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Sunday August 16, 2026 - 9:46 AM Shakir: 10,165 days | Mushk: 8,997 days | Hamza: 8,232 days | Laiba: 5,798 days Shakir: Sunday reset. Gym, groceries, planning. Keeping the structure locked in. Mushk: Day 8,997. The final Sunday reset in this chapter of my life. Enjoying a calm family dinner tonight knowing my countdown is almost at zero. Hamza: Planning out my schedule and sleep routine for the internship start next week. Laiba: Hanging up the new painting. Already thinking about what to create next.

Should I send the text?

I just want to fucking die. I can’t find the motivation to get out of bed and do basic things for myself. I can’t even bother to take a shower, do my laundry, or even take care of myself during my fucking period. I feel just gross and nasty and makes it even worst when everyone around is a fucking asshole. My oldest brother is the one I trust the most but most of the time I can’t even tell him how I genui feel because I know if I tell him everything, he’ll look at me much differently. I was exposed to porn at a very young age, 8 or so, and from then on I had a horrible addiction. I’ve seen rape, and disgusting things that I never wanted to see. I feel the need to have sex to feel validated in my life. I masturbate and masturbate but I never feel fucking better, just worse. Everyone just doesn’t even care. I have attempted multiple times and now I can’t even bring myself to attempt anymore because I don’t have the motivation to do so. I want to live but I also just want to fucking die without guilt. I cry over the littlest things and right now and even now I’m crying. I can’t even form a basic relationship without it failing because I cant put in commitment. I’ve been called a narcissist and I don’t even know anymore what I should do. Everyone says it gets better but at this point I think I’m just going to die before I reach my late twenties or thirties.

We met at the employee Christmas party at a place where I didn’t work. Open bar. We traded lipstick colors and a kiss. Later, we went on a sprawling epic of a date: pingpong, Louisiana swamp at night (no flashlight), roller skating, gas station wine and ooey-gooey cake. I moved out of state and lost June’s number when my flip phone drowned in a mud puddle. We completely lost touch, but I never forgot her. Six years later, I moved back to New Orleans and walked into a bar. There June was. Turns out, she never forgot me either.

All good lies grow on the grounds of truth.