Tmj tongue ache

Chips of rock flew away, taking the weapon’s edge with them. Ginendertha cursed the fact right before knocking away a spear thrust. For the first time in centuries she was well matched. For the first time, she could actually lose.
The thought of losing spurred her on, taking each of his strikes in stride. Realizing he had the greater strength, she weaved around them trying to make his spear obsolete.
Yet he recognized this and backed off. Every time she slid closer, he moved further away and jabbed at the woman. Packing more power to his attacks each time.
His surging thrust knocked her off balance, this time making her back away from his reach but he suddenly became as fast as her and flew at her with a leopard’s speed. The ax dropped from her numbing fingers, deftly snatching it with her other hand.
Blood flowed from her leg. She had forgotten the fact as she was still adjusting to her new body and became evident when she tried to move again. The longer she stayed in control the more she felt her wounds and fatigue. Not having a body in many years made it feel as new to her as if she had been a newborn.
Before his spear could connect with her flesh, a sonic boom blasted them both from their feet and crash down onto the cold, hard floor. ‘Why was it cold?’, she would’ve thought if she had the time. Pain flooded her leg. A single nudge brought down the dam she built in her mind.
Galakni got up quickly. He strained his eyes to see better in the dark but the darkness was impenetrable. Then he closed them and trained his ears to his surroundings. Apart from his opponent’s heavy breathing, there was the faint whistle of the wind indicating the way out and the withering tree that had not so long ago ascended him to godhood. There was a second voice, this one a shadow of the woman that it had been. This one breathed as heavily as Volra, but more out of hate than exhaustion.
Volra’s body was reaching its limit. Her muscles, already worn out from the constant fighting, pulsed from Galakni’s heavy pounding and cuts and scrapes from the many rocks in the floor. Ginendertha moved one arm and struggled against the overwhelming clubs of pain that slid in like molten magma. It was as if the body weighed as much as a thousand worlds. Nevertheless, she moved, slowly but surely, with one hand pushing down. Then the other. Pushing up, lifting the thousand worlds at her back. She heard his footsteps. She grabbed the broken ax and willed her aching feet towards him, slowly but surely.
Galakni braced himself when he sensed the other woman’s tension. Despite his quickness, the attack came out of nowhere, like a boulder rolling down from a steep hill the force of her charge knocked him to the ground. He knew this was not the assassin, so who was it?
With both bone and scaled fists gripping the haft, he fought hard to not let go, kicking desperately with all his strength at this opponent’s newfound power. The enemy avoided some kicks but slightly reeling from the others, pouring all her willpower into snapping teeth and raking against the stone haft imbued with the power of the gelatinous vortex once contained within the old tree. Neither tooth nor claw managed to disfigure the smooth surface of the Spear of Mof, for once it proved to be the spear of that great sorcerer.
Volra fought for control of her body. The Senerjai attacked her senses, the side effects warping her view of reality. An outsider would see that she was just struggling to get up from the stony ground but inside was so much more. Each breath took centuries, each heartbeat a decade, it seemed worlds would be born, then wither, then die as they both struggled for freedom.
‘This is my body! Leave me alone!’, she yelled within her at the ghost.
Ginendertha clogged her stomach and a purple cloud would spread across her intestines and take over her legs, ‘You’re too weak to survive. I have what it takes. You are but a speck of dust in this world but I can turn you to a shining gold’.
The Senerjai injected Volra’s mind with visions of her promises. Images of battles won, people crying out her name in glee, an army of leather clad men singing her praises in a foreign tongue while a tall, muscular man in bronze armor lifts a helmet from his head and mutters words of adoration and a proposal of marriage.
Volra did not know who the man was but could sense the ideas of world conquest and godhood that infected Galakni’s already venomous mind. Then she rejected it, knowing that it would mean betrayal of her own ruler, Tithra, and were so far beyond anything she ever wanted. Ginendertha tried everything. Showing her Tithra’s head on a platter, a bloody sword before the corpses of enemy tribesmen from the Kynha people, statues raised in her likeness, and her brother’s skull given to the shamans of the Overmountain. Ginendertha tapped into every memory she could reach to convince Volra to let her take control, yet a twinge of despair colored every attempt.
When the body recovered and dusted off her legs, carefully avoiding her wound, it was Volra who did it. Ginendertha said no more.
The assassin limped towards the sounds of Galakni fighting off Kiral. Ax in hand, she lifted it up and brought it down. When it loudly cracked she decided to slam it down a second time. Then a third. The blows grew weak until the very last one missed completely and hit the floor. An intense shudder felt up her arm.
She dropped the ax and fell down and felt no more.
When next she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but trees and singing birds. Reckoning that she was just outside the vicinity of the Overmountain, she breathed a sigh of relief despite the deep aching of her whole body. Pain lanced up at even the slightest movements and her limbs were too heavy to lift. Where was Kiral? Surely she was the one who dragged her out of the Path of Faith?
“Kiral?”, she said in a thin whisper. When there was no response she spoke out a little louder this time, “Kiral!?”, birds chirped and the susurrations of the winds rolled over her, “Kiraaaaal!”, she yelled after preparing for a few minutes.
She yelled three more times but to no avail. Giving no care as to whether surviving cultists or predators prowled nearby. Hoping against hope that her friend was not dead.
‘She isn’t dead. It only could’ve been her who took me out of that place’, she thought.
‘It was her, you fool. But the tree had changed her’, said Ginendertha inside her, ‘Don’t worry, it was common for new initiates to our order to run away once they saw how the powers changed them. It is a hard thing to adjust to the changes in your body especially when the changes are so significant’.
Volra willed her to shut up but it was no use. Though the Senerjai no longer had control over her body, her voice could still plague the assassin’s mind.
It was a trial to move but Volra managed it. First her arms then her legs. Wiggling them to get used to the pain and then increasing the movements by grabbing on to a nearby trunk and pulling herself up. Standing was the greatest challenge then for it meant an even more intense agony, the kind that she had not felt since first training under Noseraph. Without thinking, she took a direction and started walking. She was still breathing, and she had killed Galakni.

TW: SA
For some context, I 22 (F) have a sister 21 (F). Ever since we were 15 and 16, she has had these crippling migraines. She has been to over 18 different specialist all around the country trying to figure out what is wrong with her, and they have found absolutely nothing wrong with her. Over the years she uses her migraines as an excuse to get out of anything she doesn't want to do, for example church, school, family events. But her migraines miraculously disappear as soon as something she does want to do comes up. Personally, I suffer with migraines as well our difference is mine was diagnosed from the TMJ that I now have from dislocating my jaw when I was 12. She loves to use her migraines as a way to either get out of something she doesn't want to do or uses it to garner sympathy from friends' family and strangers.
In 2019 she used her migraines as an excuse to not go to school at all and used them to get a doctor's note stating that even though she cannot attend school she should still graduate. 2020 rolls around and we can no longer go to school because of Covid and miraculously she has no migraines and goes out day and night to hang out with friends. Then when she goes off to college all of a sudden, these migraines come back coupled with severe dehydration to the point where she has to be hospitalized on multiple occasions, except these migraines only occur Friday Saturday and Sunday mornings after her sorority throws a party.
Summer of 2021, she gets the opportunity to participate in a college work program in Florida for the whole 3 months of summer. She goes and after only 3 weeks of being there her migraines get so bad that she has to come home. It is important to note that she comes home the day before Father's Day. Father's Day comes and we all go to church and out to lunch and have a great time. That night however my parents come to my room to ask me if I have spoken with my sister this evening and I tell them no. They proceed to tell me that my sister has runaway to Virginia (we live in Oklahoma) to live with her Boyfriend 26 (M) and that she has sent them a video to explain why.
This video states that she is leaving and never coming back because she has been assaulted on multiple occasions by multiple men in her life and that it is too traumatic to even be in the state so Shes leaving. She then follows with telling my parents that they are horrible people who have never loved or cared about her and that they are the reason this is all happening. She also sent similar videos to her friends as well. This video absolutely crushed my parents, it was the first time I ever saw my dad cry.
We grew up in a strange family, my parents couldn't have children of their own so they adopted us. But our biological families are all still very much in our lives. Our parents are the most amazing and caring people in the world and would give life and limb to anyone in need. So, to hear her saying these things about my parents not only hurt them but it also hurt me to see her putting them through all that.
She was only gone for a month because eventually my father flew out to her to get her and bring her home. Now I am someone who has to know everything, I cant leave a topic untouched, I always have to investigate and get every side of the story. But in that month, I ended up uncovering a few things about the stories she told in those videos she sent to my parents and her friends. In that time, I uncovered that the stories of abuse that she was speaking about were of previous boyfriends that she had had. Every single boyfriend had a story of abuse, and these stories had credible witnesses attached to each and every story. While combing through all of this information I come to the educated conclusion that they are false and told only in a specific way to frame her as the victim using a way that no one would dare call her a liar because who would blame the victim?
When she came back it was really hard on everyone because we had all been heavily affected by this experience that she has put us all through, but she just acted like it never happened and continued to act like she deserved everything. But anytime anyone would mention anything about what happened she would absolutely freak out scream and curse and throw a massive tantrum and storm off and slam her door. In this time, I have personally decided that I will just act like she doesn't exist, I won't speak to her or acknowledge her.
Fast forward to now January 2024, she has convinced my parents that the best thing for her is moving to Florida to go to school because in her words "it is the one place I don't get migraines". I pointed out to my parents that the last time she lived in Florida she only lasted 3 weeks before claiming migraine. Apparently, she only lasted a month at the school before dropping all of her classes and just living it up in her apartment that my parents pay for. And she only informed my parents over spring break that she dropped out because her migraines were too bad. She is now home and living with my parents again and continues to spread her stories of assault and abuse as well as her stories of migraines to literally anyone that will listen.
I'd like to add that throughout all of these years she never fails to make sure I am the one that somehow suffers through it all. Throughout her Migraines I was the one that had to take care of her, I was the one that got in trouble when she screwed up, I was the one that had to pay for all of her mistakes. After years and years of watching her lies not only hurt me and my family but also slowly chip away at what used to be a happy and close nit family I don't think I can live with it any longer. My mother continues to stand by her side and call me a liar anytime I call my sister out on her lies, and my relationship with my mom has suffered for it. My father knows my sister is lying but fears speaking up because it might anger my mom. This whole experience has divided our family.
Another thing of note is that I value honesty over everything else, I will call anyone and everyone out on their bull. This last weekend we were at a graduation party and sitting there and listening to her speak and talking about all of this to literal strangers and because we were in public I had to physically literally bite my tongue to keep myself from speaking which resulted in me actually biting off a piece of my tongue. I honestly have come to the end of my rope of patience and I don't want her in my life anymore. So am I the asshole?

