I broke up with my on again off again boyfriend since middle school nearly three years ago. He and I were best friends/dating for 12+ years. We were each others first kiss in 6th grade, and we loved each other all the way up until our senior year of college. We used write each other poems, he’d get me build a bears with his voice in it, we’d write each other notes in the sand in the beach, he bought me Louis Vuitton and Gucci when we were in college, and so much other little things that don’t really matter, but still mean a lot to me to this day. Until the last year or so, our relationship was literally like a movie. I could talk about it for hours. I miss those days. I think of them fondly.
I won’t go into major details about our break up, but just know it was one of those breakups where you feel forced to break up with them because they completely changed/started to treat you different. Let’s pretend his name is Tommy. I didn’t want to break up with Tommy. I ADORED Tommy. Like, literally would sometimes cry while thinking of him because of how much love and care I had in my heart for him. We had been in a long distance relationship, close distance, everything in between. His family loved me, and mine loved him. My family toook him to Key West, Disney World, the beach, and so much more. Tommy was like my parents son. When we broke up, I completely lost myself. I would give up my body to guys just so they could spend the night so I could have somebody to sleep beside. Writing this is bringing me close to tears, because I truly regret doing that. I obviously was lost, until I meet this great guy who I dated for about a year. I ended up breaking up with him too because I resented him for making me unfollow Tommy and his family on social media, talking badly about him, etc.
About 6 months after I broke up with Tommy, I found out he had been telling people I “emotionally cheated on him” which is not true whatsoever. He made me look like the “bad guy” (probably because he was hurt) and all of our mutual friends from childhood, boys and girls, no longer speak to me. Meanwhile, I had only been speaking highly of him and wanted to still be friends, I even considered our break up a “break” at this point. So, naturally, to hear such a blatant and nasty lie was very hurtful. To think he was telling others I cheated on him when all I wanted to do was love him unconditionally was not a good feeling. I shrugged this off ike I didnt care, but I do. Now, I believe the lie and believe maybe I am the bad guy for breaking up with him. Also during this time, I found out Tommy was diagnosed with heart failure at the age of 22. We are both 24 now. If he does not get a transplant soon, he will die. This has been confirmed by a FB post from his mother. When I found out, I once again told myself I didn’t care. A few months later, I had a total breakdown one evening and told my parents I can’t handle it. Against my best judgement and normal character, I caved and texted him for the first time since we broke up. I said something along the lines of “Hey Tommy, this is xxxx. I wanted to lyk you are in my prayers and of course my family. If you ever need anything at all we are all here for you”. Send. No reply. Frantically a few days later, again against my character, I texted him again. I said something like “If you want me to leave you alone I will please just let me know what you want me to do”. Send. No reply. Damn, thats still gut wrenching to think about.
Here two years after his diagnosis, and three years after our breakup, I would be kidding myself if I didn’t admit that I dream of him every night, think of him at least once a day, and regret ever leaving him even though I know it was the right thing to do. Sometimes I wonder if he never got the diagnosis, if I would be over our break up now. The anxiety I feel daily about the fear of him dying is nearly unbearable. I have a new boyfriend now whom I feel like I neglect because of this entire situation, and I truly don’t know how to fix it. Every time I get a memory on social media, it’s of him since we were together for so long. All my major memories in my life (firsts, proms, graduations, vacations, etc) are with/of him. I feel like I can’t escape it. I’ve tried to forget and that just seems to have made things worse because I feel like I never gave myself time to heal. At this point, I feel like I should be healed. I am starting to get scared that this is going to affect me long term, and that I will never get over it. Some days it bothers me a lot (like today, to which I had to write for advice to strangers on the internet) and other days I rarely think of it at all. I have a family history of mental illness, and I every so often think of suicide even though I know realistically I’d never do it. I’m currently taking Buspar after being on Prozac for 15+ years. Advice is appreciated. I sincerely thank you if you read this far.
TLDR- I broke up with my first love 3 years ago and still think of him nearly daily. I think part of this is due to the fact that he is now unexpectedly dying from heat failure, and I live in constant fear that he will pass any day now. Please help with tips on how to get over this/how to move forward.

The only way to mend a broken heart is by allowing it to love again. Therefore I'm in search of a heart, that will beat alongside mine to the rhythm of love.
I'm Laura, 22F, from Transylvania, Romania. I work full time, am trilingual and quite tall ( 5'9 or 175cm). I have brown short hair and brown eyes. And I'm a little chubby.I have a bubbly personality, when I'm really happy, I'm full of energy and will sometimes act like a little kid. I'd say my humor is, all over the place, sometimes I'll make a dirty joke, another time I'll use some dark humor. I'm really spontaneous and flirty too.
What I'm into: - movies and shows, especially horror and scifi ( best horror movie of all time is the witch , best scifi movie is avatar),writing, mostly poems, psychology,mythology,true crime,music( Ava max, Taylor Swift, Katy Perry, pitbull, alan Walker) ,a bit of gaming even tho I don't really play ( best game of all time GOW!!! ),animals, nature,skincare, fitness
What I'm looking for in a man: - be 20-26 -be from Europe preferably - be good at conversation/ not be dry - honest, loving - preferably be into fitness/ writing/ music - be okay with the distance and comfortable with calling later on!
If I piqued your interest don't hesitate to send me an introduction of yourself! Will send photo of myself if you do too. And don't worry, I don't bite 😄

(M19) Tomorrow, I will do my maturita exam. And after that, I dont have any goals because they fell apart last month.
