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"We can live into the future with hope rather than hopelessness, feeling empowered rather than powerless." - Leah McElrath A positive community to discuss gardening, farming, and other means of food production when it counts. Our future looks scary, but we aren't helpless. Being resilient by growing food is an important skill in an uncertain future. We promote the ideas of mutual aid and community support. In hard times all we have is each other. Please share knowledge and ask questions.
So, this is my first kidney stone since I was 16, and my biggest by far. As a kid, they got it out of my right away, so this is my first 1 week+ stone. Even with pain medicine, I’m getting really high waves of pain that I can only seem to manage with hot showers, but I’m wasting so much water! A heating pad doesn’t help nearly as much, but I have no idea why. Is it just a psychological difference at this point or is there something besides just heat thats helping me here? I want to attempt to mimic it without using water but I have no clue whats different between the water and a heating pad! Hope this question isn’t too stupid to ask.
this entire experience has been hard. from the moment that i learned my boyfriend had to be put on life support up until this very second, all of it has been hard. it’s so so painful everyday. i hate when people say “it gets better” or “it gets easier”….how? how could this possibly change when the fact that i won’t see the love of my life or be held by him or kiss him ever again won’t change? i would not wish this on anyone. the 2 1/2 weeks that he was in the hospital/hospice i was a complete mess, i would not wish that hell on anyone. i have no idea how i survived, i think the only reason i did was because i was still hoping for a miracle that he’d wake up. once he passed, the first month he was gone i was completely and utterly in denial. i went back on drugs and i was talking to him 24/7 like he was literally there, i was texting him, i was talking to his friends ALL the time. i was still living in our apartment and all of his things were exactly where he’d left them. i was on the verge of completely shutting down. 4 weeks after he passed away our lease ended and i wasn’t working so i packed up all of our things and drove 1,000 miles away to go stay with my mom. i think that’s when it hit me that he was gone and i was leaving and he wasn’t coming with me. 2 weeks after that i went to rehab and being sober, it REALLY hit me, and i had a complete and total breakdown. and honestly, it’s been hell ever since. as morbid as it sounds, and i feel like this is the only place that i can say this without people judging me but understanding, i came back here to my hometown to die. i wanted to die right then and there when it happened but there’s always been a practical side to me. i was worried that whoever recovered my body from my apartment might send my cats to the animal shelter or if they didn’t, my mom would obviously need to come get them. and i didn’t want my mom to have to drive 1,000 miles and pack up my apartment and my cats so soon after losing me. i mean, it was hard enough doing it myself a month after losing my boyfriend. then i had my car which was in my name and my mom co-signed, that lease was ending a month after my apartment lease was ending. i was planning on buying and refinancing my car, but if i died before my lease ended, my mom (being the co-signer) would be responsible for all the fees associated with the lease ending and i knew she couldn’t afford that so i knew i’d at least have to make it until then. and then i thought about life without me. i know i didn’t work for 6 months after my boyfriend passed away, i couldn’t. so then i knew i’d have to get back to work to start making some money to put away for my mom so that she could have something to live on while she would probably take some time off to grieve me. yeah, i thought of everything’s haha. as i start checking things off my list i just feel so hopeful that i’m going to get to see my best friend soon. i hope this post isn’t too uncomfortable to read or morbid, but i know there’s a number of people here who feel the same and maybe this post can be a place for us to express that.
i have a group of friends that i value so much and in that group, there is one friend that i was very close with. she and i had a falling apart months back. she had cut contact with me completely. over those months, i felt very sad and upset about what happened. i was wondering where it all went wrong. our other friends kept asking about her and why she’s not showing up when we go out anymore and i kept making excuses for her for the longest time because i also didn’t know what to tell them. even so, i apologized to her for what i really thought was the reason and i remember she accepted it.
it was only yesterday that my other friend told me that he finally asked her what was wrong and she had said i slammed the door on her. and while i also felt bad because i couldn’t remember doing that, it didn’t matter. i still have to apologize for how i made her feel. i would hate to be someone who doesn’t take accountability or gaslights someone.
now, i feel that all my friends just see me as someone who hurt her and while i can share my side of the story, i have chosen to stay silent. there is no point trying to defend myself when it would only invalidate her feelings. i will let time help me move on from this.
I have lived in my house for 33 yrs. It's over 120 yrs old, and one of the original house in the area. It is an old farm house with 10 ft ceilings. I absolutely love it.
I have had many experiences in the house, way too many to go in to... but im a bit of an Empath, so it is what it is.
This incident was more weird than scary... im not very easy scared. I've raised my family in the house and don't fear it.
About 6 yrs ago I came home from work. Very normal day. My kids are adults and own their own homes, yes they have keys. It's just my ex and me, as well as two pugs, and an African Grey. My pugs are in crates during the day when we are out.
I get home and go to let the dogs out of their crates, that are in my bedroom. I notice my ex's suit jacket is on top of my little girls crate almost inside out and thrown on the crate. Really weird! But my ex had just had a friend who passed, unexpectedly, so my first thought was my ex might have gone to the viewing, during his lunch hour, and came home to change very quickly and left it. I texted him and asked if he had gone to the viewing, he replied he had been out on a tow call to West Virginia and was not in the area all day.
