Part 3, Sincerely app ”have you tried blocking tiktok”-someone from Spain

If you are in a weak state of mind let us know

I’ve been replying to people on Sincerely again. It’s funny how similar strangers’ problems can feel. Done, broken up, bullied, scared to die, gaining weight, can’t do math, mothers who drain them, mothers who ignore them, mothers who apologize by pretending nothing happened. Everyone thinks they’re the only one drowning.

My own mom described herself as “not a loving adult,” which is one of those sentences you don’t forget even if you try. There were arguments in cheap clothing stores, getting spat on in the car, slapped, whatever. My favorite shirt once appeared in the laundry room twisted into a knot like it had personally offended her. When my mom and stepdad drank, they’d start insulting me. I learned to leave the room before I heard the rest. She told my siblings to leave me in my “own little world,” like I was contagious. My dad managed to convince his daughter not to talk to me either. Later society decided I must be schizophrenic, when really I just raised myself.

People ask why childhood matters so much. Because being unwanted is its own kind of death and kids don’t have extra lives. Nobody was in my corner, no audience at school plays, nobody watching me exist. You don’t “get over” being isolated by the people who created you.

And then I read someone writing, “I’m afraid of death, so I push people away.” As if that’s not exactly how half of us operate. Death anxiety in an elderly home is understandable. Death anxiety at 20 feels premature, but who am I to judge? Pushing people away is a survival skill when every attachment has an expiration date written on it.

Another person complains about their mother and daughter drama. Those relationships really do come with their own special weather pattern. Storm warnings and sunny moments in the same hour. I still have black humor, sarcasm, this tone I apparently have to “tone down.” According to whomy? I keep calm most of the time. 6-7% of the time, I’m erratic volatile and unsettled


Then someone says, “I’m done. I just want to cry in someone’s arms.” I’ve cried alone almost every time. Even when I’ve hugged crying people, they’ve usually twitched away like I’m electric. I’ve never seen a movie scene where someone sobs beautifully into another person’s chest. Nice to meet you, Done. Done Fully.

Maybe I’m not the best comforter, but I can tell you how to kill time. I’ve been on a pension since my twenties; the days just slide by. You fill the big blocks first — hobbies, entertainment, naps, self-care if you can tolerate yourself. Write a blog, stare at your phone, let algorithms consume you. There’s always something to sacrifice your attention to.

Someone asked about weight. Birds eat more than their body weight and get away with it. I look at food and inflate. Medications can wreck your metabolism, appetite, and face shape without asking permission. I’ve been obese since diagnosis day. I sleep too much despite the sleep apnea device. Sweat when I walk. Turn red in the face like I’m overheating from existing. Diabetes type 2, cholesterol, the usual souvenirs. I don’t drink enough water. Universal blood receiver. 37.
People talk about math like it’s a personal insult. Two plus two equals five if enough people say so. Math is just a long list of rules somebody agreed on centuries ago. Not understanding it doesn’t mean you’re stupid — it means your intelligence lives somewhere else. Teachers are long gone and numbers are not real little creatures floating around to greet you.

And through all this, people still think their problem is that they’re “not enough.” They are enough — just unequipped, unsupported, undermothered, overmedicated, overwhelmed, and trying again tomorrow anyway.

I’m not looking for sympathy. I’ve lived all this without applause. I’m just writing it down because Sincerely asks questions, and I might as well answer them. Sometimes the truth sounds bleak, but it’s still the truth.