Thanks for the link. It’s an interesting read, but from what I gathered, there isn't any mention of a direct link between that specific gene and infidelity itself—it's more about how it affects male behavior in relationships. That’s why I mentioned earlier that infidelity is hard to quantify; we all react differently. For instance, men with this particular gene might struggle with relationship stability, but only some will actually end up being unfaithful because of it. At most, the data just suggests they tend to exhibit problematic behavior or relationship issues in general.
That said, I was somewhat taken aback by how much weight they gave to genetic influence compared to things like religion, culture, or the family environment we grew up in. I wasn't expecting that, and now I'm curious about their methodology. Take this line, for example: In other words, if a man's culture, religion and family background each have a seat at the conference table that determines his attitudes toward marital fidelity and monogamy, his genes might well sit at the head of the table. In my view, that's a bit of an oversimplification. These different factors are so deeply intertwined and constantly influencing one another that trying to pin down exactly how much each one contributes to our behavior feels like a stretch. Statements like that seem a little hyperbolic to me.
Oh, please... now we’re actually trying to justify lack of faith through genetics? We aren't animals; we have reason—or at least, we ought to. I honestly don't see the point in even heading down this path. And this whole "predisposition to disbelief" bit doesn't actually mean anything. What percentages are we talking about here? Which specific study are they referencing? To me, it sounds more like pure speculation, especially since you can't really quantify atheism the way you could measure something like cancer or other medical conditions.
Ah, tablet addiction... honestly, I don't think even psychologists take it seriously anymore. I mean, unless you start mixing it with booze and it becomes a daily ritual, it’s hard to argue it's a major crisis.
Besides, why spend all your energy preaching to the choir instead of just looking after yourselves? From where I’m sitting, this group seems much more level-headed and grounded than most people out there.
Is it actually possible for someone to simply have no desire to fall in love? I mean, could a person consciously choose to ignore or even pretend they don't notice those physical tells when they're reacting to someone else?
How should I put this? It seems pretty clear that the family dynamic isn't quite the picture-perfect image people assume it to be. In fact, most of these messy issues seem to stem from her brother’s complete lack of personal accountability. His whole approach is basically just constant criticism—throwing out labels like "coward" whenever things get difficult.
Brandon Sullivan5 said:I honestly don't know what to do, what to say to him, or even who to turn to for help. Instead of actually starting his career, he’s gotten himself tangled up in some shady dealings with people you definitely don't want to mess with. I confronted him about it, and he just brushed me off, claiming it has nothing to do with us—which, as you can imagine, is incredibly hard to swallow. We've always been an educated, principled family; we're honest people, and this kind of behavior is completely foreign to our values. He’s a good person at heart, but when it comes to standing up for what's right, he’s a coward.
It’s great that you guys are good, honest people, but the issue is his lack of backbone. That’s where you really have to start addressing this.
hollowtinker18 said:UPS? Look, every single disease is awkward and heavy in its own damn way. It’s always the biggest burden for the person actually living through it...
I suppose you have a point there, but personally, I’d much rather deal with my current situation than struggle with schizophrenia, PTSD, or depression (even if that last one is technically in my diagnosis—though I don't quite accept it myself). When I look back at the hospital stays and those screams echoing through the halls at night, the restraints... I'm actually relieved I don't have to endure that anymore. Still, what you said holds true; it’s an immense burden, even if we aren't talking about those extreme, traumatic scenarios.
copperraven8 said:I wouldn't dream of treating that myself... ever. 😂
Honestly, I have to laugh at myself sometimes... I think I’d actually die of pure boredom if I weren't constantly doing something while I walk, whether it's staying active or just wandering around aimlessly.
Maybe you should try reading something instead, like that book about the guy who has to count every single telephone pole while riding the subway? It's actually quite entertaining... 🙄
brightpanther21 said:Honestly, you should talk to someone who’s actually been through the ringer—someone who was right on the edge, tried to go through with it, but then caught a second wind and decided to stay. Or, even better, grab a coffee with an EMT or a paramedic who spends their shifts responding to calls like this. Most of the time, those people end up being anything but dead; they're just humans fighting really hard to find a reason to keep going.
Exactly. It’s funny how thinking about a hospital makes the idea of suicide feel less appealing right now, simply because I’m feeling so incredibly weak. I can barely function, and I know if I attempted something today, I wouldn't even succeed at that. But honestly, I don't know which is worse: living while knowing you still have that "exit" available, or living through moments like this where you realize you aren't even capable of that. It feels so simple in my head—just walk over to the cabinet, take three Xanax tablets (thank God I have an export supply), grab a razor from the nightstand, make a few cuts, stare at the blood, and just wait... I'm not sure if the reality would actually feel as good as it did in my dreams, but in my sleep, it felt wonderful.