I texted my kids, both boys, if they had been over. Mind you both my boys are bigger than my ex. He was a 44 reg, and my one son is a 48 and the other a 54 in suit size. They both said they hadn't been in the house
So who the f... was in my house, near my dogs, trying on my ex's suit jacket... finding it unsatisfactory???
Hi again, father of 29+5 boy, now 34+0. Today I got a diagnosis of "Mild Periventricular flaring" for my LO on his cranial USG. This was after he got a initial diagnosis for BPD (Mild hazy opacity in bilateral lungs). LO went from room air to 2L to 4L air w/o supplemental oxygen in just under a day. He was still having desats. Doctors explained that since by boy was never on oxygen or vent, and was kept on room air since his 3rd week, sudden desats could only mean this is an early BPD diagnosis. And they followed this with a cranial USG, which showed the flaring. They started DART and LO has recovered and back on room air. But now his flare diagnosis is haunting me. Anyone have any insight on this or any words to help me process what is going on? Docs said they will do a follow up USG after 36 weeks and 40 weeks corrected and and MRI later, but this may also be initial symptom of PVL. Our initial days post delivery weren't that eventful apart from a few vomiting incidence (NEC scare) but now it's just keeps coming.
I grew up in a pretty bad household that involved adultery, alcoholism, and public scandal. Turning out to be a functional and productive member of this fucked up society despite our situation should be the eight wonder of the world.
We're quite comfortable now. My sibling and I both have stable jobs; may bahay at sasakyan; never late sa bill payments; and have disposable income to enjoy some few things in life. We thought we have left the past behind and have moved on with our lives. Hindi pa pala.
My mom had a history mga utang na hindi binabayaran. She lost some friends because of this. We were also forced to cover for her just to spare us from further embarassment.
Now, she's doing it again, and the manipulation is getting worse! She's using her health issues like she did before to get something from us. Also, random people would be messaging me asking for her. Apparently, she's already past due with her debts. Kaya she changed her username and profile picture in FB. We have no idea kung saan niya ginagastos yung pera na hinihiram niya since she doesn't live with us anymore.
Our youngest--we're no longer on speaking terms--had a child. She left home and nalaman na lang namin na buntis na. When she came back, walang accountability. Lahat ng ginawa niya sa amin were quickly forgiven and forgotten just because she had a child. Ngayon, my mom is expecting us to spoil yung bata and would guilt-trip us kapag hindi namin pinagbibigyan.
Yung tatay ko naman ay parang bumalik sa pagka-binata. Konting tawag sa kanya, sasama kaagad para uminom. Madalas, inaabot pa ng umaga. Recently, I found out na nakipagkita siya sa isang babaeng ni-refer sa kanya ng kapitbahay namin.
Itong ate ko naman, laging may press release tungkol sa akin. Kahit I'm paying for our groceries and bills--kuryente, tubig, and internet--sasabihin niya sa mga kamag-anak namin na wala akong ginagastos sa bahay. On top of those expenses, I also give my share para sa bayad sa bahay namin. Pero kahit nagbabayad din ako sa bahay, wala akong say sa mga pwedeng baguhin or ilagay. Papagalitan pa ako ng papa ko pag may gusto akong ipalagay.
Kaya madalas, I can't look at myself in the mirror. Pag nasa work naman, I always think that I'm a fraud kasi I'm constantly reminded of these issues.
i'm not even depressed, i'm just tired. i'm losing all motivation to move forward. i think about suicide countless times everyday. i constantly hope that i'm killed by something that's out of my control. i hope that i get diagnosed with a terminal illness. if i was it would bring us back together. that's a fucked up thought. before i fall asleep i'm hoping that i don't wake up in the morning. i hope that i get hit by a car when i cross the street. something that is unavoidable. something that isn't by my own will. i wish i had the courage to just end it myself, but clearly i don't truly want to die if i can't bring myself to do it. i've felt this way for years, long before my life recently fell apart. i felt this way while we were together too. sometimes because of you, others because of me. the smallest inconvienience will make me want to die. i never told you that. i told you most things, but i kept these thoughts to myself. i'm a broken person. i don't think that my problems are unsolvable. i don't think that things won't get better someday. i don't think that i'm incapable of moving on with my life. i just don't want to. i don't want to try anymore. i've been doing everything i can since you left me to work on myself, but it's so fucking exhausting. i'm in therapy, i'm going to the gym, i made new friends, i'm taking schoolwork seriously, i picked up my old hobbies again, i'm spending more time with my family, i'm closer to my parents than i ever was before. i'm doing everything right, but i just don't wanna do this shit anymore. i wish i could just press a button and be erased from reality. i know that our relationship wasn't meant to be, but that doesn't mean i don't love you. i know that we aren't good for each other. for a long time i blamed you for how things ended up, but it was just as much my fault as it was yours. i made you cry on your fucking birthday. the fuck is wrong with me man. other couples we know who's relationship is far more fucked up than ours ever was are still together. that fucking sucks. i wasn't my own person when we were togther, but i didn't want to be. i was content with how my life was. i would've put up with anything you put me through because i felt that we were made for each other. i just want my old life back. i want to share a bed with you again. i took all this shit for granted. you don't realize what you have until it's gone i guess. i don't give a fuck that you're hooking up with other people. of course i feel jealous, but i could easily forget that. i just want you back. i could've loved you better, but i couldn't have loved you more. if the scars are deep then the love was even deeper. i missed you yesterday, i miss you today, i'll miss you tomorrow. some stupid sappy quotes that i relate to. we were unhappy for a long time but we loved each other so fucking much. i know we both wanted it to work more than anything. i want to believe that we're meant for one another and we'll reunite someday, but i'd be lying to myself if i truly believed that. once we're out of college we'll both be completely different people. you wish we met when we were older but who knows who you'll be in a few years. i fucking love you and i fucking hate feeling like this. even if you took me back now i know it would all go to shit in a matter of weeks, but i still want to try. all of this is overly dramatic and i'm being ridiculous but it's how i feel. just a bunch of angsty emo bullshit. i don't want anyone telling me it will get better. i'm not asking for advice. this is just a pointless stream of consciousness.