When I was 14, I met a girl in an archery club and I fell in love with her. We started dating but after ten days we broke up. She said she had felt too young for a relationship and I understood it. But she completely cut me off and later I found out that she pretended it so she wouldnt harm me. It was devastating for me and I was feeling depressed for like two years. Because I was encountering her quite frequently and just couldnt get over it. Since that moment, I became extremely introverted, had troubles with trusting people but mostly didnt have any self esteem.
Two years ago, an Ukrainian girl came to uor class (Czechia), she fled from the war. And she was the most beautiful person Ive ever seen. And I couldnt encounter her, I just couldnt because of the past. I became attached to her, I heavily idealized her. She was two months in our class. I had too many negative thoughts, how we wouldnt match, even though I didnt know her. Then Holidays came and I finally decided to encounter her the next school year. But she left to Prague, its on the opposite side of our country.
And since that moment, it was my greatest wish and goal to meet her again. And when I realized that there is a university I wanted to go, my plans began to form. And last summer I wrote her a poem that I would like to meet her. And to my greatest surprise, she agreed. And so I visited her and.. she was better than all my dreams. She was like me. Since that moment, Ive had the happiest part of my life. I visited her on Christmas and it was the best Christmas Ive ever had. I bought her a book and we enjoyed the day. She was visibly happy and I was so happy that we matched together so well.
She was my main motivation to everything, I dedicated my whole future to her. I sent only one application to university. I imagined how we will be together. She was the first girl I started to trust, I overcame all my negative thoughts. I became positive person so much that I convinced myself that she likes me and we will end up together. And in the moment when she sent me her photo sealed it all.
At the start of the last month, she told me that she has a boyfriend. It more than a month and a half and I just cant.. do anything. My greatest wish, my only goal broke. And now I will have to go to study to Prague because its my only choice. It will be painful, everything will remind her.. I wrote dozens of poems about her. I was so happy that it started to fit so nicely together and now.. I dont have anything. And I dont want anyone else, I dont want to be happy without her, I just lost an angel.
I explained everything to her and she understood, she let my to send her all my poems. She was the first one who didnt block me in this situation. She is the kindest person on the Earth. I wrote and sent her a new collection of poems afterwards and it ended there.
I am goind to do my maturita exams, Im one of the smartest students in my school, Im going to study nuclear physics and yet, I hate myself fot being so successful in my school life but I never wanted this. All I want is just love, I dont care if I will have a poor job, or if I will have children, or an expensive house or car, I only want someone who would love me. And all of that I saw in this one girl. And its gone. All my dreams..
My family tried to help me as much as they could.. but they dont know how to help me. I started visiting a psychologist and I take antidepressants. But nothing of it will bring me her back, nothing of it will bring me back the meaning of life, my goals, wishes, dreams.
I dont want to put up with it. I feel like life showed me the best of it and than took it from me. I feel like I wouldnt be ever satisfied with it, like from all the paths that I couldve taken, this one will forever hurt me.
And so, tommorow, my life will just end. And I dont know what to do.
I just so much regret not encountering her while she was in our class. I cant read my poems anymore because its so painful to me.
I worry that I wont be ever able to create such a strong bond to anyone else. Such a strong longig, a desire.

(M19) Tomorrow, I will do my maturita exam. And after that, I dont have any goals because they fell apart last month.
When I was 14, I met a girl in an archery club and I fell in love with her. We started dating but after ten days we broke up. She said she had felt too young for a relationship and I understood it. But she completely cut me off and later I found out that she pretended it so she wouldnt harm me. It was devastating for me and I was feeling depressed for like two years. Because I was encountering her quite frequently and just couldnt get over it. Since that moment, I became extremely introverted, had troubles with trusting people but mostly didnt have any self esteem.
Two years ago, an Ukrainian girl came to uor class (Czechia), she fled from the war. And she was the most beautiful person Ive ever seen. And I couldnt encounter her, I just couldnt because of the past. I became attached to her, I heavily idealized her. She was two months in our class. I had too many negative thoughts, how we wouldnt match, even though I didnt know her. Then Holidays came and I finally decided to encounter her the next school year. But she left to Prague, its on the opposite side of our country.
And since that moment, it was my greatest wish and goal to meet her again. And when I realized that there is a university I wanted to go, my plans began to form. And last summer I wrote her a poem that I would like to meet her. And to my greatest surprise, she agreed. And so I visited her and.. she was better than all my dreams. She was like me. Since that moment, Ive had the happiest part of my life. I visited her on Christmas and it was the best Christmas Ive ever had. I bought her a book and we enjoyed the day. She was visibly happy and I was so happy that we matched together so well.
She was my main motivation to everything, I dedicated my whole future to her. I sent only one application to university. I imagined how we will be together. She was the first girl I started to trust, I overcame all my negative thoughts. I became positive person so much that I convinced myself that she likes me and we will end up together. And in the moment when she sent me her photo sealed it all.
At the start of the last month, she told me that she has a boyfriend. It more than a month and a half and I just cant.. do anything. My greatest wish, my only goal broke. And now I will have to go to study to Prague because its my only choice. It will be painful, everything will remind her.. I wrote dozens of poems about her. I was so happy that it started to fit so nicely together and now.. I dont have anything. And I dont want anyone else, I dont want to be happy without her, I just lost an angel.
I explained everything to her and she understood, she let my to send her all my poems. She was the first one who didnt block me in this situation. She is the kindest person on the Earth. I wrote and sent her a new collection of poems afterwards and it ended there.
