Embarrassment
Rekindling My Childhood Love for Writing
Story: There was a time when I believed words could fix everything. I was eight years old when I wrote my first story. It was about a time-traveling pigeon who rescued lost socks from dryers. The plot made little sense, but I remember the feeling that coursed through me as I scribbled page after page in a wide-ruled notebook: a quiet kind of joy, like building a secret world no one else could see unless I let them.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Confessions
The Day I Stopped Apologizing for My Anxiety
It happened after another draining day at work, a day tangled in nervous energy. I kept hearing myself say, “Sorry I’m so anxious,” and “Sorry if I’m a bother.” My cheeks were hot with embarrassment every time a flush of panic crept in. That afternoon, after excusing my shivers and silence for what felt like the tenth time, I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My eyes looked tired, old even, weighed down by invisible baggage. At that moment, I felt a swell of anger and stubborn hope rise—the realization that I deserved more than a cycle of apologies for simply being me.
By Wilson Igbasi6 months ago in Confessions
Black Flower in My Hands
I remember the moment the black flower first appeared in my hands. It was early morning, just before dawn, when the sky still wore its veil of soft gray. I woke up as usual, groggy and fumbling for my phone, only to see something dark and unfamiliar resting on my palm.
By Amelia6 months ago in Confessions
And forgiveness was granted
Fahad's feet were not touching the ground with joy. He could not believe that he had become the owner of a new house. He loved his ancestral home very much, but now the space there was starting to feel a little cramped. The children of the three brothers were still young, so one day the three brothers sat together. The elder brother Farooq addressed the two younger brothers: "This house was built by Abu Jan with a lot of hard work. Although his business was not very large, he somehow built this house for us little by little.
By Echoes of Life6 months ago in Confessions
THE Awakening
Continuation of the series Shadow of Love This is the story of those who believed—believed that love could heal, transform, and conquer all. Those who gave endlessly, hoping their warmth would melt even the coldest heart. Who stayed, forgave, and tried—thinking that love alone could rewrite the story. But in the end, were left with empty hands…and a heart full of lessons.
By Saffron Realm6 months ago in Confessions
I Disowned My Father Before He Died
“Some wounds don’t bleed. They echo.” I was 21 when I told my father I never wanted to see him again. It wasn’t during some explosive family fight. It wasn't even a moment soaked in tears. It was quiet. Final. I said the words over the phone with shaking hands and a voice that didn’t sound like mine. And he — perhaps out of pride or pain — simply said:
By Zulfiqar Khan6 months ago in Confessions
Full of Feelings and Questions. AI-Generated.
Full of Feelings and Questions What Happens When a Heart Can’t Find the Answer? It always starts around 2 a.m. The silence thickens. The world outside my window turns still—no sirens, no footsteps, not even the wind dares speak. And in that breathless quiet, my thoughts begin to gather like dust under forgotten furniture.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Confessions
Why Does the Universe Ask more of me than most?
What I survived one does not talk about out of curtesy of others. It is socially inapriprate and one must cage the situation with caution because of social norms I soppose. People naturally can only handle so much. But naturally as a neurodivergent person I struggled to understand a social ques. Problem? I have no filter, and I am as bizarre as they come. I know people judge me to be quite odd or eccentric, for being to open. However, having cerebral palsy in the early 2000's made me a social outcast and I had zero social skills and no impulse control. When you are born with cerebral palsy there is damage to the frontal lobe and that really affects who you become in regards to your personality. I blame this reason alone for being such a bold person, Also people with disabilities ( I am sorry to be so honest) are stronger than the rest of population by the laws of the survival of the fittest. They have more tenacity and grit then you could ever imagine. You dont know how strong you have to be in life until you are given no choice or alternative. Naturally as a result, we face life fearlessly and with a kind of strength and courage no one could define unless they had a disability. Please keep in mind that I am very aware that everyone has a disability of certain severity, and in reality we are all disabled. However, it seems to be the case that more more "soul strength" is required of the people that are severely disabled and have very heavy bodies more sickly bodies with limited mobility. I was contently frustrated ands in a state of mental and physical exhaustion and still you must do what the world demands of you. I cannot tell you how many times I have pleaded in complete mercy to God, " Why are you asking me to do the impossible everyday- I'm tired." People always assumed I lived with my parents, live in a group home or some institution- and were shocked to learn I live on my own. When I am in a hospital, I feel helpless at times because the doctor and nurses assume I am incompetent regarding my care and condition of my health. They also talked to me and treated me differently. I remember them begging to treat my skin infection on my foot before it naturally enntered my bloodsteam and I found myself bedbound again due to extreme weakness. No one listened and I was asked to take anibiotics for weeks untuil the problem spiralled out of control and required hospitalization. Sometimes I arrived so overwelmed by the inflection I was no longer able to walk with my walker. I was using everything I had to make it to the ER in hopes I would be nursed back to health. But they always discharged me and I was always worried if my body was strong enough to make it home. These were dark times, it really did make me belief that my life had lost all of its quaility and I lived in a constant state of suffering and agony. I did not have my motorized wheelchair at the time and all I had to make it in the world was my walker. But due to illness I could no longer walk safely, and it seemed to also rob me of my balance and stability. But still I was told to take the antibiotics that were not working and sent home only to decline rapidly over time over and over requiring hospitalization. I had lost complete and utter hope and honestly thought I would showily die of an infection over a long sufferuing time period. But I had always been a fighter and suviver, I was not the type to just lay down and die, I was young and still had a life to live! I learned through research that the simple act of putting vasicine on my toes would end my horrific wounds and elevate the problem. I worked with specialists, wound care nursews and endless doctors and no one offered a solution or an answer to why it was happening. They only threw pills at me. Meanwhile the wound nurses were making the problem worse my putting thick bandages on my feet that only caused them to rub together more. It honestly stabs me in the heart recalling this time in my life. I felt subhuman to the healthcare system and neglected terribly.
By Julia Stellings6 months ago in Confessions