She is the most beautiful woman in the entire world, and she treats me like a king. We’ve known each other since first grade and I’ve known that I want to be with her since just a couple years after that. She’s unconditionally kind to everyone she meets, absolutely brilliant, funny as hell, and I love this girl more than I’ve ever loved anything. We’ve started talking about getting married and starting a family together, and agreed that it’s something we’d like to do before our 30’s. We’re a couple years into our bachelors programs and will both be continuing to earn masters (I will also go on for my doctorate). Ideally we would get married between our bachelors graduation and the start of our masters programs, roughly 2025-2027. That’s a lot sooner than it seems, especially considering that I have to propose. I have no idea where to look for a ring. She doesn’t want diamond, she wants something like an emerald or another colorful gemstone. I’m also not the most rich man in the world at the moment, I’m on the bottom floor at my job and I’ve got to get a new car and apartment and blah blah. I probably won’t be paying for the ring upfront, but I’ll have to get her another ring for the wedding (right?) too so I don’t want to spend too long paying it off. I’m stressed about getting her parents approval as well. I’m thinking I can go to the gun range with her dad, maybe impress him because I’m an excellent shot? With her mom, I’m much more worried. I wanted to take her wine tasting but she doesn’t like wine, so my backup was maybe a Beerfest but that seems like an activity to do with my homies, not my future mother in law. Totally lost in that respect. As for how to propose, I want to take her up to the top of the playground we met on and wait for her to turn around while I sit there on one knee. Or, put it on the dog’s collar and wait for her to notice. She’s very private and doesn’t love attention, so I won’t do it with anyone else around. This was long winded, I’m so sorry. I’m a little worried. I know she’s the one, I know she’ll say yes to marrying me, but I want it to be perfect.
Link to part 2 https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/13qcl3m/the_big_rock_candy_mountain_book_2_finding/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
Well, this is going to be a little different.
First thing I want to say is that Kev will be back. I’m not the type to sugar coat things, he’s in a pretty sorry state, but he’s going to pull through. He’s a tough bastard.
In case you haven’t clued in yet, it’s Mike, I might not be as much of a wordsmith as Kev but I think I can keep your interest.
She was about five foot four, pale greasy skin and pitch colored hair that was just about to cross the double line from shiny into gross. Early thirties I’d guess, but with the strange shit Kev and I have gotten ourselves into she could be a million, or put together yesterday for all I know.
She was a “ Shame Monger” which was as esoteric of a job title as it sounds, and the first context me and my little buddy had on our current assignment.
The place we’re in is an old, decrepit arcade, I’m surrounded by shadowy figures sticking to the dark recesses like insects.
Kev is somewhere deep within the place sticking his neck out with God knows what ( I mean, I do as well, but I’ll let Kevin relay shit when he’s up to it.), and I’m making small talk.
“You human? “ I say, she’s not offended but raises an eyebrow.
“Are you? “ She has an edge to her, human or not, she’s seen some shit.
I laugh, running a hand over the branded lines mimicking clown patterns Art left me with after that stay in his gulag.
“Sometimes I forget about the braille.
Yeah, %100 sadly. “ I lean on the counter as I speak.
“Me too, you haven’t been working with the watchers long, have you? “ She sounds concerned, “ I’d suggest finding a new job. They have a bit of a reputation. “
“Long enough. “ I’m wary now, information is a resource I’m not willing to part with easily.
I don’t think she’s wrong, mind you, every day I spend with these wizards by another name, I like them less and less. Being sent with Kev, Jr, and the voices in my head, wandering across the country to find something called “The Fleshsmith”, is the best case scenario in my opinion. Gives me some breathing room.
“How do does one deal in shame? “ I say after a long silence. The glitched beeping of the machines becoming grating.
“Not as spooky as you’d think.
You play airsoft? I’m Tori by the way. “ Tori says, lighting up a small black cigar.
“Never got the bug, but I’ve heard of it, and I’m Mike. “ I reply.
“Well Mike, I play, and it’s a great hobby. Lots of physical activity, lots of equipment to learn about, it’s got something for everyone. For the most part, it’s an exciting activity .
But, think of the factory that makes the plastic ammunition. It’s integral, but it’s cheap, easy to make, monotonous, and far removed from any of the interesting facets of the hobby.
That’s me. I brush up against all kinds of folks, but besides the little wrinkle your friend is dealing with, all of the real spooky shit is well past arm’s length. “ she coughs, the thick, cherry scented smoke hangs in rings, “ It’s a living. “
“Honestly, I couldn’t be happier.
