Attachment Issues?

GISAYANGAN NIMO UNYA MINGAWON KA? BUGOA UY.

Depression is an odd thing. It doesn’t always stem from a single reason, and it’s not something I can just “snap out of.” There’s a common misconception that people are depressed because they’re constantly sad, but that’s not always the case. For me, it feels like a heavy weight that sits on my chest, something that zaps my energy, motivation, and joy—even on days when everything is going okay.

Some days, it’s the little things that pile up: unanswered emails, personal doubts, the pressure of being a parent—especially to a son with autism—and the overwhelming sense that I’m just not doing enough. Other times, it’s bigger, unresolved issues, like dealing with loss, past traumas, or feeling like I’m constantly underperforming in areas of my life, despite my best efforts.

Living with depression also makes relationships tricky. I often feel disconnected from people, even those I love. Sometimes, I withdraw, not because I don’t care but because I just don’t have the energy to keep up. Other times, I overcompensate, trying too hard to be present, only to feel drained afterward.

As a single mother, I’m responsible for more than just myself, and that pressure can be overwhelming. While I love my son deeply, managing life on my own sometimes feels like walking uphill with weights tied to my legs. It’s not about him—it’s about the relentless pressure of trying to be everything for everyone while still battling my own inner demons.

I go to therapy because I know I need help unraveling everything that’s been tangled up inside for years. There are days when I feel a glimmer of hope, when I feel like maybe things are turning around. But there are also days when I just need to ride out the storm, trusting that even though it feels endless, it will eventually pass.

So if I seem distant, tired, or not like myself, it’s not that I’m avoiding anyone. It’s just that I’m doing my best to survive the battle that’s happening inside my own head.

And scars are souvenirs you never lose The past is never far

I was already in the process of writing a love story but I stopped. I do not have the drive. Maybe I'll just wait for ideas.

Reading 1984 by George Orwell felt like a gut punch, and imagining it happening in the real world—or even in my own country—made it even more heart-wrenching. The way the Party strips away not only freedom but also the ability to think and feel independently is terrifying. As I turned each page, I couldn't help but cry, feeling as though my heart was being torn apart, especially when I thought about how easily such a regime could rise in any society if we're not vigilant.

In Orwell’s world, the total control over truth, history, and even relationships is brutal. If something like this were to unfold in my own country, it would mean the end of everything we hold dear—freedom of speech, connection with loved ones, and our sense of self. The idea of being watched constantly, never being able to trust even your closest friends or family members, is suffocating. Winston’s struggle against this control was a flicker of hope that I desperately clung to as I read, but when that hope was crushed, I felt an immense sense of loss, as if it could be our future, too.

If the government in my country ever wielded such total power, where dissenting opinions were erased and loyalty to the state became more important than truth or love, it would be devastating. The betrayal Winston experiences—both from Julia and from the world itself—felt personal, like it could happen to any of us under similar circumstances. The worst part was Winston's final breaking point, when he surrendered to Big Brother. I couldn’t help but think of how our humanity could be torn apart in the same way if our thoughts and emotions were manipulated to this extreme.

1984 made me cry not just for the characters but for the possibility that such a future could exist anywhere, even here. The thought that people could be forced to betray their own hearts and minds is terrifying, and it left me questioning how strong we would be in the face of such oppression. Would we resist, or would we, like Winston, eventually break?

Friendships are supposed to be straightforward, right? You trust each other, you have each other’s backs, and you keep the big stuff honest. But right now, I’m sitting with a secret that’s tying my stomach in knots, and I have no idea what to do.

My best friend’s boyfriend—someone I never thought I’d have a problem with—has sent me indecent messages after him opening up about his escapades. At first, I brushed it off. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe it was a weird, out-of-context joke. But it’s clear now that it wasn’t. His intentions are blatantly wrong, and I feel trapped.

Do I tell her? Do I risk being the one to ruin everything? I know how much she loves him. What if she doesn’t believe me? What if it blows up in my face and our friendship never recovers?

But then, how do I stay quiet? Every time I see them together, it feels like I’m lying to her by not saying anything. She deserves to know what kind of person he is. But telling her would mean breaking her heart and possibly being the reason her world falls apart.

I keep playing the scenarios in my head, and none of them end well. If I speak up, I might lose her. If I stay silent, I’m protecting a secret that’s eating me alive. How do you even choose between two terrible options like this?

I wish I had answers, but right now, all I have is this sinking feeling that no matter what I do, someone’s going to get hurt—and I might lose someone I care about either way.

I don’t know if peaches tastes good with condensed milk....

too early to sleep but i have nothing left to do.

I was full of hope then suddenly everything went crumbling down.

I’m kinda scared of being happy for a day, or maybe just for a few minutes. Something may come up and ruin it. 😑