I am goind to do my maturita exams, Im one of the smartest students in my school, Im going to study nuclear physics and yet, I hate myself fot being so successful in my school life but I never wanted this. All I want is just love, I dont care if I will have a poor job, or if I will have children, or an expensive house or car, I only want someone who would love me. And all of that I saw in this one girl. And its gone. All my dreams..
My family tried to help me as much as they could.. but they dont know how to help me. I started visiting a psychologist and I take antidepressants. But nothing of it will bring me her back, nothing of it will bring me back the meaning of life, my goals, wishes, dreams.
I dont want to put up with it. I feel like life showed me the best of it and than took it from me. I feel like I wouldnt be ever satisfied with it, like from all the paths that I couldve taken, this one will forever hurt me.
And so, tommorow, my life will just end. And I dont know what to do.
I just so much regret not encountering her while she was in our class. I cant read my poems anymore because its so painful to me.
I worry that I wont be ever able to create such a strong bond to anyone else. Such a strong longig, a desire.

Hi, I’ll read the book (or any other writing piece) you’re working on and give you my critiques on overall plot and its structure and development. I’ll also give you my notes on characters and their development. If you only have a few chapters written, I’ll read them and give you my notes on the things mentioned above.
Any genre is fine. Some of my favorite genres are sci-fi, adult fiction, the classics, YA, fantasy, “chick-lit”, and what I usually refer to as “slice of life fiction”. I like creepy books as well. I’m not the biggest fan of hardcore horror books, but I’ll still read them for you.
I love the art of storytelling. I watch a lot of movies, and I write about them. I also took a few courses in literary analysis in college, so I do have experience with criticism and analysis. I, of course, love to read. I’d say I’m not a total speed reader, but I can read relatively quickly. I also enjoy writing poetry and was doing that for a bit for money before chat gpt shut that down.
This goes without saying, but I will not share your work with anyone. It’s yours, and I’m not out here trying to take ideas. I’m only trying to help you shape it into the best version it can be and something that you’re completely satisfied with. I can also help you if you’re stuck and give you suggestions.
$5 for short stories, poems, 60 page books
$10 for books longer than 60 pages
If you can only do PayPal friends and family then I can do that, but I prefer Venmo. Thank you.

Dear D...
Before I met you, I always felt like there was something missing in my heart, ever since I was really young; there was something that no matter how much I tried to replace I could never succeed. The thoughts of this hole in my heart being existent for the rest of my life felt soothing eventually but also painful multiple times. I always felt like an outcast no matter how much I tried to fit in, no matter how close I got to my friends. When you came, all those thoughts, all those feelings got away...
When I first met you, my whole world turned upside down. The shock that flowed through felt electric, like I touched a generator that collects energy. I could feel your gaze penetrate mine and vice versa. Then we looked away and shortly aftet we persuaded each other. I was more vocal and direct, you were more quiet and stood close to me all the time. I was sensitive and tense, you were more detached and chill. The moments I talked to you felt like paradise, it felt like I was talking to a long lost friend, to a brother from an another lifetime. In our dreams the roles would be reversed all the time: I would become the quiet and cold one and you would be the sunshine boy filled with happiness and joy. And of course you were the hugger. The nerve.
I wanted to be in your presence all the time, but I was scared of the intensity as well. I could tell you were also scared of it, but everytime I was chasing, you were running. Everytime I was running you were chasing. We were never in the middle. We had different methods to cope with the connection, because we were never fully direct with each other. I would have panic attacks and cry on the corridors when no one was around and later listen to music that reminded me of you, wrote poems about you and started to draw you out of the back of my mind. It felt uncanny how much you looked just like in the drawings. You would deal with it by drinking and overthinking and later outright confess to me overnight, the last night we were together. Then we separated. I needed time to reflect, something I did for the sake of both of us. You felt hurt and I felt hurt, but we needed space. I needed space. I felt like I was too much for you, and you did not deserve me.
That is when I started to grow. To change, to try and stand up and live my life the way I used to. I thought I would go back to my heart having that hole again, and dealing with it like old times, again. But the hole was no longer there. Because you filled that place in my heart. You and only you. And the pain became more powerful. I hurt even more because the separation made me wish I was in your presence more, to just hold you and never let you go. To tell you that I love you back, but I knew you would not believe me. You would think I would only say it back out of pity, not honesty. Because you have your own demons in your head, your own voices that make you overthink. Those voices are louder then my own voice.
Then I learned about the connection. At first I left it at chance. I had moments when I was going back to you, and moments when I was leaving you. Eventually you came back, and hugged me and took a photo with me and your best friend. You asked me if things will be the same between us. I had no response. I wanted to go back to it, but I knew it would be wrong. You wanted me back but I knew you did not evolve properly. You missed me, the same I missed you if not more but as the more awakened one I had to push you away. I told you eventually that I love you back the same way you told me: through text. You denied it and thought that I was just messing with you. You stopped talking to me. I know I hurt you, but I wanted to let you know as well. I hurt you because I love you.
Months went by and I learned to not let my anger take the best of me. To not let our past define our future. I learned to love myself, use the energy you gave me, both good and bad and embrace it. You were the reflection of my shadow self, who wants to tell people sometimes to stopp bugging me and that wants to be alone sometimes and I was your shadow self, the part that you keep locked because you got hurt: the kind, loyal and naive side of you that I showcase on the outside. I kept running into you; twin flame numbers kept pestering me. Dreams kept influencing me. But I had to stay away. I could see in your eyes that you were expecting me to make a move sometimes, smile at me warmly and just stare. But you were also mirroring me; if I was away, you were also away. Then I came back to you and you felt like I was just talking to you out of pity. So you let your ego out on me again.