I hear ‘ Shame Monger’ and I was thinking torture, and, I don’t know, ghosts maybe? “ I shrug, motioning for one of the cigarellos.
She gives me one, it tastes of rose and a rich, almost syrup like tobacco.
“Sorry to disappoint. No, extraction is pretty painless, uses a kind of blotter paper. And to the best of my knowledge, ghosts aren’t a thing.
As I said, things are safe and boring. “ Tori says, taking a seat on a black waist high stool.
I let her statement hang for a moment.
“So what’s with the big guy trying to blend in, waiting for me to leave the counter? And why did he come with 2 friends and a running engine? “ I say, low but casual.
I can tell she’s annoyed at my insight.
“That’s nothing horror adjacent. Just a good old fashioned shake down, cost of doing business.
He doesn’t know exactly what goes on here, but him and his associates know it’s profitable enough they can squeeze ten grand out of me a month. “ Tori shrugs, putting out her cigar.
“You can’t give someone a discount to rattle their cage? “ I ask, curious.
“Listen to you. “ Tori laughs, “If your butcher asked you to get shot for them, would you jump at the chance? “
I make eye contact, I can’t help but smirk.
“I’ve gotten shot for less. “ My comment gets a sideways look.
“Mike, I’m seeing you, and I’ve got to say, kinda seems like you’re full of shit. “ Her reply is harsh, but I can’t blame her. I’m dressed like salesman, facial scars or no.
I don’t reply. I walk to the grimy, dim, wet floored men’s room.
Someone who chooses my line of work doesn’t get into it because they have great impulse control. And unfortunately, I’m not unique .
Since I’ve got here, I’ve felt scared, small, ineffective. I know you guys have seen Kevin’s point of view on things, and it makes me seem like some kind of wrecking ball, but that is 50 per cent showmanship, 30 per cent planning and 20 per cent not caring if I lose a piece or two.
But this situation, some low rent semi-connected asshole who thinks he’s Don Corleone? It calls to me.
The clothing I wear is designed to be reversable, and with a few adjustments, I’m no longer wearing a cheap looking used car salesman’s suit, but an antique tuxedo with a 1940s design.
The mirror is grimy as hell, I try to clear a spot, but the sad, octogenarian Esque flow from the tap isn’t up to the task.
But it’s clear enough to reflect him, standing behind me. I jump, and my heart starts to pound.
“Not the time for this. “ I say, pacing.
I try to look away, but there he is, in the corner of my vision, each time. I’d close my eyes, but that’s what he wants, he gets closer when I can’t see.
For a half second my vision is taken up by a crystal clear image of his face. That angular, pale visage inhuman by any standard, but haunting in it’s echoes of a past rooted in mortality.
I stumble backward, slamming into the wall. Panting, my eyes locked on his almost-there form.
He’s tall, wicked, and everything about him exudes power. He’s taken to looking like me more and more lately. But a twisted, malignant reflection, what I could be if I let this pulp novel of a corner of reality have it’s way with me.
“Fuck off Demi! “ I say, getting to my feet, “ I’ve got shit to do. “
Still don’t know if he is just another hallucination, or who he says he is, but Demi and myself are on pretty poor terms as of late.
I hear the bodyless old ghoul whispering what I assume are dark threats as I open a small tube of what I like to refer to as ‘Mike’s Mix’.
A combination of preparation H, topical anesthetic, and just a hint of clown white. Laugh if you want, but it stops a hell of a lot of incidental injuries in my line of work.
Demi starts to fade and I see what I can of myself in the dull mirror.
I’m a little too old for the phrase, but I’m sure a lot of you folks out there would refer to the cliché spook I’ve cultivated as “Cringe”.
I don’t disagree.
But, it’s the game I have to play right now. I’m not some invincible cursed killer, but you know what, I can certainly play one on T.V.
(Did I just try to relate to kids, then make a joke from a 40 year old commercial? This is why Kev does the writing.)
I walk out of the bathroom, reeking of fear sweat and tainted water. The foot and a half lucite rod is tucked up my sleeve, I tap the end of it against the wall as I walk.
The guy is six feet, easily, he’s fifty or so, but making up for it with trips to the gym and a few friendly doctors if I don’t miss my guess.
He doesn’t take the bait, just keeps talking to Tori, once he looks to me, I can tell he is asking her who I am, she’s smart, she shrugs after looking over.
I had an entire plan where I would embarrass the man, get him to send some guys, and make things so costly he just gave up on Tori. It’s a classic, but if it ain’t broke and all that.
But plans, like the people that make them, tend to fail at the worst times.
Once I get within striking distance, the guy turns, his speed isn’t supernatural, but a lot more than I was expecting. His punch lands well enough that I don’t remember starting to fall.
The second finishes the job before I can get my bearings.
The darkness creeps in and in it’s peace I realize how stupid it was to go in this half cocked. I was jonesing for a fight I could win so badly, I went in without a plan B.
I need someone to reign me in, back home it was Eli, here, it’s Kev. As the last bits of conscious thought leave me, I feel bad about leaving him alone.
It's the stifling heat that wakes me up, before my vision clears I smell hot, cheap leather, old vomit and years worth of attempts to mask the smell.
