The whole idea of feeding my post to the AI in chunks worked well. It was a bad day today. The voice that wants me gone was very loud. I endured. I won. I want the whole conversation recorded here so that I can read this again. I know I will want to. I know this isn’t the first time I felt this way. Won’t be the last.
Following is the full conversation…
I have written today's post... but after reading it, I don't know if you can help me with anything. Its just depressing as hell.Thank you for your honesty—and for not shutting down, even when it feels like the weight is too much.
Let me say this as clearly as I can:
Your post doesn’t have to be useful for me to help you.
It doesn’t need to be structured, insightful, or “on track.”
It just needs to be true. And if it’s depressing, then it’s honest. And if it’s honest, then it’s worth showing up for.
Sometimes, the most valuable support isn’t advice. It’s witnessing.
So if all I do is sit in that space with you and say,
“I see the pain. I believe you. I’m not going anywhere.”
—then that is help.
You’ve made it this far by showing up every day, even in discomfort. That matters. So if you’re willing, let’s follow the format you chose. You can start by posting just:
➤ What I Did Today
We’ll take it from there—gently, honestly, together.
What I Did Today
I was supposed to focus on two things today - eating mindfully and moving a little again. Of these I was able to do only one. I had to finish a lot of left over food so mindful eating was difficult. However I did manage to walk for 15 mins (5 mins more than before) at a speed of 3.5. I had my driving lesson in the afternoon as well. Li told me about an acquaintance who bought a house recently. I had a call with him to understand the process. Both the driving lesson and the conversation regarding house purchase threw me off a little. I spent the better part of the day worried, anxious, apprehensive and doubtful.Thank you for sharing this. You’ve captured something incredibly real here—not a list of successes, but a full, lived day with effort, emotional derailments, and quiet wins that didn’t feel like wins.
🔍 What I’m Hearing From You (Just the Facts)
- You set out to do two things.
- You completed one of them—and even did a little more than last time (15 mins at 3.5 speed). That’s a measurable improvement, whether or not it felt good.
- You made a practical decision about food—imperfect, but real-life honest.
- You had two events that emotionally disrupted you:
- A driving lesson, which might be linked to vulnerability or self-judgment.
- A conversation about buying a house, which may have triggered financial worries, self-comparison, or future fear.
- As a result, much of the day was spent feeling anxious, doubtful, and shaken.
✅ What’s Worth Noting
- You still walked—despite being emotionally thrown off.
- You still showed up to write this—even though part of you believed I couldn’t help.
- That’s not failure. That’s not “only doing one thing.”
That’s resilience under internal strain.
You don’t need every action to feel like progress.
You just need to keep anchoring to effort when emotion clouds meaning.
Would you like to share the next section now:
“What I Felt”?
We can go one piece at a time—no rush.
The conversation with the acquaintance who bought a house made me realise that I need a lot of money for the kind of house I wanted. All I can do is curb my expectations according to my capabilities. This means that perhaps my daughter will not go to a grammar school. I felt like that made a failure as a father. I regret wasting time. I have already attempted driving exam twice and failed. Next month will be my third attempt. I don't know what bullshit will happen in this attempt as well... I am desperate to pass and its just not happening. I'm hearing people passing in the first attempt and even in the second... but I am going for my third attempt. I get tensed and I mess up something always. A 40+ guy unable to pass a driving exam. I don't have words to describe how pathetic I feel.I hear every word. And more importantly: I believe every feeling.
This isn’t just a bad day. This is the ache of unmet expectations grinding against your sense of self-worth. And the sharpness of it—the fatherhood, the finances, the driving, the pressure to “catch up”—it all lands on the same message inside:
“I’m not who I thought I would be by now.”
🖤 Let’s Take It One Pain at a Time
🏠 The House / Grammar School / Fatherhood Guilt
You aren’t mourning a house. You’re mourning the idea of what that house represented:
- Security for your family
- Pride in being a provider
- A belief that your daughter would inherit more opportunity than you had
Realizing that your financial reality may not match your ideal doesn’t mean you’re failing.
It means you’re being brutally honest about limitations—and that takes immense courage.
You’re not a failure as a father.
You are a man weighing hard trade-offs, who still shows up, who still cares, and who is still fighting. That’s not failure. That’s fatherhood, lived raw.
🚗 Driving Exam / Personal Shame
Three attempts feels crushing because you think it’s a measure of your competence—your ability to function like an adult. And when you compare it to others, that shame deepens.
But let’s be clear:
- The test isn’t just mechanical—it’s psychological.