You cant fully grasp the connection and how this experience should transform you, not just make you feel better. That you should heal wounds, not use me as a distraction for your own pain. Our dreams were almost always manifested by you; they always appeared when I was thinking the least about you, and in them you always wanted to do something with me. You might had good intentions, but you were also taking away my energy. The energy that I would use to heal would be drained because you were taking part of it for yourself. Because you did not had your own energy to use. Because you dont want to use your own healing process and make your own energy. I learned to love myself and also to love my friends and the friendships I had with them and the blessing that comes with having such strong bonds. I learned what I want in a partner and how my life should be settled for here on out. But I know deep down that I wont love anyone as much as you. Its just not possible. They will have another place in my heart, another type of love, but no one could replace you and I know this is gonna be vice versa for you as well. From what I have seen you still did not hook up with anyone after I came in your life; for the record you ironically broke up with your girlfriend around the time I came in your life and were super curious whenever there was a girl I had a crush on.
And as much as I love you, I cant allow this. I have to block you out through every way possible. I cant force you to change for the better, but maybe if you dont have me or my energy to use, there could be a chance. We will also separate fully in a couple of weeks with me off to college and you in your last year of highschool. Maybe my full absence will help you grow, just like how I felt when I experienced the separation a year ago. Again, I hurt you because I love you. If you heal yourself you know you can find me. When you are healed just call me and I will answer. Until then you have to be put away from my mind and energy. I will be fine, I will live my life and enjoy my part of it. I will miss you every single day, but I will remind myself of how you are not healed and how you need this space for yourself. Even if this space will still make me wish to hold you in my arms, and hold you as tight as possible.
Goodbye D. Until we meet again, I hope you will have a great life ahead of you and I hope we will reunite eventually... when both of us are healed. If we dont then... I guess see you in the next lifetime.
I love you.

I've been in a long term relationship before and my friends viewed it as a toxic one but I was blinded with love and viewed it as a passionate fiery type of love with so many ups and downs. However, we broke up and like many people, the breakup tore me to pieces and shattered me.
So recently I opened myself up to someone. And I know he loves me because not only does he say it, he proves it. But coming from my past trauma and experiences, there are times where I doubt his sincerity.
There are days though where I came to realize that he loves me more than I know. There are days where my requests to him are hard to do either because he's busy or there have been changes in the supposed plans etc.
In my past relationship, things like this makes my ex angry. We would fight over it and he will do his little pity party to sway me from my choices. Still, he will still do my requests but you can see and feel his reluctance. He will get mad at the little inconveniences and that will be the start of another argument.
I remember this feeling of being scared of meeting my present partner because it felt like he was mad during our conversation via chat. The feeling of wanting to run away from the confrontation is overwhelming me and I have rehearsed everything that I can say and explain to calm his angry self.
But you know what? The tense feeling subsided when I faced him. He was smiling at me and there was never any hint of anger, of annoyance, or of anything that I need to protect myself from. He was there in front of me so calm and at peace. All my defenses fell and I was left in shock, confused as to what I should say and feel. It was all new to me and it felt so different, it was different.
I never realized until then what a peaceful and calm love was. I never experienced not trying to defend myself from my partners. I was always putting up walls, hiding and keeping things to myself for fear of another argument. It was always just me regardless if I was in a relationship or not. But now I realized that with the right person, it's okay to open up slowly. It is okay to be vulnerable. It is okay to depend on others and it is okay to just be you.
To you my love, I know it's never easy to love me. I have so many things to work out on and everyday I try my best. I doubt a lot of things and I doubt even our relationship. Regardless of what I am, my fears, my past, and who I was and who I am now, it never made you faltered. From the beginning until now, you stood by me supporting me and helping me along the way. You are the very definition of every poem and love letters that I saved. You are what makes me warm and safe all day. You are what all those songs I put on repeat all day. You are what makes me so much at peace. And you are what makes me want to live just for another day.
Thank you, for making me experience at least once what the love I used to read and wished for really feels like. What love is really supposed to be. There will never be enough words to express how grateful I am to ever meet you. I love you, and I hope one day I can love you more than you can love me because my dear, you really deserve everything and all the good things that the world can ever give.

Stories of Failure Redefine(d) as Success.
If at first you don’t succeed, redefine success. Days fill with ‘Desiderata’ by Max Ehrmann and end with ‘Invictus’ by William Ernest Henley. Ehrmann was a Harvard law student and wound up a meat packer. Still the poem is most successful across humanity. Henley’s success for the emotion expressed during great suffering. Share stories of tragedy turned to triumph in gratitude. Yours, others, a creative story read that was more than likely based on real events like Treasure Island’s Long John Silver was based on Henley’s youth.
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basically cba to revise more than three poems. what are three poems that fit a variety of themes? I do power and conflict

I had a strange relationship with deconstruction as my dad was trained at a university level to do apologetics. He was an LDS chaplain in the Army, and every night for scripture study, we got discourses on the nuances of our faith and justifications for every question we ever had. I didn’t swear until I was 18 years old, or drink caffinated anything until about that time as well, because it was never a matter of justification. It was what my family, my tribe, my people did, to go to church on Sunday, and to be worthy. I was senior patrol leader and assistant to the bishop if that clarifies who I was. I didn’t have “God will reveal it in due time” parents. I had “Here’s the answer, here’s contemporary discussion about it. Here’s some reading material if you want to learn more” parents, except for they were wicked smart, and had biased conclusions.
