Bad habits
The Man She Called Casper
It took her longer than she wanted to admit to see it, even after he came back again. He had always been in control of the relationship--not loudly, not cruelly, but quietly. Through timing. Through silence. Through deciding when he was present and when he disappeared.
By K.D Lee7 months ago in Confessions
I Spent 30 Days Saying "No" to My Kids, and I Nearly Lost My Seat at the Table
I’ve always been the "Logistics Dad." I’m the guy who makes sure the 529 plans are funded, the tire pressure is perfect, and the backyard fence is stained before the rot sets in. In my head, my "Yes" was the roof over their heads and the food in the fridge. That was the contract. I work, I provide, I protect.
By Wisewords7 months ago in Confessions
I Didn’t Realize I Was Ruining My Own Life Until It Was Almost Too Late
For a long time, I believed nothing was wrong with my life. I wasn’t struggling badly, but I wasn’t truly happy either. I told myself that this was normal. That everyone feels lost sometimes. That things would eventually fall into place if I just waited long enough.
By Tazamain khan 8 months ago in Confessions
I'm 47 and My Hearing is A Threat to Society. Content Warning.
I don’t know when it happened. There was no announcement. No gradual fade. No warning from my body like, “Hey, just a heads up, we’re about to stop processing sound correctly.” One day, I could hear. The next day? Absolutely not. I am 47 years old and my hearing is doing whatever the fuck it wants, whenever the fuck it wants, with zero regard for safety, courtesy, or basic human decency. I Can’t Hear You, But Don’t Yell at Me Let me explain something. I cannot hear shit. But also — don’t raise your voice at me. Because now I’m offended. This is a very specific contradiction, and I live in it daily. People will be talking, and I’m nodding along like I understand every word, meanwhile my brain caught maybe three syllables and filled in the rest with vibes. And I don’t realize I missed something until it’s too late to ask “what?” without looking stupid. So now I’m just agreeing to shit I didn’t hear. That’s dangerous. The Jump Scare Problem (Why I’m Always Startled) Here’s how I found out my hearing was officially broken. I’ll be sitting somewhere — couch, bed, chair — minding my own goddamn business. Peaceful. Calm. Then my son will come out of his room and say my name. Not yelling. Not screaming. Just saying it. And I will jump like someone fired a gun in the house. My wig? GONE. Heart racing. Soul leaving my body. And he’s standing there like: “I said your name.” WHY DID I NOT HEAR YOU WALK UP??? How long were you standing there?? Were you watching me??? Because apparently my ears did not register ANY PRESENCE until sound directly entered my face. This is terrifying. My Hearing Has a Proximity Requirement I’ve realized my hearing now comes with conditions. You cannot talk to me from another room. You cannot talk to me from behind. You cannot talk to me casually. You must be: • in my line of sight • facing me • preferably close If not, your lips can be moving and I will hear NOTHING. It’s like my ears need visual confirmation now. Which brings us to the most confusing part of all. WHY CAN I HEAR BETTER WITH MY GLASSES ON?? Explain this to me. I take my glasses off, and suddenly I can’t hear you. Your mouth is moving. I see the effort. I appreciate it. But the sound? Not making it to my brain. As soon as I put my glasses back on? BOOM. Sound restored. What kind of Bluetooth-ass body malfunction is this??? Why do my eyes and ears need to be synced?? Am I lip-reading without realizing it??? Because this feels suspicious. Driving With Me Is a Hazard Now let’s talk about driving. Because my hearing problems do not stop me from doing reckless things. My music stays LOUD. Not “oh that’s a little loud.” LOUD. Because I need to FEEL the sound, not just hear it. Which means I have absolutely driven through town completely unaware that: • fire trucks • police cars • ambulances were screaming past me with lights on. I don’t hear shit. I see the lights and I’m like: “Oh damn, my bad.” Sirens used to scare me. Now they sneak up on me. That feels illegal. Selective Hearing or System Failure? People love to say: “You just don’t listen.” No. I AM LISTENING. The signal is just not coming through clean. This is not selective hearing. This is a system failure. My brain is buffering. And if there’s background noise? Forget it. TV on. Music on. Fan running. You might as well send a text. The ‘Huh?’ Phase of Life I say “huh?” a lot now. Sometimes twice. Sometimes three times. And by the third time, I’m embarrassed, so I just smile and pretend I heard you. Which is how misunderstandings happen. This is how people end up thinking I agreed to things I absolutely did not agree to. Because I did not hear them. Why This Is Actually a Problem This shit is funny — until it’s not. Because not hearing properly means: • I miss details • I miss tone • I miss warnings And that’s not cute. It’s also exhausting trying to keep up. I be tired from LISTENING. The Real Betrayal: Nobody Warned Me Nobody talks about hearing loss like this. We talk about eyesight. We talk about memory. We talk about sleep. Nobody said: > “Oh by the way, sound will stop making sense.” Nobody said I’d need: • eye contact • proximity • reduced background noise • and a prayer to understand basic conversation. My Body Is Clearly Freestyling At this point, I’ve accepted something. My body is no longer following the manual. It’s improvising. Bladder? Wild. Memory? Gone. Eyesight? Rebellious. Taste buds? In a conspiracy. Sleep? Optional. Hearing? Absolutely unreliable. I am one malfunction away from becoming a liability. Final Thoughts From a 47-Year-Old Who Needs You to Face Her When You Talk If you speak to me and I don’t respond, I promise I’m not ignoring you. I just didn’t hear you. If you scare the shit out of me by saying my name from three feet away, you might want to duck or watch my arms, because I might swing. That’s on you.... And if my music is loud and I miss sirens? Mind your business. I am doing my best with the equipment I’ve been given. Conclusion: Yes, My Hearing Is a Threat to Society Because I can’t hear warnings. I can’t hear casual conversation. I can’t hear you unless you’re in my face. And yet, I’m still out here driving, working, parenting, and existing. Which feels irresponsible. But here we are.
