story 9

I feel like nobody ever wants to listen to me. It’s a problem. I never want to speak because I feel like it’s a waste of time. I mean my whole life it’s really been this way. I was never able to learn conversational skills.

I learned to save my breath and my emotions. It hurts a lot to know that what I say is not nearly important enough for anyone else to pay any attention to.

I talk the most to my sister when she’s around because she feels the same way. We listen to each other for hours at a time sometimes, because we have that much to say. I never have trouble holding a conversation with her.

My friends, however, are a different story. They change the subject as I’m in mid-sentence, or they turn away to look at something else or talk to someone else. I’ve told them about it and nothing has changed.

Even worse than that, my boyfriend just falls asleep as I am talking to him. He asks how my day was, and then I start telling him. The next thing I know, he’s snoring right next to me.

I’ve told him numerous times that it kills me when he doesn’t listen to me, and he has expressed his interest in changing his ways. He has disappointed me in that area.

I have heard somewhere that all people really want is someone to talk to. That’s close. I think that people want someone to listen to them, not just someone they can talk to. I can talk to my wall if I wanted, and that doesn’t really help. To have someone really listen to me is the best feeling.

Story Time

Faith has never been my forte. All through my life, I've been plagued with doubts and cynicism. I think too much; I know that.

What’s the reason for my depersonalization symptoms, my obsessive-compulsive disorder, clinical depression, and possibly even my obstinate agnosticism? I have trouble believing.

I've never believed in a God, nor have I ever not believed in one. I have trouble placing the bets in anything. Friends, family, doctors; they've all labeled it different things – a disorder, disturbed self-image, maybe even just my personality. But how wrong does it feel, knowing you cannot even staple down the simplest thing in your life? I cannot describe my personality, whether it is cheerful or sad, or social or lonely, or optimistic or pessimistic, or blue or red.

I've often envied other people for their so-ready faith. I used to pity them – ignorant fools; why couldn't they see there was no proof? I always wanted it, yet a part of me claimed it was better to have doubt.

A severe hypochondriac as a child, rather than go to the doctor's, I'd stay away –if I didn't go, if I didn't have the disease confirmed, it mightn't be there, might it? This doubt was all I clung to when things got wrong.

If I didn't believe in Heaven or Hell, I had no worries when I disrespected my mother or my father, or lied or cheated, beyond those that I would be punished in our very own realm.

Of all the aspects of my personality, I've hated this the most: my ability to analyze things, my inability to let go. I would consider it my biggest flaw, the most hidden aspect of me, apart from what the people around can observe from their points of view. And, strangely enough, of all my characteristics, it is the most prominent.

Why hide such a thing? In the simplest terms, it leaves me detached. I search through life like an old miner, pinning the tiniest things to my forehead, and wandering around for a mirror. I can't let go. I can't believe.
Faith has never been my forte.

Sample Story 07

Today was the first time in years that I can remember sitting down to eat dinner with my family at home. Before today, we only eat together as a family at restaurants on special occasions.

I never knew how much I missed eating with them as a family at our own dinner table in our own dining room with food we cooked together.

I know we’re all busy and all, but we don’t even try to get together anymore for dinner. We go our own separate ways to do whatever fits in our schedule.

I am beginning to think that what “fits in our schedule” is just the excuse we use for not trying and not caring enough to work at it.

We should eat dinner together at least once a week. I’m sure we can all set aside one day, the same day, to have a nice meal together. I can’t be the only one in the family who misses those dinners.

I just wish we would stop making excuses for why we can’t get together and actually just do it once in a while. I don’t want my family to be distant. I want it to be close-knit like it was when I was a kid and I had to ask to get up from the table. Those really were the days.

Sample Story 6

Sorry I missed Thursday's post, I had a lot of other stuff going on. But here is sample story 6, I hope you like it.


I have the urge to bite people when they sit next to me. Usually it's only when someone I know is sitting next to me, but sometimes it's when strangers sit next to me, too.

I don't know how to control it at all. What’s worse is I'm too embarrassed to tell anyone about it to get help. I don't know if there is any help that can be offered at this point.

I have not ever given in and bitten anyone yet, besides people I've dated. It takes a lot of self-control, though. The other day I was struggling not to bite this one man. He had on a tank top and it exposed his shoulders. They were tan shoulders. They were perfect for biting.

I don't discriminate, either. I desire men and women and people of all colors. This is nothing sexual, as far as I can tell. I just have this urge that I can't get rid of.

Sample Story 5

I am secretly jealous of moms. And not because I can't have kids or anything like that. I can, but I'm not ready to. I am jealous of women who are so free with their daughters that they can do anything in front of a crowd of people without a care in the world.

What’s that like?

I was at a park not far from where I live last Independence Day and I saw a woman dancing with her daughter while they were standing in line for the porta-potty. The woman was far from a good dancer, but she and her daughter kept at it, dancing the night away.

I will never forget the ear-to-ear smile on the woman’s face. She was in pure bliss doing nothing spectacular.

I sat there with my nephew in my arms, sitting on a blanket, wondering what that feels like to be that happy. I feel like I am a happy person, or at least a very content person. But I can’t remember ever having as good a time as that woman looked like she was having.

Just once I want to get on a dance floor and just dance with no inhibitions, no fear of what anyone else thinks of what I look like, and with a partner who’s having just as much fun doing the same.

Now, I say I’m jealous of moms because I’ve never seen a dad do what this woman, whom I secretly envy, was doing.

I have seen moms go all out in various ways to show their kids a good time and look like goofballs doing it. But it’s never just the kid enjoying the play. The mom usually has an even bigger smile than the kid she’s trying to please. I want that feeling just one time.