https://reddit.com/link/1cs2aw3/video/5ghwzruubg0d1/player
Chapter 3: Breaking and Training
Nancy's eyes fluttered open to harsh fluorescent lights. She was in a new room, one starkly different from the sterile lab where she had awakened. This room was lined with mirrors and filled with an assortment of equipment—poles, ropes, and mats. The air was cold, and the scent of disinfectant was overpowering.
The door swung open, and in walked a man dressed in black. His face was stern, eyes cold. Behind him, two guards followed, their expressions blank and intimidating.
"Welcome to your new reality, Nancy," the man said, his voice devoid of warmth. "It's time to train you to become the idol you were designed to be."
Nancy felt a surge of anger and fear. She tried to stand, but her legs were shaky, her body still adjusting to its new form. The man in black approached, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her to her feet.
"Let go of me!" she shouted, trying to pull away.
Her resistance was met with a swift punch to the belly. The pain was sharp and immediate, doubling her over. She gasped for air, the wind knocked out of her, but the man was relentless. He pulled her up again, this time more forcefully, and pushed her towards the center of the room.
"You're going to learn, whether you like it or not," he growled.
The training was brutal. Nancy was forced to dance seductively, her new body put on display in front of the mirrors. Every misstep was met with punishment. When she faltered, the man would yank her back into position, his grip bruising her skin.
She was made to sing until her voice was hoarse, the lyrics foreign and humiliating. Her hands were tied above her head, her body exposed and vulnerable. They poured ice water over her, the cold seeping into her bones, making her shiver uncontrollably.
"Keep singing," the man ordered, but her teeth chattered too much to form coherent words. A sharp slap to her face made her eyes water, but she forced herself to continue, the taste of blood from her bitten tongue mixing with the cold water running down her body.
The ropes cut into her wrists, the bondage restricting her movements. Nancy's muscles ached from the strain, but there was no respite. The man took pleasure in her suffering, pushing her to her limits and beyond.
At one point, she tried to fight back, her instincts urging her to resist. But her efforts were futile. The guards were too strong, and the man too cruel. Another punch to the belly made her double over, the pain radiating through her entire body.
"Submit," he hissed in her ear, pulling her back up by her hair. "You have no choice."
The physical pain was matched by psychological torment. She was made to pose provocatively, her body manipulated like a puppet. They mocked her, taunting her with crude comments about her appearance and her new identity.
"Look at you," the man sneered, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror. "So beautiful, so perfect. And yet, so weak."
Nancy's eyes filled with tears, the humiliation burning deep inside her. She hated what she had become, hated the body that betrayed her with its beauty and allure. But there was no escape from the relentless training, no way to avoid the pain.
The most twisted aspect of her training was the forced arousal. They used devices to stimulate her, driving her body to the brink of pleasure, then stopping abruptly. It was a cruel game, designed to break her will and make her associate pleasure with submission.
Her breasts were a constant target. The man used cold metal clamps to tease her nipples, sending sharp shocks of pain and pleasure through her. He watched with satisfaction as her body responded against her will, her nipples hardening, her breath quickening.
"Enjoying this, Nancy?" he taunted, twisting the clamps cruelly. "Your body certainly is."
Her face burned with humiliation, but her body betrayed her. The forced arousal was maddening, her new form hypersensitive and eager. She hated herself for the way she responded, the way her body craved the stimulation despite the pain they continued to torment her, using vibrators and other devices to drive her to the edge, then stopping just before she could find release. It was an endless cycle of frustration and humiliation, designed to break her spirit and make her submit.
In addition to the physical and psychological torture, Nancy was subjected to a strict diet plan designed to enhance her new form. She was given female hormones to shape her body further, making her curves more pronounced and her features softer.
They monitored her food intake obsessively, forcing her to eat less to maintain a slim figure. When they wanted her to gain weight in specific areas, they would force-feed her high-calorie foods until she was nauseous. If she resisted or failed to eat enough, they would force her to vomit, the guards holding her head over a basin as they shoved fingers down her throat.
Nancy's stomach churned constantly from the forced feedings and vomitings. The cycles of extreme hunger and forced gluttony left her weak and disoriented. The man would stand by, watching her suffer with a twisted smile.
"You're going to be perfect," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "Every inch of you."
The hormone injections were a daily ritual. They injected her with estrogen and other hormones to accelerate the development of her feminine features. The injections were painful, leaving her muscles sore and her mood unstable. Her breasts swelled further, the skin stretched tight over the growing mammary glands. The pain was constant, a reminder of her body's betrayal.
Her hips widened, her thighs grew thicker, and her buttocks became rounder and firmer. Each change was accompanied by discomfort and humiliation, the man and his guards constantly commenting on her developing form.
"Look at those curves," one guard would say, his voice lecherous. "You're going to drive them wild."
The breaking point came when they combined physical pain with forced arousal. She was tied to a chair, her body soaked in freezing water, her skin numb and blue. The man walked around her, his presence a constant reminder of her helplessness.
"You're going to learn to dance, to sing, to seduce," he said, his voice cold and calculating. "You're going to make us a lot of money, Nancy."
She tried to shake her head, tried to refuse, but her body was too weak, her spirit nearly broken. The final blow came in the form of a harsh punch to her belly, making her scream in agony.
"Do you understand?" he demanded, leaning close to her face. "You belong to us now."
Nancy's spirit finally broke. The resistance drained out of her, replaced by a numb acceptance. She nodded weakly, tears streaming down her face. The man smiled, satisfied with her submission.
"Good girl," he said, patting her cheek condescendingly. "Now, let's start again."
The training resumed, but this time Nancy didn't fight back. She danced, sang, and posed as instructed, her mind retreating into a place of numb compliance. The pain became a constant companion, but she learned to endure it, to accept it as part of her new reality.

Hi everyone so I'm 25 now and started having TMJD pain when i was around 20-21. It was mostly ignorable at the time, but in 2022-23 it got a lot worse. Eating anything chewy like steak or anything hard like toast or apples causes a snapping sound (not painful though). I also sing, so if I open my mouth too wide, it gets triggered. I have managed to minimize my grinding/clenching just by being mindful of it. Self massages, and topical pain relief gels/creams have helped. Also heated/cold pads helps too.
Anyways, I got a nightguard from my dentist and it helped with grinding. I also got botox three times throughout 2023. When it wore off, I decided I wanted something more permanent rather than paying $400 every couple months.
The weird thing is this past week or so, I've felt fine. It hasn't bothered me, so I'm realizing it comes and goes in phases.
The dentist took xrays and said the small misalignments in my teeth are most likely whats causing my pain. She said this is common with people who had traditional braces. She explained everything thoroughly and said many of her patients with TMJD have found success with invisalign. It sounded good, but the price was making me think... Should I try managing the pain myself with massages, topicals, pads, etc.? Or should I go ahead and spend thousands on the invisalign? Its a pretty big decision because of the cost, so I have a lot of thinking to do. But, when the TMJ pain is really bad, it's aching 24/7 and is genuinely hell, which is making me lean towards doing it.
Also should mention I'm on my parents insurance plan which will run out at the end of the year, so I feel pressured to start the treatment ASAP

The old wolf trotted over the hill with a little pink heart in its teeth. A pattern appeared in the snow— a trail made by paws and tail and drops of candy-colored blood— and that pattern could be read as if it were a fairy tale, although the night was much too cold for fairies.
From behind a surf of clouds, the moon skitted into view like a boogie board. Cautiously, glancing left to right, the wolf set its treasure down on a fallen tree trunk, raised its muzzle toward the sky, and through dandelion parachutes of its own frozen breath, issued a long wail that sounded like the siren on a 6000-year-old ambulance.
Suddenly, the moon howled back.
For a long moment, the wolf held itself so still it might have been a cardboard cutout in a theater lobby (a sequel to Dances with Wolves, told from the animal's POV). The hairs of its mangy pelt were as erect as toy soldiers. Its eyes turned radioactive. Its breath was no longer visible. Its lame leg ached. Involuntarily, it pissed in the snow, affixing a new and perhaps not-so-happy ending to the fairy story previously written there. The old wolf waited.
As for the moon, it too was still, at rest on a cloudtop like some buttered skillet in which Vincent van Gogh was frying an egg.
Gradually, the lunar silence reassured the wolf, for while it, like its ancestors before it, had spent its life addressing each full moon without fail, it had never once, not even when a cub, expected or desired a reply. If there was a response, it resounded in the blood, in the spinal fluid, in the wolf juice, not the ears. Wolves did the vocalizing. Among beasts, as among men, the moon was understood to be mute.
But was it? Had the moon merely been biding its time all these years, patiently waiting for the right moment to make itself heard?
The wolf was straining so hard to learn what might have finally loosened the moon's tongue that it very nearly missed the small, squeaky voice that piped up only a few inches from its nose.
"Well," said the little heart, which had unobtrusively begun to beat again, puffing itself out like self-blowing bubblegum, "now that you've gotten the news, don't you think you ought to return me to the breast from which I was ripped?"
And the next morning, my christening took place as scheduled.

Clair de Lune, by Tom Robbins.
And this christening from Dostoevsky.