By Dakota Denise 8 months ago in Confessions
I'm 47 and My Sleep is a Threat To Society . Content Warning.
I’m 47 Years Old and Sleep Is a Threat to Society Let me be very clear about something. I do not sleep. Not because I don’t want to. Not because I’m trying to be productive. But because my brain refuses to shut the fuck down. I am 47 years old, and sleep and I are no longer in a relationship. We are barely on speaking terms. At night, when normal people are winding down, my brain clocks in like it just drank a Red Bull and slapped the time clock. This is when I do my best work. This is when I am: writing stories people asked me to write producing content restructuring my entire business redesigning my clothing line planning luxury 420 corsets and blazers like it’s Fashion Week Meanwhile, the rest of the world is unconscious. My Brain Does Not Respect Time I will lie down and say, “Okay, let me go to sleep.” And my brain immediately responds: > “Absolutely not. Now seems like a great time to rethink your entire life.” Thoughts start firing off like popcorn. Ideas I didn’t care about all day suddenly become urgent. Things I forgot for months show up like: > “Hey girl, remember me?” No. No, I don’t want to remember you at 2:47 a.m. Sleep Schedules Are a Myth People love to say: “You need a routine.” Baby. I have tried. My routine is chaos with ambition. Some nights I’m up until 4 a.m. Some nights I don’t sleep at all. Some nights I sleep for three hours and wake up like, “That’s enough.” My body does not acknowledge bedtime. It acknowledges inspiration. What I’m Actually Running On Let’s talk about fuel. Because it’s not sleep. I am currently running on: weed hot fries watermelon Kool-Aid vibes and audacity That is my diet. That is my sleep aid. That is my lifestyle. Is it healthy? Probably not. Is it effective? Apparently, yes. Because shit is getting done. Nighttime Is When the Ideas Get Disrespectful During the day, my brain is manageable. At night? That’s when it decides: “Let’s rebrand the whole company.” Suddenly I’m sketching corsets in my head. Thinking about fabric. Thinking about tailoring. Thinking about luxury pieces for the 420 community. I’m designing blazers at 3 a.m. like: “This could work.” Sleep is not invited to these meetings. The Weed Does Not Help Like It Used To Now let’s address the lie. People say weed helps you sleep. It USED TO. Now? It just makes my thoughts more creative. Instead of sleeping, I’m sitting there like: “What if I did this differently?” I’m high, hydrated, and fully invested in my future. Meanwhile, my body is begging for rest. Sleep Tries to Catch Me Slipping Sometimes sleep sneaks up on me. I’ll sit down for “just a minute.” Next thing I know, I wake up confused, thirsty, and mad because now my schedule is ruined. If I nap? I’m up all night. If I don’t nap? I’m still up all night. Explain the math. Mornings Are Personal Attacks Morning comes whether I’m ready or not. And when I haven’t slept? Everything is louder. Lights are brighter. Sounds are aggressive. People talking too early is criminal. I’m functional, but I’m not friendly. The Real Problem Is My Brain Is Too Loud This isn’t about insomnia. This is about a brain that won’t stop producing. I have ideas. Goals. Responsibilities. Businesses. My brain doesn’t want rest — it wants results. So while other people are sleeping, I’m building. Not because I want to be awake. But because my brain said, “We’re not done yet.” Final Thoughts From a 47-Year-Old Who Does Not Dream — She Plans Sleep is optional at this stage. Not because I don’t value it. But because my mind refuses to shut down long enough to enjoy it. If you see me up at 3 a.m. posting, writing, designing, or reworking my entire life? Mind your business. I’ll sleep later. Maybe.
