In memory quotes for dad
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2024.05.13 23:58 OliviaAtk I think my brother is a murderer and I don't know what to do. (Part 1)
I should probably give some background before I start, David is 3 years older than me, around 6'6 I think, not bad looking (fighting the sibling urge to call him an ugly bastard but I'm trying to be accurate here). unlike me he got our mom's red hair which he's always kept almost military short, he's dressed the same way since we're were kids: a colorful button up dress shirt with an ugly sweater vest over top and brown jeans.
"He wouldn't hurt a fly are you insane?" That's what I said through my grief and disbelief when when the familiar voice of my friend from my hometown Garrett Robinson, now Sheriff Robinson I suppose came crackling through my phone speaker to inform me that David was a suspect in my mother's murder.
"I'm sorry Martha, I wish I was better at comfort, and I know he wouldn't, I'm just going to ask you a couple questions and then I'll let you go."
He responded with what sounded more like pity than sympathy in every word. "Go on." I said trying to compose myself, he asked me some very scripted questions that he already knew almost all the answers to, he and David had been inseparable since middle school, people rarely said one of their names without the other, and based on my brother's Christmas cards they were still just as close.
After he hung up I heard nothing about it for the following depressing month, not even some kind of funeral service calling to ask about mom, until my wife shook me awake at around 5am to show me my ringing phone with David's name across the caller ID.
"Ahoy Mort,"
He started immediately when I answered, for the circumstances he sounded so casual, as if we just talked yesterday. (He last called me on my birthday 8 months ago) "I assume you know about Mother?" He asked "I do uhm-" I choked on a sob "Did Garrett and the police figure out who did it?" I asked after composing myself with my wife's help, "I'm afraid not, but Garry did a great job clearing my name, the neighbor's were looking at me pretty nasty for a couple weeks." He paused and breathed down the microphone like he always did between thoughts, "Anywhatsit, I've been doing all the work on the funeral and wanted to invite you and Nance, they're putting her next to Dad at Parkview cemetery next weekend. How are y'all doing by the way?"
"We're fine, and thank you, we'll be there." We talked a little longer about this and that, he apologized for not inviting me sooner and joked that he "had a lot going on" and offered his home to us for as long as we'd be in town.
I spent the morning packing up for my wife and I for the week we'd be spending at David's house and occasionally having a breakdown or 2 and we left for Tennessee at about 3 in the afternoon. I drove for the first few hours in relative silence until it started getting dark. "We should stop at a hotel" I said,
"It's only a few more hours, I'll drive the rest of the way pull over."
I silently thanked God as I was pulled over, I was incredibly tired, "thanks Hun." I said as we passed each other walking around the front of my shitty minivan. Almost immediately as she was behind the wheel she got talkative as was expected after the last few years of being together, "soooo, do you think he did it?" She asked "huh?" I said tiredly "your brother?" She clarified "Nancy!" I snapped at her "okay, okay sorry I asked."
"No it's okay." It wasn't okay, that was inappropriate but I was used to her being tonally blind at this point. "I see why they would maybe look at him for a second, he and Mom never got along-" "Ooo new lore!" she cut me off "Don't call it lore dork this is real life." I snapped "sooorrry grumpypants" she groaned, I stared at her blankly while having my bi-weekly regrets about my marriage, she glanced at me twice before adding "I'm just kidding! Please go on."
And after a few minutes I did, "I was always mom's favorite, she didn't want a boy so she was very hard on Dave." "Sounds like a delightful woman." She responded sarcastically. "She wasn't that bad, I only ever saw her get physical with him once.." "oh my! Once! What an angel!" I was starting to get upset but continued anyway "she was only trying to push him over and she was drunk." Nancy tried not to laugh but failed "good luck with that he's built like a brick shithouse!" Her phrasing made me chuckle but I was still angry, she's not wrong though, he's always been a musclehead even if he hides it well under that dumb Bill Cosby ass wardrobe.
"We're going to be staying at his house I'd rather not entertain the idea that he's a killer." I said staring out the window at nothing "that's because you're no fun." She teased, "I'm with you for your looks." I shot back "and you're a bad liar!" She responded patting me on the shoulder. I fell asleep not long after that, instead of dreams my brain just played old nearly forgotton memories, David constantly getting asked for hugs by men and women all the same when we were in highschool, they would all melt into his arms, he'd always be the one to end the hugs because they never would. Then the only time I ever saw him angry, it was right after James Morris punched me in my junior year, him and Garrett both had James virtually pinned to the bathroom door and the look on David's face was foul as he spoke words I don't remember (I never told either of them I started that fight), then mom trying to push him... He stood stoic staring at her while she shoved in vain, he didn't look angry, just unbelievably hurt.
"Babe... Martha... Cinnabon..." I awoke to my wife shaking me "nm what?" I said as I started waking up. "We're here." She said as my eyes opened to see a worn sign that said 'Welcome to Parkview' "you're gonna have to direct me to the address."
submitted by OliviaAtk to nosleep [link] [comments]
"He wouldn't hurt a fly are you insane?" That's what I said through my grief and disbelief when when the familiar voice of my friend from my hometown Garrett Robinson, now Sheriff Robinson I suppose came crackling through my phone speaker to inform me that David was a suspect in my mother's murder.
"I'm sorry Martha, I wish I was better at comfort, and I know he wouldn't, I'm just going to ask you a couple questions and then I'll let you go."
He responded with what sounded more like pity than sympathy in every word. "Go on." I said trying to compose myself, he asked me some very scripted questions that he already knew almost all the answers to, he and David had been inseparable since middle school, people rarely said one of their names without the other, and based on my brother's Christmas cards they were still just as close.
After he hung up I heard nothing about it for the following depressing month, not even some kind of funeral service calling to ask about mom, until my wife shook me awake at around 5am to show me my ringing phone with David's name across the caller ID.
"Ahoy Mort,"
He started immediately when I answered, for the circumstances he sounded so casual, as if we just talked yesterday. (He last called me on my birthday 8 months ago) "I assume you know about Mother?" He asked "I do uhm-" I choked on a sob "Did Garrett and the police figure out who did it?" I asked after composing myself with my wife's help, "I'm afraid not, but Garry did a great job clearing my name, the neighbor's were looking at me pretty nasty for a couple weeks." He paused and breathed down the microphone like he always did between thoughts, "Anywhatsit, I've been doing all the work on the funeral and wanted to invite you and Nance, they're putting her next to Dad at Parkview cemetery next weekend. How are y'all doing by the way?"
"We're fine, and thank you, we'll be there." We talked a little longer about this and that, he apologized for not inviting me sooner and joked that he "had a lot going on" and offered his home to us for as long as we'd be in town.
I spent the morning packing up for my wife and I for the week we'd be spending at David's house and occasionally having a breakdown or 2 and we left for Tennessee at about 3 in the afternoon. I drove for the first few hours in relative silence until it started getting dark. "We should stop at a hotel" I said,
"It's only a few more hours, I'll drive the rest of the way pull over."
I silently thanked God as I was pulled over, I was incredibly tired, "thanks Hun." I said as we passed each other walking around the front of my shitty minivan. Almost immediately as she was behind the wheel she got talkative as was expected after the last few years of being together, "soooo, do you think he did it?" She asked "huh?" I said tiredly "your brother?" She clarified "Nancy!" I snapped at her "okay, okay sorry I asked."
"No it's okay." It wasn't okay, that was inappropriate but I was used to her being tonally blind at this point. "I see why they would maybe look at him for a second, he and Mom never got along-" "Ooo new lore!" she cut me off "Don't call it lore dork this is real life." I snapped "sooorrry grumpypants" she groaned, I stared at her blankly while having my bi-weekly regrets about my marriage, she glanced at me twice before adding "I'm just kidding! Please go on."
And after a few minutes I did, "I was always mom's favorite, she didn't want a boy so she was very hard on Dave." "Sounds like a delightful woman." She responded sarcastically. "She wasn't that bad, I only ever saw her get physical with him once.." "oh my! Once! What an angel!" I was starting to get upset but continued anyway "she was only trying to push him over and she was drunk." Nancy tried not to laugh but failed "good luck with that he's built like a brick shithouse!" Her phrasing made me chuckle but I was still angry, she's not wrong though, he's always been a musclehead even if he hides it well under that dumb Bill Cosby ass wardrobe.
"We're going to be staying at his house I'd rather not entertain the idea that he's a killer." I said staring out the window at nothing "that's because you're no fun." She teased, "I'm with you for your looks." I shot back "and you're a bad liar!" She responded patting me on the shoulder. I fell asleep not long after that, instead of dreams my brain just played old nearly forgotton memories, David constantly getting asked for hugs by men and women all the same when we were in highschool, they would all melt into his arms, he'd always be the one to end the hugs because they never would. Then the only time I ever saw him angry, it was right after James Morris punched me in my junior year, him and Garrett both had James virtually pinned to the bathroom door and the look on David's face was foul as he spoke words I don't remember (I never told either of them I started that fight), then mom trying to push him... He stood stoic staring at her while she shoved in vain, he didn't look angry, just unbelievably hurt.
"Babe... Martha... Cinnabon..." I awoke to my wife shaking me "nm what?" I said as I started waking up. "We're here." She said as my eyes opened to see a worn sign that said 'Welcome to Parkview' "you're gonna have to direct me to the address."
2024.05.13 23:43 AffectionateKey502 Cheated on and left; finding myself.
My husband cheated on me with a coworker. He lied for most of the years we were together about various insidious and disturbing things that left me feeling broken and having to rebuild trust from nothing. My father bought and restored a beautiful home and gave it to us for $1. My husband threw everything away to cheat on me with his coworker. I have to sell the home my dad built me and split it with my husband. It is gorgeous and I love it but (my dad also agrees with my decision) I can’t take care of alone right now and the memories attached have permanently ruined it for me.
I gave my husband everything and he didn’t really do much for me. 13 years down the drain. I know deep down I have been emotionally abused from day one. All of these things seem to make it harder. I relied on him financially and emotionally, so I feel like I have to completely start over in every way. I am lucky I have my parent's support but sometimes I wonder if I will ever find myself again or meet someone who treats me right.
I am going to take a year to work on myself and I have been in counseling since this happened. I have never dated anyone before my husband and I don’t really know where to go from here. I live in a small town and feel a bit isolated. Is it weird that I feel so lost that I don’t even know what I am looking for in writing this? What’s next? How to I know what to do? How will I know what’s right? I am 33 I feel like should just know but the sadness from all of this has me in a deep fog and I can’t see past it to find hope.
submitted by AffectionateKey502 to CheatedOn [link] [comments]
I gave my husband everything and he didn’t really do much for me. 13 years down the drain. I know deep down I have been emotionally abused from day one. All of these things seem to make it harder. I relied on him financially and emotionally, so I feel like I have to completely start over in every way. I am lucky I have my parent's support but sometimes I wonder if I will ever find myself again or meet someone who treats me right.
I am going to take a year to work on myself and I have been in counseling since this happened. I have never dated anyone before my husband and I don’t really know where to go from here. I live in a small town and feel a bit isolated. Is it weird that I feel so lost that I don’t even know what I am looking for in writing this? What’s next? How to I know what to do? How will I know what’s right? I am 33 I feel like should just know but the sadness from all of this has me in a deep fog and I can’t see past it to find hope.
2024.05.13 23:29 Actual_Concept8083 Does she deserve another chance?
Anyways, this girl I dated months ago. We were seeing each other for like 6 months. Towards the last couple of months, we barely saw each other. I found out she was stringing me along. But it is what it is. Anyways, she called me one day and said “I miss you and want to be more consistent with hanging out and talking. I think you’re a really great person and I’m really sorry for treating you poorly.” So, I gave her a second chance. Things were getting better. Then she once again changed her mind. At the time I still had feeling for her. She told me “Hey I know this is u fair to ask. But I’m seeing someone else. But I still want to be friends.” I said “that’s too much to ask right now, but I hope all is well for you.” She kept messaging me and I said “hey I just need to focus on myself for a bit. But hope all is well with you” I disappeared off social media for about 6 months.
I eventually I reached out on Snapchat. I found a couple of her stuff and asked if she wanted it.
She then proceeded to be all friendly and stuff. And said she had some of mine. We spoke for 2 a little over 2 months.(she started most of the conversations. And snap streak) Last week we touched on the subject on being friends and we agreed to hangout. I had to cancel last week cus I was o ur with my friends. Yesterday, I told her I’m goo for today. And she just goes “I appreciate the offer, but I really think I just wanna make the trade”
Idk why it kinda hurt for her to say that. I lost all deep feelings for her. I get a little attached with people I’ve helped or shared fun memories with. Idk. I was there in the past when she was super depressed, I helped her through all of her breakdowns. And showed up for her when no one else would.
Anyways, she arrived at my place today. I meet her outside and she looked both annoyed and nervous. We gave each other our stuff. And she stood there for a while just kinda looking at me. Then turned around to head back to her car, then turned back to me and looked like she was going to say something. I just go “are you alright” She said yeah, and I was like “it’s good to see you’re doing well. Would you like to get something to eat or drink”
She goes “oh no I’m fine” and stood there for a little. So I just go “okay, see ya” and walked off. She looked back once and that was it. She messaged me saying “good to see you’re well too. I hope your dad has been okay” (he was sick)… But yeah, it was weird. But also a little hurt.
I went to let the snap score die. However, she keeps snapping me and acting like we are best friends. I tried to let the streak die, I stayed off snap for a couple of days, but it’s still going. Idk how that’s possible. She will randomly talk to me about how my day is going and stuff. So weird.
I know when it came to her exes, she grabbed lunch with a few of them in the past. But when it comes to me, she just blows me off or acts like she doesn’t wanna talk to me anymore, then starts acting like we are besties. It’s so weird.
To me, at this point it just seems like she wants attention. Seems so shallow
submitted by Actual_Concept8083 to datingadviceformen [link] [comments]
I eventually I reached out on Snapchat. I found a couple of her stuff and asked if she wanted it.
She then proceeded to be all friendly and stuff. And said she had some of mine. We spoke for 2 a little over 2 months.(she started most of the conversations. And snap streak) Last week we touched on the subject on being friends and we agreed to hangout. I had to cancel last week cus I was o ur with my friends. Yesterday, I told her I’m goo for today. And she just goes “I appreciate the offer, but I really think I just wanna make the trade”
Idk why it kinda hurt for her to say that. I lost all deep feelings for her. I get a little attached with people I’ve helped or shared fun memories with. Idk. I was there in the past when she was super depressed, I helped her through all of her breakdowns. And showed up for her when no one else would.
Anyways, she arrived at my place today. I meet her outside and she looked both annoyed and nervous. We gave each other our stuff. And she stood there for a while just kinda looking at me. Then turned around to head back to her car, then turned back to me and looked like she was going to say something. I just go “are you alright” She said yeah, and I was like “it’s good to see you’re doing well. Would you like to get something to eat or drink”
She goes “oh no I’m fine” and stood there for a little. So I just go “okay, see ya” and walked off. She looked back once and that was it. She messaged me saying “good to see you’re well too. I hope your dad has been okay” (he was sick)… But yeah, it was weird. But also a little hurt.
I went to let the snap score die. However, she keeps snapping me and acting like we are best friends. I tried to let the streak die, I stayed off snap for a couple of days, but it’s still going. Idk how that’s possible. She will randomly talk to me about how my day is going and stuff. So weird.
I know when it came to her exes, she grabbed lunch with a few of them in the past. But when it comes to me, she just blows me off or acts like she doesn’t wanna talk to me anymore, then starts acting like we are besties. It’s so weird.
To me, at this point it just seems like she wants attention. Seems so shallow
2024.05.13 23:23 Actual_Concept8083 I am no longer sure if this is even a friendship or just validation seeking???
Anyways, this girl I dated months ago. We were seeing each other for like 6 months. Towards the last couple of months, we barely saw each other. I found out she was stringing me along. But it is what it is. Anyways, she called me one day and said “I miss you and want to be more consistent with hanging out and talking. I think you’re a really great person and I’m really sorry for treating you poorly.” So, I gave her a second chance. Things were getting better. Then she once again changed her mind. At the time I still had feeling for her. She told me “Hey I know this is u fair to ask. But I’m seeing someone else. But I still want to be friends.” I said “that’s too much to ask right now, but I hope all is well for you.” She kept messaging me and I said “hey I just need to focus on myself for a bit. But hope all is well with you” I disappeared off social media for about 6 months.
I eventually I reached out on Snapchat. I found a couple of her stuff and asked if she wanted it.
She then proceeded to be all friendly and stuff. And said she had some of mine. We spoke for 2 a little over 2 months.(she started most of the conversations. And snap streak) Last week we touched on the subject on being friends and we agreed to hangout. I had to cancel last week cus I was o ur with my friends. Yesterday, I told her I’m goo for today. And she just goes “I appreciate the offer, but I really think I just wanna make the trade”
Idk why it kinda hurt for her to say that. I lost all deep feelings for her. I get a little attached with people I’ve helped or shared fun memories with. Idk. I was there in the past when she was super depressed, I helped her through all of her breakdowns. And showed up for her when no one else would.
Anyways, she arrived at my place today. I meet her outside and she looked both annoyed and nervous. We gave each other our stuff. And she stood there for a while just kinda looking at me. Then turned around to head back to her car, then turned back to me and looked like she was going to say something. I just go “are you alright” She said yeah, and I was like “it’s good to see you’re doing well. Would you like to get something to eat or drink”
She goes “oh no I’m fine” and stood there for a little. So I just go “okay, see ya” and walked off. She looked back once and that was it. She messaged me saying “good to see you’re well too. I hope your dad has been okay” (he was sick)… But yeah, it was weird. But also a little hurt. I went to let the snap score die. However, she keeps snapping me and acting like we are best friends. I tried to let the streak die, I stayed off snap for a couple of days, but it’s still going. Idk how that’s possible. To me, at this point it just seems like she wants attention and that’s it.
submitted by Actual_Concept8083 to Advice [link] [comments]
I eventually I reached out on Snapchat. I found a couple of her stuff and asked if she wanted it.