As If It Were Kismet: Prologue
Matt tore through the brush, blind in the dark. He didn’t care where he was going. He only knew he needed to be elsewhere. Far from here.
Behind him a creature howled that shocked his mind. It’s form was cruel and dangerous, though female. Nothing like the young woman she had once been. Nothing but a girl, a small and slight female.
It’s guttural growls and howls only grew closer as Matt tried to pick between seeing where he was going and getting away. The few times he looked he caught sight of the creature behind him. Hopping through the air with a speed that told him he was being toyed with. As if he were a mouse being played with by a cat.
But the reflex in him to run kept him going. His adrenaline going as hard as it could. The tightness and burning in his core tensing and locking up as his legs felt like there were being burned from within while taking on more of a heaviness.
His lungs were starting to betray him as he tried to gulp big breaths of air but only rapid and shallow breaths were all that he could manage. His brain was starting to burn….and then he was falling.
Falling down the side of a hill he saw the creature dart in a spring towards him, imperceivably fast almost. Catching him in mid air it seemed.
Managing to wrap its body around him and cushion his impact against the ground as they rolled. His mind barely took in what was happening during the roll. Only starting to understand what was happening once they were still.
The creature's triple D-cup breasts were unmistakably pressed hard against his back as he laid facing up at the night sky.
For a few seconds the world stilled and the needle light pain hitting the center of his brain took over for the cooking heat his brain had felt. His whole body felt heavy and reluctant to move.
Even if he could have really moved, a dull ache came over his limbs making them feel stilled and trapped as if by immeasurable amounts of sand that had engulfed him.
Slowly the arms holding him started to move. Moving so the creature's hands could start exploring him. Causing Matt to unstoppably let out a pathetic moan that made him go cold inside as hands lifted up his shirt and started to touch his exposed stomach and then his chest.
He would have whimpered so pathetically had he not still been in the depths of terror.
As its hands felt and groped his pecs he tried to situp as if to get away. For his efforts, his reward was a hand around his throat and a collection snarls and growls against his ear. A beastly, guttural voice spat words at him while somehow holding a feminine tone.
“Don’t move….I don’t know if I can calm down…”
Her words were not helped by her moans in his ear and the subsequent kissing of his ear. The flesh of his ear going between her lips as she moaned and seemed to pant. Releasing it and licking the side of his face with a moist warmth. He could feel its spittle, viscous and coating his flesh where the tongue touched. He could smell something in his saliva. Something that subtly entranced him.
Matt went stock still with fear and the confusion of mixed arousal. He barely perceived her right hand traveling lower on his body. A surprised moan and shudder echoed in the night from Matt’s lips as she took ahold of him. Her hand above his pants but still….stimulating him.
A light squeezing and almost probing of her digits kept him aroused and confused within her grasp. Resigning himself to the strange fate, Matt looked up at the stars as his mind tried not to shatter under the strange maelstrom of events and sensation that had started mere minutes ago.
His mind was only more confused as a slight figure, feminine in build, how it seemed to thunk the ground audibly as she landed on her feet out nowhere. Her knees barely bending under the pressure of the landing. Yet dirt was kicked up anyways and some of it onto Matt. Feeling it pepper his shirt and pants as it fell.
The figure, lit only faintly by moonlight, roared some dark tone Matt could only perceive as a demon as her eyes went bright with a crimson light. A light in the darkness that should not have been. “Let him go you bitch.” Was its words following the roar. Spittle escaping its mouth with faint droplets hit Matt's face.
The creature holding him by his throat and crotch seemed to tighten the grasp of both hands as it roared back. “HE IS MINE!”
The figure paused with a moment's hesitation. He was also her quarry. She had felt his fear without him knowing. His confused arousal. His fear. His terror.
And now he laid at the center of a struggle between two monsters. Unsure of who he wanted to win.
As If It Was Kismet Ch. 1
Matthew Berkshire hadn’t seen his mom in two years. Not that he had seen her much over the last six years.
A messy divorce between messy people and mom’s chaotic want for a life in Alaska had been one of the most…upsetting times in life. Setting him up for so much of what had defined his life thus far but then that had really started two years before he ever turned.
His ear buds were basic and simple. A part of cheap five pack, common for his life as he was known to lose little things. Small things. They had a mix of metal and hard rock playing in them. Some classics, some alternative. Whatever made him feel something, anything. Even if it was hate. Anger. Rage. It was better than feeling numb. Not belonging.
The escalator down to his lone bag to go with his lone carry on showed his mom waiting for him. His had a type, that’s for damn sure. Not that it helped him in the genetics department as he was stuck at 5’9” to go along with his mother’s five foot even as his dad stood six foot. Forever leaving him to feel small, to pale, under his dad’s shadow. Did he ever stand a chance?
The guy next to her with the unkempt former seventies porn stache was “Dave.” He’d met him twice when his mother came and visited him in Florida. To his credit the guy didn’t look annoyed. Kind of concerned kind of which made Matthew want to break his frozen look but he was well practiced. Having removed any note of sadness from his face through much…tribulation.
His mother’s look on her face betrayed a hint of worry as the bruises on his face lightly showed up close. Saying his name was his like a distant echo that belonged to someone else.
Dave cut in and pulled out his right headphone. “What the hell bud, they knock you hard enough to hurt hearing? Your mom’s asking how you are doing.”
Matthew pulled out the other bud and grunted an empty “sorry.”
“You still have bruises after two week? What did they do to you?” His mom’s voice was full of worry. Something he hadn’t heard in….too long. Too long to make him feel anything. To ever make him believe there was any sincerity to her words. To not think her voice and mannerisms were an act. An act by someone who…wasn’t really there.
“It’s only fair. I took a nose. Fractured a couple orbital bones. Left one with having to get his jaw wired shut. And one will never walk right again for what I did to his knee cap.” Matthew said it all with a bored and disinterested tone. Perhaps well rehearsed.
“My man, handing out ass kickings, not bothering to take names.” Dave was quick to be the typical man’s man about it. Matthew wasn’t quite done yet. Lifting up his shirt to expose the right side near his kidney. Revealing a nasty scar from a six inch blade. “Luckily they gave me this first so they could rule it all in self-defense. The fuck didn’t get it in more than inch before I ruined his knee cap and then I took the nose of one of the fucks holding me.” Now he chose to smile keeping the well practiced dead look in his eyes.
No retorts. No questions. Just horrified looks on their faces. As he liked. As he preferred. They could hate him. They could be disgusted by him. But by God they would fear him.
“Well the doc did a good job sewing you up.” Dave commented uncomfortably. “Dissolving sutures. Ain’t they grand.” He smiled again and let it abruptly fall off his face and started walking to the carousel for the baggage claim.
Waiting and making small talk with Dave as his mother stood in silence. He was not the little boy she abandoned. The little boy she left with an angry man. While never hitting him. Left him in constant fear till he turned twelve and just didn’t care anymore. Something snapped. Broke. And he didn’t care if he died. Didn’t care if he stole. Didn’t even care if he killed. He just knew not to get caught. Something left over from his grandfather’s wisdom which came to make more and more sense with each passing year of life since that thing inside him broke.
Finally his bag came around and Dave went to try first to grab it but Dave practically leapt ahead of him. “Is that your grandfather’s rucksack bag?” his mother asked in a perplexed voice.
“Figured it’s been around since Viet Nam. So it’d serve me better than any of the worthless stuff they called luggage.” Dave commented after Matthew’s words. “Well hell yeah I still got mine from Desert Storm. You know the first one.” Dave laughed and Matthew eyed him oddly. Be it in the south or whether it was Alaska, country boys are country boys he guessed.
The car ride to the two people’s house, as Matthew thought of them. Was uneventful and full of vistas he imagined metropolitan types wetting themselves over. At most they meant isolation to him. Furtherness from the world as there were no mountains in Florida. And what mountains he had last seen in another state had been when he was eight. Another life, to Matthew it felt like. A life alien to him.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 2
Dave and his mom’s place was some two story type tucked into a tree line far up an elevated point. It was by no means the highest point in the mountain but it certainly felt up there.
Rocks were where the driveway should have been Matthew thought. Grabbing his backpack and rucksack from Dave’s jeep was no hard thing for him. Matthew was in formidable shape for someone his age, maybe even five years older. He had gotten a mix of fairly big shoulders and arms along with the chest to go for it when compared to most kids his age. A side effect of working out at least twice a day. First thing in the morning, some time in the evening, and the school’s gym when had had a good semester in school before he had to leave Florida.
Dave tried to come up and help him but Matthew walked past him towards the house. His mom was not sure what to make of his demeanor. Matthew was not the sweet kind boy he had once been. But she had been gone from his life essentially for a long time.
Ushering him into the house she cracked some joke he did not hear. He was too busy looking about and seeing a mix of old outdated decorating mixed with the strange and odd flair of his mother. Color contrasting against drab and dated. Like brightly painting over an old home that was falling apart he thought.
“Your room is this way Mattie.” His mom brightly intoned.
Without expressing any interest he followed his mother. Still faced and nonplussed. Just going along with the current. Pushed and pulled with its roll like a piece of driftwood.
The room was simple. A single small bed. A set of rubber weights with a curl bar and barbells. “Your dad said you were into weight lifting so we got you a bunch of stuff. Dave says it looks like his department’s gym almost. The woman’s smile felt very alien to him.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ve got most of my stuff from home.” Matthew starting unpacking his rucksack and pulled out cables of repetitive and mixed colors. A single plastic barbell handle. The ruck sack could be filled with water bottles for added weight during pushups he figured. Remembering a Michael Keaton movie he watched with his dad post-Batman movies where he played a convicted killer using plastic bags filled with water for weights.
Matthew caught movement outside his lone fairly large window that could let him step out onto the roof of the house given its layout.
He saw a number of people running together through what he guessed was the backyard of the property, not that it had any fences to mark boundaries
They wore clothes that looked similar yet different from each other at the same time.”Oh those are the Johnston’s. Really nice bunch of people. Been on the mountain for a long time Dave tells me.”
Matthew looked at the group of people running and noticed the lack of resemblance. “They are related?” Matthew quizzically asked. Seeing a black and possibly a hispanic person amongst the bland looking white people.
“Oh well they are all adopted but for one or two of them…besides the parents of course. The family has a long tradition of taking in orphans they say. Real nice of them to do that don’t you think.”
Matthew looked at his mother and the hosier accent made no sense to him as he arched his left eye brow. Her and his dad were both from Florida. Born and raised. Sure her parents were from New York city but…
Matthew shook his lightly without turning to look at his mother as his vision was grabbed by one of the runners in particular. A girl of moderate height. Soft brunette. A plain beauty he figured with a slim build….and lack of remarkable breasts and rear to make any note of but….girls in general were his type at his age.
She was pretty enough. He couldn’t deny that but he found himself transfixed by her visage.
But the way she turned and looked at him, especially at that distance felt very disconcerting to him. Even if she was smiling like…she was a taste of a bright shiny day. Somehow.
Matthew’s mom noticed the exchange and smiled to herself with closed lips. “Oh that’s Vicky. She’s your age I think. Very sweet girl, who does the charity functions. You know bake sales, blood drives, car washes and the like. I think you should get to know her. Might be good for you.”
A truck horn sounded a couple of beeps in rather succession. “Oh that must be Mack, he said he might come by later this evening but he seems early.”
Matthew’s mother turned and left his room. Leaving Matthew to exchange a few looks with the alluring Vicky as she turned her head away from him to talk to the others in her group and look back at him.
Still Matthew’s left eyebrow was arched. In a way that reminded him of Spock from Star Trek that he and his grandpa used to watch on some streaming service or another.
As he heard ambient chatter elsewhere outside the house he figured to check it out as the alluring sight of Vicky would be around he figured. It was dull to stare at artwork. He was a boy who preferred jet skis and the like. Something he could ride and enjoy immensely. Even if at times it got him stabbed.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 3
Matthew sauntered out of the house and down the rockway that stood in for a driveway.
A few new people had come over from what he could first surmise of the situation. As he got closer it was obvious they were indigenous people. A couple of grown men…and a girl?
She was mousey. Maybe five foot. Hiding behind glasses and a big camo jacket that was far too big for her. It looked made for a grown man and the backwards trucker hat on her head kept her long black a beautiful mess of sorts.
She was cute in a way. A little androgynous but she had a cute energy to her. She reminded him of the more tomboyish Puerto Rican girls he had gotten into back in Florida. Given the deer corpses in the back of the truck….probably more dangerous to play with given the men in her family.
Small chatter passed between the adults when the girl noticed but turned away, trying to hide the tiny hint of a smile.
“Oh Mattie, this is Mack. He works with Dave at the sheriff’s department and John, he’s with fish and wildlife.” Matthew nodded at his mom’s words with some blankness as he looked at the deer the in the back of the pickup truck.
“Gale tells us you hunted with your dad some in Florida and Georgia.” Mack offered with a light hearted laugh camouflaged by his big simple and cheery but husky way he spoke.
Looking in the back of the truck he spoke. “We used lever action thirty-thirties and Mosin Nagants in seven-six-two-fifty-four-rimmed.” Mack and John whistled in an exaggerated fashion. Leaving Matthew to wonder if they were mocking him.
Mack spoke. “Well we just used thirty-odd-six in a custom gussied Garand.” That caught Matthew’s attention. “You have a Garand…” Matthew finally demonstrated interest in anything. “My dad has an SVT-40 and a Hakim 8mm but he always wanted a Garand but was too cheap to buy one.”
Gale, his mother, chimed in loudly. “Oh his Dad loved his guns but was such an odd duck about how he bought or why he bought them. Never made sense to me how he wasn’t a collector but he didn’t get the latest and greatest.” Gale laughed uncomfortably. At least it seemed that way to Matthew.
Matthew pointed to the girl with an underhanded pointing hand. “And who is this? A cute little mute mouse or does she have a name?” Dave and the other men laughed.
Mack again spoke. “Well you people call her Rebecca, she’s my adopted daughter.” Matthew was taken aback by what he heard. “You people?”
Rebecca kindly spoke with a soft but almost melodic voice as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “White people or rather not members of our tribe. It’s just easier to appease the colonizer kind of thing. Borrowed from when the Jesuit missionaries chased us up here.”
Mack stepped in. “It’s just easier to have white people names than have them try to say our tribal names. And we don’t want them shortening or Anglicising our names kind of thing.” Rebecca stepped back into the conversation cutting off her adopted father. “It’s an insult to our history basically.”
Matthew cocked his head sideways raising his eyebrows shortly before letting them drop. “Well as soon as I’m eighteen I’m out of here and back to Florida so I’m a sort of involuntary colonizer of sorts. So I won’t be taking any of your land from you. The Seminoles on the other hand are still shit out of luck.”
Rebecca’s smile caused Matthew to reflexively smile. Mack made the moment more awkward. “See Becca, I told you someone off the reservation would like you some. You just have to be creative.” Mack laughed in a chiding manner…Matthew presumed. He sensed that he was the butt of some kind of cultural joke. Like marrying a white guy was some sort of insult or mark of shame. That kind of thing.
Rebecca turning away from him was not something he had been expecting. Her then getting in the truck in a huff left the group in a silence for a moment.
Dave spoke to break the awkward silence. “Well just bring the truck to work on Monday and leave it for me to grab up.” Mack acknowledged Dave and they started to get off as Rebecca looked at Matthew for another instance. Matthew couldn’t look away for some reason as the two seemed to lock eyes for an instance.
Till Vicky and family seemed to come jogging down the road. While Matthew’s eyes diverted from Rebecca’s. Hers did not till she realized he was looking elsewhere. And her vision found Vicky and what had been a hint of smile on her face turned glum and disappointed.
Matthew did not look away from the vision of Vicky but instead of a starry eyed fool looking longingly. It was a baffled look. Well baffled for him, with his eyes drawn narrow and night with a focus.
There was something about her…he couldn’t quite put a name too. The way she appeared to him. One second brunette. The next second blonde or blonde like. As if the color appeared in her air and disappeared in fractions of seconds. Much the same way her body almost seemed to…shift…very subtly…smoothly. A nicer bum. Larger breasts. And then back to a simple and plain form. Feminine no doubt. Attractive. But not so…remarkable.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 4
The next two days passed without incident. Nothing of any real substance or challenge to note.
Matthew got settled somewhat and started working out almost immediately. Exploring around the woods but Dave told him not to go far. Especially without a hunting rifle. Dave had left a simple semi-auto Winchester out for him. His bear gun as Dave referred to it with its four round magazine. But Matt figured till he got some practice with the rifle to leave it alone. He made a hiking stick like his grandpa taught him and treated it over a low fire. He would take some electrical tape for the end his hand would grip around. Plenty enough to ward off anything smaller than a bear he figured.
The ride to school was a pain in the neck but simple enough. Dave would let him use a clunker pickup truck he had laying around. It wasn’t pretty but it would get him to and from. Even if it was from the eighties and still backfired on occasion. But for now Dave and his mom took him on their way to the sheriff’s department.
It wasn’t much of a school. It wanted to be modern but its fifties original construction was very obvious. It serviced the pipeline families and familys’ of fisherman who worked the seasons in between their time at the pipeline.
Matt was to report to the principal for some reason Dave and his mom wouldn’t share. Which annoyed him but he figured it was to read him the law of land. Small towns with their big views of the outside world and like.
Dressed in jeans, a grey sweatshirt under a light jacket with steel toed boots set him more apart then he expected. His buzzed head didn’t help matters. Already he was feeling like a stranger in a strange land but he was quite strange after all. And he liked it that way. Normal people were so pathetically disappointing to him.
A secretary or assistant or some such led him to the principal’s office. Where it reeked of real wood that was old and fabric and upholstery that needed to be updated for the last twenty years, Matt figured.
“This is Matthew Berkshire, Principal Andrews.” The man was turned with his back to the door and he was quick to wave her off as he turned her around.
He was an older man. Fat and large. Tall with a body built like he had once been fit and a demeanour of annoyed and irate already as he fixed Matt with a scowl and look of disgust. Another worthless government whore. Matt thought to himself. His father and his grandfather had bestowed unto him a natural disrespect for government workers and the figures that wore unjustified authority as a shield but pretended the weight of the state was not at their back ready to crush all who resisted. Little figures of valor pretending to be mighty and alone but acting with the tyranny of the state and all the backing.
“Mr. Berkshire, please sit down.” His tone wasn’t unusually hostile, just gruff. As if he had better things to do.
Matt complied and took a seat in the chair while maintaining a friendly facade. Not everyone was an enemy. And not everyone needed to be an enemy. Even if anybody could be any enemy. There was no reason to make enemies you didn’t have to. Another of his grandfather’s bastardised wisdoms.
“Well I looked over you file and you have quite the history Mr. Berkshire.” Matt resisted qiuping back a joke. Instead he waited for Principal Andrews to continue as he remained nonplussed and looking as if he felt no need to respond. A simple head tilt with dead eyes looking back at the principle as if he was not even there would suffice.
Matt’s reaction or lack of a reaction rather made Principal Andrews only narrow his eyes with examination. He was not used to a kid not responding to him. Especially with his gruff and hard act going on.
“Well by all accounts you moved here after some problems at your last school. A fight broke out and you did some real harm to your fellow students it appears.” Of course, he would take the side of the perpetrators. School administrators always did. Especially when they weren’t white. Just a fact of the times. Cowardice and pathetic mediocrity was the way they leaned, like good government workers sucking the dick of Big Daddy government. Worthless whores.
Matt chose to reply. “Oh you mean the criminals that stabbed me. Got arrested at the hospital and then pled to felonies. Yeah Florida, with the American counties are good like that.” Principal Andrews went real still. No shame. No fear. No penitence. He didn’t like that.
“Well be it as it may Mr. Berkshire we don’t tolerate that kind of behaviour here…” Matt cut him off responding with a deadpan tone. “You mean self-defense meant to save one’s own life while the cowardly and pathetic school workers look on with zero interest but to keep their money rolling in and will allow known gang members with records of violent acts and crimes that should have them expelled many times over, where in certain Democrat counties such cowardice and idiocy empowered a couple school shooters?”
Principal Andrews looked at the Matt with a note of disgust. “Look here Mr. Berkshire, your beliefs matter not one bit here. This isn’t Florida. We don’t like our way of life being disrupted by outside agitators who have problems with authority.”
Matt did his best not to roll his eyes and let the older fat man drone own as he dead-stared him. Lifeless and without emotion.
The man came to a finish and Matt spoke up without having listened to him or paid him any attention. “Great now that’s taken care of. Can I please get to class and finish my sentence of two years at your wonderful school?”
Principal Andrews huffed and snorted before calling in Vicky. Vicky stood in the corner after entering with a quiet and seamless presence. Matt felt disturbed and tried not betray his feelings as the young Vicky was perceived and not perceived to be moving.
Principal Andrews made the introductions and Matt nodded back. She was to be his chaperone for the day. They had the same classes and she was to show him the ropes so to speak. The ins and outs of the school. The locations of their classes.
He recognized her. It was hard not to. The way her appearance seemed to shift fluidly almost. The petite and skinny brunette ever so lightly had a big bust and blonde hair with curves added when she seemed to shift before his eyes. Like watching a film but each frame had a different person.
Matt didn’t say anything about it. Even if he did he would only be acknowledging his crazed state, if he had one. If.
Unlike an obedient puppy dog he got up in a slow and awkward fashion and followed behind her as his oddly disproportionate frame allowed. Causing her a note of concern for some reason. As if she was seeing something she shouldn’t have been….Or he was just weird. And Matt could admit to himself he was just weird. Part of his charm, he would jest about it at times. Not that he had many people to jest to now.
As If It Were Kismet Ch. 5
Following Vicky into the hall off to their first class was simple. She exchanged small talk and he slightly smiled as if to obviously suggest he was just being polite.
Inside his head, Matt was trying to figure out if he was having a psychotic break. The way Vicky looked kept changing and he looked at the other people around him and they stayed the same.
He was searching his mind as they were walking. And thus he wasn’t paying attention to where he was looking and so fell to his face forward over his feet seemingly out of nowhere.
A series of laughs erupted as it sunk in that he was obviously tripped. Like in prison this was a challenge to his superiority. If he let this pass he would be mocked and sneered at by this same group of boys. He wouldn’t walk to them like he was going to do nothing like a little bitch.
In a rage he turned and punched the stomach of the first face he saw. Some typical blonde haired wannabe jock. He knew from experience not to aim for the ribs. Instead he needed to aim for where he thought the belly button was.
Yells and screams blindly echoed around him as his after the punch he followed up his elbow of the opposite arm slamming into the face of the jock. Harder than a fist, the elbow struck the jock’s jaw and seemingly dropped him against a locker. Just in time to catch an errant and soft punch to the nose that sure enough hurt but did little to slow him down as his dad had taught him to fight through the pain. Blood and scars happened. They were a natural consequence of life to a man.
Taking the punch and falling further into his red state Matt headbutted the punch thrower before another guy arm bared his throat from behind. Which he managed to get his grip on the arm over a letterman jacked and jerk the unprepared boy to the side with him still latched on.
A few feet away from the lockers Matt knew his only chance was to jump and push off the lockers and knock the boy to the ground and so he did. He heard a thunk of the boy’s skull bouncing off the ground and he turned to pull out of the grapple.
The beatings he had taken from his father, the grapples, being choked unconscious. Had prepared him for fighting little bitches who didn’t know what a fight was. It wasn’t gay porn with rabbit punch fists flying.
Blood was running down his face and the pain started to hit him as the threats had been eliminated. Only then did he remember to breathe. Taking breathes as Vicky came up to him with tissues and took a hold of his nose.
“Owww owww owww what the fuck my nose could be broken.” He said to Vicky as she pulled his head up and back.
“It’s ok Carl. It’s done.” Matt tried to look to see who Vicky was talking to. It was a boy taller than his 5’9” by more than a small margin. The boy eyed him bored and annoyed before speaking. “What happened here?” An unoriginal line but one Matt couldn’t be a smart aleck about. “Well you see there was an outbreak of tripping and we all tripped over my dick. It happens.” Matt was about to laugh when Vicky seemed to pull up while still gripping his nose causing Matt no small amount of pain which he audibly evidenced.
Vicky spoke in a tone he wasn’t expecting. As if she was accustomed to issuing orders. “Keep Iris away from the hall till we sanitize the site. We have blood from at least three people contaminating the site. And have Jake bring me a spare jacket and shirt for this moron.”
Carl seemed to acknowledge her orders and seemed to blink away. Maybe the punch hit harder than he expected. He had no time to wonder as Vick took her hand away from his and pushed him against the lockers. With ease he had not been expecting from her form and stature.
Before he could respond Vicky licked his blood covered chin and then his lips and spoke to him. “Focus on me you little blood bag.” Her tone had an annoyed yet feminine sneer.
“Look into my eyes. Look at me. You belong to me. You are just another food source in a collection of food sources.” Her eyes were a beautiful hazel Matt thought. Almost green. Pretty like jewels in some old treasure collections. The eyes he could get lost in before kissing her. Finally Vicky was just a slight and petite brunette and he thought she was beautiful.
She would make a hell of a girlfriend. Some cute thing he could see laying on the beach in Florida on their sides laughing and smiling before trading light kisses while hands wandered innocently. Before his mind could drift further he felt her lips on his. It took him a second to mentally grasp the kiss but his arms were around her back as her hands were at his sides. His eyes reflexively closed as he saw hers close.
It was ineffable to Matt. Beyond words, what was happening. The kiss, the moments beforehand. The way his brain tickled with electricity and gentle warmth. He had never had a kiss like this and he had traded more than a few kisses with at least a few girls.
The kiss was like a warm bath with his consciousness slipping beneath the surface. Their lips only parted to try new angles and approaches as Matt struggled to take in breath. It was a moment he could have stayed trapped in for….he didn’t know. But a curt throat clearing by another girl pulled them out of the moment.
The girl was taller than Vicky. Blonde. With slight curves. Vicky addressed her bewildered and gobsmacked, and perhaps a bit embarrassed. “Tina?”

