Humanity
what i'll never get to say. Top Story - October 2025.
i never exaggerated. i have trauma about telling my truth and being called a liar so we're gonna start here. every. single. thing. i told you happened, happened. some happened this year, last year, earlier. i told you that, too. but it all happened the way i said it did.
By Maia Gadwall the metAlchemist11 months ago in Confessions
confessions of a madwoman
for about three months, i forgot how to write. i couldn't draw or do much of anything creative but nothing terrified me on such an existential level as forgetting how to write. see, i had a condition called serotonin syndrome, an artificial build-up of the happiness chemical in my brain and it almost killed me. no joke, look it up. that particular side effect (of a cocktail of medications including a migraine preventative that was the last to be replaced) is a mortality risk and a half and i was grappling with the consequences of it at the same time as an identity crisis caused in part by the only viable solution to serotonin syndrome: serotonergic cessation. no serotonin aids for weeks. around that time i started having seizures whenever i tried to engage my imagination. it was hell. it still hurts a little to wrench the words from my subconscious to the surface and i'm twitching a bit because of it, but i'm afraid if i don't start writing again i'll never get back into the habit and this year has cost me so much already. i lost my mind, my career, my identity, my libido, possibly my marriage, definitely my sense of safety, and at least one extremely good friend whose loss i'm not allowed to grieve except at my therapist and buried in the lines of prose i scream into the void. i am profoundly alone and simultaneously surrounded by people who love me and it is the most surreal experience of my life. i'm in the middle of a full-blown PTSD resurgence, blending childhood and adult traumas together into a nightmarish hellscape that overlaps reality like a superimposed photograph all. the. time. and i'm having some kind of midlife crisis regarding my spirituality but lack of religious belief that led me to start a cult (which i will definitely be linking to when i finish writing this because shameless self promotion is the modus operandi). but in my defense the model is terribly unprofitable because the point is to crowd-source the epiphany to the masses, which means free access to all. the most important bits of the philosophy are completely free, from the playlist augury (which you can use to listen to the will of the universe once you tune it to your channel, so to speak) to the three mantras (which guide everyday decisions in the moment) to the twelve principles (which guide overall values and morals). they play off each other to create an implication of further values, but lack the strict methodical proscription of religious dogma. alchemy doesn't care how you get there, or even what you call it. all that matters is that you serve the equilibrium, the balance of the universe, the source of the energy, or your God by doing good things that adhere to the principles and live according to the mantras. if you don't want to use the playlist augury, you don't have to. be hyperpresent in your own body and do something that feels good while you think about who you are and what your place is in the world. mine is behind a screen, ranting like a crazy person (because I am a crazy person) about my nervous breakdown, my new cult, my impending bankruptcy, my new name, my rock bottom, my activist art that no one buys (but they should, since i don't even get a piece of some of them, so there will be another link here), my marriage, my mother... pretty much anything. so when i forgot how to write, i've never been so scared of anything in my life.
By Maia Gadwall the metAlchemist11 months ago in Confessions
The Mask I Wore at Home
The Mask I Wore at Home By Abdul Muhammad On screen, I was the picture of happiness. “Good morning, everyone!” I’d chirp into the camera, hair tied neatly, kitchen bathed in sunlight. Behind me, breakfast sizzled and coffee steamed. My followers would flood the comments with hearts and praise — “Couple goals!”, “You’re glowing, girl!”, “Teach me how to be this happy!” And for a few seconds, I’d almost believe them. When the camera light turned red, I became someone else. The smile would slide off, my shoulders would drop, and silence would fill the room like smoke. My husband, Adam, never appeared in those videos. People thought it was because he was camera shy. I used to say, “He likes to stay behind the scenes.” What I didn’t say was that he barely looked at me anymore, let alone wanted to be seen beside me. It wasn’t always like this. When we first married, he was my world — attentive, funny, warm. We’d stay up late talking about silly things, like which cereal mascot was the most untrustworthy or what we’d name our future dog. He used to call me “Sunshine,” and every time he said it, I felt like I truly was. But over time, something shifted. Maybe it was the endless work stress, or maybe love simply got tired. Conversations grew shorter, smiles rarer. He began spending more time in his office, and I started spending more time trying to pretend everything was fine. That’s when I began filming. At first, the videos were just a distraction — little morning vlogs to fill the quiet. Then one of them went viral: “Morning Routines with Grace.” People loved the way I folded napkins into hearts, the way I kissed the air toward where Adam should’ve been sitting. They said I was “the wife everyone wanted to be.” I liked how that felt. For a few minutes each day, I wasn’t lonely. I was admired. Seen. But pretending is heavy