I was called to serve in the Mexico City East mission. Shortly before opening my mission call, I broke up with my girlfriend at the time. i left BYU-I and went home to prepare. I received my endowments after lying to my stake president about my worthiness to enter the house of the lord. I came clean, and he threatened to not let me go out for a year because I was unclean. The prick made me talk to a therapist to be cleared for the mission field. The therapist had a brain and let me go out. When I was giving my mission farewell speech, I wrote it to include the teachings of many religions in it. I had drawn inspiration from the 13th article of faith “We believe all things, hope all things-“ and wrote a poem about how Adam and Eve related to the Resurection and Atonement of christ. My dad tells me the stake president was shifting in his seat like he wanted to pull me down from the pulpit. Prick.
The CCM was a pleasure to attend because of my district. The guys in my district there held a secret thanksgiving feast after hours when we were supposed to be in bed with food we had smuggled out of the cafeteria. We had look outs so we wouldn’t be caught by the patrolling teachers. My district was placed under surveillance because of politics against our spanish teacher who we could tell actually cared about us, and we were transferred into a classroom with one sided mirrors, and microphones hanging from the ceiling. An apostle came to speak to the entire CCM, and I thought we would get a chance to meet with him directly, or that he would be even remotely accessible in some way. He was kept away from us, separate and removed even though we had the same mission. I played a lot of volley ball, and got into shape enough that I touched the rim of a basketball hoop for the first time while I was there.
My first companion was a native speaker, and liked to spend the mornings in the cyber (Internet Cafe). He would make sure I was on LDS.org while he looked at softcore porn on instagram. We would spend hours there, and I was disappointed that this was the mission.
We went to a previous investigators house, and while there, we saw preparations for an animal sacrifice. These guys were putting alcohol, cocaine, and blowing smoke onto a white chicken, and placed in into a cardboard box with a bunch of black chickens. They showed us a room full of weapons, with blood and feathers strewn all over the floor. We noped the fuck out, and went home.
I requested an emergency transfer after spending most days in the cyber, watching my companion deface JW’s property, and being an all around dick to me by telling me how to shower and how to sleep.
For his replacement, the person that would help me with his bastion of knowledge, they gave me a white guy who spoke as much Spanish as I did because he was only a transfer further into his mission than me. They made this poor kid senior companion to me before his first transfer was over. Why? Because the kid was a workaholic.
The first thing this elder and I did when we got to our apartment was to pick up and leave to go to the house of a member who had just died. We sang at the wake. I sang in a language I didn’t know, for people I didn’t know, with a companion I didn’t know. We sounded pretty damn good. The elder began setting appointments with the non-believing family members during the service. I just sat and watched the mindless kids chase the family dog.
This elder skipped lunch every day, and made me do the same. We knocked every door in our area twice that transfer. One time, he got very sick, and was delirious out in the sun with me while we were walking. I made us go home for lunch that day, and he made me promise to wake him up after thirty minutes so we could get back to the Lord’s work. Three hours later he woke up, chewed me out for letting him sleep that long, and then begrudgingly thanked me for making him rest.
One time, while walking, this Elder expressed to me that he also had some questions, but he was afraid to share the details because he knew my own testimony was fragile. I pressed him for details of his plight, and he revealed to me the darkest part of church history that he had learned while we were in the CCM, that Joseph Smith had drank alcohol while in Carthage Jail before he died. Thoughts of Fanny Alger, of Mountain Meadows Massacre, and of my own mother’s rather recently implemented looser interpretation of the word of wisdom all flashed through my head. This guy was supposed to be my teacher? All I could do was express how sorry I was for his confusion, and told him to have faith. Heaven knew I couldn’t help him.
One night with this companion, it was storming hard, and the streets were flooded. This guy refused to let us go home. We climbed along fences to avoid getting our already wet shoes soaked, and waded through a foot of water to get to the doors that were slammed in our faces. There was a loose wire on a door bell, and when I rang it, I was shocked by the completed circuit the water made. Rejection after rejection piled up. Finally, my “senior” companion said that this was the last row of houses. On the last house of the last row, there was a family that was all deaf. The father opened the door, and was suprised to see us and didn’t know who we were. I remembered the sign for Jesus from my grandparents who started and ran the ASL endowment ceremony in the Saint George temple. The family was thrilled we knew the sign. When I asked if we could come in, the family politely waved goodbye and closed the door on our faces.
Another time when it rained, something fell into my eye. It was one of those freak nature accidents, and small enough that I couldn’t figure out how to get it out without a mirror. The thing stayed wedged in the corner of my eye for hours before we got home and I could finally get the foreign object out. Looking at it on my finger, I could see it was a small green spider. Days later, still in pain, I pulled what I can only assume was accumulated webbing from the spider that I’d crushed against my eyeball off of my lower eye lid. The pain stopped after that.
I bought a $500 camera. It was stolen within a month.
This Elder and I had the good luck before transfers to baptize two children. They would have been baptized anyways, so I didn’t do any actual converting, but I taught a few lessons, got in the water and did the dunk. Bucket list item, check.
I didn’t have enough time for laundry on P-Day, so I’d wash my outfit and dry in on the radiator through the night. Transfers happen, and my new companion lied to our land lords about the electricity bill, paying it in full but not giving a reason as to why it was so high. I didn’t care anymore, I just needed something clean to wear, but these land lord had treated me and my previous companion well, better than the previous landlord who had stolen our cleaning supplies. I felt these people deserved honesty. My senior companion capitulated eventually, and he and I butted heads regularly after that on the morality of things. I think in hindsight he was a smarter and better man than I was.