By Dakota Denise 8 months ago in Confessions
I'm 47 and My Taste Buds are a Threat To Society Currently Running a Conspiracy . Content Warning.
I’m 47 Years Old and My Taste Buds Are Running a Conspiracy I don’t know who changed my stomach’s settings, but I would like to file a formal complaint. Because at 47, eating is no longer a casual activity. It’s a medical event. At this point, if I want to eat any goddamn thing ANYTHING — I have to take nausea medication. Not occasionally. Not “if my stomach is acting up.” Not “maybe later.” Every. Single. Day. Sometimes three or four of them motherfuckers in one day because my stomach wakes up already on level 20 for absolutely no reason. No warning. No trigger. Just chaos. I haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t offend it. I didn’t eat reckless. I didn’t drink a gallon of hot sauce before bed. And yet here we are. My Stomach Is No Longer a Team Player My stomach used to be dependable. We had an understanding. I fed it, it behaved. Now? It’s unpredictable. Emotional. Dramatic. And absolutely refuses to cooperate without medication like it’s on strike. And the wildest part? My taste buds have decided to change personalities too. Foods I hated my entire life? Suddenly acceptable. Foods I loved? Now suspicious. Explain it. Let’s Start With Onions — THE SWITCH-UP I used to not eat onions. Ever. Not raw. Not cooked. Not hidden. Not “you won’t even taste it.” Absolutely not. Now? I’m fine. Onions are in things now and I don’t even flinch. They’re sautéed, caramelized, mixed in — and my stomach is like, “Yeah, okay.” WHAT. Who approved this change? Who updated the software? Because my younger self would be horrified watching me eat onions voluntarily. Brussels Sprouts: The Biggest Plot Twist of My Life Now let’s talk about Brussels sprouts. I used to look at them like they were punishment. Like they were invented to humble children. But now? You sauté them motherfuckers with some onion, bell peppers, and some good-ass seasoning? I’m tearing them bitches UP. Eating them like they owe me money. Who am I? Because the woman I used to be would NEVER. This is identity theft. Seafood Still Ain’t It (And Don’t Sneak It Into My Mouth) Now let me be clear. I have never been a seafood girl. Shrimp? No. Crab? No. None of that shit. One day my sister says, “Close your eyes. Let me put something in your mouth.” First of all — pause. That sentence alone should have ended the experiment. But I trusted her. Family betrayal always hits hardest. She put it in my mouth. I almost died. Not because it tasted bad — but because the texture betrayed me. I am a texture person. If something is: • sticky • gooey • gummy I am OUT. My body will reject it like a bad organ transplant. I don’t care how seasoned it is, how fresh it is, or how expensive it is. Texture will shut the whole operation down. THIS Is Why I Need the Menu Ahead of Time This is also why — if you ever ask me out — I need DETAILS. Not vibes. Not “we’ll figure it out.” Not “I know a place.” Absolutely not. I need: • the name of the restaurant • the date • the time • and MOST IMPORTANTLY — THE MENU Because I have to study the menu. I need to scan it like it’s a legal document. I need to know: Is there something I can eat? Is my stomach going to revolt? Are there safe foods? Are there hidden ingredients? I cannot walk into a restaurant blind and just “figure it out.” That is not adventurous. That is reckless. My Anxiety and My Stomach Are in Cahoots My anxiety, my PTSD, and my stomach are in a full-blown alliance. They have meetings. They sit down together before I leave the house and say: > “No surprises.” They do not play. If I ignore them? My stomach will embarrass me publicly. So yes I need the menu. And no that does not make me difficult. It makes me prepared. Eating Is Now a Strategy Game Eating at 47 is no longer about hunger. It’s about: • timing • medication • mood • texture • seasoning • and whether my stomach feels like cooperating today Some days it’s cool. Some days it’s dramatic. Some days it’s like, “Absolutely not, try again tomorrow.” This is not a lifestyle choice. This is survival. The Real Conspiracy The real conspiracy is how nobody warns you. Nobody tells you that after a certain age: • your bladder switches up • your memory disappears • your eyesight rebels • and now your stomach and taste buds join the chaos Everything just starts malfunctioning quietly. And you’re expected to adapt without complaint. Final Thoughts From a 47-Year-Old With Trust Issues and Antacids Nearby I don’t know what happens after a certain age, but it feels like your body starts freelancing. Your stomach decides what it will and won’t tolerate. Your taste buds rewrite the rules. Your anxiety becomes the project manager. And you just want to eat in peace. So if I ask for the menu ahead of time, mind your business. If I take medication before I eat, mind your business. If I refuse to “just try it,” MIND YOUR BUSINESS. I am not being dramatic. I am being 47.