work. Behind the edits and soft filters, I was unraveling. I’d sit in our spotless living room at night, surrounded by perfection — fresh flowers, glowing candles, everything color-coordinated — and feel utterly empty. Sometimes I’d scroll through my own feed and think, Who is she? That woman laughing in the sunshine — she’s not me. One night, after posting a video titled “Five Secrets to a Happy Marriage”, I sat on the kitchen floor and cried until my throat burned. The irony was too cruel. The video had already hit 10,000 views by morning. When I tried to talk to Adam about it, he just sighed. “Grace, you’re overthinking again. You’re making money from this, right? Isn’t that enough?” I nodded, but inside I was screaming. No, it wasn’t enough. I didn’t want applause from strangers. I wanted him — his attention, his warmth, his laughter. But our love had turned into a performance where only one of us was still acting. Weeks passed. The mask grew heavier. Then came the morning I couldn’t wear it anymore. I’d set up my tripod as usual, the sunlight soft and golden across the kitchen tiles. I pressed “record,” and my practiced smile appeared — automatic, empty. But as I began to speak, my voice broke. “Good morning,” I whispered, then stopped. The silence felt too honest. I stared into the lens — into the tiny glass eye that had watched every version of me — and something in me cracked. “I’m tired,” I said. “I don’t even know who I’m talking to anymore.” The words poured out — about the loneliness, the distance, the way pretending had become my prison. I talked for ten minutes straight, crying, confessing, breathing. When I finished, I didn’t edit or filter it. I didn’t even rewatch it. I just posted it. Then I turned off my phone. For hours, I sat by the window, terrified. I imagined the backlash — people unfollowing, mocking, telling me I was ungrateful or dramatic. But when I finally checked, something unexpected had happened. There were thousands of comments. Women writing, “I feel the same.” Others saying, “Thank you for saying it out loud.” Some just sent hearts or quiet messages of support. That day, my mask shattered — not just online, but inside me. When Adam came home that night, he looked uncomfortable. “You posted that?” he asked. “Everyone’s talking about it.” “Yes,” I said. “I did.” He rubbed his forehead. “You shouldn’t have aired private things.” “They weren’t private,” I said softly. “They were invisible.” He didn’t reply. For the first time, I didn’t rush to fill the silence. I let it stay between us — sharp, necessary, true. That night, I slept without makeup, without guilt, without pretending. For once, I wasn’t Sunshine or Grace-the-wife or the cheerful influencer. I was just me — messy, tired, real. The next morning, I woke up before dawn. I walked out to the porch with a blanket and a cup of tea. The sky was gray, streaked with pink. I watched the world wake up and felt something I hadn’t felt in years — peace. I still make videos now, but they’re different. Some days I talk about mental health, some days about silence, and some days I film the sunrise with no words at all. The followers stayed — not for the perfection, but for the honesty. Adam and I still share a house, but we’re learning to speak again — awkwardly, honestly. It’s not the fairy tale people imagined, but it’s real. And that’s enough. Sometimes I get messages from women saying, “You gave me courage to stop pretending.” I always reply, “You already had it. You just had to see yourself without the mask.” Because that’s what I learned, too. Happiness isn’t a smile for the camera. It’s the quiet, unfiltered moment when you look at yourself — tired, flawed, and still standing — and think, I’m enough. And for the first time in years, I truly believe it.
By Abdul Muhammad 11 months ago in Confessions
The Loneliness Paradox: How Connection Made Us More Alone
Feeling alone was simple once: an unfilled area, a phone without activity, a quiet night without anybody to contact. We live today in a universe where loneliness has moved onto the virtual world. Though we are surrounded by screens, flooded with notifications, linked to several people, an increasing number of people describe themselves as lonely.
By Shahjahan Kabir Khan11 months ago in Confessions
Not Everything. Top Story - June 2024.
Do you ever feel like you can't run from yourself fast enough? Like every decision you’ve ever made is eternal, but that knowledge alone is not enough to keep you from acting on your idiotic impulses and the thoughts of your bad heart?
By Mezmur11 months ago in Confessions
Secret Letter
I never told anyone but Mark, an alter and Spiritual ground, what happened to me those first two years after brain surgery between 1998 and 2000. In the gentle year of the Rabbit (1999), a year after the surgery, I came in contact with the natural and kind demon known to Catholism as Michael. What had happend was small and uninteresting to the surface, but for the inside of my head, it was a war ready to be layered over and at the soft age of seven, forgotten about.
By Parsley Rose 11 months ago in Confessions
so i started the world's worst cult
i really did start the world's least lucrative cult. i gave the real secret techniques away on my patreon already. there are three practical exercises: the playlist augury technique, the three mantras, the twelve principles. the "that chick is crazy crazy" techno-psycho-babble bits are optional extras, and only one of them costs anything to read. the secret recipes to fine-tune your psyche with your favorite music, without having to change religions or start one if you are a non-believer? they're coming to patreon this weekend for $1/each (of three).