It's been 3 months ever since I had an episode of my whole body aching especially my back pain which got really worse to the point I couldnt sleep from the pain and even sweated and had a mild fever 37.4 celcius that night. The whole body/bone pain has been going on for a few days prior to developing that fever for one day but I felt like I was going down with something. My neck has been bothering me for a while I dont cough but it felt sore inside/weird. I did a cbc everything normal, crp, esr normal, ANA normal, ca-125 normal, LDH normal, igA, Igg, Igm normal, ultrasound showed reactive nodes with a more prominent one in the right side of my neck which is palplatable and measured 9.5mm and was described as a hypoechoic oval shape (lymph node?) In the report. Chest x ray clear. A hematologist felt my nodes on my neck and then my groin ones which are pea sized but dismissed them. For the past months Ive been having muscle spasms and discomfort on my legs, and hands which comes and goes like the burning feeling in the inside of my throat. I also get pressure in the sides of my head and there are swollen occipital nodes that cause me discomfort too. It feels like my muscles are really tense. Also I have really weak muscles/tendons/hip flexors? In the side of my buttocks especially the left one which becomes more intense when I open that leg or rotate it inside. I also get some burning sensations spreading from my chest to stomach and sometimes I feel cold. I also get random pain on my jaw and under cheekbones. Most discomfort was noticed during the night or laying down. I still experience back/hip pain from time to time. Also my left ear is sensitive when I hear something loud or touch it it makes something like echo ear drum? Also been seen by an ENT doctor who said I was clear. Should I look into this further or could this be due to a virus after 3 months? Possibility for Sjogrens(mildly drymouth, also vagina with frequent candida infections, dry eyes and have always had problems with cavities, dry nose) or TMJ? 6months ago I also had a neck and brain MRI which showed back left bone spurs in A4-A6 level that could be pressuring the A6 root. I've also worried about lymphoma because I got some mild night sweats that could be connected to anxiety and nightmares, were not drenching and after xanax use they havent appeared for a few weeks. What has been constantly bothering me though is the lower back pain muscle spasms and that weird stiff feeling on the sides of my hips and that tendon/nerve/muscle stretching/spasm deep inside left buttock.

I need the otolaryngology medical community’s help, as many physicians have been stumped by my situation. Admins, please read before deciding to delete. I am not a medical professional, but I possess a unique situation that cannot seem to be resolved by the medical professionals available to me. I am not sure how to phrase this without breaking the subreddit’s only rule, so I will try to express it in a manner oriented to my obsessive curiosity to understand my (undiagnosed) condition.
 