She then proceeded to be all friendly and stuff. And said she had some of mine. We spoke for 2 a little over 2 months.(she started most of the conversations. And snap streak) Last week we touched on the subject on being friends and we agreed to hangout. I had to cancel last week cus I was o ur with my friends. Yesterday, I told her I’m goo for today. And she just goes “I appreciate the offer, but I really think I just wanna make the trade”
Idk why it kinda hurt for her to say that. I lost all deep feelings for her. I get a little attached with people I’ve helped or shared fun memories with. Idk. I was there in the past when she was super depressed, I helped her through all of her breakdowns. And showed up for her when no one else would.
Anyways, she arrived at my place today. I meet her outside and she looked both annoyed and nervous. We gave each other our stuff. And she stood there for a while just kinda looking at me. Then turned around to head back to her car, then turned back to me and looked like she was going to say something. I just go “are you alright” She said yeah, and I was like “it’s good to see you’re doing well. Would you like to get something to eat or drink”
She goes “oh no I’m fine” and stood there for a little. So I just go “okay, see ya” and walked off. She looked back once and that was it. She messaged me saying “good to see you’re well too. I hope your dad has been okay” (he was sick)… But yeah, it was weird. But also a little hurt. I went to let the snap score die. However, she keeps snapping me and acting like we are best friends. I tried to let the streak die, I stayed off snap for a couple of days, but it’s still going. Idk how that’s possible. To me, at this point it just seems like she wants attention and that’s it.
2024.05.13 23:19 Hungry_Claim_4150 Have I been manipulated?
To start off with I live in a house share of 3 individuals and a dog. One flatmate is extremely antisocial and I am trying to figure out if I have been gaslit.
To give some context I’ve been living with my flatmates partner against my will since September 2023. Both me and my other flatmate tried to make clear we were uncomfortable about this months ago. He is extremely messy and had previously punched other men whilst drunk on more than one occasion. We gave these as reasons for us not wanting to be left alone with him in the house. Instead he was given a house key and it took months for this to be readdressed, any discussions we had were forgotten and messages we would send were ignored. In April 2024 we have been told his housing situation was “tricky” and that the flatmate in question needed him here as he was her only support system. She did not give the option of him moving out but instead told us he might be moving out in May 2024. In those 6 months we have been forced to pay his food bill for weeks (we previously had a communal food supply and had to separate and label our food because she kept feeding him without any contribution ) We have had to clean up continually for them both (both of them are very messy and often left spaces needing to be cleaned before being used.) We are told that because food is now separate bringing this up as an example of her disrespect is unacceptable. I have brought up that it is still extra labor in having to clean more often, and spend more money for cleaning products and was told that isn’t true and that they contribute fairly ( Since discussions of us feeling extremely used he has occasionally replaced coffee and toilet paper, paid bills once as of April 2024, does the dishes and occasionally does the bins) we are the ones doing most of the cleaning and always have done so this is an unfair split of labour in my opinion (the dog is also hers so we are cleaning up after 2 adults and a dog)
Neither of them have attempted to communicate over anything, my flatmates partner turned up one day with his dad and moved his things, when I told my flatmate this was not cool they laughed in my face and made a dismissive joke. Neither of them communicated to us that he had been thrown out of his previous house and would be living here. We would just find him in the house when we were under the impression we were home alone.
I realise I could have spoken to him directly, but for some reason was convinced that it would be snakey towards my flatmate to confront him and ask him why he felt so comfortable to dump his labour onto myself and my other flatmate as a 28yr old grown man, so instead everybody in the house just avoided each other with a very passive aggressive environment, in which we all participated in silent treatment. At its peak myself and the flatmate in question would be shoulder barging each other, which is very toxic and sad.
So far the reason given for him not ever cleaning up after himself was that he did not think it would be appropriate and we created a passive aggressive environment. ( We were very angry in this period, I myself even snapped on occasions where I raised my voice at my flatmate saying cruel things which I am ashamed of. This was in response to me feeling as though I was being used as a personal maid)
To give some more context to my own shitty behaviour spaces in the house were regularly left to a point of being unusable, unless we did it ourselves. This involved a months long flea infestation that was so severe you could not be in the house without being jumped on, we repeatedly tried to address this until the point we just dealt with it ourselves. I have had my TV broken when my flatmate was partying with friends which took months to even be acknowledged and not be told that it was not the right time to ask about it. Myself and my other flatmate have had to buy a separate fridge as we literally could not get our food into the houses shared fridge because we were left little space and were still having to regularly clean out others mouldy food. The dog is extremely reactive, he has anxiety and is often only given 2 or 3 short walks a week and spends the majority of his time in one bedroom, so being in the house with him means constant barking and he has been quite destructive. For months she would leave her dog whilst out partying and ignored all messages trying to bring up this forced labour.
Around this time something in me just broke, I actively tried to be petty and use a tit for tat mentality in how I treated her. This involved a lack of care for her items, refusing to do any labour for her, separating every single little thing, giving each other silent treatment. My OCD had been badly triggered after living in a flea infested house, this caused me to go into overdrive with cleaning where I would snap at any little mess. This was too much from me and it was a little controlling, but the situation was then reframed as me being “controlling” and not allowing my flatmate to ever relax in their house, rather than ever returning to the original upset of forced labour.
(I am going to give an example of a game she enjoyed playing with me here to try and explain what I feel has been done to me. She used to come over and start playfully hitting me, she would then ignore me saying no or stop, then when I blew up she would say don’t talk to me like that and frame it as me being angry and shouting at her inappropriately. I have had to address this with her and she has not played this game with me again, but I’ve seen her do it to someone else since and laugh in their face whilst visibly upsetting them, so I know they still enjoy doing it to others. Though just a silly game, this comfortability with ignoring a no and their ability to genuinely convince herself she hasn’t been given a boundary is one that bleeds into real life. )
On one occasion during an argument regarding labour I shouted at her to ‘fuck off back to neglecting your dog’ and I’m sure there were other things I probably said in an attempt to hurt her as much as I was hurting. I take zero pride in this and am deeply ashamed that I lowered myself to that behaviour. She herself belittled me in front of shared friends telling me “you never do anything for me you only do things for others you do nothing for me” over and over until I left the room. We had a huge row where she came down mid shower (as the hot water goes if multiple taps are on) whilst I was doing her dishes as the kitchen was a complete shit hole. I then told her no I’m not going to stop because i need to use my kitchen, and she told me i was disgusting for banning her from showering I told her she was disgusting for leaving the house as she did (I’m not exactly sure my exact words) she then told me “‘theres no room talking to you when ur like this”. Neither of us were right in this but I am giving it as an example of how toxic it is in the house.
A few days following this I said that if she refuses to discuss anything when she is leaving the house unusable for others and her partner is freeloading that I would report her to the landlord (I am not working on logic at this time but because I have been in fight or flight for months) she then told me it was disgusting to threaten her with homelessness and that she would never do something like that to me. I did not mean it as an intimidation tactic or maybe I did I’m not sure, it’s hard to think logically after being ignored over months.
After the threat I made to contact the landlord we discussed all of this, some of which she acknowledged, we both made an effort to apologise. However she tried to diminish the labour her and her partner purposefully used us for, would not give specifics about him moving out, and refused to apologise for belittling telling me she did not remember and it is not something she would ever say so she doesn’t know what I expect her to do. They told me I was not paying extra or doing more labour with an additional person living here. They have since cleaned the garden of bags of shit and dirty underwear that were left out for months, and made small efforts to be cleaner. However most of the house labour still falls onto us. (Some more context they very recently were injured and no longer can clean right now. This I understand completely however I would be lying if I didn’t feel burdened and obligated to now have to do that labour, or to help them with basic tasks when I can barely look at them without feeling sick, also I am still doing labour for her partner).
We have tried to meet her on every level for a very long time, previously we have had discussions about asking her when she is free rather than just dropping things on her, using a house chat, using a cleaning chart. We have tried to compromise and she has ignored all of these after agreeing to them. When I have gone to ask if she is free I have had her snap ‘what now’ I have seen her roll her eyes to others regarding a cleaning chart she agreed to because others were tired of cleaning for her, ignore all messages in the house chat.
My property has been repeatedly damaged or not taken care of as has others. I’ve had to spend over £100 easily. I am so tired of being ignored, laughed at or given no response at all to continual lack of consideration for others and their boundaries. My reactivity does need to be worked on, yes. However theres only so far people can be pushed before they snap, and I’m terrified that I’m going to break again.
When I’ve discussed this with others who have lived with her to see if they noticed this pattern of behaviour they knew exactly what I was talking about, which worries me.
To sum up I do not feel safe in this house, my back is permanently against the wall as I am just waiting for the next boundary violation at this point. This has already happened in truth as we recently received a letter saying we were overdue for council tax which threatened court if not paid off, I paid off mine and I didn’t bother to ask my flatmate to send over the remaining owed money as I am fed up of having all communication ignored and did not want to wait for her to be bothered to send me the money. If there is something that needs her attention you often need to ask for it to be done over and over which again is labour in the first place. As far as I’m aware this bill is still overdue as I have been completely ignored regarding it.
I do not think she truly realises that she has deeply traumatised myself and my flatmate through giving us no autonomy over who lives in this house or leaving us to care for her dog. My OCD is still pretty bad and being in this house or around her makes my skin crawl. So I guess I am wondering if I have been gaslit? Taking my own toxic behaviour into account I do not know whether I can criticise her or if I am being hypocritical in labelling her as toxic. My memory is too foggy to remember a lot of what has actually happened, but I have this of strong feeling of disillusionment that will not leave. I am stuck in this house until October 2024, and I am trying to just get on with it, but I can’t stop obsessing over what has happened, sometimes it’s all I can think about. I feel too guilty or snakey to contact the landlord as she is a longtime friend and I am afraid she will badmouth me to others if I do so. Is she right that it would be controlling to contact the landlord? I guess I just need to know from someone unaffiliated if reporting her (whilst she is injured and also experiencing a bereavement) after we’ve tried to make amends makes me a cunt? Or if it means I’m just trying to survive?
Thanks to anyone who took the time to read ( I know its a long one 🙄)
submitted by Hungry_Claim_4150 to Manipulation [link] [comments]
To give some context I’ve been living with my flatmates partner against my will since September 2023. Both me and my other flatmate tried to make clear we were uncomfortable about this months ago. He is extremely messy and had previously punched other men whilst drunk on more than one occasion. We gave these as reasons for us not wanting to be left alone with him in the house. Instead he was given a house key and it took months for this to be readdressed, any discussions we had were forgotten and messages we would send were ignored. In April 2024 we have been told his housing situation was “tricky” and that the flatmate in question needed him here as he was her only support system. She did not give the option of him moving out but instead told us he might be moving out in May 2024. In those 6 months we have been forced to pay his food bill for weeks (we previously had a communal food supply and had to separate and label our food because she kept feeding him without any contribution ) We have had to clean up continually for them both (both of them are very messy and often left spaces needing to be cleaned before being used.) We are told that because food is now separate bringing this up as an example of her disrespect is unacceptable. I have brought up that it is still extra labor in having to clean more often, and spend more money for cleaning products and was told that isn’t true and that they contribute fairly ( Since discussions of us feeling extremely used he has occasionally replaced coffee and toilet paper, paid bills once as of April 2024, does the dishes and occasionally does the bins) we are the ones doing most of the cleaning and always have done so this is an unfair split of labour in my opinion (the dog is also hers so we are cleaning up after 2 adults and a dog)
Neither of them have attempted to communicate over anything, my flatmates partner turned up one day with his dad and moved his things, when I told my flatmate this was not cool they laughed in my face and made a dismissive joke. Neither of them communicated to us that he had been thrown out of his previous house and would be living here. We would just find him in the house when we were under the impression we were home alone.
I realise I could have spoken to him directly, but for some reason was convinced that it would be snakey towards my flatmate to confront him and ask him why he felt so comfortable to dump his labour onto myself and my other flatmate as a 28yr old grown man, so instead everybody in the house just avoided each other with a very passive aggressive environment, in which we all participated in silent treatment. At its peak myself and the flatmate in question would be shoulder barging each other, which is very toxic and sad.
So far the reason given for him not ever cleaning up after himself was that he did not think it would be appropriate and we created a passive aggressive environment. ( We were very angry in this period, I myself even snapped on occasions where I raised my voice at my flatmate saying cruel things which I am ashamed of. This was in response to me feeling as though I was being used as a personal maid)
To give some more context to my own shitty behaviour spaces in the house were regularly left to a point of being unusable, unless we did it ourselves. This involved a months long flea infestation that was so severe you could not be in the house without being jumped on, we repeatedly tried to address this until the point we just dealt with it ourselves. I have had my TV broken when my flatmate was partying with friends which took months to even be acknowledged and not be told that it was not the right time to ask about it. Myself and my other flatmate have had to buy a separate fridge as we literally could not get our food into the houses shared fridge because we were left little space and were still having to regularly clean out others mouldy food. The dog is extremely reactive, he has anxiety and is often only given 2 or 3 short walks a week and spends the majority of his time in one bedroom, so being in the house with him means constant barking and he has been quite destructive. For months she would leave her dog whilst out partying and ignored all messages trying to bring up this forced labour.
Around this time something in me just broke, I actively tried to be petty and use a tit for tat mentality in how I treated her. This involved a lack of care for her items, refusing to do any labour for her, separating every single little thing, giving each other silent treatment. My OCD had been badly triggered after living in a flea infested house, this caused me to go into overdrive with cleaning where I would snap at any little mess. This was too much from me and it was a little controlling, but the situation was then reframed as me being “controlling” and not allowing my flatmate to ever relax in their house, rather than ever returning to the original upset of forced labour.
(I am going to give an example of a game she enjoyed playing with me here to try and explain what I feel has been done to me. She used to come over and start playfully hitting me, she would then ignore me saying no or stop, then when I blew up she would say don’t talk to me like that and frame it as me being angry and shouting at her inappropriately. I have had to address this with her and she has not played this game with me again, but I’ve seen her do it to someone else since and laugh in their face whilst visibly upsetting them, so I know they still enjoy doing it to others. Though just a silly game, this comfortability with ignoring a no and their ability to genuinely convince herself she hasn’t been given a boundary is one that bleeds into real life. )
On one occasion during an argument regarding labour I shouted at her to ‘fuck off back to neglecting your dog’ and I’m sure there were other things I probably said in an attempt to hurt her as much as I was hurting. I take zero pride in this and am deeply ashamed that I lowered myself to that behaviour. She herself belittled me in front of shared friends telling me “you never do anything for me you only do things for others you do nothing for me” over and over until I left the room. We had a huge row where she came down mid shower (as the hot water goes if multiple taps are on) whilst I was doing her dishes as the kitchen was a complete shit hole. I then told her no I’m not going to stop because i need to use my kitchen, and she told me i was disgusting for banning her from showering I told her she was disgusting for leaving the house as she did (I’m not exactly sure my exact words) she then told me “‘theres no room talking to you when ur like this”. Neither of us were right in this but I am giving it as an example of how toxic it is in the house.
A few days following this I said that if she refuses to discuss anything when she is leaving the house unusable for others and her partner is freeloading that I would report her to the landlord (I am not working on logic at this time but because I have been in fight or flight for months) she then told me it was disgusting to threaten her with homelessness and that she would never do something like that to me. I did not mean it as an intimidation tactic or maybe I did I’m not sure, it’s hard to think logically after being ignored over months.
After the threat I made to contact the landlord we discussed all of this, some of which she acknowledged, we both made an effort to apologise. However she tried to diminish the labour her and her partner purposefully used us for, would not give specifics about him moving out, and refused to apologise for belittling telling me she did not remember and it is not something she would ever say so she doesn’t know what I expect her to do. They told me I was not paying extra or doing more labour with an additional person living here. They have since cleaned the garden of bags of shit and dirty underwear that were left out for months, and made small efforts to be cleaner. However most of the house labour still falls onto us. (Some more context they very recently were injured and no longer can clean right now. This I understand completely however I would be lying if I didn’t feel burdened and obligated to now have to do that labour, or to help them with basic tasks when I can barely look at them without feeling sick, also I am still doing labour for her partner).
We have tried to meet her on every level for a very long time, previously we have had discussions about asking her when she is free rather than just dropping things on her, using a house chat, using a cleaning chart. We have tried to compromise and she has ignored all of these after agreeing to them. When I have gone to ask if she is free I have had her snap ‘what now’ I have seen her roll her eyes to others regarding a cleaning chart she agreed to because others were tired of cleaning for her, ignore all messages in the house chat.
My property has been repeatedly damaged or not taken care of as has others. I’ve had to spend over £100 easily. I am so tired of being ignored, laughed at or given no response at all to continual lack of consideration for others and their boundaries. My reactivity does need to be worked on, yes. However theres only so far people can be pushed before they snap, and I’m terrified that I’m going to break again.
When I’ve discussed this with others who have lived with her to see if they noticed this pattern of behaviour they knew exactly what I was talking about, which worries me.
To sum up I do not feel safe in this house, my back is permanently against the wall as I am just waiting for the next boundary violation at this point. This has already happened in truth as we recently received a letter saying we were overdue for council tax which threatened court if not paid off, I paid off mine and I didn’t bother to ask my flatmate to send over the remaining owed money as I am fed up of having all communication ignored and did not want to wait for her to be bothered to send me the money. If there is something that needs her attention you often need to ask for it to be done over and over which again is labour in the first place. As far as I’m aware this bill is still overdue as I have been completely ignored regarding it.
I do not think she truly realises that she has deeply traumatised myself and my flatmate through giving us no autonomy over who lives in this house or leaving us to care for her dog. My OCD is still pretty bad and being in this house or around her makes my skin crawl. So I guess I am wondering if I have been gaslit? Taking my own toxic behaviour into account I do not know whether I can criticise her or if I am being hypocritical in labelling her as toxic. My memory is too foggy to remember a lot of what has actually happened, but I have this of strong feeling of disillusionment that will not leave. I am stuck in this house until October 2024, and I am trying to just get on with it, but I can’t stop obsessing over what has happened, sometimes it’s all I can think about. I feel too guilty or snakey to contact the landlord as she is a longtime friend and I am afraid she will badmouth me to others if I do so. Is she right that it would be controlling to contact the landlord? I guess I just need to know from someone unaffiliated if reporting her (whilst she is injured and also experiencing a bereavement) after we’ve tried to make amends makes me a cunt? Or if it means I’m just trying to survive?
