Taboo
The Bus Stop Stranger
I was late—again. The rain was relentless, drumming against my umbrella like it was trying to shake me out of my fog. I had just left the office, soaked in more than just rain: burnout, boredom, and the dull ache of a life on autopilot. My job in digital marketing paid the bills, but it was eating me from the inside out.
By Khanabout a year ago in Confessions
I Got My Boss Fired by Accident (And I Still Feel Guilty)
It All Started With a Simple Email It was just another ordinary Monday. The kind where you sip coffee, scroll through emails, and mentally prepare yourself for a full inbox and back-to-back meetings. That morning, an email popped up from our department head with the subject line: “Share Your Honest Feedback – Help Us Improve.”
By Waqar Ahmadabout a year ago in Confessions
I Ruined My Office Crush with One Drunk Text
We all have our weaknesses mine just happened to be six feet tall, smart, and annoyingly charming. His name was Arjun. You know the type: always calm in meetings, cracks the right joke at the right time, and somehow makes carrying a laptop look attractive. Yeah, that kind of guy.
By Waqar Ahmadabout a year ago in Confessions
What If I Found My Daughter on OnlyFans? A Conversation We All Need to Have. Content Warning.
For the past couple of weeks, a thought has been haunting me. Just imagine this for a second. You’re online, scrolling mindlessly, maybe curious, maybe just killing time. You decide to check out one of the OnlyFans channels—you know, just to see what the hype is all about. And then… boom. You freeze.
By Clinton Wanjalaabout a year ago in Confessions
I think about dying a lot, but I'm not exactly suicidal
I wonder sometimes how common this is — how many people walk through their lives carrying these kinds of thoughts in silence. I wouldn't know. I don't really talk about it. And I’ve never been to therapy. I know I probably should, but there are other issues that get in the way — namely, other issues caused by my upbringing, which make me feel like I have to do everything myself. But that’s a story for another time. If you’re reading this, tell me — does this sound familiar to you? For me, it doesn’t have a trigger. It doesn’t come only when things are bad or after something upsetting. It’s quieter than that. It can happen while I'm doing absolutely nothing — brushing my teeth, sitting on the bus, watching a TV show. A thought will slip into my mind: "What if I just wasn’t here anymore?" It doesn’t feel like a scream. It feels like a whisper. And it lingers. I say I'm not suicidal because I don't think about hurting myself. I don’t fantasize about it or make plans. It’s more like wishing to be removed, quietly and without violence. It’s like wanting to step out of a room without making a sound. If I'm flying somewhere, part of me hopes the plane might go down — instantly, painlessly. Some nights, I go to bed and think, "Maybe I won’t wake up. Maybe that would be fine." When I imagine the future — old age, losing people I love, losing pieces of myself — I feel a kind of exhaustion ahead of time. And sometimes, it seems easier to hope I won’t be around for all of it. It doesn’t feel like giving up. It feels like accepting that everything ends — and wondering if it would be so bad if it ended a little sooner. I remember talking with a client, an older man, about retirement and savings. He spoke about plans, about stretching life out carefully across the years. And all I could think about was saving enough to go to Switzerland someday — because I feel that is a better and more humane way to do it, if the time ever came. Sometimes I wonder if I’m depressed — if there’s a diagnosis waiting for me that I’ve been too proud or too stubborn to face. Sometimes I wonder if this is just the way some people experience life — not a sickness, but a different temperature of living. I don't really know. And yet — here I am. Living. Working. Laughing at jokes. Making plans for tomorrow. Sometimes I even catch myself feeling hope, feeling excitement about things I haven't seen or done yet. Sometimes, I love life so much it scares me. It’s confusing to hold both realities inside yourself: the quiet wish to go and the stubborn will to stay. I don’t have a neat conclusion. I’m writing this more as a question than a confession. Am I depressed? A fool? Or just... human? If you recognize yourself in these words, please know you're not the only one. Maybe part of staying alive is allowing these thoughts to come and go — not fighting them, not feeding them, just letting them pass like weather over a landscape. Maybe surviving looks different for everyone. Maybe survival, in the end, is quieter than we think.
By Elias Tannuri2 years ago in Confessions
The Weight of Tomorrow
The Weight of Tomorrow No one knew exactly when the city of Liora first began to dim. It happened slowly, like the silent falling of dust on an abandoned book. Some blamed the endless gray clouds that draped the sky like an old, heavy blanket. Others whispered of a "sorrow fever," a sickness of the spirit that had crept into their hearts.
By Gabriela Tone2 years ago in Confessions
