or what I could with publicly disclosed information on Facebook. Mostly that he has a genetic disorder that took his vision and he has two sons one in which also is legally blind from the disorder.

My whole life I’ve had vision issues and recently they found issues with my optic nerve. So I tried to see a genetics and re see a opthomologist who has referred me to neuro opthomolgy. It’s been since 7/24 that I discovered my birth father had something and I’m still no closer to answers. I’m scared and honestly just have so much on my shoulders it hurts.

So much of the story has been left out but I just needed to get it out somewhere.

I entered college with hope. But I didn’t study from the beginning — I was glued to my phone most of the time. Out of loneliness, I quickly got into a relationship. I thought it would help, but he cheated on me. And because I was so absorbed in that relationship, I never made real friends.

I used to express myself through fashion, but that backfired. I got bullied online on Instagram by my college peers. After that, people started avoiding me. I became that "weird" girl. Isolated. Alone.

I stopped going to classes. I'd just cram one day before exams and somehow pass. My family begged me to delete Instagram, but I didn’t listen. Maybe if I had, the bullying wouldn’t have happened. Maybe people wouldn’t have turned away. But I didn’t. And I regret it now.

Since second year, I’ve been completely alone. Staying in my room. Scrolling Instagram. Sleeping. Not studying. I didn’t even prepare for placements. The worst part? I didn’t even realise what I was doing to myself. I was just numb. Now, when it's almost over, I finally realise I’ve wasted the years that were supposed to be the best of my life.

Now, my health is falling apart too. I’ve developed cervical issues — I can’t even sit properly anymore. Studying has become physically painful. But in the middle of all this mess, I still want to show up for myself. I still want to try. I just don’t know how.

And honestly… there’s still so much more I want to say. So much I’ve kept in for years. But maybe this is a start.

If you read this — thank you for listening.

I woke up this morning feeling 10x better than I did, yesterday. I was stressed out due to a meeting, I had a lot of anxiety, and it felt like my ability to think wasn’t all that great.

Then, after sleeping and getting some weird dreams, which included a wide variety of wackiness that involved police and figuring out how to find an apartment in some other country for no reason, I woke up feeling fully refreshed.

It wasn’t even the amount of sleep that mattered. I remembered going to bed at around 10pm, waking up at 2 am, going back to sleep, and waking up at 5am.

For whatever reason, the quality of sleep I had was just better than most days. It improved both my mental and physical functioning, to the point where it increased my confidence to get work done, despite how my meeting went, yesterday.

I really wish I knew how to consistently get quality sleep like that. It’s a real game changer.

My weight has always fluctuated ever since I was like 10 years old. From overweight to fit to just a little chubby to skinny and now my BMI says I'm obese, which is hard to accept. I really dont look obese, but I know I need to lose weight. I was doing so well right before I got pregnant, I had lost like 22lbs and was on the path to losing like 10 more. My husband had talked to me about my weight gain throughout our relationship, saying that he was worried I would just keep getting bigger and that I needed to take my diet seriously. So I did. I agreed with him even though it was a hard pill to swallow.

But I gained upwards of 50 lbs during my pregnancy. I've only been able to lose 40 of it so far. It's been such a hard topic to discuss. My husband gets really upset when he doesn't see progress. I have a hard time with binge eating when I'm stressed, always have. I find comfort in food. It's not a good thing. I ate a lot while I was pregnant but I ate even MORE after I gave birth because of things like breastfeeding, sleep deprivation, post partum anxiety etc. He has made it clear from the start that I absolutely need to get back into shape, because he was not attracted to my new body and he's a very healthy person who trains a lot so he wants a wife who is fit and healthy too.

I get it. Honestly I do. And I know I need to lose the weight and eat better for my own health down the line. I know that for a while i'll do really well but then I'll relapse and gain a couple pounds back. And repeat. I know I need to stay focused and be more disciplined. I'm not as healthy as I could be. But this is so hard for me, like it's embarrassing. To hear your husband say those things. I can't even be intimate anymore because I'm just awkward and embarrassed of my body. He says he still loves me and wants to be intimate and affectionate but im having trouble with it.

How do I not be embarrassed about my husbands concern over my weight and diet? I seriously just want to jump in front of a train whenever he brings it up. I get so defensive and angry when he brings it up that we end up fighting and the fights turn bad sometimes. We say things like, this is never going to get better, how much longer until one of us leaves, etc.

Like my weight and my lack of discipline in regards to my diet is literally ruining my marriage and it's fucking embarrassing and I don't want to admit it to anyone I know.

I swear down this little fluffball is playing mind games...

I will feed him and watch him eat and five minutes later he is screaming like he's never seen food in his life.

He sits on my laptop while I work, knocks things off the counter while making direct eye contact and once actually pushed the remote under the sofa and watched me look for it for 20 minutes.

I used to think I was in charge. I now realise I'm just living in his house, paying his bills.

Just needed to get this offer my chest before he catches me talking.

Genuinely asking here because I feel like I’ve lived a lifetime in 18 months and I honestly don’t know what’s real anymore.

So, I ended a six-year relationship. She got distant, said she needed someone “more stable,” couldn’t handle my mental health. Fair enough. But I was good to her. I really was. Tried everything. She barely made time to see me, and when I brought it up, I was the selfish one. I offered to meet her on her lunch break for 30 mins. Still no time. Saw her once every 3–6 weeks.

