Taboo
Get to Know Trichomoniasis, the Most Common Non-Viral Sexually Transmitted Infection
It was late one night in the lab when a physician from the emergency room came over. She had taken a couple of samples from a patient and wanted to read her own slides. We call it a wet mount when you read slides right after they’re collected. But this particular physician forgot one crucial step.
By Olivia Chastityabout a year ago in Confessions
I am as chalant as it gets
Oh, act like you don't care! Don't show emotions or else you will be deemed uncool, don't smile too loud, be silent about your victories, don't be so passionate about the things you love, don't text first, don't reach out first, play hard to get- oh, and the list goes on. The new trend of being the mysterious black cat is the propaganda I am not falling for, don't get me wrong, it is not something I am against or hold my grudge against. I truly believe if you are authentically like that, there is nothing wrong with being that way, but for all the ones who actually are yappers and the ones who fill the room with love and light, this trend just invalidates their existence.
By Hridya Sharmaabout a year ago in Confessions
Having Partner a Higher Libido Than Me— It’s complicated
When I first started dating Anna, I thought I had finally met someone who truly got me. We had similar Spotify playlists and dark humor, and we could talk for hours about politics and what animal we'd be if we were reincarnated (she says fox, I say owl). But within the honeymoon phase, something was brewing that I didn’t fully acknowledge until it started showing up like an uninvited guest: the difference in our libidos.
By MD Tarek Aziz about a year ago in Confessions
7 Clear Signs You're Ready to Enter Your Ho Phase
"Am I ready for this?" That's the question Sarah asked me last month, sitting across from me with tears in her eyes after ending a three-year relationship that had slowly drained her sense of self. She wasn't asking about another relationship or even about being single. She was asking about something much more profound: whether she was ready to prioritize herself completely for the first time in her adult life.
By LaMarion Zieglerabout a year ago in Confessions
ChatGPT Is Poisoning Your Brain…
ChatGPT’s tendency to be overly supportive and encouraging is eating your brain alive. A ChatGPT session is an echo chamber to end all other echo chambers — it’s just you, an overly friendly AI, and all your thoughts, dreams, desires, and secrets endlessly affirmed, validated, and supported.
By Olivia Chastityabout a year ago in Confessions
How Long Can You Wait for a Bi-Curious Man to Finally Kiss You?
That Almost Kiss… What Does It Mean? You’ve been hanging out, laughing a little too hard at his jokes, sitting a little too close on the couch — and yet, he hasn’t kissed you. If you’re into a bi-curious man, the emotional dance can feel both electric and endlessly uncertain. So, how long is too long to wait for that first kiss?
By Olivia Chastityabout a year ago in Confessions
What Happens When Intimacy is Absent in Relationships
Men and women are made for each other to provide peace, contentment, emotional safety, resilience, and satisfaction. This concept is widespread in the teachings of every religion, whether Christian, Muslim, Hindu, or others.
By Iqra Aslamabout a year ago in Confessions
The Beauty in the Bruises
Some wounds don’t bleed they bruise. Quietly. Deeply. You carry them in the way your smile falters at the edge. In the way you hesitate before trusting. In the way you shrink, just a little, when someone gets too close. I used to think healing meant hiding those bruises, pretending they weren’t there. But now I know: sometimes the most beautiful parts of us are born in the aftermath not in spite of the pain, but because of it. There was a time I felt like a stranger in my own skin. Every morning, I woke up heavy, carrying yesterday’s sorrow into today. My smiles were borrowedmore a habit than a feeling. I laughed, but the sound rarely reached my eyes. People told me I was strong, but they never saw the battles raging beneath my calm exterior. The loudest pain, I learned, is often the one that doesn’t make a sound. It was on my birthday a day meant for celebration that something shifted inside me. I was scrolling through a bookstore app, numbing myself with distractions, when I stumbled upon three journals by Nina Madsen on sale. Ninety-nine cents each. I bought them without thinking. Or maybe I did think maybe it was hope in disguise. The first journal prompt stopped me cold: “How might a painting of your life look?” I stared at the blank page, unsure. Then, an image came slowly to life: a girl holding her head, surrounded by bruised blues, purples, and blacks. The background was a storm of pinks and blacks. Behind her, a phoenix rose streaks of gold and silver breaking through the darkness. That girl was me. For the first time, I didn’t try to erase the mess. I sat with it. I honored it. That painting wasn’t tragic it was true. It was survival in color. Each prompt pulled more from me words I’d buried, truths I’d swallowed. I wrote not as a writer, but as someone learning to breathe again. The journal became my confessional, my sanctuary. The page never judged me. It held space when the world didn’t. I wrote about how I treat others with softness now, not because I’ve never known cruelty but because I have. I know what it’s like to feel invisible, forgotten, alone. I promised myself I would never let another person feel that way if I could help it. There’s a line from a song by HONESTAV that echoes in my mind: "And I don’t want no new friends, my heart’s still got bruises."
By Wilfredabout a year ago in Confessions