Thanks to anyone who took the time to read ( I know its a long one 🙄)
2024.05.13 23:18 Weathers_Writing I had really bad stomach cramps as a child. They recently started up again.
Content Warning:Mentions of Child Abuse & Gore
They called me a colic baby, meaning I was a seemingly healthy baby that was distressed for an unknown reason. The fits of crying mostly dissipated by six months, but they'd crop up every now and then into toddler-hood. When I became capable of babbling a few words, I would summarize my pain in a few words: belly hurt. Belly HURT!
My parents didn't have much money, but they took me to the doctor for a checkup anyway. After running a physical exam and blood test, they determined that I was merely an excessively gassy little girl and should probably eat a more gut-friendly diet. They also prescribed some medicine which would eliminate the gas and relieve my pain.
It was from that moment on that my parents gave me the nickname "Gas Girl" (which I despised). The name stuck for several years, and anytime I'd get a little stomach ache my mom or dad would say, "uh, oh. It's not Gas Girl returning, is it?" I'd glare at them with my arms folded and pout, saying, "I'm not Gas Girl. I'm Wonder Girl!" My parents would share a look, then burst out laughing. Just as I was about to shout a retort, my dad would open up his arms and bend down in that familiar pose which signaled liftoff, and all my childish rage detached like a racing sticker as I leaped into my dad's arms and he flew me around the living room shouting "Who is it? It's Wonder-girl! Here to save the day from Gas Girl!"
Anyway, just as the nickname wore off, the pain returned. I was about 7 or 8 when I had my first big episode. I was in second grade, and the class was cutting out shapes. The pain came on so suddenly I remember lurching back and falling out of my seat. The next few hours were a blur of adults: my teacher, the nurses, the principal, my parents. I remember how cold and alone I felt despite being surrounded by grown ups, and my stomach hurt so much I was crying pretty much nonstop.
My dad bought a bunch of OTC medicine to try and settle what he thought was a really bad gas episode. My mom laid at the side of my bed and did bicycles in the air with me. Hours passed in pain as my adolescent imagination conjured up images of an evil little elf blowing thousands of bubbles in my belly. I consciously pictured myself popping them, but every time I did, more were blown. My dad scheduled a doctor's appointment for the next morning, and my mom stayed at my side until I was able to fall asleep sometime late in the night.
I dreamed vividly a horrific nightmare. I was strapped to a black, metal box. A surgeon donning blue scrubs with white gloves and a mask entered the space in my peripheral vision. The air was cold but crisp, as if every bit of dust had been scrubbed out of existence. I could feel my breathing, my heartbeat, even my skin. The doctor stepped forward and I could see the distortion of a smirk in the folds of his mask. I expected him to say something, to tell me what he wanted, but instead he lifted my shirt so my belly was exposed. "It's cold", I said in a mumbly voice. He lifted his hand in the air, and I saw behind it off in the back of the room was what looked like the glass wall of an aquarium. I was confused for a second, but only a second. The surgeon plunged his hand into my stomach like a spear, splitting through the flesh as if it were the skin of a ripe fruit. The previously silent man began to cackle like a maniacal villain as I nearly passed out from the pain. I felt his fingers swimming through my guts like parasitic worms. My body shook as cold sweat and blood began to ooze from my pores. I wanted to scream but I couldn't make a sound. I could only lay there, paralyzed, as the evil doctor explored my insides.
Somehow I lost consciousness in the dream, but when I woke up, the memory came flooding back, and I screamed with all the force of a thunderstorm. My parents skipped the appointment and rushed me to immediate care, but by the time we arrived, the pain was gone. I explained my dream to the doctor, but he said it was normal to dream up reasons for the pain. They recommended a CT scan to screen out the possibility of an ulcer or internal bleeding. Despite my parents' scarce savings, they agreed to run the test. However, something deeply entrenched in my mind thought of the dream with the surgeon and I protested. "I don't want a test!" I screamed. "But, honey, how are we going to know what's wrong?" replied my mom. "Nothing's wrong now. I don't want a test."
Looking back now on my persistence, it should have been obvious that there was something wrong with me, but my parents, who were thinking of their finances, allowed themselves to acquiesce to my demands. The pain would continue into and throughout my teenage years, and the one benefit that I can credit to it was that it taught me how to endure pain and hide it well before puberty started. Compared to my childhood cramps, period cramps were around a B+. Very bad, but not end of the world bad. However, they'd stick around more reliably, and eventually the two began to combine until I could no longer discern between them. Occasionally I would have a nightmare and wake up with a pain that was a little higher in my stomach, almost approaching my chest, but it would always disappear by breakfast time, and the chaos of a teenage girl's life would once again reassert itself in the form of an outfit that didn't look quite right or the memory of every word of a conversation with a guy I liked or how my teacher was out to get me. Basically, I had become normal.
And then two weeks after I turned 16, my dad passed away from heart failure. Apparently the stress from a paycheck-to-paycheck life in sales added onto a bad diet and a penchant for alcohol was a recipe for disaster. He was only 49. I was crushed.
The weeks and months following his funeral were filled with teenage anger and resentment. I directed most of it at my mom, who I held accountable for not being strong enough to step up and help with the bills. One day, when I was searching the drug cabinet for some painkillers to deal with some bad cramping, I noticed a new prescription for a drug with a really long name. I looked it up. It was an antidepressant. From that moment on I stopped giving my mom shit, but I grew a bit distant from her. I started spending a lot more time with my friends. I became reckless, adopting a drinking habit and unsafe sex practices. I smoked a bit but I didn't really like it. I guess I was just trying to find a way to move on, as naive as it was.
Fast forward to my present situation, and I'm a college student. A junior to be exact. I ended up scrounging up enough money from working two restaurant jobs to see a therapist on my own dime, and managed to make peace with my mom before leaving. We both talked out all of our trauma and cried together, and from that moment on, I haven't had a drink. About six months ago I got on the pill. I was starting to see one guy consistently and I wanted to be safe, but also I wanted to know what it felt like to not have stomach cramps anymore. It was freeing. I remembered my dad lifting me up into the air as a child, and I figured it kinda felt like that. I still cry thinking about him, although I don't let anyone see.
Anyway, about a week ago I started having really bad pain again, but this time it was in my chest. I would wake up in my apartment (I share a 3-bedroom with some friends from the college) with heart palpitations. My heart felt like a snake had wrapped around it and was trying to choke it out. The pressure would give way to a burst of fast ba-dum's, then settle, then start again. I remembered my dad's prognosis and started to get really scared, so I scheduled an appointment with the on-campus doctor for the next day through the online health platform.
They told me that chest pain is no joke and scheduled to have me scanned at a nearby hospital. This was four days ago. My boyfriend, Kevin, drove me there even though I said I'd be fine going alone. I think I already knew our relationship wasn't going to work out long term, so I was kind of checked out. I felt bad about it though because Kev is actually a really good person, but our personalities just don't match. He's very introverted and doesn't like to go out, whereas I thrive in group settings. Anyway, he drove me and I ended up getting an X-ray. The doc came in to share the results and I was immediately put off by the dubious expression on his face.
"What do you mean the images are blurry?" I asked.
"Well, it's just… that. They're blurry. It's very unusual for this to happen unless you have a pacemaker or some other device implanted. Do you know if you have something like that?"
"No, never," I said with a quaver in my voice. For some reason I thought back on my childhood dream with the surgeon and felt the urge to vomit.
"Well, let's run a CT scan and see if we can make anything out." He soothed.
Normally the CT and MRI dock was booked for a week out but the doctor happened to have an open space for me that same morning, so I waited about an hour and then got in the big tube machine that took pictures of my chest and abdomen. He said he should have the results by Thursday. That was Yesterday.
I was driving onto campus for my 9AM class when I got the call.
"Hello, this is Dr. **** calling for Josie **** ." (names redacted for privacy reasons)
"Oh, yes, this is Josie," I said and fit the phone between my shoulder and ear as I tried to find a comfortable posture."
"Yes, hello," the male doctor said in grave way which made me feel like this wasn't going to be a short call. "I wanted to see if you were available to come in today for some more tests."
"More tests?" I asked. "What about the first ones?" Images of blocked heart valves and cancer presented themselves on my mental screen.
"Yes, well, I wanted to discuss the results with you in person. There was a bit of a … well, an inconsistency, and I didn't want to upset you—"
"Upset me!?" I blurted, my free hand flying out over the steering wheel, swerving my car toward the curb. I corrected, then lowered my voice, "sorry, I don't mean to be …" be, what? This is completely absurd. "Could you at least give me some indication of what's wrong with me? I'm just kind of panicking here."
The doctor was quiet for a moment, then returned. "Sorry, Josie, I didn't mean to spook you. Both the X-ray scan and CT scan are picking up interference which is unusual. It's possible it's just a flaw on our end, so that's why we wanted you to come back in—to do an MRI and really verify what the issue is. This one would be free of charge and we'd get you results same-day as we feel bad about the issues with the machinery. Do you think that would be possible?"
I took a deep breath. I still felt uneasy, but at least now there was some kind of explanation I could lean on. "Okay, yeah, I can come in. I have class until 9:50AM, but I can drive over after and be there around 10:15, 10:20-ish. Would that work?"
"That would work great. We'll see you then."
I spent the whole of my communications class thinking about what could be wrong with me, doodling my ideas down on a notebook. Heart disease. Cancer. Some kind of peptic ulcer. Maybe it was the pill? The drinking? Was this some kind of cosmic retribution? I didn't know.
An hour later I was back at the hospital. I expected to be ushered into the MRI prep room, but instead I found myself in one of the normal patient rooms, sitting upright on a bed. The nurse did the preliminary height and weight measurements and medical history. I asked about the MRI, but all she said was that the doctor will discuss that with me. Before she left, she handed me an assessment to fill out. It seemed to be a list of questions about the medical history of my family, specifically about our mental health. Does your family have a history of Schizophrenia? Have there been any instances of domestic abuse? Did you have vivid nightmares as a child? Etc. I marked the boxes, then set the clipboard down.
At last I heard the fated knock on the door, and my doctor came in holding an Ipad. The door was only open for maybe a couple seconds, but I could see multiple nurses and technicians peeking their heads in my direction, as if they were trying to catch a glimpse of me. That can't be good.
"Hello, Josie," the doctor said and clicked on the little TV screen. He didn't even look at me. I could see dried sweat along his hairline.
"What's happening? I thought I was going to get an MRI…"
"Well, actually we aren't sure if that's the best course of action." the doctor said as he clicked the screen and pulled up a series of images.
"Can you look at me, please?" I snapped.
The doctor raised his head and tilted it in my direction. His mouth was agape, his eyes wide as if only realizing I was here at that moment. "I'm sorry, Josie." He took a deep breath, preparing some kind of canned presentation, then let it out and said, "It's just easier if I show you." He pulled up the first global image from what I presume was my CT scan. It was a front-shot. I could see my organs as little geometric shapes and—
"Wait, what is that?" I asked, pointing at the screen.
"That—is the problem."
I spent the next minute just staring at it. Somehow, in between all of the organs, there was some kind of cylindrical mass—I thought it was my spine at first but quickly realized it was too wide and there weren't any vertebrae—and at the head of the mass was, very clearly, a hand.
"What the fuck is that" I said in a tone that was at once forceful and pointed.
"It appears," the doctor started, looking away again. "It appears that there is a mechanical hand in your chest cavity. It's attached to a piece of a forearm that begins at your stomach, here," he pointed, "and continues up until, well, it appears to be holding your heart."
Ten seconds passed in silence. Then I was hit with the equivalent of the laughing gas they give you at the Dentist's office. All the blood in my body surged to my forehead and I felt light as the very thin hospital air. "Hahaha!!! You expect me to believe that? What kind of fucking clown-show hospital is this? Am I at the circus?' I stood up and started toward the door. The doctor body blocked me.
"Please, Josie, that isn't it."
"Oh?" I said sarcastically. "Please, do tell."
"Could you have—oh, okay, okay,, let me explain."
I stood there with my arms folded, unrelenting.
"When we first had you do the X-ray there was a big blur. It was clear that something was blocking us from seeing the image. The CT scan was able to take some actual pictures of it. I know it seems, well, unusual—"
"Wait, what the hell is that?" I asked, gesturing toward the clipboard.
"What?" The doctor looked disoriented.
"Those questions. Are you trying to insinuate that my mom and dad implanted some kind of mechanical hand in my body?"
"No," the doctor raised his hands. "We were just trying to gather some more information… Josie," the doctor said as I once again headed for the door handle. "Please, there's more. From the blood test we conducted it seems that you're pregnant."
I was so done. "I'm on the pill, asshole." I sneered and swung the door open, ignoring the sets of eyes trained on me as I scurried to the end of the hall, ran outside, and climbed into my car. I expected to see a bunch of people in white coats running after me, but there was no one. I started the car as tears began to stream from my eyes. Fuck them, I thought and sped out of the parking lot.
I couldn't return to my apartment. I ended up driving for hours, working my way back to my hometown. I spent a long time thinking about all the things I had experienced growing up. The stomach pain, slowly working its way up to my chest. The vivid dream of the surgeon feeling around my guts. Was it really that crazy to think my body was trying to tell me something? Why had I decided against having a CT scan all those years ago? Why now? I didn't—couldn't believe what was happening to me. But was that just because I didn't want to believe it?
And then there was the pregnancy. I was definitely on the pill. I knew it wasn't Kev's, or at least I was pretty sure it wasn't. We haven't been having sex for a little over a month now. But did that mean that something else didn't impregnate me? My paranoia was at its peak. I considered the possibility that maybe it was me that was Schizophrenic. None of this made any sense. I wanted my dad. I missed him. I considered going to see my mom, but despite making up with her, I still didn't feel close enough to her to own up to everything. I wanted to be alone—needed to be alone.
I ended up getting a Motel about 10 minutes away from my house. It was around 1AM when I finally opened the door to my room and laid down on the bed. After hours of thinking, a single thought occurred to me like a kind of defense mechanism: if I really am pregnant, I'm not keeping the baby. I want it out.
Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard the notification sound go off on my phone, which was odd since I was sure I had set it to vibrate. I turned and grabbed it, unplugging it from its charging dock. I had received a text message from an unknown, 5-digit number: 66669. This is what it said.
66669: If you terminate my baby, I will crush your heart.
***
I haven't been able to sleep since. It's now 6AM and I've drafted this as a cry for help. Please, let me know what you think I should do. I'm too "in it" to see the details clearly. I feel alone and scared and paranoid. Someone or something is watching me. Maybe it has been my whole life.
submitted by Weathers_Writing to nosleep [link] [comments]
They called me a colic baby, meaning I was a seemingly healthy baby that was distressed for an unknown reason. The fits of crying mostly dissipated by six months, but they'd crop up every now and then into toddler-hood. When I became capable of babbling a few words, I would summarize my pain in a few words: belly hurt. Belly HURT!
My parents didn't have much money, but they took me to the doctor for a checkup anyway. After running a physical exam and blood test, they determined that I was merely an excessively gassy little girl and should probably eat a more gut-friendly diet. They also prescribed some medicine which would eliminate the gas and relieve my pain.
It was from that moment on that my parents gave me the nickname "Gas Girl" (which I despised). The name stuck for several years, and anytime I'd get a little stomach ache my mom or dad would say, "uh, oh. It's not Gas Girl returning, is it?" I'd glare at them with my arms folded and pout, saying, "I'm not Gas Girl. I'm Wonder Girl!" My parents would share a look, then burst out laughing. Just as I was about to shout a retort, my dad would open up his arms and bend down in that familiar pose which signaled liftoff, and all my childish rage detached like a racing sticker as I leaped into my dad's arms and he flew me around the living room shouting "Who is it? It's Wonder-girl! Here to save the day from Gas Girl!"
Anyway, just as the nickname wore off, the pain returned. I was about 7 or 8 when I had my first big episode. I was in second grade, and the class was cutting out shapes. The pain came on so suddenly I remember lurching back and falling out of my seat. The next few hours were a blur of adults: my teacher, the nurses, the principal, my parents. I remember how cold and alone I felt despite being surrounded by grown ups, and my stomach hurt so much I was crying pretty much nonstop.
My dad bought a bunch of OTC medicine to try and settle what he thought was a really bad gas episode. My mom laid at the side of my bed and did bicycles in the air with me. Hours passed in pain as my adolescent imagination conjured up images of an evil little elf blowing thousands of bubbles in my belly. I consciously pictured myself popping them, but every time I did, more were blown. My dad scheduled a doctor's appointment for the next morning, and my mom stayed at my side until I was able to fall asleep sometime late in the night.
I dreamed vividly a horrific nightmare. I was strapped to a black, metal box. A surgeon donning blue scrubs with white gloves and a mask entered the space in my peripheral vision. The air was cold but crisp, as if every bit of dust had been scrubbed out of existence. I could feel my breathing, my heartbeat, even my skin. The doctor stepped forward and I could see the distortion of a smirk in the folds of his mask. I expected him to say something, to tell me what he wanted, but instead he lifted my shirt so my belly was exposed. "It's cold", I said in a mumbly voice. He lifted his hand in the air, and I saw behind it off in the back of the room was what looked like the glass wall of an aquarium. I was confused for a second, but only a second. The surgeon plunged his hand into my stomach like a spear, splitting through the flesh as if it were the skin of a ripe fruit. The previously silent man began to cackle like a maniacal villain as I nearly passed out from the pain. I felt his fingers swimming through my guts like parasitic worms. My body shook as cold sweat and blood began to ooze from my pores. I wanted to scream but I couldn't make a sound. I could only lay there, paralyzed, as the evil doctor explored my insides.