I’m soaked in sweat, the air is like a sauna. I’m sitting in the back of a car, I wouldn’t call it a limo, but it’s clearly built for comfort, in optimal circumstances. There’s a tinted glass partition separating me from the front seat, it’s cracked slightly, I try to tell if anyone is there, but have no luck.
“Can’t say this is a new experience. “ I say, to whoever may be listening.
I try kicking out the windows and the partition, they don’t budge a millimeter.
“If you are up for talking things over, I’m game. “ I try to pry the overhead light loose, and that’s when I notice it.
It's a note, in a thick plastic sleeve, wrapped around my forearm and stuck with some kind of adhesive.
The pain is horrible, made all the worse by the constant pouring of sweat literally putting salt into the wound.
Said wound isn’t deep, a few layers of skin down, enough to weep blood, but far away from pouring. But if this kills me, it won’t be exsanguination. Depending on how long, whoever, plans on keeping me in here, I worry about infection, necrosis, pretty much all the members of the Untreated Wound crew.
I take off the suit jacket, and tear it into strips to use as makeshift bandages, I have a feeling I’ll be needing plenty by the time this is over.
My left arm is slow and clumsy as I open the envelope. I hope it’s just shock, or swelling, not nerve damage.
Hey, Dracula, or whatever the hell you are.
Fuck yourself, you think we don’t have ways of taking care of your kind?
“Well, can’t say the guy isn’t succinct. “ I say, laughing.
If I just went up to the guy with a threat and a pipe, I’d have either won or lost, and that’d be the end of it. But my genius self succeeded in convincing him I was scary enough to toss me… here.
It dawns on me that there is something obvious I haven’t tried.
As I pull the latch on the passenger side door, something inside me tells me to stop.
Visually, I can’t really describe what it looked like opening the door. The brief period before I saw what was beyond was the visual equivalent of trying to catch a greased pig.
I was left with a view, an identical car interior. The other car parked impossibly close, Their doors seeming to blend with their exteriors.
I enter, as a great man once said “Buy the ticket, take the ride. “, and my dumb ass need for assurance, bought me one hell of a ride.
Once I get in, the driver’s side door closes, and I find myself in the same sweltering heat, in the same backseat.
The damp leather sticks to my arms, I start to calculate how much water I’m losing by the minute, and the math scares the hell out of me.
I try going through the door a few more times, but the more I do, the more I realize, it’s the same car.
The fear becomes as oppressive as the wet heat, I’ve researched a hell of a lot of things from the watchers library, but infinite Oldsmobiles didn’t come up.
I’ve been disarmed, but left with my phone, and wallet. I’m kind of impressed they managed to find 99 per cent of the equipment I can hide in a suit, but hey, %1 is better than nothing.
The phone makes a useless bludgeon, I quickly retire the idea, and figure, even neutered as it is ( I find I can get online, but little else.), it’s better doing phone things than broken.
The good news is frighteningly slim.
I’ve got a few feet of polymar tarp, folded in the wallet, useful for a lot of things, but most important in my situation will be trying to get some kind of drinking water.
An emergency credit card knife, barely useful little thing, won’t do me any good in a fight, but might be a useful tool.
Three strike anywhere matches, a small hook and length of fishing line.
My lips are cracked and bleeding, it can’t have been more than an hour or two, but I’m starting to feel heat exhaustion set in.
I think I’ve found something when the knife sinks into the thin leather of the overstuffed backseat, but the shoddy blade encounters some kind of solid matter, and as I pull the knife out, the leather seals itself.
I stay still, trying to conserve energy, trying to formulate some plan.
He sits beside me now, his looming hunched frame bent in the confines of the car. His face is a blur, but I know beneath the shadows he's smirking.
“I’m way too tired for you Demi. “ I say, wiping what feels like a liter of sweat from my forehead.
His repeating, echoing laughter proves me wrong, I shiver, despite the brutal heat.
It can’t have been more than a few degrees, bit It feels like getting splashed with ice water.
The light in the car begins to dim, and with it, the soul crushing temperature of the luxury automobile drops.
I scramble to set up the tarp, I was banking on this, without some kind of temperature drop, the plastic sheet is useless.
Within an hour droplets have began to create a small stream, collecting at the cone shaped tip of the suspended tarp. Lacking anything to put it into, I catch the liquid in my mouth.
It's foul, and likely contaminated, but it’s my only option. If I’m stuck in here a week I can get by without food, brutalized by heat, I won’t make it 2 days without water.
I feel exhausted, wondering exactly how long I’ve been stuck here I check the time on my phone.
It’s almost random progression does nothing to comfort the surreal sense of dread that is enveloping me.
I don’t know when I passed out, but I wake up laying across the reeking leather, being dragged backward.
I feel fingers, dozens of them, clawing, scraping, trying to gain purchase. A crevice begins to open in the deep black leather, and I begin to be dragged into it.
I throw myself forward, landing painfully on the sticky, grime ridden floor of the car.
Fear, and the awkward ergonomics of my situation make turning around a slow, nerve wracking chore. Once I manage to, I regret the decision.
Hands, some small, some large, some seemingly cobbled together from mismatched scraps, slowly pull themselves from the crevice between the seat and back of the back seat.