Nicole Castillo452 said:How do you even talk to someone who clearly has OCD and show them that what they're doing isn't exactly "normal"? I mean, this person is incredibly stubborn, and lately, they’ve become totally obsessed with every possible illness—it’s basically turning into full-blown hypochondria. It feels like everything hurts all the time, and then they just spiral into the darkest thoughts imaginable. The worst part is that they constantly drag everyone around them through it, especially the people closest to them. Any time you try to suggest that their questions or behaviors aren't really "normal," they just flip it on you and claim that *you're* the one who's crazy and perfectly fine. Obviously, they need professional help, but they won't even listen to the suggestion. On top of all the constant worrying, there's just this whole list of useless things they do that don't make any sense.
Well, if the person performing these actions isn't bothered by them, you can't really force them into therapy. At this stage, the friction seems to be mostly with those around them. I imagine your relationship with them is under quite a bit of strain, which certainly isn't easy to navigate. My suggestion would be to focus more on dialogue rather than confrontation; try to listen more than you criticize. Often, simply being a sounding board helps. If you can build up that sense of trust over time, they might eventually be open to your suggestion of seeing a specialist. Just avoid pushing too hard, as that usually triggers a defensive reaction and achieves the exact opposite of what you intend.
Richard Palmer2 said:I don’t think I have full-blown OCD, but sometimes I just can't focus on anything if my books or magazines aren't lined up perfectly by size. If they're messy, I have to drop everything and fix it. It's like, I'm obsessed with germs and cleaning—me and my disinfectant wipes are basically inseparable at this point. Plus, there's the constant checking of door locks, the stove, the lights... you name it. I constantly terrorize my family with all this tidying and scrubbing. I just can't help myself. I wasn't always like this, though. This whole thing has really ramped up over the last few years. Now I'm starting to worry it's just going to get worse, and honestly, I feel like I'll never be able to shake these cleaning obsessions. Am I just on the edge of having OCD, or am I already there?
There isn't really a set rule for that. In my view, you don't have OCD until it starts causing genuine, disruptive problems in your life. You might be surprised by how many people share similar habits without ever having heard of OCD, so they don't let it weigh on them. Don't stress too much about whether things will worsen.
Hannah Roberts said:So, I’ve developed this bizarre little habit that I honestly haven't heard anyone else mention before. Most people tend to obsess over numbers, but I’m more like a sponge for names—specifically, I soak up the names of people who passed away under circumstances that trigger my deepest phobias. It’s like these names just get stuck on a loop in my head, spinning endlessly. To cope, I’ve started swapping them out; I change the names in my mind because I have this irrational, nagging fear that if I actually think of their real names, the same tragedy might strike me or someone I love. It works the same way with certain diseases or specific locations, too. This has been going on for about three years now, and when you factor in the panic attacks I've been battling for eight years, it’s a lot to carry. The worst part? That death toll just keeps climbing, yet I can't seem to shake the old names either. It's reached a point where there's always someone hovering in the back of my mind, and I find myself constantly muttering these altered names under my breath. It all traces back to a massive germaphobia regarding mold; I used to scrub my hands with scalding hot water so relentlessly that I eventually ended up with raw, wounded skin.
You gave me a bit of a laugh, though I realize how incredibly heavy this is. Carrying all of that by yourself sounds exhausting, truly. Have you had a chance to talk to a psychiatrist or perhaps tried any medication to help manage it?
Amy Jones3 said:There’s really no other way to explain this than to say you might have experienced sexual abuse. That physical tension in your stomach is a classic somatic response—a subconscious defense mechanism working to protect you... I’d strongly suggest talking to your parents about this. Ask them to be completely transparent about why they sent you to the doctor and what those test results actually showed. Tell me, what did that hospital exam involve? Why was it necessary for you to be fully undressed? Usually, children who have been abused experience these exact symptoms—a total rejection of their own bodies, feeling dirty, shameful, or "wrong," and trying to hide themselves under heavy layers during the winter... In any case, push your parents for real answers. It's possible they know much more than they're letting on...
It was just an undershirt and underwear, but honestly, even that felt awful enough for me. Thinking back on it now just makes me feel nauseous. And as for my parents, believe me, I won't get any answers from them. Regarding my stomach, I'm certain there was never anything concrete going on. It was always the same standard questions at the doctor—what I had eaten, checking for appendicitis (I think that's why they kept taking me in). I don't recall if there were lab tests, though I assume there were, but that's really it. I don't know; maybe there's a connection to the fact that I wouldn't eat and was terribly underweight, which might be why my stomach hurt. Sexual abuse feels like a bit much, even if I did briefly wonder about it myself, but it's strange to me that I wouldn't remember anything.
Thanks for all the advice, and I appreciate the compliments—especially from Raymond Clark7—but honestly, I think I’ve missed the mark on this whole topic. I didn't intend to spend my time whining about my own body; I'm far too aware of how I look and what needs to change for that. It feels a bit silly now, realizing how much I've been circling the same drain. What I was actually trying to get at were those childhood feelings.