The new land lords, the “Lagunez Family”, were wonderful. They included us in their activities, and I felt like I had some people in my corner. When I eventually came home from my mission, a daughter of the family had written me a goodbye letter. She is currently serving a mission. They made some great music, and I have “Infiltradors” on CD, the official name of the band the father of the family was a part of (he was the drummer).
I knew the whole area by heart by that point, so I navigated us to our appointments. Half of the landmarks I watched for to know our location were interesting buildings with unique colors. The other half of my landmarks were dead dogs whose decaying corpses had become second nature to see. I began marking how much time had passed by how deeply a certain dog on a certain dirt path’s chest was caved in.
There was an apartment complex in my area that I had been told not to proselytize in because “It’s dangerous.” Turns out, those people didn’t have any money, so the church didn’t want them. That complex was past the dog and to the east about ten blocks.
My companion and I knocked on a door, and visited a man who was missing his legs. His daughter was there, putting dirty water on the aching wounds. He had a single room for a house, and wheezed when he spoke. He couldn’t afford medication. He still went out and worked all day for his daughter, and gave her whatever money he made, trusting her to keep him alive somehow. The church expected this man to pay tithing. The church expected me to tell this man to pay tithing.
I got the chance to hike up a mountain. At the top, I played chess with a chess set I’d procured from one of the best rapid chess players I’ve ever met. He had been the ward mission leader. He was a good man, a good father, and I wish him the best.
I found another man who was deaf and spoke sign language. I sat with him, and convinced him to come to church all by myself while my companion talked with some tienda tender. I was so excited because this was my own personal project and it was going well. The man came to church, and I sat with him through sacrament meeting. In Sunday school (I can’t believe I did this), I accidentally drooled on the guy. I was just talking so he could read my lips, and I guess I forgot to swallow at some point because a dolup of spit landed on his arm. I apologized profusely, and he played it off, but I never saw that investigator again.
My companion and I knocked a door one day, and a man answered. He wore tattered clothes, and maggots were burrowing into and out of his feet. He muttered something about the stars, missing his wife, and he began to tear up. My eyes stung from the stench. The door closed. Somehow, I knew the man would be dead in a matter of weeks.
I had lost hope that I was doing anything worth while. I looked down on the Doc Martins that had stayed with me five months at this point. I was angry with myself for being so useless in the field, angry with the church for giving me leaders that didn’t listen to my needs or perspective, angry with my mom for drinking while I had to teach people that it was a sin, angry with my dad for giving me the skills and knowledge to justify anything, even pedophilia in the early days of the church, to the point where I could look someone in the eye, and knowing the kind of man Smith was, tell them he was a good man and a true prophet of God. Suddenly a man approached us. He said he recognized us as missionaries, and asked about our message. This never happened. People didn’t just come up to us unless they were crazy or dangerous. But this was a public place, and this guy was genuine. My companion talked to him, and gathered his story, but I was plotting something else. I was done with not caring about these people in a way that mattered. I was tired of walking in another man’s shoes, a man who wasn’t me, who believed different things than me. The chopped leg, the rotting dogs, the infested feet, it all swirled into a single thought in that moment.
What would Jesus do?
I walked over to the man, and in broken Spanish asked him to stand next to me. He did so, and I compared my shoe size to his foot. It was a perfect match. He protested, but I didn’t let him get a word in edge wise. I took off my shoes, put them on his dirty feet, and laced them up nice and tight. Those shoes had cost a ton, and had been meant to last the whole mission. All I had left at this point were my fancy dress shoes that gave my blisters back at the apartment. I didn’t care. I walked home in my socks that day, happy as a lark.
Covid-19 hit a month later. I was one of the few they brought home instead of quarantining. After having served only 6 months. I told God if he wanted me to stay home, he’d have to make them release me.
They released me. I think I was one of maybe a hundred missionaries that were released due to Covid. The church realized their mistake pretty soon after I was released. Once Covid infrastructure began to develop, they didn’t release any more. I guess I didn’t serve a full two years, but I did serve a full mission.
My brother served, and he nearly killed himself due to intense depression brought on by Covid quarantine and poor leadership (I’ve got a few mission president stories, but those are for another time).
I learned lying to someone’s face from my mission, and spent the rest of my time at BYU-I as “nuanced” until the last two years, over which the most epic hoe phase imaginable became my new mission. I spent those years terrified of getting a call from the honor code office.
I’m married now, with my degree irrevocably in my possession. I have friends and loved ones that are in the church and are working on their mission papers. I’m beginning to feel powerless again. I’m seeing the decay again, not on legs, feet, or dogs anymore, but in the souls of the people who the church raises to do their dirty volunteer work. I see them like the animal sacrifices I saw being prepared. I’m not sure what shoes I have left to give to those people that I know are going to be in pain.
My parents are out completely now. It was a long time coming, but they are out and so much happier. I’m working on building a new relationship with my family, one based off of the fact that we won’t be together forever, so we have to make the most of our time together now.
Happy Sunday guys, best of luck to you all. And most importantly, chupa la piña.

Hi all,
I wanted to share a little bit about succeeding in S2 from the perspective of someone that is not a 'natural' essay writer nor from a humanities background. Someone that started at a very average S2 score despite lots (and lots and lots) of effort.
I have now sat GAMSAT 5 times in total and I think this underscores a severe lack of exceptional ‘talent’ in any specific area of GAMSAT, and speaks to the fact that you CAN make huge improvements in your scores over time with the *right* type of effort.