For starters, I have no credentials to confidently say anything I am about to; some of it may even be jargon or irrelevant, but I will try my best.
 
Eight years ago, I weighed around 285 lbs. I began an exercise routine that caused me to lose about 20 lbs within a short amount of time. During this period, I developed persistent discomfort in my left ear. I noticed the discomfort after visiting my aunt, where there was a 500’ elevation difference. When I came back home, my ear would not pop. Over the course of a week or so, the ear pressure eventually equalized, but everything sounded muffled.
 
This led me to my first ENT visit. The ENT didn’t really give me much time, and paired me with an audiologist who determined my hearing was perfect. After hearing the unfortunate news of no diagnosis, I asked why I have to pop my ears to hear consistently. I was brushed off and told to see a TMJ specialist. The TMJ specialist told me I’m fine.
 
This is where my independent research began. I determined that my “popping” was actually me forcibly equalizing the pressure in my Eustachian tube by repeatedly moving my jaw. I went to an in-network ENT. This ENT took offense to my self-diagnosis of Eustachian Tube Dysfunction (ETD) and told me my issues were allergy-related. I was referred to their allergy department and put on immunotherapy shots. After completing my treatment and reaching maintenance, my issue persisted.
 
Frustrated, I looked online for the highest-rated ENT in my state. This doctor did not accept my insurance, so I decided to pay out of pocket to get the issue resolved. This doctor’s niche was rhinoplasty, and he was the first (and so far last) to give me the time of day. He performed a nasal endoscopy and a CT scan of my sinuses. Both tests revealed nothing of use. He noted I have a slightly deviated septum, but not nearly enough to cause any of my symptoms. However, he did note the sinuses on the side where I’m experiencing discomfort were inflamed. His diagnosis was chronic sinusitis. I was prescribed Azelastine 0.1% (137 mcg) nasal spray (an antihistamine). I used this medication for about a year in conjunction with Flonase, but nothing changed.
 
Once again, I sought out a different ENT. This ENT also took offense to my description of symptoms because I used medical phrasing (ETD). After a brief consultation, I was told once again that my symptoms were allergy-related. I went back on allergy shots, reached maintenance, and once again the issue persisted.
 
At this point, I gave up and didn’t bother refilling my prescriptions or finishing my shot treatment. Over the course of a year or two, I developed a severe sinus infection that went several months untreated. It came to the point where I was unable to breathe out of my nose at all, affecting me to the point my family members became concerned, as now there were comorbidities (such as sleep apnea). I eventually saw a pulmonologist who made it clear I needed to see an ENT and get my sinus issues fixed.
 
Thinking that maybe if I stuck with the same ENT and followed the trial and error process, I went back to the last ENT I saw. I was diagnosed with a sinus infection and prescribed medication. For the first time in months, I was able to breathe again after excreting from my nose what looked like petrified mucus. With this small victory, I returned to the same ENT and expressed my frustrations. I passionately described the location of my discomfort and explained that I believe the Eustachian tube problems I’m having are not the issue but a symptom of something else. I explained that I feel a mass or some sort of inflammation in my throat and mentioned the inflammation found by the previous ENT who performed a nasal endoscopy.
 
That was a mistake. After expressing my frustrations, I was diagnosed with "globus hystericus." Initially excited to finally have an explanation and a treatment plan, I was disheartened when I was told he could no longer assist me and suggested involving different medical professionals. When I got home and googled my new diagnosis, I realized he was referring me to a psychologist. Needless to say, I didn’t return.
 
Unable to accept my new reality, I resorted to more independent research. Before I even say this, I want to strongly express how much this improved my symptoms. Mewing, changing my tongue posture, and stopping mouth breathing drastically improved my Eustachian tube pressure over the course of a year. Using a jaw exercisegum daily also significantly reduced my ear pressure issues. Although the discomfort was reduced, it was not fully resolved. Sometimes I’d use a massage gun on my jaw, chin, bridge of my nose, head, and neck, which helped with mucus and provided temporary relief, especially lower in my neck near my chests, this seems to what felt like drain mucus/fluid. I am 120% able to the breath better after, but the “mass” still felt present.
 
After a while, my circumstances relocated me to a different state, giving me a new opportunity to finally resolve this. I saw a new ENT, and I gave the full rundown of my symptoms and history. I mentioned every medical ailment, bad habit, and quirk I have ever experienced. I mentioned my frequent regurgitation from overeating, how sometimes ground beef or rice seems to get stuck somewhere in the back of my throat, how I sleep on the side where I’m having discomfort, and how I pick my nose in the morning. I also mentioned that I can feel when my ears are producing wax and can remove hot wax with a Q-tip in real-time. I mentioned having tubes as a kid (as I mentioned to every ENT). This ENT diagnosed my issue as being caused by the acid in my regurgitation irritating my sinuses. I was prescribed Omeprazole 40 mg. I took this for a while but realized it was a bandaid on a bigger issue. I needed to prioritize my weight and eating habits.
 
I eventually started measuring my portions and eating slowechewing my food better, which fully resolved the regurgitation issue. However, I still occasionally get food stuck somewhere in my throat and definitely stuck in my soft palate. I have had my tonsils and adenoids removed when I was a toddler, but I can’t help but wonder if something grew back and is trapping food (I assume this would show in a CT scan).
 
As of recently, my latest symptom is hairs coming from the back of my mouth. Initially, I thought they were beard hairs, but after the fifth or sixth time, I became fully certain that single strands of hair are coming from the side of my mouth where I’m experiencing discomfort. I can replicate this over a long period of repeatedly opening my jaw (like I have Tourette’s) in an effort to equalize the pressure in my ear. I did some research, and it sounds like it could be a million different things. So once again, I have an ENT appointment coming up.
 
Now we’re caught up. I started to about a year ago still use the nasal spray and Flonase daily, and I even have a tablespoon of raw local honey. I have ZERO allergies. My ear pressure has progressively gotten worse over the past month, with the frequency of hairs increasing due to my constant need to open and close my mouth for pressure relief. I am not sure what to even tell this new ENT. I need experts to help me navigate the landscape of this condition.

So since January I started experiencing awful visual issues, I had an MRI, CT & blood work & all came back clear, since then I started developing twitching after taking amitriptyline and I just assumed it was a withdrawal or simply BFS. In 2/3 months I have had muscle atrophy in my back, thighs, calves and I’m certain my tongue has became weaker and so has my neck - I have no swallowing issues but my swallowing feels odd and my speech perceived by myself feels slow and not right at all.
I have seen countless neurologists in this time and they have all sent me back with a clean bill of health even though I have had 1 EMG which showed ‘chronic neuropathic changes mainly distantly’ and therefore a Neuromusculur neurologist diagnosed me with bfs & anxiety.
I know for a fact I have probably one of the worst progressive types of ALS you could get especially at such a young age - the atrophy was noticed by an NHS doctor who has sent me for another EMG in 3 months? But I have a private EMG on the 16th of this month. I’m absolutely terrified I have no understanding to how this could of happened, if all started after I took some mirtazapine to help with insomnia and I believe this has triggered something although there is 0 literature of this ever occurring and that’s why I can’t believe this happening to me.
I’m here to see reassurance even though I’m certain I’m dying and loosing everything so rapidly - I believe I have JALS or bulbar onset due to the changes in my face & throat etc… the one thing I can’t understand is how multiple parts of my body seem to be loosing muscle at the same time, I have read that ALS starts in one and moves up to the next etc but for me it seems like it’s everywhere.
I don’t know to be honest I don’t really know I didn’t want to post this at all but I just maybe might find someone on here that is experiencing disgusting symptoms, had a bag EMG and still came out the other side. I don’t believe I will, my family & girlfriend currently think I’m completely fine due to the reassurance from all the doctors and even the Neurologist who read the EMG still diagnosed me with BFS?
The EMG was on 2nd of April and at that point I knew my legs were smaller but it wasn’t extremely extremely noticeable - the EMG had no active neuropathic changes as PSW and FIBS were normal, it was just + AMP, + DUR and - INT PAT with seen fasiculations.
Overall I’m lost and i know it’s known that vision isn’t affected by ALS but I read reports and I legit match the symptoms such as reduced eye tracking, impaired VOR. I just feel like the most unlucky person on this planet like how can I have all these visual symptoms and horrible physical symptoms at such a young age just after taking some anti depressants to helps with insomnia.
I really need some support guys and I want to truly believe I’ll be okay but as of right now nothing can sway my mind and I’m dreading the 16th for what it will show, I’m going to honestly just walk in and say ‘I believe I have bulbar onset als just please start on my face and work your way down’
I just can’t believe that I’m completely fine when everything in my body is changing and has changed so quickly. I can still ride my bike, I can still run, walk fine and do any activity I want. (Other than football probably because of my vision) but I can’t do them well. I used to be able to run 5k without any aches in my body but now my feet hurt and so do my legs and I’m just a complete mess.
Much love and I hope people on this forum can comfort me with reassurance :(

I'm curious to talk to some fellow depraved weirdos out there who might enjoy the thoughts that keep rattling around in my head, but I couldn't quite come up with a punchy title or a fun setting so I figured I might try something more conversational in style. Like a kind of stream of consciousness style exploration into my own fantasies to see if anyone else out there is picking up what I'm putting down. So, hope you enjoy whatever it is that I've written below this sentence and shoot me a message if you're interested in chatting or writing something together to get us off as hard as possible.
I've been fantasizing all day about having a girl out there, a counterpart to myself that understands the most twisted and confused parts of my own identity. Who can understand the way that emotional and intellectual intimacy and honesty is so hardwired into what I find sexually attractive that it's inextricable - my kinks are not fleeting desires. They are parts of myself that scream out to be seen, embraced, loved that have gone unaddressed or otherwise unnoticed. I don't know if I'm a Dom, a sub, a switch, a vers, I don't have that name for myself - I only know what it is that I want, which is this.
I want to have someone who feels like they could just melt into me, to become a singular entity where we share each and every thought and feeling, synapses and muscles and rhythms of our body echoing each other in a way where there are no needs that exist outside of our connection. Obviously we'll need food and water and a break from the kind of intensity that I'm talking about, but I want the entire world to fall away while I'm jackhammering my cock into your pussy or asshole. I want your entire being to focus down to a pinpoint where you can feel my hot breath on your neck, words pouring out from my mouth like so much unfocused poetry while I'm fixated on the way that your muscles clench and massage my shaft. The way I can feel your soaked wetness coat our thighs, run in small rivulets down your asscrack while I pin your legs back by your head and fuck you until the bedframe beneath us breaks. I want the sound of our hips slamming wetly together to be so loud that neighbors next door think someone is being beaten, to bruise your cervix or plunge my cock so deep into your ass that I push into your colon. If we were to switch positions and have you climb on top of me, straddle me and look down at me with hungry eyes - fucking impale your hole onto me. Throw yourself down as if your life depended upon it, that my aching length filling you is the ultimate purpose that you'll fulfill in this lifetime and any others.
I don't care if you just got back from a long run or haven't shaved this week, all I know is when you walk in that front door of our house and I feel my eyes devour your body, I am filled with an uncontrollable, animalistic lust. I don't want to just fuck you - I want to worship, own, desecrate, build you up and break you down in your own perfectly flawed self image. I don't intend to change you into anything that you weren't meant to be, you've just finally found the person that sees what you are deep down inside and will help you to achieve that end. In that way, I fully expect to spend my days immersed in experiencing you - burying my face in your pheromone filled creamy pussy, letting my tongue and lips explore your curves and folds and memorize every single mole, freckle, unique mark that denotes this body your beautiful soul pilots as yours. I want to explore every inch of you with all five senses, to know how you smell as I bury my face in your ass first thing in the morning and dip my tongue inside your pussy, my nose pressed up against your puckered hole.