Somehow I lost consciousness in the dream, but when I woke up, the memory came flooding back, and I screamed with all the force of a thunderstorm. My parents skipped the appointment and rushed me to immediate care, but by the time we arrived, the pain was gone. I explained my dream to the doctor, but he said it was normal to dream up reasons for the pain. They recommended a CT scan to screen out the possibility of an ulcer or internal bleeding. Despite my parents' scarce savings, they agreed to run the test. However, something deeply entrenched in my mind thought of the dream with the surgeon and I protested. "I don't want a test!" I screamed. "But, honey, how are we going to know what's wrong?" replied my mom. "Nothing's wrong now. I don't want a test."
Looking back now on my persistence, it should have been obvious that there was something wrong with me, but my parents, who were thinking of their finances, allowed themselves to acquiesce to my demands. The pain would continue into and throughout my teenage years, and the one benefit that I can credit to it was that it taught me how to endure pain and hide it well before puberty started. Compared to my childhood cramps, period cramps were around a B+. Very bad, but not end of the world bad. However, they'd stick around more reliably, and eventually the two began to combine until I could no longer discern between them. Occasionally I would have a nightmare and wake up with a pain that was a little higher in my stomach, almost approaching my chest, but it would always disappear by breakfast time, and the chaos of a teenage girl's life would once again reassert itself in the form of an outfit that didn't look quite right or the memory of every word of a conversation with a guy I liked or how my teacher was out to get me. Basically, I had become normal.
And then two weeks after I turned 16, my dad passed away from heart failure. Apparently the stress from a paycheck-to-paycheck life in sales added onto a bad diet and a penchant for alcohol was a recipe for disaster. He was only 49. I was crushed.
The weeks and months following his funeral were filled with teenage anger and resentment. I directed most of it at my mom, who I held accountable for not being strong enough to step up and help with the bills. One day, when I was searching the drug cabinet for some painkillers to deal with some bad cramping, I noticed a new prescription for a drug with a really long name. I looked it up. It was an antidepressant. From that moment on I stopped giving my mom shit, but I grew a bit distant from her. I started spending a lot more time with my friends. I became reckless, adopting a drinking habit and unsafe sex practices. I smoked a bit but I didn't really like it. I guess I was just trying to find a way to move on, as naive as it was.
Fast forward to my present situation, and I'm a college student. A junior to be exact. I ended up scrounging up enough money from working two restaurant jobs to see a therapist on my own dime, and managed to make peace with my mom before leaving. We both talked out all of our trauma and cried together, and from that moment on, I haven't had a drink. About six months ago I got on the pill. I was starting to see one guy consistently and I wanted to be safe, but also I wanted to know what it felt like to not have stomach cramps anymore. It was freeing. I remembered my dad lifting me up into the air as a child, and I figured it kinda felt like that. I still cry thinking about him, although I don't let anyone see.
Anyway, about a week ago I started having really bad pain again, but this time it was in my chest. I would wake up in my apartment (I share a 3-bedroom with some friends from the college) with heart palpitations. My heart felt like a snake had wrapped around it and was trying to choke it out. The pressure would give way to a burst of fast ba-dum's, then settle, then start again. I remembered my dad's prognosis and started to get really scared, so I scheduled an appointment with the on-campus doctor for the next day through the online health platform.
They told me that chest pain is no joke and scheduled to have me scanned at a nearby hospital. This was four days ago. My boyfriend, Kevin, drove me there even though I said I'd be fine going alone. I think I already knew our relationship wasn't going to work out long term, so I was kind of checked out. I felt bad about it though because Kev is actually a really good person, but our personalities just don't match. He's very introverted and doesn't like to go out, whereas I thrive in group settings. Anyway, he drove me and I ended up getting an X-ray. The doc came in to share the results and I was immediately put off by the dubious expression on his face.
"What do you mean the images are blurry?" I asked.
"Well, it's just… that. They're blurry. It's very unusual for this to happen unless you have a pacemaker or some other device implanted. Do you know if you have something like that?"
"No, never," I said with a quaver in my voice. For some reason I thought back on my childhood dream with the surgeon and felt the urge to vomit.
"Well, let's run a CT scan and see if we can make anything out." He soothed.
Normally the CT and MRI dock was booked for a week out but the doctor happened to have an open space for me that same morning, so I waited about an hour and then got in the big tube machine that took pictures of my chest and abdomen. He said he should have the results by Thursday. That was Yesterday.
I was driving onto campus for my 9AM class when I got the call.
"Hello, this is Dr. **** calling for Josie **** ." (names redacted for privacy reasons)
"Oh, yes, this is Josie," I said and fit the phone between my shoulder and ear as I tried to find a comfortable posture."
"Yes, hello," the male doctor said in grave way which made me feel like this wasn't going to be a short call. "I wanted to see if you were available to come in today for some more tests."
"More tests?" I asked. "What about the first ones?" Images of blocked heart valves and cancer presented themselves on my mental screen.
"Yes, well, I wanted to discuss the results with you in person. There was a bit of a … well, an inconsistency, and I didn't want to upset you—"
"Upset me!?" I blurted, my free hand flying out over the steering wheel, swerving my car toward the curb. I corrected, then lowered my voice, "sorry, I don't mean to be …" be, what? This is completely absurd. "Could you at least give me some indication of what's wrong with me? I'm just kind of panicking here."
The doctor was quiet for a moment, then returned. "Sorry, Josie, I didn't mean to spook you. Both the X-ray scan and CT scan are picking up interference which is unusual. It's possible it's just a flaw on our end, so that's why we wanted you to come back in—to do an MRI and really verify what the issue is. This one would be free of charge and we'd get you results same-day as we feel bad about the issues with the machinery. Do you think that would be possible?"
I took a deep breath. I still felt uneasy, but at least now there was some kind of explanation I could lean on. "Okay, yeah, I can come in. I have class until 9:50AM, but I can drive over after and be there around 10:15, 10:20-ish. Would that work?"
"That would work great. We'll see you then."
I spent the whole of my communications class thinking about what could be wrong with me, doodling my ideas down on a notebook. Heart disease. Cancer. Some kind of peptic ulcer. Maybe it was the pill? The drinking? Was this some kind of cosmic retribution? I didn't know.
An hour later I was back at the hospital. I expected to be ushered into the MRI prep room, but instead I found myself in one of the normal patient rooms, sitting upright on a bed. The nurse did the preliminary height and weight measurements and medical history. I asked about the MRI, but all she said was that the doctor will discuss that with me. Before she left, she handed me an assessment to fill out. It seemed to be a list of questions about the medical history of my family, specifically about our mental health. Does your family have a history of Schizophrenia? Have there been any instances of domestic abuse? Did you have vivid nightmares as a child? Etc. I marked the boxes, then set the clipboard down.
At last I heard the fated knock on the door, and my doctor came in holding an Ipad. The door was only open for maybe a couple seconds, but I could see multiple nurses and technicians peeking their heads in my direction, as if they were trying to catch a glimpse of me. That can't be good.
"Hello, Josie," the doctor said and clicked on the little TV screen. He didn't even look at me. I could see dried sweat along his hairline.
"What's happening? I thought I was going to get an MRI…"
"Well, actually we aren't sure if that's the best course of action." the doctor said as he clicked the screen and pulled up a series of images.
"Can you look at me, please?" I snapped.
The doctor raised his head and tilted it in my direction. His mouth was agape, his eyes wide as if only realizing I was here at that moment. "I'm sorry, Josie." He took a deep breath, preparing some kind of canned presentation, then let it out and said, "It's just easier if I show you." He pulled up the first global image from what I presume was my CT scan. It was a front-shot. I could see my organs as little geometric shapes and—
"Wait, what is that?" I asked, pointing at the screen.
"That—is the problem."
I spent the next minute just staring at it. Somehow, in between all of the organs, there was some kind of cylindrical mass—I thought it was my spine at first but quickly realized it was too wide and there weren't any vertebrae—and at the head of the mass was, very clearly, a hand.
"What the fuck is that" I said in a tone that was at once forceful and pointed.
"It appears," the doctor started, looking away again. "It appears that there is a mechanical hand in your chest cavity. It's attached to a piece of a forearm that begins at your stomach, here," he pointed, "and continues up until, well, it appears to be holding your heart."
Ten seconds passed in silence. Then I was hit with the equivalent of the laughing gas they give you at the Dentist's office. All the blood in my body surged to my forehead and I felt light as the very thin hospital air. "Hahaha!!! You expect me to believe that? What kind of fucking clown-show hospital is this? Am I at the circus?' I stood up and started toward the door. The doctor body blocked me.
"Please, Josie, that isn't it."
"Oh?" I said sarcastically. "Please, do tell."
"Could you have—oh, okay, okay,, let me explain."
I stood there with my arms folded, unrelenting.
"When we first had you do the X-ray there was a big blur. It was clear that something was blocking us from seeing the image. The CT scan was able to take some actual pictures of it. I know it seems, well, unusual—"
"Wait, what the hell is that?" I asked, gesturing toward the clipboard.
"What?" The doctor looked disoriented.
"Those questions. Are you trying to insinuate that my mom and dad implanted some kind of mechanical hand in my body?"
"No," the doctor raised his hands. "We were just trying to gather some more information… Josie," the doctor said as I once again headed for the door handle. "Please, there's more. From the blood test we conducted it seems that you're pregnant."
I was so done. "I'm on the pill, asshole." I sneered and swung the door open, ignoring the sets of eyes trained on me as I scurried to the end of the hall, ran outside, and climbed into my car. I expected to see a bunch of people in white coats running after me, but there was no one. I started the car as tears began to stream from my eyes. Fuck them, I thought and sped out of the parking lot.
I couldn't return to my apartment. I ended up driving for hours, working my way back to my hometown. I spent a long time thinking about all the things I had experienced growing up. The stomach pain, slowly working its way up to my chest. The vivid dream of the surgeon feeling around my guts. Was it really that crazy to think my body was trying to tell me something? Why had I decided against having a CT scan all those years ago? Why now? I didn't—couldn't believe what was happening to me. But was that just because I didn't want to believe it?
And then there was the pregnancy. I was definitely on the pill. I knew it wasn't Kev's, or at least I was pretty sure it wasn't. We haven't been having sex for a little over a month now. But did that mean that something else didn't impregnate me? My paranoia was at its peak. I considered the possibility that maybe it was me that was Schizophrenic. None of this made any sense. I wanted my dad. I missed him. I considered going to see my mom, but despite making up with her, I still didn't feel close enough to her to own up to everything. I wanted to be alone—needed to be alone.
I ended up getting a Motel about 10 minutes away from my house. It was around 1AM when I finally opened the door to my room and laid down on the bed. After hours of thinking, a single thought occurred to me like a kind of defense mechanism: if I really am pregnant, I'm not keeping the baby. I want it out.
Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard the notification sound go off on my phone, which was odd since I was sure I had set it to vibrate. I turned and grabbed it, unplugging it from its charging dock. I had received a text message from an unknown, 5-digit number: 66669. This is what it said.
66669: If you terminate my baby, I will crush your heart.
***
I haven't been able to sleep since. It's now 6AM and I've drafted this as a cry for help. Please, let me know what you think I should do. I'm too "in it" to see the details clearly. I feel alone and scared and paranoid. Someone or something is watching me. Maybe it has been my whole life.
2024.05.13 23:17 Final_Ad_7681 Please please help me 😢
Hi everyone I will try make a rather long story short, I have been working as a chef in a hotel for 5/6 months.
Never missed a day off and 9 times out of 10 coming in a hour early off my own back (not get paid for the 1hr)which I am fine with.i do this just to make sure we are all ready for the 6:30pm service. I am on a 45 hour contract salary 27,000 chef de partie This is just for some context^ Unfortuantly after some real horrific things have gone on in the last few weeks. 1 being my own grandad has been asking for inappropriate photos of my legs and ‘hairy chest’ and several other awful things. he had been grooming me for a month and I physically couldn’t come to terms with what was going on. 23M btw. 2 Another reason for leaving abruptly was my dad passed away to be honest we never really talked but I had a lot of memories and even after the fact he was my dad. It all got overwhelming and I couldn’t face doing another split shift and desperately needed time on my own so quit my job.
I was owed 120 hours but they emailed me today saying I breached contract so will not be payed my holiday pay. I go to Ghana for 6 weeks in September to help build schools with a charity and was hoping to use the money to help fund that. Am I stuck here ? Or is there anything I can do? Thanks to whoever takes time to read..
submitted by Final_Ad_7681 to work [link] [comments]
Never missed a day off and 9 times out of 10 coming in a hour early off my own back (not get paid for the 1hr)which I am fine with.i do this just to make sure we are all ready for the 6:30pm service. I am on a 45 hour contract salary 27,000 chef de partie This is just for some context^ Unfortuantly after some real horrific things have gone on in the last few weeks. 1 being my own grandad has been asking for inappropriate photos of my legs and ‘hairy chest’ and several other awful things. he had been grooming me for a month and I physically couldn’t come to terms with what was going on. 23M btw. 2 Another reason for leaving abruptly was my dad passed away to be honest we never really talked but I had a lot of memories and even after the fact he was my dad. It all got overwhelming and I couldn’t face doing another split shift and desperately needed time on my own so quit my job.
I was owed 120 hours but they emailed me today saying I breached contract so will not be payed my holiday pay. I go to Ghana for 6 weeks in September to help build schools with a charity and was hoping to use the money to help fund that. Am I stuck here ? Or is there anything I can do? Thanks to whoever takes time to read..
2024.05.13 23:17 Groundbreaking-Belt8 I don’t have the patience for a 2nd
This is mostly a ramble to myself but would love feedback for similar-minded people who have made a decision about a second.
I (32F) and married to a wonderful man (35M) who is the greatest partner and dad. He takes an equal share of the household chores and I believe has an endless well of patience for our 2 year old son.
We both have intense jobs in industries we love. I work at an executive level for a non-profit and my job feels all-consuming at times. His job is very 9-5 and works mostly from home. Our lives are full and happy, and financially we can afford to live where we want with both of us working full time. Both of our industries are based here.
It’s always been “the plan” to have 2 kids and on most days when things are going well, I’m all for it and get excited about the idea. We are a solid team. But when shit hits the fan, it seems I get overwhelmed and fall apart so much more easily and need my husband’s help.
Days like today are now few and far between, but all 3 of us are sick, both my husband and I are trying to keep on top of work remotely, and our kid is a fucking nightmare. All I want to do is throw a tantrum myself - throw dishes, drive fast in my car, scream in a pillow, curse at my kid, quit my job. Of course I do none of that, I just fall apart and want to shed all the stress in my life. I feel out of control and reckless. I often wish my husband was “mama” so then my kid will want him all the time instead of me.
I’m going to therapy to try and work on this. But it just feels like I can barely handle one without being a monster most of the time. I think I am certainly a going to break with 2. Eventually, they will both be sick and both be little fucking nightmares. Eventually, I will get work calls in the middle of their tantrums and I know I’m just going to mentally break. If I have 2,maybe I should drastically alter my life and reduce the work stress which also means reducing our income (we live in a HCOL area/state).
I decided today that maybe it’s better if I try to give my all to 1 and not try to overextend myself with 2. Work is manageable with 1. My mom had 3 kids and I have so many memories of her red-faced, yelling at us to shut up, her getting pissed at our antics. And she was a sahm. I most certainly don’t have that patience for that.
Not sure what I’m looking for. My husband is so ready for a 2nd kid now but I can’t help but wonder if 2 is a good idea for my mental health and the mental healths of my children.
submitted by Groundbreaking-Belt8 to Shouldihaveanother [link] [comments]
I (32F) and married to a wonderful man (35M) who is the greatest partner and dad. He takes an equal share of the household chores and I believe has an endless well of patience for our 2 year old son.
We both have intense jobs in industries we love. I work at an executive level for a non-profit and my job feels all-consuming at times. His job is very 9-5 and works mostly from home. Our lives are full and happy, and financially we can afford to live where we want with both of us working full time. Both of our industries are based here.
It’s always been “the plan” to have 2 kids and on most days when things are going well, I’m all for it and get excited about the idea. We are a solid team. But when shit hits the fan, it seems I get overwhelmed and fall apart so much more easily and need my husband’s help.
Days like today are now few and far between, but all 3 of us are sick, both my husband and I are trying to keep on top of work remotely, and our kid is a fucking nightmare. All I want to do is throw a tantrum myself - throw dishes, drive fast in my car, scream in a pillow, curse at my kid, quit my job. Of course I do none of that, I just fall apart and want to shed all the stress in my life. I feel out of control and reckless. I often wish my husband was “mama” so then my kid will want him all the time instead of me.
I’m going to therapy to try and work on this. But it just feels like I can barely handle one without being a monster most of the time. I think I am certainly a going to break with 2. Eventually, they will both be sick and both be little fucking nightmares. Eventually, I will get work calls in the middle of their tantrums and I know I’m just going to mentally break. If I have 2,maybe I should drastically alter my life and reduce the work stress which also means reducing our income (we live in a HCOL area/state).
I decided today that maybe it’s better if I try to give my all to 1 and not try to overextend myself with 2. Work is manageable with 1. My mom had 3 kids and I have so many memories of her red-faced, yelling at us to shut up, her getting pissed at our antics. And she was a sahm. I most certainly don’t have that patience for that.
Not sure what I’m looking for. My husband is so ready for a 2nd kid now but I can’t help but wonder if 2 is a good idea for my mental health and the mental healths of my children.
2024.05.13 23:13 Mother-Worker-5445 I painted pre fab <3
 | I feel such an emotional attachment to sunset valley and the sims 3 in general. I started playing it as a kid. It was just my FAVORITE thing, all i wanted to do was play sims 3. This is the first house i moved into and it holds so many memories. I remember being at my dad’s house, staring at the computer screen in the living room. I miss him, at least once a week i have a dream im playing the sims at his house. submitted by Mother-Worker-5445 to Sims3 [link] [comments] Im not a painter guy i just paint for fun i dont try to paint good realistic paintings and i just use an acrylic paint set from walmart. I just wanted to share something ive had for a while that makes me happy every time i look at it, i love the sims 3. :) In a way, Pre fab feels like my childhood home. |
2024.05.13 22:44 C3PH4L0SP0R1N "A Shadow on the Soul"
This is an expansion of a recent post and also incorporates some ideas from this theory (by u/ndependent-Design17). Throughout the series the reader is repeatedly reminded that "only death can pay for life" — that magic, especially powerful magic, comes at great cost.