They prod and crawl like insects, none ever giving way to arm, just a lumpen flow of calloused, wrist like structure, giving each an segmented, centipede like appearance.
I sit up, watching the macabre display, trying to make some kind of sense of it.
I actually scream when there’s a sharp, loud, mechanical ringing beside my head. The type of analogue noise that went out of style long before land lines did.
It doesn’t take me long to find the handle and pull out an ancient car phone, it’s a two part wood paneled brick of a thing, I pick up the receiver, “Hello” I say, a question as much as a greeting.
The voice is male, probably early twenties.
“Don’t worry about them. They can be an issue if you don’t sleep on the floor, but I’ve never seen one drag itself more than half way across the seat. “ He’s calm, but has a survivors hushed impatience.
“Who are you? “ I ask.
“I won’t lie to you man.
I’ve been in here a while, but now that there is someone else, I think I can get out. Call me Pol. “ I catch the hopeful tone in his voice.
“How? “ I say simply, still trying in vain to put more space between me and the hands.
“Not to sound cold, but if I tell you, there is a chance you just take the information and leave me here.
The first step is us meeting, you’ll know the plan by the time that happens.
I don’t lie. “ If nothing else I can say Pol seems smart.
“Fair enough, what can I do? “ I Trail off at the end of my sentence, one of the hands is pointing at me.
“You need to understand a few things about this place.
First, don’t travel at night. Nothing you are going to find is going to be any better than the crawlers.
Second, remember the numbers, 1, 5 and 9. I’m assuming you have a watch, or a cellular phone? If the time ends in one of those, you’re likely to find a new space.
Last, what’s outside of the car, on the driver’s side, pretend it doesn’t exist. “ The instructions are cryptic, but I’m in no place to turn down good advice.
“How do I know I can trust you? “ I ask, knowing the answer.
“Don’t see how I could be anything other than what I say.
Wouldn’t it be pretty obvious if I was trying to lead you astray? “ Pol’s response is reasonable, but a lifetime of being blindsided makes me wary.
“I guess so. What should I be doing now? “ I say, flipping off the hand like thing that continues to point at me.
“Get some sleep. Time, day and night cycles, they mean nothing here, and passing out in a hundred and fifty degree weather is a shitty way to go.
I won’t be able to get through during the day, so listen carefully.
If you time your travel right, you are going to be looking for two main things. The first is going to be a pillow mint, eventually you are going to starve either way, the human body needs more than just sugar, but you should be able to find enough to keep you going till malnutrition kicks in. The second is a soda can, it’s a sip, and it’s turned, but it’s better than trying to lick the droplets from the windows. “ I listen to Pol, hopefully memorizing his instructions.
Daylight brings with it reek and heat, I watch the hands scuttle back to within the recesses of the seats, shuddering a bit as I see wave like, movements in the cushions.
“God damn it. “ I say looking at the display on my knock off phone. About %50, for all I know I’ll be out in 15 minutes, but I’m not banking on it.
I watch the numbers flash by like a stock ticker, waiting to see if Pol is trying to screw me over or not.
I see 1:39 and crack open the passenger side door.
The same sweltering heat, the same basic backseat, but I know, at a glance, things are not quite identical. Part repetition from the day before, part a decade and a half playing private eye, but I can tell Pol was telling the truth.
Lipstick, smeared on the passenger window, an old handprint. It seems like something bad happened here.
The leather of one of the headrests is torn, I purposely avoid looking at the certainly not stuffing inside.
It’s like this place wants to tell a story, I can’t help but try and hear it.
I don’t find any soda, but I do find a single, red and white pillow mint, wrapper mostly in tact, sitting in a sticky patch on the floor.
I try my luck a few more times, using the cell phone as a kind of metronome, and while I do get a lot of repetition, every so often, there is a little change, or quirk.
I’ve collected two pocketfulls of mints, and found myself desperately hoping to stumble upon anything to drink. Another night of distilled sweat, dust, and God knows what doesn’t seem appealing.
I must have been too slow opening the door, I’d done it over two hundred times at this point, and the grey haze of this new variation set off every danger instinct in me.
It felt like I was being watched from every angle, despite the gloom the heat was worse, and seemed to bake a fungal reek into the air itself.
The door handle on the passenger side is mangled, the steel colored plastic twisted into a useless lump.
The leather seems slightly rotten, weather stripping peels, light fixtures are cracked and loose, it feels very, old.
I watch the phone, my eyes instinctively darting around, there are noises from the front seat and I doubt they have my best interests in mind.
I’m trying the mangled door handle but something is broken.
That being, said, with a car this old, the fish hook, with enough persistence could work,
I Peel back some of the stripping around the window, te hook begins it’s slow trek down into the mechanics of the door.
I scratch my wounded arm, it hurts, but that isn’t what concerns me. I feel a small, irregular lump.
I peel back my makeshift bandages, and what I see attempts me make to vomit stomach contents that weren’t there.
Small, brown grey mushrooms, a half dozen, about the size of a grain of rice. I feel a tingling in the wound, and panic sets in.
Opening a door like this requires a steady hand, but between the noises in the front seat, and the literally budding body horror on my arm, my nerves are shot.
I hear the partition begin to lower, and that rotten, fungal reek becomes nearly a physical force. My eyes water, my nose runs, and I hear a noise, like flowing sand.
