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Nobody 6d
i don't know what's wrong with me
but something was happening so long ago
and it still repeats in my head
makes me want to shut my eyes and go

i don't know what's wrong with me
but i can't talk about it
no matter how hard i try
i'm just to scared to admit that i've been through some ****...

i don't know what's wrong with me
every time i see those awful people
every time there's a loud noise or a crowded room
it just reminds me that the whole world is sheeple

i don't know what's wrong with me
their words repeat in my head in an infinite loop
their mocking keeps coming up
feels like i'm in a boiling *** of trauma soup...

haha i don't ******* know what's wrong with me!!!
Nobody 6d
every notification on my phone
telling me something is going wrong
another corrupted plan succeeding
another million people gone...

every news story in the morning
telling me I'm going to die
another failed hope
another savior plan gone awry...

every word out of your mouth
telling me I'm a worthless *******
it was so long ago
but the forest fire is still lit...

every word of yours i remember
keeps repeating in my head
telling me i'm useless
and that i'd be better off dead...
...
Nobody 7d
Anxiety seeps into my soul
Like stains on a white couch
Like songs to your mind
Panic rises
Thoughts coming faster than before
"Maybe I'll die"
"Whats happening?"
And sometimes
No thoughts at all
But never any barriers
To brake my fall
What's wrong with me?
Loud noises and yelling remind me of what happened...
Why though?
Nobody 7d
I miss the days
When I could just eat without thinking about it
Without counting the calories
Without shaking with guilt
Without feeling so awful that I shove my fingers down my throat just to pull it out
To remove the weight
To release the guilt and shame and food into the toilet bowl

The cold bathroom floor has become comforting.
Knowing that after kneeling down on it, my hands trembling
I'll lose weight
Haha I hate my brain i miss how it was before
This is how I process
My thoughts
My feelings
My ideas
My beliefs
My actions
My trauma
Everything
So if you find not what you seek
I'm sorry
It's just how I think
Mrs Timetable Nov 11
The perpetual state
Of heart break
Never heals
It just learns
To deal
What hand have you been dealt?
Magda Nov 11
I am my father’s daughter.
His blood flows in mine.
I feel the cursed liquid run through my body,
with every beat of my heart.

It’s like gasoline,
slowly poisoning me –
as it did to him.
My clock reminds me,
with every tick –
“Not much time left!”

There is no escape.
The enemy is inside me,
hunting me down –
just another fallen soul in his way.

I watch myself in the mirror,
my father’s face looks back at me.
I hate what I see, just as much
as I hate him.

But he was just a child once too.
Feeling the same poison run,
through his fragile body.
I pity him.
But I do not forgive.
Some feelings on generational trauma.
Boris Cho Nov 10
Grief is not something one simply “gets over.” It’s a profound and transformative process that we learn to carry with us, reshaping it into wisdom and strength. Through my own experiences; surviving a traumatic childhood, navigating a toxic divorce, losing a best friend, and enduring health battles; I’ve come to realize that grief is best navigated with the support of others, not in isolation.

There are essential needs we must honor when mourning: acknowledging the reality of loss, embracing the pain, and leaning on others to help carry the weight. Grief is not an experience to be rushed or solved, but rather a process of reconciliation; a deep acceptance that transforms us. Pain doesn’t vanish, but with time and support, we learn to live alongside it. I’ve walked this path, understanding that grief becomes a part of us, woven into the fabric of who we are, reshaping our identity.

I’ve been incredibly fortunate to have a circle of friends and family whose love has carried me through the darkest moments. My older sister and twin brother, in particular, have been my constant companions in this journey. They were there during my childhood, when trauma was a silent presence. They stood by me through my divorce, when I questioned my worth as a husband and father. And they held me up through the grief of losing my best friend and the challenges of facing health issues that left me questioning my own mortality.

In my journey as a 41-year-old single father to my beautiful 9-year-old daughter, I’ve come to understand the deep depths of grief and the importance of embracing vulnerability. Grief is not merely an experience to endure but a courageous path toward healing and authenticity. It has taught me that acknowledging our pain allows us to connect more deeply with ourselves and others, paving the way for genuine mourning.

Through my experiences in grieving past relationships, I’ve learned that vulnerability is a strength rather than a weakness. Recently, during a theater outing, my daughter witnessed my tears while watching Wild Robot. On our walk home, she courageously asked me which parts of the movie had affected me the most. We paused on a bench, sharing our feelings and reflecting on the moments that sparked emotion within us. Together, we grieved for the old goose Longneck, honoring his courage and bravery for a few quiet moments.

This experience not only deepened our bond but also illustrated to her that expressing emotions is a natural and valuable part of life. In those moments, I realized that fostering an environment where feelings can be shared freely helps nurture resilience and empathy in her. By embracing our vulnerabilities, we honor our grief and create space for love, connection, and understanding, reminding ourselves that mourning is an integral part of our shared humanity. In navigating my own grief, I hope to guide her in finding the courage to authentically experience her emotions as she grows, assuring her that it’s okay to feel deeply and openly in a world that often encourages the opposite.

What I’ve learned is that grief, in its purest form, is a communal experience. The presence of those who care for us is essential. It’s in their company that I’ve found solace, in their compassion that I’ve discovered the strength to keep moving forward. The relationships that have endured through these hardships have been my lifeline, helping me process not only the pain of loss but also the profound sense of survival and rebirth that follows.