The garage door shut with a groan behind us, closing us in the gloom of the single bulb hanging over the car.
Mother took a drag off her cigarette and sighed as she exhaled, the smoke filled the cabin of the Ford and stung my eyes.
“You really disappointed me today, Julianne," she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray below the dash, "you embarrassed me in front of the other mothers at the Ice Cream Social, shoveling down seconds and thirds like a pig. I thought I raised you better than that.”
She took another drag, daintily holding the cigarette between her perfectly manicured fingers.
“I'm going to have to tell your brother about this," she continued, “he'll have to come up with a punishment fit for a pig."
I felt my stomach drop. My kid brother, Thomas, was only six, but could be exceptionally cruel. Mother seemed to encourage him and was deferring to him more and more frequently for how the house was run, especially concerning my upbringing.
"Mother, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry I was a pig and ate so much ice cream. I promise I won't do it again, I'll never eat any ice cream again," I was pleading with stone, unyielding.
“Hush your mouth. Go to your room and wait for Thomas," she put out the cigarette and got out of the car, I had no choice but to follow.
It felt like walking to the gallows as I stepped inside the house and headed towards the stairs to go to my room. Thomas had grown fond recently of physical punishment, he obviously delighted in Mother whipping me with a belt or, recently, Mother had allowed him to start beating me with a wooden spoon. He would squeal and giggle like a normal child watching bubbles in the wind while I screamed. I was dreading whatever was going to happen tonight, I chastised myself for eating that ice cream, I should have known she would show up. My sins were always laid bare.
Down the hall, I could hear Thomas watching television in the den. I only got to watch TV for half an hour on Saturday morning and new episodes of Happy Days with Mother and Thomas. Thomas got to watch all the TV he wanted. He could listen to the radio and turntable as much as he wanted, as loud as he wanted. Thomas had an entire room just for his toys.
I entered my bedroom, it was a space I occupied, but it didn't feel like mine. Mother kept it spartan, white walls and white bedspread. A crucifix over the bed and a painting of Jesus over the door. I had my desk and chair and a dresser with some of the porcelain dolls Daddy gave me before he died that Mother let me keep. That was it.
I placed my book bag down and sat on my bed, waiting for Thomas. It was a while, sitting there with nothing but my own thoughts and staring at the open door. I felt humiliated, I was almost thirteen and my entire life was dictated by my brother. Mother kept the house in constant lockdown to keep Thomas a secret. No outsiders were allowed in. I couldn't have friends because she was afraid I would mention him or sneak a friend in to gawk at my brother and tease him for being different.
I would never make fun of him, I was terrified of him. Terrified of what he was and what he was becoming.
Eventually I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and I felt my heart start beating faster and my palms began to sweat. I kneaded my skirt in my hands, trying to calm myself and dry my palms. His slow arrhythmic footsteps came down the hall and I watched him as he entered the room.
I couldn't help but internally recoil at his appearance, even though I'd known him since he was born, I could never adjust to how unnatural he appeared. Thomas had been born at home and had never seen a doctor, but he was obviously unwell.
He was six years old and was barely over two feet tall, but very squat and wide. His skin was thick and gray, the whites of his beady eyes were yellow and his hair was wispy and white like an old man's, spreading out like a halo around his gargoyle face. A slight odor of decomposition hung about him, it reminded me faintly of garbage cans on a hot summer day. I hated when Mother made me help him with a bath, his skin felt like old brittle leather that flaked onto my clothes in gray flecks. His body was dense like concrete, I could barely lift him into the tub. Picking him up forced his hair into my face where that smell of rot would fill my nose, causing me to gag, silently, so as not to offend him and draw any ire from him or Mother.
Today, Thomas was wearing bib overalls with a red and green striped sweater underneath, reminding me of a grotesque doll.
“Mama says you acted like a piggy today at the ice cream social,” he spoke up to me in his unsettlingly high pitched, yet raspy voice, like a child that smoked as much as Mother, "you need to come down for dinner right now for your punishment for embarrassing Mama."
He turned and walked back down the stairs and I had no choice but to follow his toddling form downstairs to the dining table. We entered the kitchen and the table was placed with two settings. Mother was already seated and Thomas clambered up into his booster seat at his normal spot next to Mother. She took a drag off her cigarette and motioned vaguely to the floor without even looking at me.
Neatly situated on the linoleum was my dinner, not on a plate, but directly on the floor. A pork chop, scoop of mashed potatoes, and a small pile of peas. No utensils, either.
Thomas giggled with glee upon seeing my face.
“You have Mama's permission now to eat like a piggy, now. No hands! Piggies just use their face!” He stood up in his chair and reached out for Mother’s ash tray and flung it out over my meal, peppering my dinner with cigarette ash and butts.
"Oops! Piggies don't mind trash though, do they, Mama?” he giggled and the sound filled me with rage.
"No, they don't,” Mother replied coolly while maneuvering her ashtray back in place and carefully putting out her cigarette before saying prayer.
As angry as I was, I got down on my hands and knees and did my best at eating what I could without using my hands. I knew if I refused, it would be far worse. The whole meal, Thomas made pig noises and would reach down and poke me with his fork, making comments about what a fat piggy I was and how he wished he could roast and eat me. I doubted Mother would even object if he actually did kill me and eat me.
Gagging my way through another bite of ashy pork chop, I felt a warm splat over my head and heard Thomas giggling. I reached up and felt he had dumped mashed potatoes into my hair.
Choking down tears, I asked Mother if I could clean the floor and bathe. She rolled her eyes and excused me to clear the table for them as well while she changed Thomas into his pajamas. Picking him up, she walked out of the room and Thomas stuck his putrid little purple tongue out at me before they made it out the kitchen door.
I silently cried while I cleared the table and washed the dinner dishes. Tears splashed down as I mopped up the mess from my food on the floor. I hated how awful Thomas was. I hated how they treated me. Ever since Daddy died and Thomas showed up, I was their punching bag. I missed Daddy so much.
Mother was kinder then, too. She was still severe, but Dad kept her tempered. After he died, there was a change that came over her. I was only six, so I didn't remember her too much from before, but I did remember her gushing on and on when she was pregnant with Thomas. How the baby was a gift from Our Heavenly Father, that it was going to complete our broken family.
My sixth birthday happened right after Daddy died and I remember sitting on the patio crying while the house was full of people after the funeral, normally he would have gotten me a new doll and a chocolate bar, instead I was forgotten. No doll. No chocolate. Just funeral potatoes and a house full of cigarette smoke from the adults.
Nobody remembered. The closest thing I got was my dad's sister, Aunt Judy, sitting next to me on the patio step for a few minutes of comfortable silence before giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. I don't think she knew her brother was memorialized on my birthday. Next year, Thomas was born the day before my birthday, so it was completely eclipsed as Mother had just birthed her new love into the world…
I stopped mid mop as a lightbulb finally went off. I had never put much thought into the dates before.
Thomas was born a full year after Daddy died. He couldn't be his dad. Who was Thomas’ actual father?
Washing mashed potatoes out of my hair that evening, I ran over and over the timeline. No matter how I parsed it out, Thomas was only my half brother. Going to bed that night, I kept myself awake, going over and over again to make sure. I couldn't remember any men being around at that time, but that didn't mean much. Adults can easily hide things from children. Tension began throbbing through my head and I felt queasy. Mother had always known all of my secrets, able to sniff them out like a bloodhound out or using Thomas to spy. Now I had one of Mother's secrets and I didn't know what to do with it.
First I wanted to confirm it, but it would mean snooping, which was difficult in a house that was rarely left empty. I would have to try finding Mother's calendar book or journal to see if she mentioned any dates or men.
But when could I attempt such a daring maneuver? Thomas hardly left the house. As proud as Mother was of him, she was very cognizant and protective of his differences and didn't want to draw attention to herself or Thomas like that. Mother herself had few social engagements throughout the week and mostly stayed home to watch her golden child.
I finally decided I would take the risk and fake sick on Tuesday, grocery day, so I could stay home from school while she went shopping. All Thomas did all day was watch TV downstairs, so that should give me about an hour to look through her room for clues. I decided to tuck my head down, try to behave as best as I could to avoid their wrath, and wait for Tuesday.
That weekend limped along agonizingly slow. Thomas was in a fine mood and was constantly seeking out a reason to poke me, punch me, slap me… he'd laugh while calling me a piggy with his off-putting wide mouth. I tried to mostly stay in my room and it seemed like neither of them cared.
School on Monday was a relief, but my anxiety ramped up. The consequences would be dire if Mother caught on that I was faking sick to stay home. I didn't even want to imagine how off the leash she'd let my half-brother become in his punishment for that level of insubordination.
I stayed up all night, my stomach was in knots, but I was committed to my plan. Throughout the night, I screamed as hard as I could into my pillow. Screamed until my throat was raw and I could barely talk. It felt cathartic in a way. When it was close to school time, I put on my heaviest flannel pajamas and began doing jumping jacks until my face was flushed and my scalp was soaked with sweat.
Looking in the bathroom mirror before heading down to talk to Mother, I thought I looked pretty convincing, my skin was flushed and sweaty, my eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep, and my voice croaked like a frog.
Heading downstairs, Mother was already feeding Thomas breakfast. I hesitantly stepped into the kitchen and stood there awkwardly for a second, pawing with my pajamas to keep my nerves steady until she noticed my presence and looked up.
“Why aren't you dressed, Julianne?"
"I don't feel well. My throat hurts and my tummy hurts.” My voice graveled out more than I was expecting, I really had hurt my throat.
She strode over to me and placed a cool hand on my sweaty brow.
"You do feel warm. Take an aspirin from the medicine cabinet and go lay back down. I'll check on you later," with that she turned back and walked over to Thomas, who was frozen in place, glaring at me over a forkful of scrambled eggs. The sharp glint of malice in his beady eyes made me shiver before I shuffled out of the kitchen.
I laid in bed, trying my best to look miserable until I eventually heard the faint sound of the television playing in the den as Thomas settled in for his normal daytime routine and the garage door opened as Mother headed to the grocery store. I bounded out of bed and watched the car back out of our driveway and head up the street.
My heart began to pound as I tiptoed down the hall to Mother's bedroom, a place I rarely even caught a glimpse of, let alone entered. I very slowly opened the door, taking great care to not make any noise to alert Thomas downstairs that I was out of bed.
Creeping into the butter yellow room, I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, this was the naughtiest thing I had ever done by far. I stepped onto the rug to help disguise my footsteps and slowly made my way past the brass bed and towards her desk. My hands shook as I opened the top drawer, I pawed through rapidly and found nothing. I checked the next drawer down and again found nothing of interest, just stationary and envelopes.
Finally, the bottom drawer was what I was looking for, a stack of journals from the past decade. I flipped through, trying to find entries relevant to when Daddy died and who Mother slept with afterwards.
I've never fully recovered from what I read.
July 6, 1968
Edgar died today. Car accident. I cannot believe this is real. My light, my life, my anchor... Dr. Benson gave me a sedative at the hospital and I feel so tired. So very, very tired. Why has my Lord forsaken me so?
July 9, 1968
I feel like I am in a very bad dream, I feel numb and disconnected. All the consolation and pity from everyone makes me feel sick. After the memorial, it took everything in me to not break dishes and to scream at everyone to get out of my house. Julianne was moping about crying and I wanted to throw her out, too.
If I hadn't seen my dear Edgar's body in the hospital and held his urn in my own hands, I wouldn't believe he was really gone. I still don't entirely believe it.
I have prayed to God every night asking him to show me why he took my husband from me and I have gotten no answer.
I skimmed over the next few months, as it was more or less similar sentiments repeated night after night. I finally got to an entry that caught my eye.
September 17, 1968
My battle with my faith has been fraught the past few months, but Hallelujah! I feel I can see the Lord again in all his glory and might, for he has given me a way to reconnect to my Edgar!
I was thinking about the night Julianne was born, right in this very home, it was a difficult birth and she struggled to breathe at first. Ingrid, my midwife, made a comment to me that if the baby had failed to wake up on her own, that Ingrid had ways to make sure she would have made it.
I remember asking if it was a medical methodology and she made it clear to me that in certain circumstances, it was a mystical property she used to bring the air of life into a struggling baby's lungs. She gently alluded to being a practicing member of the dark arts. At the time, I felt quite scandalized to have someone like that in my God fearing home. Now I see her as the answer to my prayers! My angel!
On a whim, I called her and asked if she still practiced such techniques. She hesitantly confirmed that she did. I asked, if she could turn breath into the lungs of a child without, could she turn breath into a child that did not exist? Could she magick into existence another child of my beloved Edgar? She told me she had to do some research and she'd be back in touch.
Ingrid just called back after a few hours and said there was a spell she found, but it was dangerous and might have unpleasant results. I said, yes, of course! I trust my Lord and I believe he sent this woman of blessed magick to me for this purpose.
She says we will have to do it soon, in a few days during the new moon. She has a potion to brew, but it is happening! Praise God!
September 23, 1968
The ceremony was last night, and Ingrid believes it was a success, but we will have to wait. It did not take long, only an hour or two. Ingrid lit my bedroom with many beeswax candles and she had me drink a thick and bitter tea that caused me to become quite relaxed and foggy.
From my inner thigh, she cut me and collected my blood in a chalice, with which she mixed quite a lot of Edgar's ashes and other ingredients which I could not glean from my supine position and groggy wits. Ingrid began to chant, calling upon a higher power, as I pleaded with my Lord to let this work. To give me any piece of my Edgar back. She came to the bed and worked the paste between my legs into my womanly chamber, which was very uncomfortable, but manageable with the numbing effects of the tea.
She continued to sit with me and chant, her hand placed over my womb, until she decided at which time it was complete. She left and I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up this morning, I felt quite uncomfortable, my body ached and when I used the restroom, a yellow fluid like pus poured out of me, but no sign of any ashes or blood, which gives me hope it was absorbed into my womb.
November 3, 1968
Praise be to our Lord, Ingrid just confirmed for me that I am with child, I had been hoping so, I had not gotten my cycle in October, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the discharge like pus that was still coming. She told me that was common with this spell and a side effect that would stop after the baby came.
I feel like I am floating on air, for the first time since Edgar left, I feel-
I suddenly became very aware of the feeling of eyes on the back of my head. I had become too engrossed in what was written before me and I had lost track of my surroundings. Very slowly, I turned around and my heart began pounding again as I saw Thomas standing in the doorway holding his wooden spoon in one hand. How had I not heard him?
He pointed at me with his empty hand and screamed, just a pure guttural screech from somewhere deep inside his disgusting little body. He charged at me from across the room, his horrible feet thumping solidly along the rug. He began beating my legs ruthlessly with the spoon, causing my legs to buckle. I crashed down to my knees in front of him, and he began lashing at my face, pulling my hair with one hand while wailing away at my head with the spoon.
I had dropped the journal I was holding and was desperately trying to get a hand on the spoon or push him away. All I could hear was him screaming. My arms flailed and I reached around on Mother's desk and grabbed onto the first thing I found and sank it into Thomas’ neck.
The end of Mother's gold letter opener protruded under his jaw. He went silent and he looked at me with utter shock. He dropped the spoon and collapsed on the ground, clutching at his neck as his thick black blood oozed out from his wound, letting out a stupendous odor of rot that filled the room. He didn't really say anything or make any noise. He just twitched for a moment and I saw his eyes glaze over.
In shock, I stood over his little body for a moment and I watched as he seemed to mummify in just a few minutes, like an ash person from Pompeii dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Even his blood that looked like shiny oil a second ago became like potting soil on Mother's rug. Reaching out to touch his hand, it crumbled away like sand.
Panic ran through me like a rabbit caught in a snare. Not knowing what to do, I ran. I ran down the hall, changed my clothes, put an extra change of clothes in my backpack and the last doll Daddy had ever given me and I ran. Mother would absolutely never forgive me and I was genuinely afraid she would kill me in retaliation for taking her beloved Thomas away from her. Her precious gift from God. My feet flew over the pavement and took me away from that house.
I called my Aunt Judy from a payphone outside the five & dime, and told her Mother had kicked me out and asked if I could stay with her. She had always had a strained relationship with my mother and it didn't take much convincing that she had kicked out her “only” child. Only Mother, Ingrid, and I ever knew about Thomas.
She gave me a home and took care of me. She never beat me or humiliated me. Even with her love, I was far from okay. For years I would close my eyes and hear Thomas scream, then the sudden silence. I'd see him fumbling at his neck and turning to ash. But I would also remember all the ways he would hurt me and how bad he was becoming. I could never talk to anyone about it, especially not the silent relief I felt I refused to admit to myself. Over time, however, Thomas' screams became a whisper and his silence faded into dust in my mind.
I moved on with my life. I went to college and became a photojournalist, getting to travel the world and watch history unfold. By choice, I never married, but was quite blessed with many beautiful friendships for companionship over the decades. I found balance in my life and a sense of happiness, if not peace. I never could quite stomach mashed potatoes again, though, they always taste ashy to me.
Mother never made any attempts to reach out to me or find me, at least that I'm aware of. Ten years ago, I was contacted by a hospital and they said my mother had been admitted earlier after falling and was about to pass, so she must have kept some tabs on me to know my phone number for her emergency contacts. Apparently she had collapsed in the driveway and a neighbor called an ambulance. I got there and her only words to me were, “take care of him," as she placed a locket in my hand. I opened the locket, Jesus was on one side, Thomas on the other. I didn't say anything to her, just held her frail old hand with nicotine stained nails until she passed in the night. My mother was gone and I felt nothing except a vague sense of relief.
When I got to her house, it was like a time capsule. Other than a newer television, it was just like it was when I'd fled so many years ago. The smell of tobacco smoke hung like incense in the air. It felt oppressive, like a tomb.
I wandered the house in a bit of a daze. The one place I didn't want to go was upstairs. I didn't want to see my old room, or Thomas' room, or Mother's. Putting it off, I went to fix myself some supper, realizing I hadn't eaten in almost a day. I took a pause when I opened the fridge and saw a baby bottle on a shelf. Silently praying she had been babysitting for a neighbor, I fixed myself some toast with sardines and sat eating in the den watching TV. It had been almost forty years and it still felt rebellious not eating at the table and watching TV without permission.
My eyes grew heavy and I finally mustered up the gumption to head upstairs to go to bed. The stairs creaked in a familiar way under my feet and I was taken back to the feeling of dread hearing either Mother or Thomas climbing up. My old room was at the top of the stairs, I saw the door was nailed shut and had rambling quotes about Judas copied from the Bible in my mother's handwriting taped to the door. I sighed gently and turned from the door to head down the hallway, deciding Mother's room was probably the best place to sleep.
I passed by Thomas’ toy room and I heard a murmur from the room. I stopped, curiosity got the best of me and I entered. In Thomas' old toy room was a crib with joyful clown sheets. Dread swelled up inside me as I heard more murmurs and saw the sheets move. Approaching slowly, I peaked under the sheet and gasped.
Tucked inside was what looked like a baby gargoyle, gray and papery looking. Pus leaked out of its milky, bulbous eyes. I pulled back the blanket and saw it had no legs and its arms bent back, like wings on a bird. It was wearing just a cloth diaper, overflowing with tarry looking stool that took my breath away with its pungency, it smelled like Thomas’ blood, but somehow worse. My heart broke for this poor creature, Lord only knows how many years it has been in this crib suffering from its unholy existence.
So this is who Mother had wanted me to take care of…
Not knowing what else to do, I gently scooped him up. Like Thomas, he was shockingly heavy for how small his body was. Placing him on the changing table, I cleaned him and rewrapped his bottom in a clean diaper cloth. It was difficult, he fussed tremendously, crying and flopping around as much as his flipper-like arms would allow. I tried wiping off his oozing eyes and he snapped his mouth, which I saw was full of disturbingly square yellow teeth, trying to bite me. I carried him to the kitchen and rocked him while I heated up his bottle and he became furious with me, almost barking like a dog when my hand would get near his face.
He settled a bit as he fed, but he would still sometimes suddenly spit out the bottle and attempt to bite me. I laid him back in his crib, this abomination in a clown sheet, and I walked down the hall to Mother's room letting out a long sigh.
Combing through my mother's journals in the early hours of the morning, it looked like she tried the ceremony again shortly after Thomas died, but she either lacked Ingrid’s help or didn't have enough of my father's ashes left. Something went terribly wrong. She was vaguer than she had been about Thomas’ conception, but I suspect she had used some of Thomas' remains. The resulting birth she named Isaac.
Mother's journals told a sad tale of her and Isaac's suffering. She never mentioned me, but lamented the loss of Thomas and Dad relentlessly. She was hyper protective of Isaac, as that was all she had left. If her world had been small before, it became microscopic after he entered her life, requiring nearly constant care. According to Mother, he was blind and colicky, sometimes going years at a time without sleeping through the night. She had breast fed him for years, but she had to stop after he grew teeth and began biting her intentionally and feeding on her blood.
I spent a lot of time over the next few days pondering what to do. I had to get her estate in order, she had left me the house, in an obvious attempt to get me to continue caretaking for Isaac, but I didn't want it. I had my own cozy home an hour away from here, filled with happy memories and my possessions acquired traveling the world. Mother's home had a heavy energy I couldn't shake. Her and Thomas were both gone, but the memories of the scoldings and beatings hung in every corner, like cobwebs that would never sweep away.
So, I fed Isaac and kept him clean and tried to keep him company, although he seemed to hate me passionately. I took care of him, all the while thinking about what I was going to do. After a week, I felt resolute in what had to be done.
Gathering up all of Mother's journals in a tote, I made my way to Isaac and picked him up and carried everything to the living room.
The ancient logs in the fireplace meant for display ignited instantly. One by one, I fed the journals into the fire, burning away years of my mother's consuming sorrow. Isaac fussed and moaned next to me the entire time. When the last pages shimmered away into lacy ash, I took a throw pillow off the couch and gently cradled Isaac in my other arm. It didn't take long before he stopped struggling and I felt his little body relax after decades of suffering.
I gently wrapped up a bundle in a clown sheet and placed it in the fire. It burned furiously, like the paper in my mother's journals, and was soon gone. Nothing but ashes and embers.
“Don't worry, Mother,” I said purely for my own sake, "I took care of Isaac for you."
And finally, I felt at peace.