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection of a soul from one body into another. The process of transferring souls to either the animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.
The Bran that appears to Jon-Ghost in the vision in ACOK is also likely the lingering soul of a non-contemporaneous Bran, contained in the weirwoods and communicating from the future.
There is more information about this in the Time Traveling Bran series. Briefly, the version of Bran in this vision does not appear to be contemporaneous because likes the dark, is able to open Jon's third eye, and smells of death. (This is well outside of the scope of this theory however.)
To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is also specifically described as having the shape Stannis. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
The exchange of seed for soul is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King.
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically.
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.). It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual was responsible.
The creation of the shadows required part of Stannis' soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described, at least in the community, separately as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the series:
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. Fire consumes.
After Alester Florent is sacrificed on Dragonstone Davos describes "the smell of burning flesh" on the wind:
Whether these forms of magic are actually interchangeable or not — whether they each require the consumption of souls — is difficult to prove based on the text. It appears likely given the association between these concepts that sacrifice that powered this "anguished wind" was that of a soul and not a body or blood.
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described essentially as a lifeless husk:
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows, likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.
There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he may not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Thoros later describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn.
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children has been previously discussed at length in the community.) Whereas fire consumes, ice preserves.
This would explain several unusual characteristics of the Others as described by Tormund
A reasonable interpretation of this is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which is in keeping with their nature as spirits.
EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues
submitted by C3PH4L0SP0R1N to pureasoiaf [link] [comments]
"Only death can pay for life, my lord. A great gift requires a great sacrifice.”Davos, ASOS
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.
1. establishing the concept of the soul
Oh, to be sure, there is much we do not understand. The years pass in their hundreds and their thousands, and what does any man see of life but a few summers, a few winters? We look at mountains and call them eternal, and so they seem… but in the course of time, mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. Even gods die, we think. Everything changes.Bran, AGOT
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:
The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting.Prologue, ADWD
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection of a soul from one body into another. The process of transferring souls to either the animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.
“Someone else was in the raven,” he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. “Some girl. I felt her.”Bran, ADWD
“A woman, of those who sing the song of earth,” his teacher said. “Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy’s flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you.”
"Do all the birds have singers in them?"
“All,” Lord Brynden said.
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:
"The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.”Prologue, ADWD
Other beasts were best left alone, the hunter had declared. Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you. Elk and deer were prey; wear their skins too long, and even the bravest man became a coward. Bears, boars, badgers, weasels … Haggon did not hold with such. “Some skins you never want to wear, boy. You won’t like what you’d become.” Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. “Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again.
...
"They say you forget," Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death.
"When the man's flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains."
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.
The Bran that appears to Jon-Ghost in the vision in ACOK is also likely the lingering soul of a non-contemporaneous Bran, contained in the weirwoods and communicating from the future.
The weirwood had his brother’s face. Had his brother always had three eyes?Jon, ACOK
Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow.
He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.
"Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this." And the tree reached down and touched him.
There is more information about this in the Time Traveling Bran series. Briefly, the version of Bran in this vision does not appear to be contemporaneous because likes the dark, is able to open Jon's third eye, and smells of death. (This is well outside of the scope of this theory however.)
2. shadow magic requires souls
As above the reader is repeatedly reminded throughout the series that "only death can pay for life." What is specifically being sacrificed, though? Is the magic being fueled by the blood of the sacrificed or by something else?To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.
Shadows only live when given birth by light, and the king's fires burn so low I dare not draw off any more to make another son. It might well kill him."Davos, ASOS
Melisandre moved closer.
"With another man, though... a man whose flames still burn hot and high... if you truly wish to serve your king's cause, come to my chamber one night. I could give you pleasure such as you have never known, and with your life-fire I could make..."
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is also specifically described as having the shape Stannis. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
The exchange of seed for soul is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King.
A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. (Credit to u/DigLost5791 for this reference.)Bran, ASOS
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:
The look of him was a shock. He seemed ten years older than the man that Davos had left at Storm’s End when he set sail for the Blackwater and the battle that would be their undoing. The king’s close-cropped beard was spiderwebbed with grey hairs, and he had dropped two stone or more of weight. He had never been a fleshy man, but now the bones moved beneath his skin like spears, fighting to cut free. Even his crown seemed too large for his head. His eyes were blue pits lost in deep hollows, and the shape of a skull could be seen beneath his face.Davos, ASOS
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."
What little flesh he’d carried on his tall, spare frame at Deepwood Motte had melted away during the march. The shape of his skull could be seen under his skin, and his jaw was clenched so hard Asha feared his teeth might shatter.Asha, ADWD
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.
“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning … burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing.Davos, ASOS
"…what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”
“Everything,” said Davos, softly.
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically.
3. blood and fire magic
As opposed to the creation of the shadows described above, we are also provided an example of blood magic in the leech burning ritual.“Give me the boy, Your Grace. It is the surer way. The better way. Give me the boy and I shall wake the stone dragon.”Davos, ASOS
...
Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, and said, “As my king commands.” Reaching up her left sleeve with her right hand, she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the red woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king. Davos watched her lift the lid. Beneath were three large black leeches, fat with blood. The boy’s blood, Davos knew. A king’s blood. Stannis stretched forth a hand, and his fingers closed around one of the leeches.
“Say the name,” Melisandre commanded.
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.). It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual was responsible.
The creation of the shadows required part of Stannis' soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described, at least in the community, separately as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the series:
“Shadow?" Davos felt his flesh prickling. "A shadow is a thing of darkness."Davos, ACOK
”You are more ignorant than a child, ser knight. There are no shadows in the dark. Shadows are the servants of light, the children of fire. The brightest flame casts the darkest shadows."
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. Fire consumes.
After Alester Florent is sacrificed on Dragonstone Davos describes "the smell of burning flesh" on the wind:
Melisandre had given Alester Florent to her god on Dragonstone, to conjure up the wind that bore them north. Lord Florent had been strong and silent as the queen's men bound him to the post, as dignified as any half-naked man could hope to be, but as the flames licked up his legs he had begun to scream, and his screams had blown them all the way to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, if the red woman could be believed. Davos had misliked that wind. It had seemed to him to smell of burning flesh, and the sound of it was anguished as it played amongst the lines.Davos, ADWD
Whether these forms of magic are actually interchangeable or not — whether they each require the consumption of souls — is difficult to prove based on the text. It appears likely given the association between these concepts that sacrifice that powered this "anguished wind" was that of a soul and not a body or blood.
4. dancing shadows
The tent was aglow with the light of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows moving.Daenerys, AGOT
Mirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone.
...
No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see?
Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.
“The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed,” Irri said. “She said so, I heard her.”
“Yes,” Doreah agreed, “I heard her too.”
No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! She screamed. The dancers!
Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described essentially as a lifeless husk:
"He seems to like the warmth, Princess," Ser Jorah said. "His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips."Daenerys, AGOT
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows, likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.
“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust."Daenerys, AGOT
5. reanimation
If "only death can pay for life" and souls are used as a form of magical currency how does one explain the reanimation or resurrection process?There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)
“Thoros, how many times have you brought me back now?”There is no immediately identifiable cost for the "kiss of life" and repeated resurrection of Beric. I speculate that Thoros is breathing part of his soul into Beric during this process.
The red priest bowed his head. “It is R’hllor who brings you back, my lord. The Lord of Light. I am only his instrument.”
“How many times?” Lord Beric insisted.
“Six,” Thoros said reluctantly.
“And each time is harder. You have grown reckless, my lord. Is death so very sweet?”
Arya, ASOS
“That first time, his lordship had a hole right through him and blood in his mouth, I knew there was no hope. So when his poor torn chest stopped moving, I gave him the good god's own kiss to send him on his way. I filled my mouth with fire and breathed the flames inside him, down his throat to lungs and heart and soul. The last kiss it is called, and many a time I saw the old priests bestow it on the Lord's servants as they died." (Credit to u/watchersontheweb for providing this quote in the initial thread.)Arya, ASOS
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.
“Here’s the wizard, skinny squirrel. You’ll get your answers now.”Arya, ASOS
He pointed toward the fire, where Tom Sevenstrings stood talking to a tall thin man with oddments of old armor buckled on over his ratty pink robes. That can’t be Thoros of Myr. Arya remembered the red priest as fat, with a smooth face and a shiny bald head. This man had a droopy face and a full head of shaggy grey hair. Something
...
“Thoros of Myr. You used to shave your head.”
“To betoken a humble heart, but in truth my heart was vain. Besides, I lost my razor in the woods.” The priest slapped his belly. “I am less than I was, but more. A year in the wild will melt the flesh off a man. Would that I could find a tailor to take in my skin. I might look young again, and pretty maids would shower me with kisses.”
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he may not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Thoros later describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:
“The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers instead, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And… she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose.”Brienne, AFFC
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn.
6. cold shadows (wild speculation)
The terms "white shadows," "pale shadows," and "cold shadows" are repeated used to describe the Others. The Others are also highly associated with ghosts — the spirits of souls of the dead bound to the earth. (The forrest is literally called the Haunted Forrest.)The Others made no sound.Prologue, AGOT
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?
“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?” It was cold.
Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek. A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. ...
The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children has been previously discussed at length in the community.) Whereas fire consumes, ice preserves.
This would explain several unusual characteristics of the Others as described by Tormund
“Tormund,” Jon said, as they watched four old women pull a cartful of children toward the gate, “tell me of our foe. I would know all there is to know of the Others.”Jon, ADWD
The wildling rubbed his mouth. “Not here,” he mumbled, “not this side o’ your Wall.” The old man glanced uneasily toward the trees in their white mantles. “They’re never far, you know. They won’t come out by day, not when that old sun’s shining, but don’t think that means they went away. Shadows never go away. Might be you don’t see them, but they’re always clinging to your heels.”
...
Tormund turned back.
"You know nothing. You killed a dead man, aye, I heard. Mance killed a hundred. A man can fight the dead, but when their masters come, when the white mists rise up… how do you fight a mist, crow? Shadows with teeth … air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest … you do not know, you cannot know … can your sword cut cold?"
A reasonable interpretation of this is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which is in keeping with their nature as spirits.
“The white walkers go lightly on the snow,” the ranger said. “You’ll find no prints to mark their passage.”Samwell, ASOS
7. conclusions
This highly speculative theory that attempts to reconcile the several seemingly disparate concepts in the series related to magic, namely the actual nature of magical sacrifice ("only death can pay for life") and shadows or shadow magic. More specifically, I suggest that souls are the primary magical currency and can be consumed to summon shadows, create glamours, etc. I also speculate that similar processes took place during Mirri Maz Duur's shadow-binding ritual in AGOT and during the repeated resurrections of Berric Dondarrion in ASOS. I further suggest that the Others are ghosts, the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth.EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues
2024.05.13 22:37 C3PH4L0SP0R1N (spoilers extended) "A Shadow on the Soul"
This is an expansion of a recent post and also incorporates some ideas from this theory (by u/ndependent-Design17). Throughout the series the reader is repeatedly reminded that "only death can pay for life" — that magic, especially powerful magic, comes at great cost.
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection of a soul from one body into another. The process of transferring souls to either the animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.
The Bran that appears to Jon-Ghost in the vision in ACOK is also likely the lingering soul of a non-contemporaneous Bran, contained in the weirwoods and communicating from the future.
There is more information about this in the Time Traveling Bran series. Briefly, the version of Bran in this vision does not appear to be contemporaneous because likes the dark, is able to open Jon's third eye, and smells of death. (This is well outside of the scope of this theory however.)
To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is also specifically described as having the shape Stannis. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
The exchange of seed for soul is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King.
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically.
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.). It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual was responsible.
The creation of the shadows required part of Stannis' soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described, at least in the community, separately as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the series:
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. Fire consumes.
After Alester Florent is sacrificed on Dragonstone Davos describes "the smell of burning flesh" on the wind:
Whether these forms of magic are actually interchangeable or not — whether they each require the consumption of souls — is difficult to prove based on the text. It appears likely given the association between these concepts that sacrifice that powered this "anguished wind" was that of a soul and not a body or blood.
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described essentially as a lifeless husk:
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows, likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.
There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he may not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Thoros later describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn.
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children is linked in a separate post here.) Whereas fire consumes, ice preserves.
This would explain several unusual characteristics of the Others as described by Tormund
A reasonable interpretation of this is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which is in keeping with their nature as spirits.
EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues
submitted by C3PH4L0SP0R1N to asoiaf [link] [comments]
"Only death can pay for life, my lord. A great gift requires a great sacrifice.”Davos, ASOS
This phrase or variations of this phrase are repeated by Melisandre, Mirri, etc. at various points throughout the series. That which follows is a highly speculative theory on the nature of the cost of magic in the series. Specifically, that souls are central to the exercise of magic and can be used as magic currency.
1. establishing the concept of the soul
Oh, to be sure, there is much we do not understand. The years pass in their hundreds and their thousands, and what does any man see of life but a few summers, a few winters? We look at mountains and call them eternal, and so they seem… but in the course of time, mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. Even gods die, we think. Everything changes.Bran, AGOT
What happens after we die? Is there some part of us that lives on or do we simply cease to exist. These are fundamental questions that are essentially unanswerable in life but not in ASOIAF. The reader is given a point-of-view account of death in the prologue of ADWD. After unsuccessfully attempting to steal the body of Thistle, a wildling spearwife, Varamyr dies and briefly becomes a disembodied consciousness:
The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting.Prologue, ADWD
Afterward his "spirit," or soul, is eventually transferred into a body of wolf and he begins his second life. This event, and the process of skin-changing more generally, appears to involve projection of a soul from one body into another. The process of transferring souls to either the animal vessels or the weirwoods is central to the magic of the Children of the Forest.
“Someone else was in the raven,” he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. “Some girl. I felt her.”Bran, ADWD
“A woman, of those who sing the song of earth,” his teacher said. “Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy’s flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you.”
"Do all the birds have singers in them?"
“All,” Lord Brynden said.
After death a "shadow on the soul" of the Singers remain in the crows. The soul of Orell is also described as living on in the body of his eagle after his death.
This process appears to take two forms: the soul can be temporarily projected from one body into another (e.g., as happens when Bran skin-changes into Hodor) or can be permanently transferred as is described in the separate examples above.
These transferred souls merge with their recipient, at least to some degree, and may decay over time:
"The wolf is part of you from that day on, and you’re part of him. Both of you will change.”Prologue, ADWD
Other beasts were best left alone, the hunter had declared. Cats were vain and cruel, always ready to turn on you. Elk and deer were prey; wear their skins too long, and even the bravest man became a coward. Bears, boars, badgers, weasels … Haggon did not hold with such. “Some skins you never want to wear, boy. You won’t like what you’d become.” Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. “Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again.
...
"They say you forget," Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death.
"When the man's flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains."
Bran is provided with similar warnings about the danger of spending too much time in Summer's skin by Jojen.
The Bran that appears to Jon-Ghost in the vision in ACOK is also likely the lingering soul of a non-contemporaneous Bran, contained in the weirwoods and communicating from the future.
The weirwood had his brother’s face. Had his brother always had three eyes?Jon, ACOK
Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow.
He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.
"Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this." And the tree reached down and touched him.
There is more information about this in the Time Traveling Bran series. Briefly, the version of Bran in this vision does not appear to be contemporaneous because likes the dark, is able to open Jon's third eye, and smells of death. (This is well outside of the scope of this theory however.)
2. shadow magic requires souls
As above the reader is repeatedly reminded throughout the series that "only death can pay for life." What is specifically being sacrificed, though? Is the magic being fueled by the blood of the sacrificed or by something else?To answer this let us examine one of the most concrete example of magic in the series, the use or exchange of Stannis Baratheon's "life-fire" in order for Melisandre to manifest the shadows used to kill Renly Baratheon and Courtney Penrose.
Shadows only live when given birth by light, and the king's fires burn so low I dare not draw off any more to make another son. It might well kill him."Davos, ASOS
Melisandre moved closer.
"With another man, though... a man whose flames still burn hot and high... if you truly wish to serve your king's cause, come to my chamber one night. I could give you pleasure such as you have never known, and with your life-fire I could make..."
According to this explanation, the cost of producing these shadow appears to have been part of his "life-fire," or soul. The shadow is also specifically described as having the shape Stannis. Whether this applies to other types of magic — specifically blood magic or fire magic — is less clear but shadow magic very much appears to require the use of souls.
The exchange of seed for soul is also directly referenced in the story of the Night's King.
A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her he gave his soul as well. (Credit to u/DigLost5791 for this reference.)Bran, ASOS
Stannis is described by Davos afterward as follows:
The look of him was a shock. He seemed ten years older than the man that Davos had left at Storm’s End when he set sail for the Blackwater and the battle that would be their undoing. The king’s close-cropped beard was spiderwebbed with grey hairs, and he had dropped two stone or more of weight. He had never been a fleshy man, but now the bones moved beneath his skin like spears, fighting to cut free. Even his crown seemed too large for his head. His eyes were blue pits lost in deep hollows, and the shape of a skull could be seen beneath his face.Davos, ASOS
Asha later describes Stannis as appearing life a "man with one foot in the grave."
What little flesh he’d carried on his tall, spare frame at Deepwood Motte had melted away during the march. The shape of his skull could be seen under his skin, and his jaw was clenched so hard Asha feared his teeth might shatter.Asha, ADWD
These descriptions seem appropriate for a character that has lost part of their "life-fire" or soul.
Throughout the series Stannis is forced to make a series of increasingly difficult decisions. The most significant of these decisions regards the fate of his nephew, Eric Storm. Melisandre repeatedly urges him to "give [her] the boy," presumably to be burned, but is rebuffed by Stannis.
“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning … burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing.Davos, ASOS
"…what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”
“Everything,” said Davos, softly.
Is the life of this bastard boy worth the lives of millions that would die if the Others break through the Wall? Making a deal with the devil and literally selling his soul in pursuit of some greater good seems very appropriate for his character, thematically.
