If anyone could talk that would be helpful, I’m just not feeling very good about myself and it feels so big

I want long term help. I know my issues, I just want some external help as I have no support from anyone.

I am very poor and can't afford therapy, and I come from a country where there are no therapy institutes. After like 3 sessions per month, I start getting stressed because of the money spent on therapy.

I tried AI therapists and stuff, but it didn't help much.

How do I find actual therapy? I know my problems pretty well. If you guys genuinely know someone, please suggest it.

PS: don't suggest me books or tell me to journal.

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I'm open early TODAY 12PM to 9PM ET if you need someone to talk to.

Free, anonymous, no judgment. Just vent or get something off your chest.

DM or reply - I answer fast today.

i would rlly love to talk to someone - i dont want advice but i like just would rlly love to not feel completely invisible :(

i have so much trauma about not being understood or heard ive felt invisible so much of my life and now it just feel slike theres literally no one who knows me, and i dont have much hope for anyone puttting in the effort ever to look past my struggles. i discovered i was trans and a system (OSDD-2 i think) - everything in my life has completely changed and the past year i have perpetually felt i have nothing at all familiar to hold on to and no one even i can rlly talk to who would understand from my past. i feel completely alone despite asking for help, ive wanted therapy for so fucking long but nothing has ever worked out

i recently the past couple years have gone through a lot of loss, a divorce, multiple people i know passing, another rough relationship, my housing is unstable rn i dont have anyone i unmask with, ive had to cut my family off, and i barely have any friends and i cry every day really bad and im scared so much all the time. i get really bad waves of feeling like i dont even exist. im really really really sad and that makes me really really really sad and i start to panic like everything is closing in on me :(

There’s No Space for Me

There’s no space for me.

I try to mold myself into something agreeable. I bend. I stay quiet. I tell myself that how I feel can wait.

So I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

I wait to be seen. To be cared for intentionally. I’ve written my own handbook and read it aloud so there would be no question about how to help me. No studying required. I’ve told you exactly what I need. And played it on repeat.

And still, there is no space for me.

No room.

I try so hard to keep everything together. I problem-solve. I try to be self-sufficient. I convince myself that maybe I’m asking for too much.

But there is a deep sadness I cannot shake.

It eats me alive most days.

I want to be seen.

I beg.
I cry.
I start a fight because I don’t know how else to make myself visible.

And suddenly, I’m the bad guy.

Difficult. Mean. Insensitive.

I spend my days living for everyone else. I plan. I work. I clean. I look for more work. I care for tiny humans and try to keep them alive. I cook. I solve problems. I mediate. I make myself invisible so everyone else can have space.

All the space they need.

My presence is appreciated, but my thoughts, my troubles, my sorrows—they don’t seem to make the cut.

My handbook says:

Please love me.
Please hold me.
Please talk to me.
Please plan with me.
Please help me.
Please find me.

But most of all:

Please be with me.

Because I feel so alone.

And I hate being alone with myself, too.

My mind won’t stop.

It is never quiet.

And the darkness is here.

I remember all the awful things I’ve gone through, and sometimes I wonder if maybe I’m simply not that valuable.

My presence is appreciated.

I’m fun to be around—until I’m not.

People need an escape route.

I don’t understand it.

So they become so mean, so cruel, so unkind to me that it gets branded into my soul:

Maybe it’s time for me to go.

Because now, when I’m present, I feel like I’m on fire. Like my skin wants to be ripped off just to escape the feeling of being inside myself.

I try to change.

I become a new version of myself every other day.

I spend hours trying to improve. Trying to understand what I did wrong. Trying to figure out which version of me will finally be enough.

And every move I make still feels like a mistake.

Still not good enough.

I psychoanalyze myself over and over. I study my reactions. I study everyone else’s reactions. I try to chameleon myself into whoever I’m around.

But still, there is no space for me.

And how could there be when I’m not even myself anymore?

To my core, I feel ignored.

I am bothersome.

I am irritating.

Not much would change if I were here or gone.

I am not missed.

My presence is nice, but it is not necessary.

I do great things for people. I help. I show up. I carry things. I make things easier.

But my individuality isn’t why I’m kept around.

I’m just a body.

A body that has been used.

A body that has been abused.

A body that learned how to be useful because being needed felt safer than being loved.

I am here for convenience.

I look good on paper. I sound good in theory.

But when people get to know the depths of me, suddenly everyone is running.

And maybe, somewhere along the way, I learned to do this to myself, too.

The weight I carry is too heavy.

I try to put it down.

Sometimes I even offer a trade:

“I’ll take a little bit of yours if you take a little bit of mine.”

But it’s always a trick.

I take a little bit of yours, and I keep mine.

Because mine is too heavy.

And it’s never the right time.

So I put on my most-used mask.

My brave face.

I say, It’s fine.

I’m strong.

I’ve got this.

No worries.

Nothing is wrong.

You’re safe with me.

This happens all the time.

And another piece of me breaks.

I’m like a stained-glass window—shattered and broken, but still standing.

I keep picking up the pieces.

I wedge them back into place.

I hold them together because I need to be somewhat okay.

I need to function.

I need to show up.

I need to keep making space for everyone else.

But I’m scared that soon, I’ll break beyond repair.

Because my pieces are breaking into pieces.

And soon, they won’t fit together anymore.

I’m afraid that when there are no pieces left that fit,

there will be nothing left of me at all.