By Maia Gadwall the metAlchemist11 months ago in Confessions
I Grew Up Screaming Misogynistic Lyrics — And Now I’m a Feminist Who Still Knows Every Word
When I was fourteen, my favourite song started with a beat that made me feel unstoppable. It was California by Hollywood Undead — loud, aggressive, confident, and so dripping in misogyny that it practically left a stain.
By No One’s Daughter11 months ago in Confessions
The Two Breads That Saved a Soul
The Bread of Faith: The Story of Abu Nasr Al-Iyad BY ubaid Once upon a time, there lived a man named Abu Nasr Al-Iyad. He was a poor man who struggled each day to provide for his wife and two young children. Poverty had wrapped its chains around him so tightly that hope seemed to fade with every passing day. One morning, his children lay weak and crying from hunger. His wife, pale and helpless, tried to comfort them, but her own stomach had long been empty. Unable to bear the sight of his family’s suffering, Abu Nasr left his home, his heart heavy with sorrow and despair. As he wandered aimlessly, he came across a wise and kind scholar named Sheikh Ahmad bin Miskeen. Seeing the pain etched on Abu Nasr’s face, the Sheikh gently asked, “My son, why do you look so burdened?” Abu Nasr replied with tears in his eyes, “O Sheikh, I am crushed under the weight of poverty. My family starves, and I can do nothing.” The scholar smiled kindly and said, “Come with me, and I will show you something that may change your fate.” They walked together until they reached the seashore. There, the Sheikh handed Abu Nasr a fishing net and said, “Perform two units of prayer, call upon the name of Allah, and then cast this net into the sea.” Abu Nasr did as he was told. To his amazement, when he pulled the net out of the water, a large fish was caught in it. The Sheikh instructed him, “Go to the market, sell this fish, and buy food for your family. Allah has provided for you.” Grateful and filled with hope, Abu Nasr hurried to the market, sold the fish, and with the money bought two stuffed flatbreads—one savory and one sweet. Remembering the kindness of the Sheikh, he returned to him and said, “O Sheikh, please accept one of these breads as a token of my gratitude.” But the wise man smiled and said, “My son, I helped you for Allah’s sake, not for a reward. These breads are your family’s right—go and feed them.” Touched by his words, Abu Nasr turned back toward home. But on his way, he came across a poor woman sitting by the roadside, weeping. Beside her sat a frail child, his face pale and his eyes sunken from hunger. Abu Nasr looked at the two breads in his hands, then at the woman and her child. He whispered to himself, “My wife and children are hungry... but so are they. Is their pain any less than ours?” Tears welled in his eyes. At last, he stepped forward and handed both breads to the woman. “Take these,” he said softly. “Eat, and feed your son.” The woman’s face lit up with gratitude, and her child smiled for the first time in days. Abu Nasr felt a strange peace in his heart, though he knew he was returning home empty-handed. As he walked through the streets, lost in thought, he heard a man calling out, “Is there anyone who knows Abu Nasr Al-Iyad? I must find him!” People pointed toward him and said, “There he is!” The caller hurried over and said, “Twenty years ago, your father entrusted me with thirty thousand dirhams. I have searched for you ever since. Today, by the will of Allah, I have found you. Take what is rightfully yours.” Stunned and overjoyed, Abu Nasr accepted the money. Overnight, his life changed. He built homes, expanded his trade, and became one of the city’s wealthy men. But unlike before, his heart remained humble. He gave generously in charity, sometimes donating a thousand dirhams at once, always remembering his days of hunger. Years later, Abu Nasr had a dream—a dream so vivid that it felt more real than life itself. He saw himself standing on the Day of Judgment, before a grand scale of justice. His deeds were being weighed—good on one side, sins on the other. To his horror, the side of sins was heavier. He cried out, “What about my charity? The gold and silver I gave for Allah’s sake?” But the angels replied, “Those deeds were tainted with pride and the desire to be seen. They hold little weight today.” Tears streamed down his face. “Then how will I be saved?” he asked. Suddenly, a voice said, “There are still two small deeds left uncounted.” Then, the two breads he had once given to the hungry woman were brought forth and placed on the scale of good deeds. The balance began to tip—but only slightly. Next, the woman’s tears of gratitude were added to the scale, and the side of goodness grew heavier. Finally, the child’s innocent smile—born of those two simple breads—was placed upon the scale. The weight of that pure, selfless moment overpowered all his sins. A voice declared, “This man is saved!” When Abu Nasr awoke from the dream, his eyes were wet with tears. He whispered to himself, “O Abu Nasr, it was not your gold or wealth that saved you—it was those two small breads you gave for Allah’s sake.” --- Moral of the Story Never look down upon a small act of kindness. Even the simplest deed done with sincerity can outweigh years of grand but hollow gestures. True charity lies not in wealth or display, but in the quiet goodness that expects no reward—only the pleasure of the Almighty.
By Ubaid 11 months ago in Confessions