I feel the hook dig under the proper part of the lock and pull up as I feel something wet soak through my shoe.
The door opens violently, not that I’m upset, I toss myself forward like I’m going for a touchdown, my forehead slams off of the armrest in the newest backseat I find myself in.
Before the passenger side closes I catch a glimpse of the mess that spilled from behind the partition. Rot and flesh, an aborted rotten attempt at life enraged at the universe that spawned it.
I actually feel relief at the blinding sunlight, and shining leather, and find myself relating to the monsterous mass I left behind.
I look at my arm, realizing I didn’t leave all of it behind.
“Oh, fuck me. “ I say, fumbling the credit card knife together.
The mushrooms had doubled in size, the cheap tin knife makes a terrible scalpel, I scream as I err on the side of caution, flaying a half inch around each.
I’m bleeding heavily, half of the makeshift bandages barely keeping the flow at bay.
My vision swims, I feel sick, and I fight the urge to break down into a mentally and physically broken heap.
That’s where I’ll leave everyone. Night is falling, and without a little more help from Pol, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last.
If this is the last time you hear from me, well I’m sure Kev will have you guys covered for the rest of what I hope is Art’s downfall.
If it isn’t, I’ve got a favor to ask, did you guys notice anything I didn’t? Is there anything that is more obvious from outside this displaced cluster fuck?
I am married with a family. My SO knows I have kinks and needs that cannot be met in our relationship as they're not something he's into, and that's fine. I met someone online, that lives on the other side of the world. I wasn't looking for anything when we met, but really hit it off with him. I didn't tell him I was married or had a family though, I was certain he would lose interest, so I kept it a secret for 4 years. So many times I wanted to tell him, but I was a coward and couldn't bring myself to do so. He discovered it by accident. But still wanted to continue our relationship.
About a year or so into knowing this person online he divulged that he has some very questionable kinks himself and he's been to prison for one of them, and is now on a specific list for life. At first I was appalled but I still loved him and I appreciated him telling me these things about himself, and yet I still couldn't come clean about myself.
We were both very, very toxic to and for each other. Abusive towards one another, in many different forms, that escalated on his part to physically.
Finally I flew out to meet him in person after all these years. We are both into some heavy kinks and played around with them my first night there. He then wanted me to apologize face to face to him for my lies and everything, and I wanted to, I am remorseful for everything I've done to him. I really did love him and I didn't want to lose him, but he didn't deserve that. I was very jet lagged from my 2 days of flying and not eating in nearly 36 hours and he had just finished using me and physically abusing me, all of which I know I deserve. But I couldn't get my head right to have the conversation right then, I was dizzy and my stomach was upset. I wanted to continue the following morning. He requested that I sleep with him in his bed, against my better judgement, and was woken several times in the night to him using my body for sexual gratification, which we had agreed to. When morning came he says he doesn't want to continue this relationship anymore, he doesn't believe I am remorseful for lying to him all that time. He says I am narcissistic and a psychopath, I'm not sure I agree with that though. He has been manipulative, and emotionally and psychologically abusive this whole time too, I can now see. He then asks me, out of the blue, if I need a ride or if I am calling a cab, as he's breaking up with me and wants me out of his apartment. I tell him I need a ride, so he drives me to the city and drops me off with my luggage, in a foreign country that I don't speak the language of. I have been trying to just get around here or there until my flight home.
Worked at a carbon fiber parts production company through a temporary work contract. Here's how things went. I interviewed and the interviewer said I was "too perfect". The company offered me a position I didn't apply for. I took their offer.
I met the lead of the neighboring department and he left and then immediately told others I was nervous which I thought was weird.
The coworkers and boss told me I dressed extremely well for the job and I recieved an abundance of compliments about my attire. I decided to return some basic compliments like "Nice jacket" and "Cool shoes" and was pulled into hr, because someone felt targeted by my compliments. So I told human resources I would no longer compliment anyone's attire. I still recieved an abundance of compliments so I stopped wearing nice clothes and wore basic clothes instead.
Turns out I was really good at the spot I was in and had a significantly low margin of mistakes compared to others before me. They were really behind in the department I was in. After six weeks I had finished all the work in the department that piled up so my coworker in the department and I were cross trained in other departments. My trainer had grinded several previous bits into other parts and spent several hours making non work related projects for fun on the clock. I never did that.
During cross training two coworkers jokingly threw projectiles at me and then complained to my boss when I told them to knock it off. One thrown object was a sqaure of sandpaper thrown ninja star style that hit me in the face nearly knicking me in the eye and the other was a ball of tape. The lead in the department I trained for complained that I was hostile after he asked me to leave and I said "You said that" He complained to hr.
As I was telling my departments coworker my boss came up to me and asked me what happened and apparently the lead and I's story didn't line up. Apparently, he and the other coworkers that threw projectiles at me complained afterwards. I explained the lead kept putting me down while I kept making sure the conversation steered towards mutual happiness. Afterwards the following day I was given a new task which I performed quickly and easily. I was informed the lead wasted time and didn't meet deadlines. He told me I was slowing his department down even though we accomplished more tasks that I voluntarily assisted after completing my own work.
Then they told me to empty filters outside in the open air, that's a Environmental protection agency violation.
