Depressed Private Story Names

My brother brings home a scheming girlfriend. He wants to kick me out of the house for her sake and claims that everything at home belongs to him. I hand the company over with both hands and leave without hesitation. Less than a month later, my brother, who can't manage the company, grovels at my feet and begs me to return.

My roommate always says that I have to endure hardship to become a person who's above others. Every day, she promotes the idea of creating hardship where there isn't any. She doesn't let me drink, doesn't let me put on makeup, and tells me to break up with my boyfriend. She also forces me to dance. When I do, my strap breaks, and I end up making the trending list due to criticism. When I confront my roommate about this, she pushes me off the rooftop. I die on the spot. After death, I discover that she's a popular influencer. She gained fame by livestreaming herself "grooming" me. When I open my eyes again, I find that I've been taken back to the first day of the semester.

I'm reincarnated a week before the college entrance exam. Despite being the soon-to-be top scorer, I stab my eye with a syringe. In my past life, Marianne Quentin, my boyfriend Lance Russell's childhood friend, reported me for cheating off her during the final mock exam. The teacher compared our papers and found that my essay was identical to hers. He harshly criticized me and warned me not to repeat my mistake. However, Marianne reported me for copying her answers again during the math exam. Once again, my answers were found to be identical to hers. The teacher scolded me for being incorrigible and sent me home to reflect on my actions. I couldn't understand what had happened. Clearly, I'd never cheated, but my answers were nearly identical to Marianne's, whether in writing and language or in math. As the SAT exam loomed over me, I could only suppress my doubts as I stepped into the exam hall. I finished the writing paper and thought I was safe. However, Marianne stepped out and accused me of cheating again. I tried to defend myself, yet the answers on my paper were identical to hers. In the end, I was disqualified, kicked out of the exam hall, and banned from taking any exams in the next two years—just because I "cheated". I succumbed to despair and leaped from the rooftop. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to one week before the SAT.

My name is Ivy Lawson. At 3:00 am, I get a call from Christina McSpire, a parent of one of my students. "Hello, Ms. Lawson, I noticed Zoe only spent five dollars on her meal yesterday. Did she not eat any meat?" she asks. Pushing through my exhaustion, I reply, "Don't worry, Mrs. Street. I'll check on it tomorrow." Another half hour goes by, and she calls again. "It's supposed to rain tomorrow. Can you remind Zoe to bring an umbrella?" I can hardly keep my eyes open. "Got it," I reply absentmindedly. A few minutes later, my phone rings once more. "Please make sure Zoe brushes her teeth for three minutes. It's also important that she scrubs each side of her face at least three times." Suppressing my frustration, I calmly respond, "Zoe is in her senior year of high school. I'm sure she's capable of taking care of herself." I expect that to be the end of it, but when I wake up, my silenced phone shows over a hundred missed calls.

Pagkatapos ideklara ng doktor na brain dead ang anak kong si Mia Powell, kinumbinsi ako ng asawa kong si Liam Powelle na pirmahan ang organ donation consent form. Kasalukuyan ako noong nalulunod sa pagdadalamhati at malapit na ring mawala ang katinuan sa aking isipan. Dito ko aksidenteng nadiskubre na ang doktor ng aking anak na si Blair Lincoln ay ang dating kasintahan ng aking asawa. Nagsinungaling sila sa pagiging brain dead ni Mia para pirmahan ko ang form at makuha ang puso nito na kanilang gagamitin para mailigtas ang anak ni Blair na si Sophia. Pinanood ko ang pagsundo ni Liam kay Sophia sa ospital. Nakangiting umalis ang mga ito para bang isa silang perpekto at masayang pamilya. Nang kumprontahin ko ang mga ito, agad nila akong itinulak para mahulog mula sa isang building na siyang ikinamatay ko. Nang mabigyan ako ng ikalawang pagkakataon, bumalik ako sa araw kung kailan ko dapat pirmahan ang organ donation form. Tahimik akong nangako habang tinititigan ko ang nakahigang si Mia kaniyang hospital bed. Buhay ang sisingilin ko sa lalaking iyon at sa ex nito nang dahil sa ginawa nila kay Mia.