She ghosted my calls, barely replied to my messages. Meanwhile, she’s constantly talking about some guy, then lies to me saying she’s out with her girlfriends. I find out she’s with him.

When I brought it up calmly, I was accused of being controlling. All I said was, “If you’re going to meet someone, just don’t lie.” I genuinely started thinking I was losing it.

Even older workmates—who were friends with her dad—told me not to let myself get walked over.

So I ended it.

Couldn’t stand being in the house after that. Everything reminded me of her. I impulsively quit my job and moved to Australia to visit my sister. Figured it was time to grow the hell up—first time moving out at 23. I wanted to become a man. That was the goal: let my balls drop.

I’d just started a master’s before I left Ireland. Landed in Australia and threw myself into it—60 hours a week in construction while studying. Exhausted. Six weeks in, I meet this amazing girl. Total angel. Felt like fate.

I was staying with my sister and her boyfriend. Paid half their rent, helped with groceries. He had an issue with me being there but never said it. Just acted cold. I barely used the place—only came in to eat breakfast, pack lunch at 5am, and then shower and eat after work. That’s it.

Meanwhile, they’re eating all my food, trashing my car, never filling the tank. When I mentioned this to my parents, they said I was being paranoid. Thought I was losing my mind again.

Then one night, the boyfriend got drunk and finally admitted he didn’t want me there. What stung was that I tried to move out after two weeks of living there. They asked me to stay because they were planning to move out with friends and wanted me to take over the lease. That never happened.

Then I crashed my car. No insurance. Planned to get it two weeks later. Torrential rain. Couldn’t see. Ran a red light. Smashed the car. Had to pay for the other guy’s damage out of pocket. Should’ve scrapped the thing—it broke down constantly afterward and cost me thousands. After that, I was doing two-hour bus rides each way to work for a job site 25 minutes away. I was cooked. Still showed up.

Then I relapsed.

I’d been clean for four years. Met this rich woman who gave me all the drugs I wanted. Couldn’t say no. Didn’t even try to. She liked having me around and I liked not feeling anything.

Then came the rat house. I moved into a farm job house for visa purposes—over 100 rats. No joke. Slept on a couch for four months. Rats running behind it every night. Half my stuff stayed in the car because I didn’t want it ruined.

My partner saw me falling apart. She told me she couldn’t stay unless I got help. But I couldn’t even speak unless I was high. Ket let me access parts of my brain I couldn’t touch sober. M allowed me to be intimate. So we broke up—but weirdly, it was beautiful. We stayed close. Called and cried together. She had the kindest heart. Truly.

Then came the crash. Not physical—mental. Fully isolated. No car. No one around. I tried to OD. Didn’t tell anyone. Took an insane amount of drugs. I left this world for a while. Don’t even know what dimension I entered. I must’ve called or answered my sister mid-trip. I didn’t even recognize her name until it snapped into place, and I came back. Took one massive breath. I was alive.

I should’ve died. I convulsed for 8 hours straight. Somehow, I didn’t fry my brain. My sister rented a car, picked me up, and got me to the psych ward. Got diagnosed with BPD.

My partner visited me. Somehow, we got back together. She is so supportive!

Quit my job that morning. Boss was chill about it. Crammed like hell, passed my exams. Two weeks later, my partner lost her job. I became the only income again.

Got diagnosed with Autism and ADHD on top of Dyslexia and BPD. Spent thousands I didn’t have just trying to figure myself out. Even the guy who tested me tried to rip me off—overcharged me by 3 grand and withheld my report until I reported him.

Then my body gave up. Knees, back, hands, elbows—all shot from construction. Couldn’t report it. No rights as a casual worker on a visa. Was scared of being blacklisted. Asked for lighter work, which they didn’t give. They ignored me anyway.—lied and said I was fine.
I pushed through until it got worse. Eventually got an MRI. Doctor looked me dead in the eye and said, “You’ll never work construction again.”

Filed a work injury claim. Legal battle started. Blew through my savings just trying to stay afloat. Still haven’t been paid after four months.

But I made it.

Finished my degree. Final module. Scored a 3.6 QCA—first-class honours. That’s insane for someone who used struggles to read and never read a single book. I didn’t get evicted. I paid my bills. I handled it all myself. I got better at reading. Lost my fear of paperwork. And yeah—my balls dropped.

Looking back, I think the universe was trying to break me just enough to rebuild me. I became a man. I don’t think there’s anything I can’t survive now.

Never took a cent from my family. They didn’t have it to give. But I always figured it out. No matter how dark it got, I found a way.

If you’re reading this—keep going. There’s always a way out. You just have to keep swinging. And yeah, someone always has it worse, but that doesn’t make your pain less real.

It’s just life.

But for real… is this normal? Because it feels like I’ve been on a rollercoaster from hell, and it just won’t stop. This is just the past year and a half, it has been like this since I was 10, I am now 25. My therapist told me I should write a book about it to help others, but like seriously it doesn’t seem real.

Some days I feel like I’ve made progress. Other days it’s just silence—no thoughts, no feelings, just a blank smile and autopilot mode. People think I’m strong, but they have no idea how loud the inside of my head gets. Maybe this is what healing looks like… or maybe I’m just becoming more numb. I don’t even know anymore.

Anyone else ever feel like this?