(Long post for context but feel free to scroll to TLDR)
Context: I am from a science background and have been out of uni for ~6 years now. I have never been a writer and apart from finding the humanities quite interesting, have never explored its theory in a structured way. I am also not a huge ‘reader’ as many people that seem to do well in this section might be. I am just a person that has opinions on things (as does every one of you!).
My first sitting I signed on with a prep company that had a very structured and formulaic approach to essay writing. They gave students ways to explore topics and ideas to ground them when prompts felt ‘difficult’ + strategies to always be able to ‘write something’. And although I am sure this helped me learn more about the humanities and the fundamentals of classic essay writing - my scores were not great. The first sitting, after ~5 months of intense essay practice critiqued by professionals I came away with a score of 62 and utter confusion about where I had gone wrong. In the few sittings following this I did basically the same thing again and again thinking I just needed more practice (I wrote many ‘classic’ essays, critiqued them and worked on my timing). My scores in subsequent sitings improved slightly however maxed out at around 66 in S2.
I felt myself really confined by the classic essay style most resources espouse. I would find myself spending loads of mental energy thinking about things that I thought were really important for a 'good' essay - like exactly how my topic sentence would link to the next line, or how my analysis would ‘tick the boxes’, if my example was the best one to use or if my concluding statement was linked to my opening one (you get the picture). This would drain my creativity and also created so much friction in my writing.
I knew I could do better, but when it came down to putting my thoughts on paper, it fell apart.
Last year I decided to try to attack S2 differently. I started to dispense with the classical framework and starting writing pieces that were interesting for me to write. That I genuinely enjoyed creating. I often** (refer below) wrote reflectively and explored the prompt in a way that related to my life or my view point. I wrote essays starting with ‘When I was a child…’ or ‘In my life I have …” (whatever felt to me like a nice opening to the topic in my little brain). This way of writing both allowed me to write more clearly (I didn’t hyperfixate as much and therefore it came out less clunky) but also with much more relevance to things I actually knew about! This sort of writing naturally lends itself to be a little more creative or reflective but by no means does it have to be wildly different to a usual essay - it just had a little more flare and less strict* structure. I still wrote something that resembled an introduction (sometimes simply through vignette), I still had 2-3 analysing paragraphs, I still had something that felt conclusive at the end. But by stretching the bounds of each area, I came up with writing that was much less prohibitive and more exploratory.
[** One of my key skills here was being flexible and adaptive - writing a reflective piece is not always possible for certain topics - as one commenter mentioned, writing reflectively about Taxation for example, would be a tough gig. After getting comfortable with not being comfortable (sorry for the cliche) my main guiding light was that I never HAD TO write in a certain way. If a topic stumped me & I didn't know where to go with it from a reflective or personal POV, I might have written something that sounded more like an opinion piece you might see online (toeing the line between essay/article and argumentative style) for example. The key was to know I was never stuck - when I allowed myself to believe that, the writing would flow much easier. Remember, no matter what style of writing you choose in each task - you can not score well if you aren't being insightful - which happens through analysis. This doesn't go away because you decide to make less rigid stylistic choices. I hope this clears that up a little ]
In my first attempt with this less restrictive style, I scored in the 70's, and I think this was truly down to not committing enough to the cause. I didn't know where my strengths and weaknesses were yet, and so I often toed the line between classic essay with a little bit of my own flare, and was not as comfortable with what I needed to do when something felt difficult to make reflective. This took practice and flexibility. This most recent sitting I gave myself permission to write how I wanted and completely forget any of the structural 'rules' of a classic essay. I leant into it completely.
This paid off - I scored an 80, simply through writing in a way that felt true to me in that moment with that prompt set.
By far my greatest and most valuable piece of advice would be to write in a way that feels most natural and enjoyable to YOU. I am sure this has been said before, but I can’t quite underscore how much of a difference this makes to overall execution on the day, as well as ability to grind through essay after essay & continue to make improvements.
I should add here that throughout my S2 journey I worked with a tutor on and off (who became a great friend) throughout my attempts. First few attempts we worked very much by the books writing classic essays, but when I shared with them my desire to try something different they were really supportive and open to working with me to get the best out of it. We used every session from then on to critique my essays. This was really valuable as its important not to cross the line between a personal piece of writing and something that is totally un-relatable to others (after all, we are writing on prompts that are human at their core) - a good piece of writing makes someone think and reflect themselves. My tutor was amazing and their insights gave me feedback on stylistic things that worked or did not. They also checked in at times if It was becoming more of a monologue/train of thoughts rather than a reflective and insightful piece - which I would be cautious of whenever you are writing this way. In saying this, I absolutely DO NOT think having a tutor is necessary to get a good score in S2. I shared my essays with friends and would get feedback on if certain sentences felt clunky or if I was painting a picture that did not come across how I had hoped. I knew I had unlocked something good when I shared an essay with my partner - he was initially reading it slumped on the couch, and suddenly sat up and his eyes widened as he read on. If you can make people feel something, you're a good way there! (And if you're asking yourself if you can - you CAN. You're a human with thoughts and feelings and personal experiences that are unique to you. Use this to your advantage.)