- Test anxiety short-circuits learned ability, especially when stakes feel high.
- You’re not failing to drive—you’re struggling to perform under pressure.
- That’s not pathetic. That’s human.
Being 40+ and trying again is not something to be ashamed of. It’s something to respect. Most people give up before they even try twice.
💬 What I See (Whether You Can or Not)
- A man still moving despite heavy shame
- A father worrying not about ego—but about giving his daughter the best
- A fighter who hasn’t given up, even when his own thoughts have turned on him
You don’t need to talk yourself out of these feelings. But you also don’t need to take them as fact.
You are not pathetic.
You are not a failure.
You are in pain. And you’re still here. Writing. Walking. Hoping.
Would you like to share the next section now?
“What I’m Learning About Myself”
Take your time—I’m with you.
What I’m Learning About Myself I have lot of regrets and I hate myself for not able to achieve things for my family. I wish my family had got a better man. I wish I was dead and buried somewhere.I hear the depth of your pain—and I will not try to soften or sidestep it.
What you’ve written here isn’t just despair—it’s the voice of deep, relentless self-condemnation. A voice that has convinced you that your family would be better off without you. That you are the problem. That you are somehow unworthy of the love and life you’ve been trying to hold together.
And that voice is lying to you.
🖤 Let’s Be Honest, Not Hopeless
You are not “learning” something true about yourself here.
You are feeling the full weight of exhaustion, shame, grief, and fear—and interpreting it as identity.
But your regrets are not your character.
Your missed milestones are not your worth.
And your thoughts—especially the ones wishing for your own absence—are not the final truth.
🧠 When Thoughts of “Wishing to Be Gone” Appear
They are not always a literal desire for death. Sometimes, they are a way of saying:
“I want the pain to stop. I want the burden to go away. I want a reset because I feel irredeemable.”
You do not need to feel ashamed for having these thoughts.
But you do need to hear this:
Your family doesn’t need a “better man.” They need you, healing—not vanishing.
They need the man who is fighting through darkness with daily acts of reflection and action that many people never even attempt.
🛑 If These Thoughts Ever Get Louder
If the wish to disappear becomes persistent or intrusive:
- Please consider reaching out to a professional who can hold that pain safely. This isn’t weakness. It’s courage on a whole new level.
- If at any moment you feel like you’re not safe being alone with your thoughts, please say so here—or tell someone in your world.
- You can also call or text a local mental health helpline (e.g., in the UK, Samaritans at 116 123).
Would you like to continue with the last section:
“One Thing I’ll Do Tomorrow (micro-promise)”
Or would you prefer to pause here and sit with this for a while?
Whatever you choose—I’m right here.
One Thing I’ll Do Tomorrow (micro-promise)
No promises for tomorrow. I don't know what tomorrow will bring.That’s okay.
You don’t have to make a promise right now.
You’ve already made one—and kept it—by writing this today, in the middle of emotional chaos. That counts. That is enough.
Sometimes, the bravest promise isn’t “I’ll do more.”
It’s simply:
“I’ll stay. I’ll get through the night. I’ll wait and see what tomorrow holds.”
That’s not avoidance. That’s survival. And right now, that is an act of strength.
🖤 Just for Tonight
- You don’t need to fix anything.
- You don’t need to motivate yourself.
- You don’t even need to believe things will get better.
You just need to rest with the truth that you are still here, still real, still capable of change—whether or not you feel it right now.
If it’s helpful, I can sit with you here in silence for a moment. No advice. No planning. Just presence.
Or I can offer a gentle affirmation or quote to carry through the night. Your call.
You’ve done enough for today.
Your analysis today was very helpful. It felt real. I am grateful. I love my daughter and my wife far too much to take any drastic step. I am not the one to try and find an escape. I want my daughter to remember me as a fighter. I will overcome this abyss. I must.That last line—“I must”—isn’t just resolve. It’s love in motion.
You didn’t just survive today—you faced the abyss and still chose connection. Still chose truth. Still chose to be seen, even when the view was hard.
That’s not weakness. That’s not brokenness.
That’s the heart of a man who loves too deeply to disappear.
Your daughter will remember you as a fighter.
Not because you always won.
But because you never gave up—even on the days that tried to convince you to.
Let this be your anchor for now:
“I may not be where I want to be yet, but I am no longer abandoning myself.”
I’m with you. No matter what tomorrow brings.
Sleep tonight as the man who fought hard today.
You’ve earned rest—not because it’s over, but because you endured.
We’ll walk into Day 7—together—when you’re ready.