3. blood and fire magic
As opposed to the creation of the shadows described above, we are also provided an example of blood magic in the leech burning ritual.“Give me the boy, Your Grace. It is the surer way. The better way. Give me the boy and I shall wake the stone dragon.”Davos, ASOS
...
Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, and said, “As my king commands.” Reaching up her left sleeve with her right hand, she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the red woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king. Davos watched her lift the lid. Beneath were three large black leeches, fat with blood. The boy’s blood, Davos knew. A king’s blood. Stannis stretched forth a hand, and his fingers closed around one of the leeches.
“Say the name,” Melisandre commanded.
Following this ritual all of the mentioned individuals do die but do so as the part of separate conspiracies (e.g., Robb Stark is betrayed by the Freys and Boltons, Joffrey Baratheon by Littlefinger and the Tyrells, etc.). It is left intentionally ambiguous by the author but it does not appear that the ritual was responsible.
The creation of the shadows required part of Stannis' soul. Could it be that the leech burning ritual was unsuccessful because blood alone is not sufficient as a sacrifice?
These forms of magic are frequently described, at least in the community, separately as "shadow magic" and "blood magic." These concepts — "fire and blood" and "flame and shadow" — are highly associated with one another in the series:
“Shadow?" Davos felt his flesh prickling. "A shadow is a thing of darkness."Davos, ACOK
”You are more ignorant than a child, ser knight. There are no shadows in the dark. Shadows are the servants of light, the children of fire. The brightest flame casts the darkest shadows."
I speculate that these are different expressions of the same concept; that all of these fall under the general umbrella of fire magic and share common principles. Fire consumes.
After Alester Florent is sacrificed on Dragonstone Davos describes "the smell of burning flesh" on the wind:
Melisandre had given Alester Florent to her god on Dragonstone, to conjure up the wind that bore them north. Lord Florent had been strong and silent as the queen's men bound him to the post, as dignified as any half-naked man could hope to be, but as the flames licked up his legs he had begun to scream, and his screams had blown them all the way to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, if the red woman could be believed. Davos had misliked that wind. It had seemed to him to smell of burning flesh, and the sound of it was anguished as it played amongst the lines.Davos, ADWD
Whether these forms of magic are actually interchangeable or not — whether they each require the consumption of souls — is difficult to prove based on the text. It appears likely given the association between these concepts that sacrifice that powered this "anguished wind" was that of a soul and not a body or blood.
4. dancing shadows
The tent was aglow with the light of braziers within. Through the blood-spattered sandsilk, she glimpsed shadows moving.Daenerys, AGOT
Mirri Maz Duur was dancing, and not alone.
...
No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see?
Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.
“The Lamb Woman knows the secrets of the birthing bed,” Irri said. “She said so, I heard her.”
“Yes,” Doreah agreed, “I heard her too.”
No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! She screamed. The dancers!
Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.
The introduction of shadow magic in the series is provided above with Mirri Max Duur. Following this ritual Drogo is described essentially as a lifeless husk:
"He seems to like the warmth, Princess," Ser Jorah said. "His eyes follow the sun, though he does not see it. He can walk after a fashion. He will go where you lead him, but no farther. He will eat if you put food in his mouth, drink if you dribble water on his lips."Daenerys, AGOT
It has previously been speculated that Mirri "reverse skin-changed" Drogo (e.g., "strength of the mount go into the rider, strength of the beast go into the man."). The description provided is less consistent with a horse soul inhabiting a human body than it is with the complete or near-complete absence of a soul. It appears more likely in retrospect that Mirri sacrificed part of Drogo's soul to summon the shadows, likely as a means to kill Daenerys' unborn child.
“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust."Daenerys, AGOT
5. reanimation
If "only death can pay for life" and souls are used as a form of magical currency how does one explain the reanimation or resurrection process?There is a paucity of information on the reanimation of the dead in the series. The resurrection of Beric Dondarrion, for example, appears to be different in fundamental ways from that of the wights or Cold Hands. (We are potentially given a point-of-view account of this process if you accept that Victarion died in ADWD.)
“Thoros, how many times have you brought me back now?”There is no immediately identifiable cost for the "kiss of life" and repeated resurrection of Beric. I speculate that Thoros is breathing part of his soul into Beric during this process.
The red priest bowed his head. “It is R’hllor who brings you back, my lord. The Lord of Light. I am only his instrument.”
“How many times?” Lord Beric insisted.
“Six,” Thoros said reluctantly.
“And each time is harder. You have grown reckless, my lord. Is death so very sweet?”
Arya, ASOS
“That first time, his lordship had a hole right through him and blood in his mouth, I knew there was no hope. So when his poor torn chest stopped moving, I gave him the good god's own kiss to send him on his way. I filled my mouth with fire and breathed the flames inside him, down his throat to lungs and heart and soul. The last kiss it is called, and many a time I saw the old priests bestow it on the Lord's servants as they died." (Credit to u/watchersontheweb for providing this quote in the initial thread.)Arya, ASOS
Thoros is also described as appearing very different after performing this ritual several times in a way that is not entirely dissimilar to the changes in Stannis’ appearance referenced above.
“Here’s the wizard, skinny squirrel. You’ll get your answers now.”Arya, ASOS
He pointed toward the fire, where Tom Sevenstrings stood talking to a tall thin man with oddments of old armor buckled on over his ratty pink robes. That can’t be Thoros of Myr. Arya remembered the red priest as fat, with a smooth face and a shiny bald head. This man had a droopy face and a full head of shaggy grey hair. Something
...
“Thoros of Myr. You used to shave your head.”
“To betoken a humble heart, but in truth my heart was vain. Besides, I lost my razor in the woods.” The priest slapped his belly. “I am less than I was, but more. A year in the wild will melt the flesh off a man. Would that I could find a tailor to take in my skin. I might look young again, and pretty maids would shower me with kisses.”
Thoros attributes these changes to his renewed devotion to the Red God and spending "a year in the wild" although he is not exactly forthcoming with Arya about the resurrection process. It is also likely that he may not entirely understand what specifically is being exchanged here.
Thoros later describes Beric giving the "kiss of life" to the corpse of Catelyn Stark:
“The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers instead, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And… she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose.”Brienne, AFFC
Notably, this process produces a reanimated Catelyn (a.k.a. Lady Stoneheart). The soul of Beric, or at least whatever is left of his soul at this point in the series, is consumed in order to resurrect Catelyn.
6. cold shadows (wild speculation)
The terms "white shadows," "pale shadows," and "cold shadows" are repeated used to describe the Others. The Others are also highly associated with ghosts — the spirits of souls of the dead bound to the earth. (The forrest is literally called the Haunted Forrest.)The Others made no sound.Prologue, AGOT
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?
“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?” It was cold.
Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek. A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took. Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. ...
The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.
This is again highly speculative but it seems reasonable to consider that these cold shadows are not "ice demons" but are in fact ghosts, the spirits or souls of men that are bound to the earth through magic by the Children of the Forest. (The textual evidence of the creation of the Others by the Children is linked in a separate post here.) Whereas fire consumes, ice preserves.
This would explain several unusual characteristics of the Others as described by Tormund
“Tormund,” Jon said, as they watched four old women pull a cartful of children toward the gate, “tell me of our foe. I would know all there is to know of the Others.”Jon, ADWD
The wildling rubbed his mouth. “Not here,” he mumbled, “not this side o’ your Wall.” The old man glanced uneasily toward the trees in their white mantles. “They’re never far, you know. They won’t come out by day, not when that old sun’s shining, but don’t think that means they went away. Shadows never go away. Might be you don’t see them, but they’re always clinging to your heels.”
...
Tormund turned back.
"You know nothing. You killed a dead man, aye, I heard. Mance killed a hundred. A man can fight the dead, but when their masters come, when the white mists rise up… how do you fight a mist, crow? Shadows with teeth … air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest … you do not know, you cannot know … can your sword cut cold?"
A reasonable interpretation of this is that the Others are present during the day, at least in some capacity, and are only able to assume corporeal form at night.
The Others are also described as "going lightly upon the snow" which is in keeping with their nature as spirits.
“The white walkers go lightly on the snow,” the ranger said. “You’ll find no prints to mark their passage.”Samwell, ASOS
7. conclusions
This highly speculative theory that attempts to reconcile the several seemingly disparate concepts in the series related to magic, namely the actual nature of magical sacrifice ("only death can pay for life") and shadows or shadow magic. More specifically, I suggest that souls are the primary magical currency and can be consumed to summon shadows, create glamours, etc. I also speculate that similar processes took place during Mirri Maz Duur's shadow-binding ritual in AGOT and during the repeated resurrections of Berric Dondarrion in ASOS. I further suggest that the Others are ghosts, the spirits or souls of the dead bound to the earth.EDIT: edited several times to address formatting issues
2024.05.13 22:34 Ala1738221 Do they seriously expect people to mourn people who died trying to commit genocide?
 | submitted by Ala1738221 to Palestine [link] [comments] |
2024.05.13 22:29 twocan-toucan B&W Tattoo Sketch Please
 | I'm looking to have a tattoo designed to memorialize my grandfather. My idea was a paw print with elements of the animals he rescued/raised most. While he would take in any animal, parrots, koi fish, turtles/tortoises, and foliage were his passion. They were also a huge part of my childhood spent with him. submitted by twocan-toucan to DrawForMe [link] [comments] I am open to any variation of leaf, and for the elements to be rearranged to create a better sense of balance. The birds he worked with most were Macaw, African Gray, and Cockatoo. This will be done in black ink only. I'm also open to having the quote included in a different way or other ideas for the center of the paw. Thank you so much in advance, and please feel free to reach out with any questions! I've never done a request here, so I'm honestly not sure how the payment aspect usually works? |
2024.05.13 22:23 DollfaceLE Aggression at Memory Care
I posted a few months ago about my dad being hospitalized with a suspected infection (it wasn’t) due to behavior changes, and how we were being encouraged to shift him to memory care for more support/redirection since there was no cause of the behavior change besides progression of dementia. His doctors at the VA would not give me any changes to medication either.
So we found him a memory care unit and transferred him straight there from the hospital. It started out ok; he wasn’t sleeping or eating well but he was ok. Six plus weeks have passed and he’s settled in and starting to eat better, but still has sleep issues due to other residents who roam and moan. The last several days, he’s been sleepy (due to the aforementioned and probably due to boredom too) and he’s been a bit agitated.
The first shift aides don’t seem well trained so we’ve had a few issues with them, and one of the other residents (who was since transferred to a nursing home) pushed Dad a few times, but Dad didn’t reciprocate and mostly seems irritated by some of the other residents though not combative.
Today I got a call from the nurse saying that Dad “may” have struck a female resident, so they have to report it. (I need to call back to ask whom they are reporting this to…? Me? The other resident’s family? The director? 🤷🏻♀️) The nurse said all of the aides were busy getting people ready for bed and Dad was in the common area with some of the other folks. He was sitting with a lady chatting. At a certain point, one of the aides heard a slight commotion so came out to investigate, but reported that nothing was going on and she asked if anyone needed help and was told no. The female resident later told the aides that my dad struck her in the face and they did notice a mark (which today has bruised.) When the nurse who called me asked her what happened, she didn’t remember the specifics but indicated that someone had hit her. Of course, my dad denied it… but he doesn’t remember what happened 5 minutes ago.
The nurse said “this is memory care” repeatedly - i.e., they don’t really trust anyone 100%. But she said they checked the cameras in the area where they were sitting around the time they were left l alone and could find no evidence on the camera of any altercation. Still, the woman is bruised and repeating her story of being hit, so the nurse is “typing it up.” Presumably, this goes in dad’s file…?
I don’t know how I feel about all of this… the doctors say he needs redirection and the support of a facility but it seems like he was better at home with a live in aide. He had his moments but she handled them except when it was really over the top (which wasn’t a regular occurrence.) So far, it doesn’t seem like we’re getting more or better care at the facility. And still, none of the drs are talking about medication changes.
So what do I do with him? Do these things get sorted out or am I screwed on facilities until he needs skilled nursing?
submitted by DollfaceLE to dementia [link] [comments]
So we found him a memory care unit and transferred him straight there from the hospital. It started out ok; he wasn’t sleeping or eating well but he was ok. Six plus weeks have passed and he’s settled in and starting to eat better, but still has sleep issues due to other residents who roam and moan. The last several days, he’s been sleepy (due to the aforementioned and probably due to boredom too) and he’s been a bit agitated.
The first shift aides don’t seem well trained so we’ve had a few issues with them, and one of the other residents (who was since transferred to a nursing home) pushed Dad a few times, but Dad didn’t reciprocate and mostly seems irritated by some of the other residents though not combative.
Today I got a call from the nurse saying that Dad “may” have struck a female resident, so they have to report it. (I need to call back to ask whom they are reporting this to…? Me? The other resident’s family? The director? 🤷🏻♀️) The nurse said all of the aides were busy getting people ready for bed and Dad was in the common area with some of the other folks. He was sitting with a lady chatting. At a certain point, one of the aides heard a slight commotion so came out to investigate, but reported that nothing was going on and she asked if anyone needed help and was told no. The female resident later told the aides that my dad struck her in the face and they did notice a mark (which today has bruised.) When the nurse who called me asked her what happened, she didn’t remember the specifics but indicated that someone had hit her. Of course, my dad denied it… but he doesn’t remember what happened 5 minutes ago.
The nurse said “this is memory care” repeatedly - i.e., they don’t really trust anyone 100%. But she said they checked the cameras in the area where they were sitting around the time they were left l alone and could find no evidence on the camera of any altercation. Still, the woman is bruised and repeating her story of being hit, so the nurse is “typing it up.” Presumably, this goes in dad’s file…?
I don’t know how I feel about all of this… the doctors say he needs redirection and the support of a facility but it seems like he was better at home with a live in aide. He had his moments but she handled them except when it was really over the top (which wasn’t a regular occurrence.) So far, it doesn’t seem like we’re getting more or better care at the facility. And still, none of the drs are talking about medication changes.
So what do I do with him? Do these things get sorted out or am I screwed on facilities until he needs skilled nursing?
2024.05.13 22:19 Artic-Flamingo The grace of PJ
Last week’s hullabaloo played out less dramatically in the real world than what I’ve shared. The reality is that there was an upset, things were said, feelings were hurt, and it was all very necessary. The drama is in my thoughts, but my thoughts are all I put here.
Since then, there have been some subtle changes in PJ. He’s been more open lately, asking more questions – engaging Dotty on a deeper level. He asks her about his mom; he asks her to retell some of the stories that made them famous. From a distance, one might suspect that he’s making a place for her.
Since our emotive talk, and more than once, PJ has told me he was sorry, if not for the things he said, for the tone in which he said them. I told him that was all a part of the job and that he needn’t worry about it. Though the sense is that he is worried about it. He said he didn’t want me to think he forgot to love me. I told him I could never think that.
I had him in the car this morning when out of the clear blue, he started talking about the accident. PJ never speaks of it, so I was keen to listen. “I was thinking about something you said.” He began. He went on to talk about my regret for the days that came after; for leaving him alone. He told me that he also heard me talking about it with Uncle Dan once.
“You need to let that go, dad.” He said all at once.
His assertion surprised me; I hadn’t expected him to go there. I’m not sure if I answered him.
“It’s just stupid, I mean the way I see it, everyone had to play a part then. You played me, Uncle Danny played you – it’s just how it was.” He told me that what he remembers best is how I made time for him every day. “And you would tell me every bit of the good news first – I remember that.” He asked me if I’d forgotten.
I started to say that I was glad he had that memory, but he would interrupt me.
“The thing is, dad, you were doing what you were supposed to do,” he said, and as he said it, we were just pulling up to the head of the long path where I leave him each morning. He would gather his bag and pop open the door, but before he stepped out, he said, “And if you left Zach alone then, even for a minute, I would have thrown rocks at you until you went back.”
He hesitated to go, as if he knew the significance of what he was telling me. I can still hear the buzzing silence that accompanied that moment. He was looking right at me, and it felt entirely purposeful. I, on the other hand, was looking at the street ahead.
“Okay?” He asked.
I turned to him and smiled. “Okay.” I said.
I reached over, took his shoulder, and rocked him a few times before pushing him toward the door. I told him to do well, the way I do every morning - we bumped fists and I watched him bounce along to class.
I wouldn’t make it a block before I fell apart.
We’ve talked about it before, and he’s given me assurances then, but this is different. He was only answering me then. This was unprovoked, and deliberately instigated as though he needed me to know.
I believe him.
I feel as though I’ve reached a place, though I’m not sure where. But it feels like a place where I can stay a while and rest.
submitted by Artic-Flamingo to FathersJourney [link] [comments]
Since then, there have been some subtle changes in PJ. He’s been more open lately, asking more questions – engaging Dotty on a deeper level. He asks her about his mom; he asks her to retell some of the stories that made them famous. From a distance, one might suspect that he’s making a place for her.
Since our emotive talk, and more than once, PJ has told me he was sorry, if not for the things he said, for the tone in which he said them. I told him that was all a part of the job and that he needn’t worry about it. Though the sense is that he is worried about it. He said he didn’t want me to think he forgot to love me. I told him I could never think that.
I had him in the car this morning when out of the clear blue, he started talking about the accident. PJ never speaks of it, so I was keen to listen. “I was thinking about something you said.” He began. He went on to talk about my regret for the days that came after; for leaving him alone. He told me that he also heard me talking about it with Uncle Dan once.
“You need to let that go, dad.” He said all at once.
His assertion surprised me; I hadn’t expected him to go there. I’m not sure if I answered him.
“It’s just stupid, I mean the way I see it, everyone had to play a part then. You played me, Uncle Danny played you – it’s just how it was.” He told me that what he remembers best is how I made time for him every day. “And you would tell me every bit of the good news first – I remember that.” He asked me if I’d forgotten.
I started to say that I was glad he had that memory, but he would interrupt me.
“The thing is, dad, you were doing what you were supposed to do,” he said, and as he said it, we were just pulling up to the head of the long path where I leave him each morning. He would gather his bag and pop open the door, but before he stepped out, he said, “And if you left Zach alone then, even for a minute, I would have thrown rocks at you until you went back.”
