Ask Lemmy

I have a phobia with butterfly spawn, the wiggly kind.

Can't look at it, don't wanna talk about it either cuz then the image pop up in my mind.

Don't mind the adult form or the pupa. Also fine with other larvae since they all mostly look the same.

I don't really know how to describe it, but it's like I go through life just waiting for the other shoe to drop. When something shocking or remotely dangerous happens, my brain automatically assumes the worst is going to happen and I like go into survival mode. I get filled with such dread.

Change. Particularly the kind I can't deal with.

The past year or two in the online landscape has been turbulent and has shown me that I fall back to the familiar as a coping mechanism. And if that familiar should be unavailable... Ouch. ;_;

My earbuds exploding while I'm using them

People, dying without ever been loved by a woman. Both of those are related.

Being born. Don't want to make that mistake again.

Time. Imagine not just you disappearing but all humans. Given enough time absolutely nothing lasts.

I can agree with Archer on this one: brain aneurysms and saltwater crocodiles.

Stage fright, depths.

The fact I won't be able to retire. I don't have the money because of financial abuse from my SO. I honestly don't know what I'll ever do. People in my city are living in tents in the park and I assume I will have to do that. I'll have a good pension but it won't be enough for the cost of living as it is now.

(Please don't suggest I leave, as kind as you all are, I cannot afford it).

nearly everything unfortunately. my therapist tells me my amygdala is over active

Willful Ignorance

I want to die awake. Preferably a gunshot to the head. That bad things happen to good people even death, life isn't fair but you play the hand your dealt, and while not in vain, life has little meaning when thinking of times massive scale. Like the poem of Ozymandiaz.

I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.”