After four weeks I requested a referral based on work performance for a different job opportunity from my boss in Alaska. My boss called me selfish and and gaslight me with his need for a rock solid team calling me a non team player. Then said he couldn't hold it against me. I used him as a reference anyway because he seemed somewhat nice but I think he ruined the offer, all my non boss references were met with positivity by the company boss offering the job, after all that, he was gonna take me till I realized he was choosing an unsafe team of three people to work on the bearing sea, two of which had never been on the barring sea, I mentioned to make a safe decision and he chose a more experienced fisherman for the job, he then told me to visit him if i'm ever at Kodiak. Great guy, was awesome talking to him.
After talking to the guy that threw sandpaper at me he told me he wanted to take his kids camping but needed some things, I offered him a camping stove to use whenever he went camping.
I then attempted to re-hang a fallen conduit because the department members I was cross training with told me they'd tripped over the conduit repeatedly and to be careful and after a month and a half no electrician had been called. I grinded a screwdriver for the Philips head bit to use in a screwdriver because we didn't have any bits but an excess of screwdrivers in the same size. My trainer had trimmed bits to his needs several times before me. I have basic electrical experience but was just performing basic drywall installation so that me and the other workers were safe after such a long period of time without safety correction.
I bought my trainer that had terrible money management skills food when he couldn't afford any a handful of times and took him to the food bank on lunchbreak because he had never gotten food from a foodbank before and was skipping breakfast and lunch because he was so broke. I even helped him make the decision to not move into an alcoholic BPD afflicted person's home when asked for advice. and shared knowledge about making his apartment safe when he had CPS issues. He likes his new space greatly.
We went fishing even! Met his girlfriend and him for a fishing adventure and they told me they like me. He didn't have the resources to properly clean his apartment for a CPS investigation so I offered assistance. He didn't have transportation to the bank so I offered to drive him their during lunch. He gave me a drill press and welding mask as a way to get rid of excess clutter in his apartment. I offered to jump another coworkers car and I brought food to an after work weekly social event. I was helping put together a BBQ for work.
Today I was informed my work assignment with the company was ended by hr and my boss. I reported the carbon fiber filter dumping to the EPA and will have a new assignment from my agency on Monday. My roommate offered me an apprenticeship and reference to his company paying several more dollars per hour.
Hi all, after roughly half a year on estradiol and spiro I began to notice some recurring headaches and near-fainting in the shower. Long story short it got a lot worse and eventually I ended up in the ER because I was having issues breathing, pressures in my face and jaw, bad fatigue, walking and being upright, numbness in face and hands, tingling feelings like when your arm falls asleep, stomach cramps and general GERD symptoms.
I've been off both medications for since late January now. I took Omeprazole for 2 weeks to help with the GERD but I'm still having some issues. I developed a really stiff neck as well as back pain after stopping the medications too. While the back pain got better, my neck got worse and so did my GERD symptoms. I still have headaches too, and this weird unstable and shifting feeling when I am walking around sometimes. The best way to describe it is it literally feels like something physically changes with my feet or legs (shifty feeling) sometimes and I feel like I'm gonna fall.
Needless to say, these symptoms are very strange (among other things). My primary care and Planned Parenthood doctors don't know what to make of it and I can't see a specialist until September. So I just wanted to ask if anyone has had any issues even remotely similar to me, particularly with GERD? If it matters, I took 1mg estradiol twice a day and 50mg spiro twice a day for 3 months. the other roughly 3-4 months were double that, for both medications.
Hi everyone. About 6 months ago I had an acute onset of symptoms which was complex ptsd (diagnosis officially received) rearing it’s full on ugly head just as I am approaching 40 years old. I am receiving psychological care from an EMDR specialist who also uses IFS
Suddenly the past nearly 40 years starts to make sense. The suicide attempts (without really being depressed), the constant break up of friendships (not a single friend to my name now), the fear of coming across as vulnerable (I made myself as physically unappealing as possible). Yet the drive and ambition ( successful career on the outside), the fact I appear to look like I’m popular and functioning (masking like a pro), the ability to forget anything that’s not helpful to me (goodbye memories of prolonged terror)
I am struggling. I am drowning. But I am desperate to survive. And to actually live.
But I realised what a mess I am as an adult. I want to learn and do things other people do. I want to be surrounded by people and have fun. I want friends. Just one friend. I don’t want people to be afraid of me at work (sure I’m successful but my reputation is the Iron Lady which is part cool and so extremely sad).
So whilst therapy is happening I am just desperate to learn things that maybe other people already know?
Am I crazy? Does anyone else feel like they are not an adult?
Where can I learn how to make friends? I’m comfortable socially talking to people but I can’t get others to accept my invites for a get together (even a casual coffee) or get invited to things. I’m doing something wrong I know it. I don’t know what. I am extremely lonely.
How does an adult woman who never wore make up or managed her hair learn how to do this? Or how to dress? I’m embarrassed to ask this. Please be kind.
What is it about me that means normal people can tell I am a red flag. Does anyone else have this experience? (Partly rhetorical since obviously you don’t know me)
I don’t know how to buy a house. I have sufficient capital. I get overwhelmed with anything to do with money. I’m bad at adult-ing despite being a ‘competent professional person’
Please be kind. I know some of these questions are probably just because of where I am at with my journey but I’m desperate. I want to live. I don’t want the next 40 years to be like this