He hesitated to go, as if he knew the significance of what he was telling me. I can still hear the buzzing silence that accompanied that moment. He was looking right at me, and it felt entirely purposeful. I, on the other hand, was looking at the street ahead.
“Okay?” He asked.
I turned to him and smiled. “Okay.” I said.
I reached over, took his shoulder, and rocked him a few times before pushing him toward the door. I told him to do well, the way I do every morning - we bumped fists and I watched him bounce along to class.
I wouldn’t make it a block before I fell apart.
We’ve talked about it before, and he’s given me assurances then, but this is different. He was only answering me then. This was unprovoked, and deliberately instigated as though he needed me to know.
I believe him.
I feel as though I’ve reached a place, though I’m not sure where. But it feels like a place where I can stay a while and rest.
2024.05.13 22:16 Anony_Miss_72 Sharing Pictures Without Permission
Hi, my name is Anony_Miss_72, and my dad is a boomer. For further context, my husband and I are very anti-social media (yes, I know, I'm posting on reddit right now, but reddit is different and you all know it!). No pics of our kids online, we have no facebook, insta, snapchat, etc. and we ask our families not to share things about us online either. No judgement on what others do, we just don't want to be a part of it.
Now to my story... My hubby took some pretty cool photos of the northern lights the other day, and shared them in my family's group text. The next day, we saw my dad and he says "I shared your pictures on Facebook yesterday. People loved them, lots of likes. Facebook is how I keep track of my memories, and so I want those memories on there of your cool pictures. I figured you wouldn't mind." We very much did mind. I told my dad, "I'm glad you liked his pictures, but next time, please ask before you post our pictures online."
His response: "Why?" That's it. Just "why?"
I proceeded to explain to him that those were pictures my husband took, they belong to him and he deserves to be asked before his artwork gets shares with strangers. Also, dad, you know that we are very private people and we don't like our life posted on the Internet. So next time, please just ask.
His response: "Thank you for the clarification of your social media rules."
Cherry on top - my mom is mad at him about posting the pictures too, but not because our privacy, etc., but because he did not give my husband "photo cred" when he posted it. Which, I agree is totally uncool, but really mom? That's your biggest concern?!
submitted by Anony_Miss_72 to BoomersBeingFools [link] [comments]
Now to my story... My hubby took some pretty cool photos of the northern lights the other day, and shared them in my family's group text. The next day, we saw my dad and he says "I shared your pictures on Facebook yesterday. People loved them, lots of likes. Facebook is how I keep track of my memories, and so I want those memories on there of your cool pictures. I figured you wouldn't mind." We very much did mind. I told my dad, "I'm glad you liked his pictures, but next time, please ask before you post our pictures online."
His response: "Why?" That's it. Just "why?"
I proceeded to explain to him that those were pictures my husband took, they belong to him and he deserves to be asked before his artwork gets shares with strangers. Also, dad, you know that we are very private people and we don't like our life posted on the Internet. So next time, please just ask.
His response: "Thank you for the clarification of your social media rules."
Cherry on top - my mom is mad at him about posting the pictures too, but not because our privacy, etc., but because he did not give my husband "photo cred" when he posted it. Which, I agree is totally uncool, but really mom? That's your biggest concern?!
2024.05.13 22:02 himynamegoose Visited in a Dream
Hey Courtney and anyone who decides to read my story, I have a little experience that I thought people might find interesting involving a dream I once had. I'll just set up some background information before jumping into the story.
When I was five, my little brother died of SIDs or Sudden Infant Death Syndrome at seven weeks old. Every year since his death, my mom makes a point to celebrate his birthday and for a lack of a better word, his death day. She always made a point to allow my sister and me to have a place to talk about him because our dad never let us. But, unlike my sister who was nine when he died, I didn't have many memories of him. The only one I could recall was the day he died which I don't like to think about.
This story happened when I was eighteen or so, after we celebrated his birthday. My mom and sister talked all day about their favorite memories of him in the short time we had him in our lives. I, on the other hand, sat there in self pity thinking about how shitty I felt for not remembering him. The day went on like any other day and by the end of it, I was ready for bed. I fell asleep quickly and that's where the real story starts.
I'm going to put this out there but I'm not one to remember dreams ever and if I do, they're very weird and strange. But, this one wasn't. It was quite normal actually. Dream me woke up and went on to get dressed and ready like any other day. From my room upstairs, I could hear my little brother, who was born after the death of the other brother and who we will call Henry for the sake of his privacy, chatting away downstairs but I never heard anyone talking back. But, dream me didn't seem to be weirded out by this and I just continued my morning routine.
Once I was ready, I headed down the stairs and took a right into our kitchen to get something for breakfast. When I turned into the kitchen I saw Henry sitting at the table talking away to some random kid, who looked to be thirteen or fourteen, that I had never seen before. I wasn't afraid of this random teen, in fact, I seemed to know him because I continued on with going to make breakfast. As I made myself breakfast, I felt eyes on me and Henry stopped talking all of a sudden. I turned to look back to the kitchen table where they sat and found the teen looking at me.
This was the first time that I got a good look at him. He looked like me, well a bit like me. He looked like me if I looked more like my dad. The same brown hair and green eyes. As I looked at the teen, he gave me a smile and said "It's okay." I was confused. I thought okay weirdo and went back to making breakfast. And as if he was reading my mind he continued, "It's okay that you don't remember me because we will be together again someday." That's when I woke up with tears streaming down my face.
I can't say 100% that it was my little brother but he would have been the same age as the boy in my dream. Part of me tried to rationalize it. Maybe it could have been my subconscious but I choose to think he came to visit me and tell me that everything was okay. I've only had one other dream like this and in that dream I was a mother to a little boy with sandy blonde hair. Flashforward a few years and now I'm the mother of a little boy with sandy blonde hair. This is why I fully believe my brother did come to visit me and reassure me that it was okay that I didn't remember him fully. But, I would like to know what he meant by "we will be together again someday".
submitted by himynamegoose to spoopycjades [link] [comments]
When I was five, my little brother died of SIDs or Sudden Infant Death Syndrome at seven weeks old. Every year since his death, my mom makes a point to celebrate his birthday and for a lack of a better word, his death day. She always made a point to allow my sister and me to have a place to talk about him because our dad never let us. But, unlike my sister who was nine when he died, I didn't have many memories of him. The only one I could recall was the day he died which I don't like to think about.
This story happened when I was eighteen or so, after we celebrated his birthday. My mom and sister talked all day about their favorite memories of him in the short time we had him in our lives. I, on the other hand, sat there in self pity thinking about how shitty I felt for not remembering him. The day went on like any other day and by the end of it, I was ready for bed. I fell asleep quickly and that's where the real story starts.
I'm going to put this out there but I'm not one to remember dreams ever and if I do, they're very weird and strange. But, this one wasn't. It was quite normal actually. Dream me woke up and went on to get dressed and ready like any other day. From my room upstairs, I could hear my little brother, who was born after the death of the other brother and who we will call Henry for the sake of his privacy, chatting away downstairs but I never heard anyone talking back. But, dream me didn't seem to be weirded out by this and I just continued my morning routine.
Once I was ready, I headed down the stairs and took a right into our kitchen to get something for breakfast. When I turned into the kitchen I saw Henry sitting at the table talking away to some random kid, who looked to be thirteen or fourteen, that I had never seen before. I wasn't afraid of this random teen, in fact, I seemed to know him because I continued on with going to make breakfast. As I made myself breakfast, I felt eyes on me and Henry stopped talking all of a sudden. I turned to look back to the kitchen table where they sat and found the teen looking at me.
This was the first time that I got a good look at him. He looked like me, well a bit like me. He looked like me if I looked more like my dad. The same brown hair and green eyes. As I looked at the teen, he gave me a smile and said "It's okay." I was confused. I thought okay weirdo and went back to making breakfast. And as if he was reading my mind he continued, "It's okay that you don't remember me because we will be together again someday." That's when I woke up with tears streaming down my face.
I can't say 100% that it was my little brother but he would have been the same age as the boy in my dream. Part of me tried to rationalize it. Maybe it could have been my subconscious but I choose to think he came to visit me and tell me that everything was okay. I've only had one other dream like this and in that dream I was a mother to a little boy with sandy blonde hair. Flashforward a few years and now I'm the mother of a little boy with sandy blonde hair. This is why I fully believe my brother did come to visit me and reassure me that it was okay that I didn't remember him fully. But, I would like to know what he meant by "we will be together again someday".
2024.05.13 21:56 Whooterzoot Tomorrow's my two year tranniversary and I'm mostly just sad
CW: sad girl posting
Apologies for the negativity, I try to keep my posting habits celebratory and positive for the most part, but I keep crying about this and I could use a lil boost of encouragement/solidarity.
I'm [F 28] sad because it shouldn't be only two years; it should be ten. Hell, twenty. It should be twenty-four years because that's how long ago I can remember having felt like I wished to have been born a girl. It was one of the first things I wrote down after learning how to write but my dad found it and confronted me about it. I don't remember what he said, but I remember being really scared of him, lying about it, and saying I didn't really mean it. It's a formative enough memory that every other childhood/adolescent trans-related memory I have (of which there are many) involves being afraid of him finding out about whatever I was doing/feeling.
Now I'm pushing thirty and I feel like such a fucking loser. The other day I met a twenty year old girl I was sure was cis, but she's actually a girl like me. Only she got to come out at age eleven and had supportive parents who helped her access puberty blockers. She's so gorgeous and passing and miles ahead of me in the career we're both in. I hold no ill will towards her and I would never make my feelings her problem. In all likelihood I'll never see her again. But meeting her, seeing her, and learning her story... I really hate to say it but it triggered me. I got so jealous. Not even of her appearance, necessarily, just that she had the opportunity to come out as a kid and bypass t-fueled puberty. Her voice was so perfectly feminine and undamaged the way mine is. She's everything I wish I could be, in transition and career, and she's only fucking twenty. Like what the fuck am I even doing here? What value do I add when girls like her exist?
I have a lot to be grateful for, but I still can't shake the feeling of having missed my chance. It could have been me. I researched puberty blockers and trans kids when I was a young adolescent and felt kinship with them. I lived with my mom who is the total opposite of my dad and would have accepted and encouraged me no matter what. But I was still too afraid to admit, even to myself, that that was who I was. Even on the opposite side of the country with very little involvement in my life, my dad's influence was strong enough that I voluntarily stifled myself to fit in the box he wanted me to for his approval. And I chose to stay in it until the pandemic shattered all my illusions about the world and I started doing things for myself for a change.
In a lot of ways, I'm very lucky. I didn't lose any friends by coming out and I live in a very progressive part of a very progressive state. I have support at work. I have naturally feminine features that I like and other trans girls tell me all the time how they wished they looked like me. My dating life has never been better. I should be grateful, but instead I'm full of regret. People say I shouldn't want to change the past because our experiences make us who we are and I wouldn't be the person I am today without them. But I hear that and all I think is "I don't want to be the person I am today." I want to be me, but the version of me who came out as a kid, who got on blockers and hrt sooner. The version of me who didn't develop weird fetishes and kinks as a coping mechanism for the latent dysphoria that might never go away now. The version of me who doesn't hate herself. I don't even want to be cis, I think being trans is cool and beautiful, I just wish I had started earlier.
It's just not fair. I'll be fine. I'm working on it in therapy. Maybe someday it won't bother me as much. Right now I'm just feeling like it's not fucking fair. And I'm mourning the life I could have had instead of celebrating the one I'm in.
Can anyone relate?
submitted by Whooterzoot to lgbt [link] [comments]
Apologies for the negativity, I try to keep my posting habits celebratory and positive for the most part, but I keep crying about this and I could use a lil boost of encouragement/solidarity.
I'm [F 28] sad because it shouldn't be only two years; it should be ten. Hell, twenty. It should be twenty-four years because that's how long ago I can remember having felt like I wished to have been born a girl. It was one of the first things I wrote down after learning how to write but my dad found it and confronted me about it. I don't remember what he said, but I remember being really scared of him, lying about it, and saying I didn't really mean it. It's a formative enough memory that every other childhood/adolescent trans-related memory I have (of which there are many) involves being afraid of him finding out about whatever I was doing/feeling.
Now I'm pushing thirty and I feel like such a fucking loser. The other day I met a twenty year old girl I was sure was cis, but she's actually a girl like me. Only she got to come out at age eleven and had supportive parents who helped her access puberty blockers. She's so gorgeous and passing and miles ahead of me in the career we're both in. I hold no ill will towards her and I would never make my feelings her problem. In all likelihood I'll never see her again. But meeting her, seeing her, and learning her story... I really hate to say it but it triggered me. I got so jealous. Not even of her appearance, necessarily, just that she had the opportunity to come out as a kid and bypass t-fueled puberty. Her voice was so perfectly feminine and undamaged the way mine is. She's everything I wish I could be, in transition and career, and she's only fucking twenty. Like what the fuck am I even doing here? What value do I add when girls like her exist?
I have a lot to be grateful for, but I still can't shake the feeling of having missed my chance. It could have been me. I researched puberty blockers and trans kids when I was a young adolescent and felt kinship with them. I lived with my mom who is the total opposite of my dad and would have accepted and encouraged me no matter what. But I was still too afraid to admit, even to myself, that that was who I was. Even on the opposite side of the country with very little involvement in my life, my dad's influence was strong enough that I voluntarily stifled myself to fit in the box he wanted me to for his approval. And I chose to stay in it until the pandemic shattered all my illusions about the world and I started doing things for myself for a change.
In a lot of ways, I'm very lucky. I didn't lose any friends by coming out and I live in a very progressive part of a very progressive state. I have support at work. I have naturally feminine features that I like and other trans girls tell me all the time how they wished they looked like me. My dating life has never been better. I should be grateful, but instead I'm full of regret. People say I shouldn't want to change the past because our experiences make us who we are and I wouldn't be the person I am today without them. But I hear that and all I think is "I don't want to be the person I am today." I want to be me, but the version of me who came out as a kid, who got on blockers and hrt sooner. The version of me who didn't develop weird fetishes and kinks as a coping mechanism for the latent dysphoria that might never go away now. The version of me who doesn't hate herself. I don't even want to be cis, I think being trans is cool and beautiful, I just wish I had started earlier.
It's just not fair. I'll be fine. I'm working on it in therapy. Maybe someday it won't bother me as much. Right now I'm just feeling like it's not fucking fair. And I'm mourning the life I could have had instead of celebrating the one I'm in.
Can anyone relate?
2024.05.13 21:52 scottie_spliffin M4F 25, Germany/Online - Distract me from my thesis!
Hey there! Thanks for stopping by my post. Here's the deal: I'm knee-deep in my thesis right now, and I could really use a distraction (or ten). That's where you come in!
I'm all about meaningful conversations, goofy moments, meme exchanges, and just being there for each other. Whether we end up as friends or something more, let's make some memories and have a blast along the way!
Now, let me tell you a bit about what makes me tick:
Check out my profile for some pics if you're curious. And remember, no hard feelings if I'm not your type. Shoot me a DM, and let's see where this goes! I've also got Discord, if you'd prefer moving the conversation over there.
Looking forward to hearing from you!
submitted by scottie_spliffin to r4r [link] [comments]
I'm all about meaningful conversations, goofy moments, meme exchanges, and just being there for each other. Whether we end up as friends or something more, let's make some memories and have a blast along the way!
Now, let me tell you a bit about what makes me tick:
- Music: If there's one constant in my life, it's music. From discovering new tunes to writing my own stuff, it's my passion. Got any recommendations?
- Cooking: Consider me a culinary "adventurer". Sometimes my experiments turn out amazing, and other times they're a learning experience!
- Gaming: My dad raised me on games and it's always stuck with me. League is what I always fall back on (judge me if you want, I totally get it), but I'm down to try anything. Always down for an all-night gaming session!
- Streetwear: Fashion enthusiast, which sadly hasn't made my dress sense any better! I love receiving fit pics.
- Academia: I'm currently pursuing a career in academia, so I'm knee-deep in the academic world. But don't worry, I promise not to bore you with lectures (unless you want me to). I'd love explore some fascinating topics together if you're down!
Check out my profile for some pics if you're curious. And remember, no hard feelings if I'm not your type. Shoot me a DM, and let's see where this goes! I've also got Discord, if you'd prefer moving the conversation over there.
Looking forward to hearing from you!
2024.05.13 21:49 Whooterzoot Tomorrow's my two year tranniversary and I'm mostly just sad
Apologies for the negativity, I try to keep my posting habits celebratory and positive for the most part, but I keep crying about this and I could use a lil boost of encouragement/solidarity.
I'm [F 28] sad because it shouldn't be only two years; it should be ten. Hell, twenty. It should be twenty-four years because that's how long ago I can remember having felt like I wished to have been born a girl. It was one of the first things I wrote down after learning how to write but my dad found it and confronted me about it. I don't remember what he said, but I remember being really scared of him, lying about it, and saying I didn't really mean it. It's a formative enough memory that every other childhood/adolescent trans-related memory I have (of which there are many) involves being afraid of him finding out about whatever I was doing/feeling.
Now I'm pushing thirty and I feel like such a fucking loser. The other day I met a twenty year old girl I was sure was cis, but she's actually a girl like me. Only she got to come out at age eleven and had supportive parents who helped her access puberty blockers. She's so gorgeous and passing and miles ahead of me in the career we're both in. I hold no ill will towards her and I would never make my feelings her problem. In all likelihood I'll never see her again. But meeting her, seeing her, and learning her story... I really hate to say it but it triggered me. I got so jealous. Not even of her appearance, necessarily, just that she had the opportunity to come out as a kid and bypass t-fueled puberty. Her voice was so perfectly feminine and undamaged the way mine is. She's everything I wish I could be, in transition and career, and she's only fucking twenty. Like what the fuck am I even doing here? What value do I add when girls like her exist?