I did EASE expansion with Dr. Kasey Li. This is what my EASE experience has been like.
This is a pretty niche and long post, but I’ve been going through this expansion process as a 32 year old woman, going through my first week of expansion. I figured I’d share my experience as I know how much I was eating up these posts during my research. I also made a video that's a bit less detailed if that is more digestible.
Here is a breakdown of my experience day by day.
Day 0, Wednesday:
Had surgery at Stanford hospital and aside from a mild billing heart attack they gave me, it was a great experience. Kind, knowledgeable staff, great bedside manner. After surgery I woke up and could immediately breathe better. Nasal breathing feels like moving from a coffee straw to a regular size straw. Swallowing and talking were out of the question with the TPD in my mouth though. Took about 90 minutes to wake up and then I was released.
The first night was ROUGH. I maybe slept for 4 hours. Woke up repeatedly with bleeding. Finally stopped trying to sleep and reached out to Dr. Li at 6 am because my mouth was FULL of congealed blood.
Day 1, Thursday:
I was supposed to have my first follow up appointment on Friday, but due to the bleeding Dr Li came in bright and early at 6:30 am. He responded to my 6am text within 5 minutes and was like “How soon can you get to my office? I’ll be there”. We rushed over and he gave me some local anesthetic injections and cauterized the surgical site. He made sure I was very comfortable and that the bleeding had stopped before sending me home. The rest of the day went pretty smoothly. Swelling got much worse this day. Had to ice pretty much constantly to keep it down. Definitely uncomfortable but I had really good pain management.
Day 2, Friday:
Had my official follow up appointment and he turned the device for the first time. Turning was weird but not painful. Gave me some more injections as I had had a bit more bleeding on the opposite side. The swelling got intense this day. My cheeks were huge and hot and I was having a bit more jaw pain. Dr Li said my pain and swelling would peak around 48 hours and that was definitely the case. I just took my meds, rotated between ice and heat and overall had a smooth day with some bleeding again over night.
Day 3, Saturday:
Woke up with more (but far less) congealed blood in my mouth. Texted him at 9:20 AM to see what I should do and he texted back immediately saying meet me at the office at 10. Performed injections to stop the bleeding, cauterize, rinse and repeat. He sends me home. Still eating only a liquid diet. Still swollen. But not uncomfortable like it was. Not really icing much at this point, mostly focusing on heat, and feeling pretty human. Can go on walks and had a tiny bit of pasta (the most solid food I’ve had at this point). There is a tiny bit of bleeding at one point but it stops quickly and I go about my day pretty much normal and for the first time have no bleeding through the night!
Day 4, Sunday:
Slept great, no blood. Swelling still very present but going down. Was able to walk around, get around the city, virtually no jaw pain until about 4 pm when truly out of nowhere my incision site where the appliance is placed starts bleeding AGAIN. I quickly try to gently catch the blood by packing in gauze trying to stop the bleeding and avoid going into the office as it was Mother’s Day.
It bleeds through the gauze for 1.5 hours and I finally reach out to Dr. Li. He once again responds almost immediately and tells me I can come into the office or try and stop it, but that his preference is always to see patients in person. I try to get it to stop for about another hour with a couple false stops, but I’m unsuccessful yet again, so I make my way to the office where he meets me at almost 8:00 PM. He is very kind and understanding and just says “Shit happens, I’m there for my patients”.
He injects me, cauterizes it again, tells me I should stop talking advil as that can be an anticoagulant and is just very kind and understanding. I was supposed to have my second follow up on Monday morning, but he turns my device for me for the second time that night instead to try and avoid me having to go into the office again the next day. Turning is still uncomfy but not painful. He waits with me to make sure the site is stable, and then waits with me outside while wait for my ride.
Day 5, Monday:
Woke up with no blood in my mouth, swelling still going down. Pain levels very minimal. Breathing feeling smoother. My left TMJ (which I’ve had issues with in the past is more crackly and sore than usual, so I’m watching that carefully. So far so good. Just staying in bed and hoping to make it through the day/night with no bleeding.
Impressions so far:
I’ve had the most bleeding of any patient Li has had by far. Not totally sure what that’s about, and I’m sad I had to be the first, but the way he responds and handled my case made me SO HAPPY I just spent the money and went with him. No other doctor I've ever had has given me this level of care.
He is expensive, but he is worth EVERY penny because when you’re his patient, you feel like a priority. I traveled for the procedure (meaning 3 weeks away from home) and was really out of my element and comfort zone and had more complications than most of his previous patients (he said about 5% have repeat bleeding after surgery, but that the amount I had was an anomaly.)
My breathing is better, and will continue to improve as I expand. Even with the TPD device in that is taking up most of my palate, I have so. much. more. space for my tongue. It feels really good! My bite is weird now that my upper jaw is larger and that’s going to take some getting used to. And my TMJ is a bit sore.
Things to avoid week 1:
No straws. No vigorous exercise. No lifting over 10lbs. No hot foods/drinks. No hard/chewy foods. No nose blowing. I’d recommend staying away from herbs like garlic or ginger as they thin the blood I don't know if that was part of my problem, he said sometimes these things just happen and there was nothing I did wrong, but I'd just recommend staying away from any foods that can thin the blood and research them ahead of time. I'm vegan, and now I know that a lot of fruits/veg can thin the blood. So if you're veggie like me or try to eat a lot of "health foods" tread carefully. Have lots of gauze on hand.
Ask me anything. I'm here for another 1.5 weeks and am pretty bored. Happy so answer any questions about Dr. Li or EASE!

