The UNIMO
Storybook
Real stories of struggle, courage, and change.
What is UNIMO
UNIMO is a next-generation psychological companion app for teenagers who want to understand their minds better.
What is This Storybook?
A collection of real, personal stories from people who have gone through emotional and psychological struggles.
By holding a piece of someone else’s journey,
a reader may feel a little less alone,
a little more understood.
The Heavy
Backpack
"I carried it everywhere, until I couldn't."
by a 19-year-old college freshman (ENTJ)
The Beginning
It didn’t start as anything serious. At first it was just skipping meals because I was “too busy,” staying up late because I felt guilty resting. I kept telling myself I was just being disciplined.
But slowly, everything started to feel heavy. Every morning I woke up already tired, already nervous, already feeling like I was behind everyone else. The pressure followed me everywhere, like a backpack I couldn’t take off — not at home, not in bed, not even when I tried to relax.
I stopped hanging out with friends because I was always “busy.” But honestly, I was just scared. Scared of falling behind. Scared of disappointing people. Scared that if I slowed down, everything would fall apart.
The Turning Point
One afternoon, I sat on my bedroom floor and just froze. I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t panicking. I just couldn’t move. My chest felt tight and my head felt empty at the same time.
My mom walked in. She didn’t lecture me. She didn’t ask about grades. She just sat on the floor with me in silence. That was the first moment I realized maybe I didn’t have to carry everything alone.
The Quiet
Room
"Silence was loudest when I was alone."
By a 20-year-old, shared anonymously
When Silence Got Loud
Night was always the worst. The house would get quiet, but my brain never did. I’d lie in bed scrolling through other people’s lives — their friends, their grades, their plans — and feel this tight feeling in my chest that I couldn’t explain.
I kept telling myself I wasn’t “that anxious.” I still went to class. I still turned in homework. From the outside, I looked fine. But inside, every small worry felt loud. Too loud.
I didn’t talk about it because I thought maybe I was just being dramatic. Maybe everyone felt this way. So I stayed quiet too.
Learning to Name It
One day in class, a teacher started describing anxiety in such normal words — overthinking at night, feeling tired but unable to rest, replaying conversations in your head, worrying even when nothing “big” is wrong. My stomach dropped. It sounded a lot like me.
That night, instead of distracting myself with my phone, I opened a blank page and wrote everything down — the looping thoughts, the heaviness in my chest, the way my brain wouldn’t shut up even when my body was exhausted.
Nothing magically disappeared after that. But once I could call it what it was, it felt a little less like I was going crazy. The quiet room in my head was still there, but it didn’t feel as dark or as endless as before.
Between Two
Worlds
"At home I was one person, at school another."
By someone who felt like two different people at once
Living Two Versions of Me at Once
I started my first part-time job thinking it would make me feel more “grown up.” And in some ways, it did. I learned how to talk to customers, how to act professional, how to pretend I knew what I was doing even when I didn’t.
At work, I was calm. Polite. Responsible.
At school, I was exhausted. Confused. Falling behind.
At home, I didn’t want to talk about either.
It felt like I was living two separate lives that never touched each other. One version of me was trying to look capable. The other was barely holding it together.
Finding a Bridge
One small question kept following me: “If no one was watching today, who would you be?” I didn’t know how to answer it at first, and that scared me more than any exam.
Little by little, I started being honest in small ways — admitting when I was tired, saying “I don’t know” without joking it away, choosing clothes and music I actually liked instead of what I thought I should like.
It wasn’t a sudden transformation. It felt more like building a quiet bridge between the different versions of me. Not perfect. Not finished. But mine.
Five Schools,
One Childhood
"Some people collect memories. I collected goodbyes."
By someone who learned to grow up early
The Bus Took Me Back
When I was six, my parents moved to another city for work, and I was sent to a boarding school. Every Sunday morning, I took an hour-long bus back to campus. I was terrified of that bus because I knew where it was taking me — to a jail called school.
I hated the bus. I hated the school. I cried every weekend, but I still climbed on. Time moved like punishment. Through the window, I saw other kids lining up with the same quiet faces, while adults walked freely down the street. I told myself, I have to grow up fast. Growing up felt like the only escape.
When I was seven, I transferred to an elementary school in my parents' city, but I still rarely saw them and mostly lived with my grandparents. Four years later, I moved again.
On my last day at yet another school, I packed my desk into my small school bag. The classroom was noisy, but I couldn't find anything to say.
Someone asked, “So where are you going next?”
I smiled like it was normal. Inside, I was already practicing how to disappear.
The same thing followed me into middle school. In nine years, I changed schools five times. I got good at introductions and terrible at belonging. I learned a rule early: the closer I got, the more it would hurt. So I stayed friendly but not too close — helpful but not dependent.
I didn't know I was protecting myself. I just knew I wanted to hurt less.
Thank You for Being Here
Thank you for holding these stories with care.
Some were quiet, some were heavy — all of them were real.
If one line stayed with you,
if one story felt a little like your own,
then these pages have already done their job.
UNIMO Storybook