By Dakota Denise 8 months ago in Confessions
I'm 47 and My Eyesight is a Threat To Society In Active Rebellion . Content Warning.
I’m 47 Years Old and My Eyesight Is A Threat to Society in Active Rebellion Let me tell you something about my eyesight. It is not declining quietly. It is not fading gracefully. It is acting out. I am 47 years old and my eyes have decided they are no longer interested in teamwork. I own at least 17 pairs of glasses. Seventeen. Maybe more. I’ve lost count which honestly tracks, given the topic. Now mind you, my favorite color is turquoise. Always has been. So of course my favorite pair of glasses are turquoise Tiffany frames that cost me almost $600 goddamn dollars, because yes, I will pay for aesthetics even if they betray me later. So one day, I take my precious turquoise glasses off and put them on my bed. On. My. Bed. And then they disappear. I am standing in my bedroom, staring at my bed, KNOWING my glasses are somewhere on that bed… and I cannot see them. Why? Because the frames BLEND IN with my bedding. I spend 45 minutes to an hour patting down my own bed like I’m searching for contraband, all because I cannot see the very thing I need in order to see. This is disrespectful. Glasses Are No Longer Accessories — They Are Stashed Around the House When I was younger, glasses stayed on my face. All day. No issues. Now? I have glasses strategically placed throughout my house like emergency supplies. One pair in the living room. One pair in the bedroom. One pair in the bathroom. One pair near the door. Why? Because I never know what kind of vision I’m going to need in any given moment. Distance? Reading? Phone scrolling? Driving at night during the apocalypse? It’s all different now. Watching TV Is a Multi-Step Operation Let’s talk about television. I can no longer watch TV like a normal person. If I’m watching from far away, glasses ON. If I’m watching up close, glasses OFF. If I’m watching TV AND scrolling my phone? Baby. We are in experimental territory. I’m lifting my glasses up like an old man reading a menu. Sometimes I forget I’ve pushed them up and I’m just walking around the house half-blind, squinting at everything like I don’t trust it. The Phone Screen Betrayal Looking at my phone is its own journey. With glasses on, the screen is too close. Without glasses, the world disappears. So now I’m constantly doing this little glasses dance: • on • off • up • down I look ridiculous. If someone were to watch me, they’d think I was performing a very specific, very confused form of interpretive dance. Night Driving Is a Sci-Fi Movie I Did Not Consent To Driving at night? Oh no. The glare. THE GLARE. Streetlights look like portals. Headlights look like UFOs. Traffic lights look like alien signals. I’m driving squinting like: “Is that a car… or the end of days?” I’m convinced aliens are coming, because there is no reason lights should be doing all this. I know it’s my eyes. But still. Suspicious. The Real Problem: I Can’t FIND My Glasses Without My Glasses This is the real insult. The very thing I need to see… I cannot see without it. I’ve checked my head. My pockets. The fridge (don’t ask). Only to realize the glasses were RIGHT THERE the whole time. Just invisible. Like my patience. So What’s Happening? I don’t know. Is it age? Hormones? Perimenopause? Stress? Weed? All of the above in a trench coat? Probably. What I do know is that my eyes are freelancing now. They do what they want. When they want. And I am just along for the ride. Final Thoughts From a 47-Year-Old With Vision Issues and Taste If you see me squinting at something, give me a minute. If I say “hold on, let me get my other glasses,” don’t judge. If I can’t find my glasses but I know they’re nearby? Pray for me. Because my eyesight is no longer something I control. It’s a lifestyle.
By Dakota Denise 8 months ago in Confessions
The Day I Stopped Refreshing the Page
The Day I Stopped Refreshing the Page For a long time, my mornings started the same way. Not with breakfast. Not with stretching or deep breaths or gratitude, like people on the internet suggest. My mornings started with refreshing a page.
By Salman Writes8 months ago in Confessions
The Kind of Tired Sleep Can’t Fix
I’m not tired in the way sleep can fix. I’ve tried that. Early nights. Late mornings. Power naps that turn into guilt. None of it touches this kind of exhaustion. It lives deeper, somewhere behind the eyes and under the ribs, where rest doesn’t reach. It’s not the kind of tired that fades with eight hours under a blanket—it’s the kind that lingers even after the alarm clock says I’ve had enough.
By Salman Writes8 months ago in Confessions