I knew perfectly well that open flames were forbidden at a gas-leak scene, yet as a firefighter, I still backed my girlfriend's childhood friend when he insisted on lighting a cigarette "to calm his nerves." In my previous life, a sudden gas leak erupted during a gathering. Her childhood friend insisted on smoking to steady himself. I slapped the lighter out of his hand and yelled at him for trying to get us all killed. Humiliated, he ignored everyone's attempts to stop him and stormed outside—only to be crushed by an advertising board blown loose by the explosion's shockwave. Later, when I saved a child who had fallen from a building and was left hanging in midair myself, my girlfriend—my second-in-command—maliciously cut my safety rope. She stared at my corpse and said, "If you hadn't humiliated George in front of everyone, he wouldn't have died." When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that room thick with the stench of leaking gas.

When Roxy showed up at my engagement party to Ian, wearing a dress from the same collection as mine, I knew the marriage wasn’t going anywhere.  The daughter of a homewrecker, Roxy would steal Ian from me just like how her mother took my dad from my mother. However, I'm not letting her get away with it.  Before anybody knew, I trashed my own engagement party and skipped town. I was done playing games.

I lapse into unconsciousness for a few days after a high fever. When I wake up, I see my boyfriend and his best friend standing by my bed. I want to enliven the atmosphere, so I joke, "Who are you?" Eric Cobb, my boyfriend, is taken aback. I almost laugh at the look on his face. Then, he points at his friend, Jonah Mullen. "Don't you remember? Your boyfriend's been panicking over you. As his best friend, I have to be here with him." This time, I'm the one who's taken aback. Unexpectedly, Jonah steps forward and says, "That's right. I'm your boyfriend, Jonah Mullen."

Three years after our breakup, I ran into my ex-girlfriend, and she had her new boyfriend by her side. "Hey, isn't that Henry the expert?" Diego Stanley taunted with a smirk. "Three years post-breakup, and you're slumming it here playing with clay?" I furrowed my brow, ignored them, and carefully moved the Victorian-era porcelain musician figurine onto its preset base in the display case. When I wasn't biting, he reached out to grab the figurine from my arms. "What's this junk you're treating like gold? Let me take a look." Cynthia Wyatt frowned, her voice laced with that familiar arrogance. "Henry, I've given you three years to shape up, and you're still the same loser? Come on, hand over that clay doll to Diego. Don't kill the vibe. If you play nice, I might even reconsider our old engagement." As Diego's hand neared the figurine, I dodged quickly and barked, "Hands off! It's a historical artifact!" Diego got pissed off and shoved me hard. "Some flea market find, and you're acting all high and mighty?" In the ensuing scuffle, I lost my balance, and the figurine slipped from my grasp, crashing to the floor. That sealed their fate. This entitled pair was about to go bankrupt trying to fix it.

On the highway, a chain-reaction crash happened out of nowhere. I was left with a fractured skull, barely hanging on. When my husband—who's a well-known respiratory specialist—showed up, he didn't even look at me. He rushed past, straight to his first love. She had nothing more than a scrape on her arm. I tried to call out for help, but he just turned and looked at me like I was being dramatic. "You're fine. Don't act like you're so fragile," he snapped, brushing me off like my pain didn't matter. At the hospital, things only got worse. He used his position to get every bit of attention, monopolizing the medical staff, and as my supposed sole family member, he signed the papers to abandon my treatment. "It's just a fractured skull," he said, sounding totally calm. "Save the woman in my arms first. She's a renowned painter. She's more important." As I started to lose consciousness, his muttered words cut through the fog, "You're better off dead. We don't want anyone knowing about Leona's drunk driving."