In my support group, I’ve found a space where vulnerability is met with understanding, where shared experiences foster healing. These connections have reminded me that we are not meant to bear the weight of our grief alone. My siblings’ generosity and my friends’ loyalty have allowed me to reshape my pain into something meaningful. Through them, I’ve found the courage to keep walking this path, not in spite of the losses I’ve faced, but because of the love that surrounds me.

Grief may be inevitable, but it is not insurmountable. With time, with patience, and with the unwavering support of those who care for us, we can reconcile our losses and create a new understanding of who we are. In the end, it’s the love we receive that helps us carry the grief; and in that love, we find the strength to continue.



It’s as if you’ve spent a lifetime in pursuit, tirelessly honing your craft, only to meet the moment you’ve long awaited; and falter. In that instant, the prize you held so tightly slips through your fingers, drifting out of reach, lost forever.

Every step, every sacrifice, has led you here, only for the dream you chased so relentlessly to dissolve before your eyes. The weight of expectation presses down, and the failure burns deep, rending your heart in waves, relentless in its ache.

But at the end, where defeat seemed inevitable, something unexpected awaits. There, beyond the finish line, stand the ones you love most; cheering, smiling, their eyes bright with pride. Their applause whispers a truth louder than your loss: that second place is but a number. In their eyes, you have always been, and will always be, their champion.

— Sincerely, Boris
Boris Cho Nov 11
I learned that true healing begins with the recognition of the patterns passed down through generations, woven into the fabric of my emotional life. My childhood experiences, whether painful or nurturing, have shaped my responses to the world, and only by acknowledging the wounds left behind can I begin to free myself from their grip. I must confront the destructive behaviours that have taken root; those subtle habits of self-sabotaging and deeply ingrained fears that seem to guide my actions almost unconsciously.

To move forward, I take responsibility for my emotional growth. This journey requires me to nurture the parts of myself that have been neglected, to offer the care and compassion that were once missing. I have learned to cultivate an inner sense of safety, to build trust within myself, and to challenge the narratives that no longer serve me. Through deliberate self-exploration, I identify the beliefs and emotions that have kept me stuck, and I work to transform them into my greatest strengths.

It’s a process of reparenting; providing myself with the love, guidance, and protection I once sought from others. I gently untangle myself from the trauma that has echoed across generations, and in doing so, I begin to break free from the cycles of the past. Each step forward brings me closer to a more resilient, authentic version of myself, one that is capable of self-empowerment and emotional growth. This isn’t a journey of quick fixes but one of deep transformation, where I learn to honour my past while fully embracing the potential of who I am becoming.

——

I listen closely to his cry,
A truth long hidden, now untied.
With love, I heal the aching past,
And offer peace that’s meant to last.

I break the hold of old belief,
Release the pain, embrace relief.
In every tear, in every plea,
I find the strength to set him free.

I draw my boundaries firm and clear,
Protect the space that I hold dear.
With quiet strength, no longer torn,
The child within me has been reborn.

— Sincerely, Boris
Boris Cho Nov 10
Throughout my journey as a child and as an adult, I have come to realize that trust is not a simplistic or singular decision, but a process. It’s not merely about extending trust to others, but about confronting my inner doubts; both about people and about the plan for my life. I’ve learned that my skepticism and reluctance to trust stem from wounds of the past, and from my fear of what might happen if I let go of control. Trust, I now see, isn’t blind; it’s informed by wisdom, discernment, and boundaries.

There were moments when I questioned not just others, but also the divine, wondering why painful experiences were allowed to happen, and why I was left feeling unprotected as a child and later in life as I defended into young adulthood. The uncertainty bred doubt in my own ability to discern who or what was safe. Yet, what I have gained is an understanding that trust begins not with others, but with a foundational trust in a higher purpose, even when the path forward seems obscure.

I learned that trust is not something to be given indiscriminately or withheld entirely. It is an invitation to vulnerability, tempered by the understanding that discernment is a gift, honed through experience. It has become clear to me that trust is less about guarantees of safety or certainty and more about growth through relational and spiritual stretching. There is wisdom in establishing boundaries, not as a form of self-preservation, but as an act of respect for both myself and those around me. Boundaries do not signify the absence of trust, but rather the preservation of healthy, intentional trust.

The deepest lesson, however, is the recognition that trust requires a recalibration of my heart. It is not my role to control or to predict the actions of others or the unfolding of life’s events, but to trust that each step I take, though uncertain, moves me closer to healing. I now understand that trust is a slow dance between wisdom and vulnerability, one that I must navigate with an open yet discerning heart. The fear that held me captive no longer defines my capacity to trust. Instead, trust becomes a daily practice of releasing control, setting healthy limits, and believing that I am safe within divine protection, even when circumstances remain unclear.



In childhood’s darkest corners,
Fear lived behind the front door,
A silence I could not question,
But learned not to trust.

Friends, once anchors,
Became driftwood in shallow waters,
Loyalty lost like whispers,
And I abandoned floating alone.

In a failed marriage, trust was a mirror
Shattered by pretense,
Each shard reflecting a version of myself
That I no longer recognized.

Relationships, at times, felt like betrayal,
A wound wrapped in promises,
Yet in moments of intimacy,
I found trust’s delicate bloom.

Now, trust is a flickering light,
Sometimes dim, sometimes strong,
A compass not for others,
But for the faith I rebuild within myself.

— Sincerely, Boris
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