I feel so guilty when I have coffee. I feel so guilty when I don't save all my money and spend it "perfectly"

I walked through there on a sunny and hot day and the intersection felt like a foreign country (due to weather and American style heavy traffic) but I barely explored it.

I feel bad for not spending all my time studying and working as hard as possible on achieving the career and artistic goals I have
I feel bad for not spending more times with friends and family, taking more time to relax and travel and spend time on my hobbies

How do I fix this conundrum

You gotta go outside user. Mindless entertainment is like a time machine that brings you closer to death by loosing precious minutes with no benefit.

I have this too, i see it as an extreme time anxiety.

use the time you waste shitposting to spend with your friends and family instead

i was thinking maybe instead of confessing shit to a frog exchange forum, i can just go to the catholic version

does anyone know what part of confession augustine talks about how he used to be addicted to greek plays or something and how he finally gave it up, his shit is too long i can't find it but some christlord around here probably has it memorized

I feel worthless for not being Chad and having sex every waking moment of my free time in my youth

I feel worse and worse for every second I am still a loser virgin

become a religion nut and pretend that sex is against your belief and that chad will burn in hell, you won't really believe and no one else will either, but it will give you cover to live with less shame

this is bullshit, my best friend is a chad and he's had sex with 16 different girls.

now he says he is ashamed and he wishes he had no done that because he has trouble just being with hig gf and not comparing her to the women he's been with. He said he felt the most shame when he had to tell his virgin gf how many partners he had in the past.

I myself have only had one sexual partner who was my gf at the time, which was last summer but since then I've become religious and I am waiting until marriage for sex.

I am 21.

being chad wont make you happy, and having meaningless sex wont either. youre not missing out.

>atheists
Ground coffee tastes like ass. I purchase the most expensive coffee I can get fresh make it stronger than most know how to, and I'm still spending less than the $5 a cup bullshit. One bag costs $25 roughly and lasts a week, each daily portion is about double what that $5 cup costs.

no you just ctrl+f the right words

1/2

"2. Stage plays also captivated me, with their sights full of the images of my
own miseries: fuel for my own fire. Now, why does a man like to be made sad by
viewing doleful and tragic scenes, which he himself could not by any means endure?
Yet, as a spectator, he wishes to experience from them a sense of grief, and in this
very sense of grief his pleasure consists. What is this but wretched madness? For a
man is more affected by these actions the more he is spuriously involved in these
affections. Now, if he should suffer them in his own person, it is the custom to call
this “misery.” But when he suffers with another, then it is called “compassion.” But
what kind of compassion is it that arises from viewing fictitious and unreal
sufferings? The spectator is not expected to aid the sufferer but merely to grieve for
him. And the more he grieves the more he applauds the actor of these fictions. If the
misfortunes of the characters--whether historical or entirely imaginary--are
represented so as not to touch the feelings of the spectator, he goes away disgusted
and complaining. But if his feelings are deeply touched, he sits it out attentively,
and sheds tears of joy.

3. Tears and sorrow, then, are loved. Surely every man desires to be joyful.
And, though no one is willingly miserable, one may, nevertheless, be pleased to be
merciful so that we love their sorrows because without them we should have
nothing to pity. This also springs from that same vein of friendship. But whither
does it go? Whither does it flow? Why does it run into that torrent of pitch which
seethes forth those huge tides of loathsome lusts in which it is changed and altered
past recognition, being diverted and corrupted from its celestial purity by its own
will? Shall, then, compassion be repudiated? By no means! Let us, however, love the
sorrows of others. But let us beware of uncleanness, O my soul, under the protection
of my God, the God of our fathers, who is to be praised and exalted--let us beware of
uncleanness.

2/2

I have not yet ceased to have compassion. But in those days in the
theaters I sympathized with lovers when they sinfully enjoyed one another,
although this was done fictitiously in the play. And when they lost one another, I
grieved with them, as if pitying them, and yet had delight in both grief and pity.
Nowadays I feel much more pity for one who delights in his wickedness than for one
who counts himself unfortunate because he fails to obtain some harmful pleasure or
suffers the loss of some miserable felicity. This, surely, is the truer compassion, but
the sorrow I feel in it has no delight for me. For although he that grieves with the
unhappy should be commended for his work of love, yet he who has the power of
real compassion would still prefer that there be nothing for him to grieve about. For
if good will were to be ill will--which it cannot be--only then could he who is truly
and sincerely compassionate wish that there were some unhappy people so that he
might commiserate them. Some grief may then be justified, but none of it loved.
Thus it is that thou dost act, O Lord God, for thou lovest souls far more purely than
we do and art more incorruptibly compassionate, although thou art never wounded
by any sorrow. Now “who is sufficient for these things?”

4. But at that time, in my wretchedness, I loved to grieve; and I sought for
things to grieve about. In another man’s misery, even though it was feigned and
impersonated on the stage, that performance of the actor pleased me best and
attracted me most powerfully which moved me to tears. What marvel then was it
that an unhappy sheep, straying from thy flock and impatient of thy care, I became
infected with a foul disease? This is the reason for my love of griefs: that they would
not probe into me too deeply (for I did not love to suffer in myself such things as I
loved to look at), and they were the sort of grief which came from hearing those
fictions, which affected only the surface of my emotion. Still, just as if they had been
poisoned fingernails, their scratching was followed by inflammation, swelling,
putrefaction, and corruption. Such was my life! But was it life, O my God?"