I have a lot to be grateful for, but I still can't shake the feeling of having missed my chance. It could have been me. I researched puberty blockers and trans kids when I was a young adolescent and felt kinship with them. I lived with my mom who is the total opposite of my dad and would have accepted and encouraged me no matter what. But I was still too afraid to admit, even to myself, that that was who I was. Even on the opposite side of the country with very little involvement in my life, my dad's influence was strong enough that I voluntarily stifled myself to fit in the box he wanted me to for his approval. And I chose to stay in it until the pandemic shattered all my illusions about the world and I started doing things for myself for a change.
In a lot of ways, I'm very lucky. I didn't lose any friends by coming out and I live in a very progressive part of a very progressive state. I have support at work. I have naturally feminine features that I like and other trans girls tell me all the time how they wished they looked like me. My dating life has never been better. I should be grateful, but instead I'm full of regret. People say I shouldn't want to change the past because our experiences make us who we are and I wouldn't be the person I am today without them. But I hear that and all I think is "I don't want to be the person I am today." I want to be me, but the version of me who came out as a kid, who got on blockers and hrt sooner. The version of me who didn't develop weird fetishes and kinks as a coping mechanism for the latent dysphoria that might never go away now. The version of me who doesn't hate herself. I don't even want to be cis, I think being trans is cool and beautiful, I just wish I had started earlier.
It's just not fair. I'll be fine. I'm working on it in therapy. Maybe someday it won't bother me as much. Right now I'm just feeling like it's not fucking fair. And I'm mourning the life I could have had instead of celebrating the one I'm in.
Can anyone relate?
submitted by Whooterzoot to MtF [link] [comments]
I'm [F 28] sad because it shouldn't be only two years; it should be ten. Hell, twenty. It should be twenty-four years because that's how long ago I can remember having felt like I wished to have been born a girl. It was one of the first things I wrote down after learning how to write but my dad found it and confronted me about it. I don't remember what he said, but I remember being really scared of him, lying about it, and saying I didn't really mean it. It's a formative enough memory that every other childhood/adolescent trans-related memory I have (of which there are many) involves being afraid of him finding out about whatever I was doing/feeling.
Now I'm pushing thirty and I feel like such a fucking loser. The other day I met a twenty year old girl I was sure was cis, but she's actually a girl like me. Only she got to come out at age eleven and had supportive parents who helped her access puberty blockers. She's so gorgeous and passing and miles ahead of me in the career we're both in. I hold no ill will towards her and I would never make my feelings her problem. In all likelihood I'll never see her again. But meeting her, seeing her, and learning her story... I really hate to say it but it triggered me. I got so jealous. Not even of her appearance, necessarily, just that she had the opportunity to come out as a kid and bypass t-fueled puberty. Her voice was so perfectly feminine and undamaged the way mine is. She's everything I wish I could be, in transition and career, and she's only fucking twenty. Like what the fuck am I even doing here? What value do I add when girls like her exist?
I have a lot to be grateful for, but I still can't shake the feeling of having missed my chance. It could have been me. I researched puberty blockers and trans kids when I was a young adolescent and felt kinship with them. I lived with my mom who is the total opposite of my dad and would have accepted and encouraged me no matter what. But I was still too afraid to admit, even to myself, that that was who I was. Even on the opposite side of the country with very little involvement in my life, my dad's influence was strong enough that I voluntarily stifled myself to fit in the box he wanted me to for his approval. And I chose to stay in it until the pandemic shattered all my illusions about the world and I started doing things for myself for a change.
In a lot of ways, I'm very lucky. I didn't lose any friends by coming out and I live in a very progressive part of a very progressive state. I have support at work. I have naturally feminine features that I like and other trans girls tell me all the time how they wished they looked like me. My dating life has never been better. I should be grateful, but instead I'm full of regret. People say I shouldn't want to change the past because our experiences make us who we are and I wouldn't be the person I am today without them. But I hear that and all I think is "I don't want to be the person I am today." I want to be me, but the version of me who came out as a kid, who got on blockers and hrt sooner. The version of me who didn't develop weird fetishes and kinks as a coping mechanism for the latent dysphoria that might never go away now. The version of me who doesn't hate herself. I don't even want to be cis, I think being trans is cool and beautiful, I just wish I had started earlier.
It's just not fair. I'll be fine. I'm working on it in therapy. Maybe someday it won't bother me as much. Right now I'm just feeling like it's not fucking fair. And I'm mourning the life I could have had instead of celebrating the one I'm in.
Can anyone relate?
2024.05.13 21:48 Whooterzoot Tomorrow's my two year tranniversary and I'm mostly just sad
Apologies for the negativity, I try to keep my posting habits celebratory and positive for the most part, but I keep crying about this and I could use a lil boost of encouragement/solidarity.
I'm [F 28] sad because it shouldn't be only two years; it should be ten. Hell, twenty. It should be twenty-four years because that's how long ago I can remember having felt like I wished to have been born a girl. It was one of the first things I wrote down after learning how to write but my dad found it and confronted me about it. I don't remember what he said, but I remember being really scared of him, lying about it, and saying I didn't really mean it. It's a formative enough memory that every other childhood/adolescent trans-related memory I have (of which there are many) involves being afraid of him finding out about whatever I was doing/feeling.
Now I'm pushing thirty and I feel like such a fucking loser. The other day I met a twenty year old girl I was sure was cis, but she's actually a girl like me. Only she got to come out at age eleven and had supportive parents who helped her access puberty blockers. She's so gorgeous and passing and miles ahead of me in the career we're both in. I hold no ill will towards her and I would never make my feelings her problem. In all likelihood I'll never see her again. But meeting her, seeing her, and learning her story... I really hate to say it but it triggered me. I got so jealous. Not even of her appearance, necessarily, just that she had the opportunity to come out as a kid and bypass t-fueled puberty. Her voice was so perfectly feminine and undamaged the way mine is. She's everything I wish I could be, in transition and career, and she's only fucking twenty. Like what the fuck am I even doing here? What value do I add when girls like her exist?
I have a lot to be grateful for, but I still can't shake the feeling of having missed my chance. It could have been me. I researched puberty blockers and trans kids when I was a young adolescent and felt kinship with them. I lived with my mom who is the total opposite of my dad and would have accepted and encouraged me no matter what. But I was still too afraid to admit, even to myself, that that was who I was. Even on the opposite side of the country with very little involvement in my life, my dad's influence was strong enough that I voluntarily stifled myself to fit in the box he wanted me to for his approval. And I chose to stay in it until the pandemic shattered all my illusions about the world and I started doing things for myself for a change.
In a lot of ways, I'm very lucky. I didn't lose any friends by coming out and I live in a very progressive part of a very progressive state. I have support at work. I have naturally feminine features that I like and other trans girls tell me all the time how they wished they looked like me. My dating life has never been better. I should be grateful, but instead I'm full of regret. People say I shouldn't want to change the past because our experiences make us who we are and I wouldn't be the person I am today without them. But I hear that and all I think is "I don't want to be the person I am today." I want to be me, but the version of me who came out as a kid, who got on blockers and hrt sooner. The version of me who didn't develop weird fetishes and kinks as a coping mechanism for the latent dysphoria that might never go away now. The version of me who doesn't hate herself. I don't even want to be cis, I think being trans is cool and beautiful, I just wish I had started earlier.
It's just not fair. I'll be fine. I'm working on it in therapy. Maybe someday it won't bother me as much. Right now I'm just feeling like it's not fucking fair. And I'm mourning the life I could have had instead of celebrating the one I'm in.
Can anyone relate?
submitted by Whooterzoot to trans [link] [comments]
I'm [F 28] sad because it shouldn't be only two years; it should be ten. Hell, twenty. It should be twenty-four years because that's how long ago I can remember having felt like I wished to have been born a girl. It was one of the first things I wrote down after learning how to write but my dad found it and confronted me about it. I don't remember what he said, but I remember being really scared of him, lying about it, and saying I didn't really mean it. It's a formative enough memory that every other childhood/adolescent trans-related memory I have (of which there are many) involves being afraid of him finding out about whatever I was doing/feeling.
Now I'm pushing thirty and I feel like such a fucking loser. The other day I met a twenty year old girl I was sure was cis, but she's actually a girl like me. Only she got to come out at age eleven and had supportive parents who helped her access puberty blockers. She's so gorgeous and passing and miles ahead of me in the career we're both in. I hold no ill will towards her and I would never make my feelings her problem. In all likelihood I'll never see her again. But meeting her, seeing her, and learning her story... I really hate to say it but it triggered me. I got so jealous. Not even of her appearance, necessarily, just that she had the opportunity to come out as a kid and bypass t-fueled puberty. Her voice was so perfectly feminine and undamaged the way mine is. She's everything I wish I could be, in transition and career, and she's only fucking twenty. Like what the fuck am I even doing here? What value do I add when girls like her exist?
I have a lot to be grateful for, but I still can't shake the feeling of having missed my chance. It could have been me. I researched puberty blockers and trans kids when I was a young adolescent and felt kinship with them. I lived with my mom who is the total opposite of my dad and would have accepted and encouraged me no matter what. But I was still too afraid to admit, even to myself, that that was who I was. Even on the opposite side of the country with very little involvement in my life, my dad's influence was strong enough that I voluntarily stifled myself to fit in the box he wanted me to for his approval. And I chose to stay in it until the pandemic shattered all my illusions about the world and I started doing things for myself for a change.
In a lot of ways, I'm very lucky. I didn't lose any friends by coming out and I live in a very progressive part of a very progressive state. I have support at work. I have naturally feminine features that I like and other trans girls tell me all the time how they wished they looked like me. My dating life has never been better. I should be grateful, but instead I'm full of regret. People say I shouldn't want to change the past because our experiences make us who we are and I wouldn't be the person I am today without them. But I hear that and all I think is "I don't want to be the person I am today." I want to be me, but the version of me who came out as a kid, who got on blockers and hrt sooner. The version of me who didn't develop weird fetishes and kinks as a coping mechanism for the latent dysphoria that might never go away now. The version of me who doesn't hate herself. I don't even want to be cis, I think being trans is cool and beautiful, I just wish I had started earlier.
It's just not fair. I'll be fine. I'm working on it in therapy. Maybe someday it won't bother me as much. Right now I'm just feeling like it's not fucking fair. And I'm mourning the life I could have had instead of celebrating the one I'm in.
Can anyone relate?
2024.05.13 21:47 Sea_Pea6271 My sister cut me off after years of “abuse?”
My sister has a history of being somewhat psychologically abusive to me. I’m just learning how bad it actually has been this year. At least I think this is psychological abuse, I need help understanding it. It’s really a mind maze. I was always made to believe I was the abuser though I had no memory of ever being abusive, I’m not an abusive person at all, people will tell you I’m very kind, I cry over hurt animals on tv, and I run a nonprofit. Abuse is outside of my nature.
Her abuse started with creating mental health issues I do not have and spreading lies about me having those mental health issues to try to tarnish my reputation, even going so far as trying to convince me that I’m crazy or imbalanced when I’m actually quite rational.
I’ve been in therapy for over 15 years and I’ve been consistently medicated for over a decade. I’m very stable. Im diagnosed with bipolar disorder and anxiety PTSD. I’ve been diagnosed and rediagnosed by multiple professionals. That is all I have. Nothing more nothing less.
She and her wife have spread that I am a paranoid schizophrenic, borderline personality disorder, a narcissist, a sociopath, delusional. Their “diagnosis” changes depending on what they need it to be in the moment.
She has used moments where I actually have had mental health issues against me, she left me in a mental hospital for up to 9 days by myself in LA twice while simultaneously destroying my reputation behind my back so when I came out of the hospital everyone treated me like a nutcase. I was ignored, avoided, talked down to by her friends. She would invite me to come over then later tell me all the mean things her friends said about me when I wasn’t there, kicking my confidence into the dirt. This was at a time when I was already in an abusive relationship and had no one on my side. I spent time with my sister because she was all I had and I was desperate to be loved by someone, I was desperate for approval.
10 years ago my sister was living with me. I had a mental breakdown after a miscarriage and I tried to kill myself. She took my suicide attempt and my tragedy and turned it around and used it to make herself a victim and made up a story about how I abused her during that time, simultaneously taking all the attention that I needed to heal off of me and putting it on her. I spent that year being battered by family about what an abusive person I was, never understanding where it came from, thinking I must be some horrible monster that blacked out whole swaths of memory while my sister soaked up pity. I hated myself for a long time. And I worked to win my sisters approval. She refused to speak to me for the next year, and I walked on eggshells around her for fear I’d be accused of abuse again.
While I was in treatment she was supposed to be caretaking my house. She brought a film crew into my home to film a movie, damaged stuff, then abandoned my home and I had to drop out of treatment early and go home because she bailed.
We got along for a few years and even got close for a little bit but there was some weird stuff
She dragged my parents into a family therapy session I wasn’t invited to where the therapist accused me of elder abuse and told my dad he needed to have me arrested. My parents were confused and disturbed. My sister thought it was funny. After that she switched therapists… and started seeing MY therapist. She poisoned my own therapist against me. For over a year I had no relationship with my therapist because I couldn’t trust her to open up to her because she was also seeing my sister. Now I have a new therapist and I’m learning that there are all kinds of notes in my chart that don’t make sense from my sister that my new therapist is now trying to fix.
10 years and a lot of therapy later I have learned while working with my new therapist that no, I didn’t black anything out. And no I didn’t abuse anyone. Those stories were most likely made up by someone who was jealous because I was getting attention. I had to have a therapist break it down for me. When I realized the pettiness of it I was shocked at the amount of bullshit I have been tolerating from my own blood for the last decade.
Two Christmas’s in a row she showed up to Christmas, brought gifts for everyone but me and my boyfriend, handed them out to everyone in front of us and had them open them, and then turned to us and said “sorry we don’t have anything for you.”
I’m a musician and she showed up to my show and walked out in the middle of my performance.
After that I lost my temper with her and went off on her about how selfish she is and she blocked me and cut me out of her life and has not spoken to me since. The new lie she is spreading is that I’m dangerous and I’m a threat to her safety. She had to cut me off because I was threatening her. She turned her wife’s whole family against me. I’ve been called deranged, delusional, unhinged…
Since then she has started demanding all family events be held at her house which prevents me from being there. She’s set up surprise family events and invited everyone but me.
She’s guilt tripping anyone who doesn’t show up to her events by literally breaking down in tears about feeling left out if I’m there. And everyone in my family is afraid to tell her to knock it off because they’re afraid of being cut off too.
Am I off base in thinking this looks a lot like narcissistic abuse and behaviour?
submitted by Sea_Pea6271 to confessions [link] [comments]
Her abuse started with creating mental health issues I do not have and spreading lies about me having those mental health issues to try to tarnish my reputation, even going so far as trying to convince me that I’m crazy or imbalanced when I’m actually quite rational.
I’ve been in therapy for over 15 years and I’ve been consistently medicated for over a decade. I’m very stable. Im diagnosed with bipolar disorder and anxiety PTSD. I’ve been diagnosed and rediagnosed by multiple professionals. That is all I have. Nothing more nothing less.
She and her wife have spread that I am a paranoid schizophrenic, borderline personality disorder, a narcissist, a sociopath, delusional. Their “diagnosis” changes depending on what they need it to be in the moment.
She has used moments where I actually have had mental health issues against me, she left me in a mental hospital for up to 9 days by myself in LA twice while simultaneously destroying my reputation behind my back so when I came out of the hospital everyone treated me like a nutcase. I was ignored, avoided, talked down to by her friends. She would invite me to come over then later tell me all the mean things her friends said about me when I wasn’t there, kicking my confidence into the dirt. This was at a time when I was already in an abusive relationship and had no one on my side. I spent time with my sister because she was all I had and I was desperate to be loved by someone, I was desperate for approval.
10 years ago my sister was living with me. I had a mental breakdown after a miscarriage and I tried to kill myself. She took my suicide attempt and my tragedy and turned it around and used it to make herself a victim and made up a story about how I abused her during that time, simultaneously taking all the attention that I needed to heal off of me and putting it on her. I spent that year being battered by family about what an abusive person I was, never understanding where it came from, thinking I must be some horrible monster that blacked out whole swaths of memory while my sister soaked up pity. I hated myself for a long time. And I worked to win my sisters approval. She refused to speak to me for the next year, and I walked on eggshells around her for fear I’d be accused of abuse again.
While I was in treatment she was supposed to be caretaking my house. She brought a film crew into my home to film a movie, damaged stuff, then abandoned my home and I had to drop out of treatment early and go home because she bailed.
We got along for a few years and even got close for a little bit but there was some weird stuff
She dragged my parents into a family therapy session I wasn’t invited to where the therapist accused me of elder abuse and told my dad he needed to have me arrested. My parents were confused and disturbed. My sister thought it was funny. After that she switched therapists… and started seeing MY therapist. She poisoned my own therapist against me. For over a year I had no relationship with my therapist because I couldn’t trust her to open up to her because she was also seeing my sister. Now I have a new therapist and I’m learning that there are all kinds of notes in my chart that don’t make sense from my sister that my new therapist is now trying to fix.
10 years and a lot of therapy later I have learned while working with my new therapist that no, I didn’t black anything out. And no I didn’t abuse anyone. Those stories were most likely made up by someone who was jealous because I was getting attention. I had to have a therapist break it down for me. When I realized the pettiness of it I was shocked at the amount of bullshit I have been tolerating from my own blood for the last decade.
Two Christmas’s in a row she showed up to Christmas, brought gifts for everyone but me and my boyfriend, handed them out to everyone in front of us and had them open them, and then turned to us and said “sorry we don’t have anything for you.”
I’m a musician and she showed up to my show and walked out in the middle of my performance.
After that I lost my temper with her and went off on her about how selfish she is and she blocked me and cut me out of her life and has not spoken to me since. The new lie she is spreading is that I’m dangerous and I’m a threat to her safety. She had to cut me off because I was threatening her. She turned her wife’s whole family against me. I’ve been called deranged, delusional, unhinged…
Since then she has started demanding all family events be held at her house which prevents me from being there. She’s set up surprise family events and invited everyone but me.
She’s guilt tripping anyone who doesn’t show up to her events by literally breaking down in tears about feeling left out if I’m there. And everyone in my family is afraid to tell her to knock it off because they’re afraid of being cut off too.
Am I off base in thinking this looks a lot like narcissistic abuse and behaviour?