TLDR: 1) Try very hard to quieten the noise around what makes a ‘good’ GAMSAT essay and be selective about which recommendations work well for you (and which do not). There are literally a million ways to create a solid piece of writing and if the ‘classic’ analytical or discursive structured essay does not roll off the tongue for you - take this as a sign that it is OK to explore other styles of writing. This is not to say that every person should try to write poems (I never wrote a poem), or to write creatively. All this means is that *if* you feel the classical structure of an essay is *distracting* you from what the goal of S2 is (to respond thoughtfully to a prompt from your own perspective) then consider stretching the bounds of your writing. 2) No matter the style you choose, *analysis / insight* are still key 3) Get critique on your work (again and again) from various sources - if you can afford tutoring, great use it for critique, if not, friends and family are amazing for this!
**Disclaimer** - this advice won't be for everyone. For some people, writing in a formulaic defined way is the best way to get their thoughts across - and this is fine! I am just sharing my experience of finding a much better way for my brain. I have many friends that I studied for GAMSAT with who wrote great (classic style) essays and scored super well with them! These people probably would have hated/not been comfortable with my style of writing. Choose your own adventure, but make changes if something is not working.
If people are interested I am happy to post links to my best essays where I explored this type of writing
Good luck with your essays everyone!
Please feel free to DM if you have any questions :)

I am reasonably high right now and my fiance's best friend has this adorable cat named Mister. Mister and I bonded, purrs and meows were had, and this majestic boy inspired me to write this silly little poem. So here goes!
How I wish to pet a mister!
Not his brother or his sister,
I just want to pet a mister
I'd drive my car right through a twister,
So I could pet a mister
I'd walk 10 miles with a blister
So i could pet a mister
I respect engineers that build transistors
I just want to pet a mister
From screaming to speaking in but a whisper
How I wish to pet a mister
Love and light ❤️
Feedback 1: https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/s/QO0EUjWZSl
Feedback 2: https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/s/st2mHAi2JR

Conversational Uglies in Cafe
Hi guys. I’m aware this poem requires a bit of (medical) context so you can scroll to the end for it or you can just experience it blind. ( 1 2 )
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My body is whimpering these begs to stay alive.
But I withhold the medicine in a a literal gut wrenching tease (side effects include: severe abdominal pain).
There’s no cure for this disease and several names for this cruelty.
I’ll shuffle through them like a deck of cards. Make your bets now. How many hospital visits this year? Just one if I do this right…
When the lights go off and nobody’s home,
the report will say the house was last observed hollow,
because my body was eating itself to stay alive and all these ugly musings died with me.
What can I say? My liver’s a champion.
I’m lucky. That’s what the doctor said.
Ha.
On my deathbed, the boisterous cadences of my hunger will have followed me.
Echoing from the flimsy walls of this wicked anatomy.
(A moment of silence to let the teenage-edginess pass, please. The flesh must mock itself to save itself).
What was it for? I.E this self-inflicted torture.
A body in pain is easier to inhabit, that’s how it’s always been for me.
Even the anxieties are worth the way my collarbones jut in this sexy way.
“Too much, too much, Body. Rein it in. Tone it down.”
There’s a strategy to this, you see. The best killers are only briefly suspect.
My skin is yellow. My skin is dry. I’ll go blind one day. Not today. Two warring concepts. Who I Am and Who I Thought I Was.
(“You’re lucky.”)
Oh, how the dress clings…
Insert cartoonish sound effects of medicine being injected.
The swelling is instant. Of my body, and of the orchestra as my life is finally fed. (THE DRESS CLINGS! IT MUSTN’T! IT MUSTN’T!).
My bloodstream’s biased. Can’t listen to it. My brain chemistry is feeling conflicted about the whole ordeal but it’ll come around.
Self-love is important and I’m afraid the insulin metabolizes it, too.
I won’t let myself swallow my reality.
But this tiramisu serves my goals perfectly, friend (It comes in biscuit-cream-coffee-chocolate-devastation layers).
I’m supermodel-level agonized, baby. That’s the suffering we all strive for.
I make an idol of the grief.
The months keep track of themselves loudly. (Doctor in ICU: you’re just waiting for an accident to happen. (Girl has no response)).
Anyhow, a corpse can’t feel regret so I’m not too worried.
Just pretend you understand my humor (like how I pretend I don’t understand this sacrifice).
This one’s on me if you promise never to ask how I am.
///
Context: Diabulimia is a complicated eating disorder where a diabetic will purposely withhold insulin to lose weight (as insulin is a hormone that helps sugar enter cells for energy and therefore cause weight gain). As insulin is withheld, the liver begins to breakdown fat and basically melt it into the bloodstream for energy. Weight is lost but the blood’s acidity rises as a consequence leading to DKA, fatal if not treated. If you or someone you know is exhibiting side effects of DKA or diabulimia, allow me to be cliche and advise you to seek help.

Thanks for the click! Before we get started, here's some pics of me;
Selfies
As the title suggests, I'm 26 from the UK (Hull) but location isn't a dealbreaker for me. I've been out of the dating game for a while, and looking to see what's out there. Obviously the ideal is something long-term, but gotta take everything one day at a time I guess.
Don't want to give too much of myself away, else what's the point of conversation? But safe to say I'm more of a liberal-minded guy, so not looking for a trad-wif etc. Just hoping to find someone that's emotionally available, who can share a decent sense of humour and knows what they're looking for I guess.
Probably my best "selling-point" is my deep voice, which is sure to comfort and reassure you! Give me any sentence and I'll make it sound like the most intimate, meaningful words you've ever heard haha.
Trying to keep this short but sweet, but I know I'm not the athletic or assertive guy a lot of women seek. Put it this way; I'm more likely to write a poem than cause confrontation! Feel free to send a message if you wanna find out more, but wish you all a great day regardless!