I did EASE expansion with Dr. Kasey Li. This is what my experience has been like.
This is a pretty niche post, but I’ve been going through this expansion process as a 32 year old woman, going through my first week of expansion. I figured I’d share my experience as I know how much I was eating up these posts during my research.
Here is a breakdown of my experience day by day.
Day 0, Wednesday:
Had surgery at Stanford hospital and aside from a mild billing heart attack they gave me, it was a great experience. Kind, knowledgeable staff, great bedside manner. After surgery I woke up and could immediately breathe better. Nasal breathing feels like moving from a coffee straw to a regular size straw. Swallowing and talking were out of the question with the TPD in my mouth though. Took about 90 minutes to wake up and then I was released.
The first night was ROUGH. I maybe slept for 4 hours. Woke up repeatedly with bleeding. Finally stopped trying to sleep and reached out to Dr. Li at 6 am because my mouth was FULL of congealed blood.
Day 1, Thursday:
I was supposed to have my first follow up appointment on Friday, but due to the bleeding Dr Li came in bright and early at 6:30 am. He responded to my 6am text within 5 minutes and was like “How soon can you get to my office? I’ll be there”. We rushed over and he gave me some local anesthetic injections and cauterized the surgical site. He made sure I was very comfortable and that the bleeding had stopped before sending me home. The rest of the day went pretty smoothly. Swelling got much worse this day. Had to ice pretty much constantly to keep it down. Definitely uncomfortable but I had really good pain management.
Day 2, Friday:
Had my official follow up appointment and he turned the device for the first time. Turning was weird but not painful. Gave me some more injections as I had had a bit more bleeding on the opposite side. The swelling got intense this day. My cheeks were huge and hot and I was having a bit more jaw pain. Dr Li said my pain and swelling would peak around 48 hours and that was definitely the case. I just took my meds, rotated between ice and heat and overall had a smooth day with some bleeding again over night.
Day 3, Saturday:
Woke up with more (but far less) congealed blood in my mouth. Texted him at 9:20 AM to see what I should do and he texted back immediately saying meet me at the office at 10. Performed injections to stop the bleeding, cauterize, rinse and repeat. He sends me home. Still eating only a liquid diet. Still swollen. But not uncomfortable like it was. Not really icing much at this point, mostly focusing on heat, and feeling pretty human. Can go on walks and had a tiny bit of pasta (the most solid food I’ve had at this point). There is a tiny bit of bleeding at one point but it stops quickly and I go about my day pretty much normal and for the first time have no bleeding through the night!
Day 4, Sunday:
Slept great, no blood. Swelling still very present but going down. Was able to walk around, get around the city, virtually no jaw pain until about 4 pm when truly out of nowhere my incision site where the appliance is placed starts bleeding AGAIN. I quickly try to gently catch the blood by packing in gauze trying to stop the bleeding and avoid going into the office as it was Mother’s Day.
It bleeds through the gauze for 1.5 hours and I finally reach out to Dr. Li. He once again responds almost immediately and tells me I can come into the office or try and stop it, but that his preference is always to see patients in person. I try to get it to stop for about another hour with a couple false stops, but I’m unsuccessful yet again, so I make my way to the office where he meets me at almost 8:00 PM. He is very kind and understanding and just says “Shit happens, I’m there for my patients”.
He injects me, cauterizes it again, tells me I should stop talking advil as that can be an anticoagulant and is just very kind and understanding. I was supposed to have my second follow up on Monday morning, but he turns my device for me for the second time that night instead to try and avoid me having to go into the office again the next day. Turning is still uncomfy but not painful. He waits with me to make sure the site is stable, and then waits with me outside while wait for my ride.
Day 5, Monday:
Woke up with no blood in my mouth, swelling still going down. Pain levels very minimal. Breathing feeling smoother. My left TMJ (which I’ve had issues with in the past is more crackly and sore than usual, so I’m watching that carefully. So far so good. Just staying in bed and hoping to make it through the day/night with no bleeding.
Impressions so far:
I’ve had the most bleeding of any patient Li has had by far. Not totally sure what that’s about, and I’m sad I had to be the first, but the way he responds and handled my case made me SO HAPPY I just spent the money and went with him. No other doctor I've ever had has given me this level of care.
He is expensive, but he is worth EVERY penny because when you’re his patient, you feel like a priority. I traveled for the procedure (meaning 3 weeks away from home) and was really out of my element and comfort zone and had more complications than most of his previous patients (he said about 5% have repeat bleeding after surgery, but that the amount I had was an anomaly.)
My breathing is better, and will continue to improve as I expand. Even with the TPD device in that is taking up most of my palate, I have so. much. more. space for my tongue. It feels really good! My bite is weird now that my upper jaw is larger and that’s going to take some getting used to. And my TMJ is a bit sore.
Things to avoid week 1:
No straws. No vigorous exercise. No lifting over 10lbs. No hot foods/drinks. No hard/chewy foods. No nose blowing. I’d recommend staying away from herbs like garlic or ginger as they thin the blood I don't know if that was part of my problem, he said sometimes these things just happen and there was nothing I did wrong, but I'd just recommend staying away from any foods that can thin the blood and research them ahead of time. I'm vegan, and now I know that a lot of fruits/veg/legumes can thin the blood. So if you're veggie like me or try to eat a lot of "health foods" tread carefully. Have lots of gauze on hand.
Ask me anything. I'm here for another 1.5 weeks and am pretty bored. Happy so answer any questions about Dr. Li or EASE!

Have u experienced problems ? Flat face? Aggregated tmj? Recessed in anyway? Loss of volume ? Loss of support? Breathing problems? Less tongue space? Bottom teeth don’t fit behind teeth?
Please help me

LONG POST ALERT!!!! TL;DR AT THE BOTTOM :)
So, I've been considering for a while now getting a diagnosis. About two years ago now, I met a senior at my college who was autistic and wrote his thesis on autism and his personal experiences living with autism. I remember the day we met, we were walking back home together since our dorms were next to each other, and he asked if I was autistic. I'd never considered being neurodivergent until then, let alone having autism. A year after I met this senior at college, I was diagnosed with ADHD combined type. I've been doing lots of research on signs of autism, and how it presents in people of my demographic (young adult black female).
Ever since then, many, if not all of my closest friends say that it's very likely that I'm autistic. They say that I exhibit many signs of autism, and my research also indicates this as well. I struggle socially, and have trouble reading people's emotions. I have special interests that I pour a lot of my time and energy into, and I obsessively think about them and frame a lot of my experiences around them. Eye contact makes me deeply upset, and I get overstimulated easily, usually by loud sounds or bright lights. For a lot of my childhood, I rarely ever spoke. I would always make sounds and click my tongue or move my hands a certain way to calm myself down, and I still do to this day. One of my friends I met freshman year told me they thought I was nonverbal because I didn't speak once during a 4 hour event we attended.
I have a memory from elementary school that still haunts me to this day, in which I was stimming during class without knowing. I didn't know the word for it at the time, so I used to refer to it as "drawing a figure 8 with my chin", where I'd roll my neck in looping patterns whenever the sound of the classroom got too loud. The teacher called my name and asked me what I was doing, and when I stopped and looked up, everyone in the class was turned around and staring at me like I'd done something wrong. And I learned not to do anything "weird" in front of people again.
I want to try and get a diagnosis this summer, since there is a facility very close to where I live that offers services to adults with autism, and I have good insurance offered through my mother's job because she works for the state I live in. However, I also realize that my demographic is severely underrepresented in this aspect, and bias could very well skew the results if I ever got tested. I've heard many stories from friends and family of being mistreated and ignored by medical staff because of their race or sex, and I don't want that to happen to me.
On top of that, whenever I mention this to my mother, she seems to be against the idea of me possibly being autistic. When I first told her of this and all of the research I'd been doing, she said something like "why do you always have to try and find something wrong with you"? To be fair to her, I am a bit of a hypochondriac, and I have a history of stressing myself out and panicking to the point of hospitalization. But it's not like this was a spur of the moment revelation I'd had. I'd been thinking of this for months at that point, and I was serious about it. It just feels like she thinks that having autism is a disadvantage or something to be ashamed of, which it isn't.
Just this past spring break, I was prescribed dexmethylphenidate for my ADHD, after being on escitalopram for my severe anxiety for about a year. When I first started the ADHD medicine, I felt much more inclined to engage in my special interests, to the point where the first day I took it, I spent over 12 hours latch hooking, only stopping once to eat, and I finally ended when the medicine wore off that evening and my body was aching from latch hooking the entire day. When I went back to school, I found the sounds of the noisy classroom and the sight of the fluorescent lights less bearable than before. It was harder for me to sit through meetings since whoever I was speaking with would always stare at me and prevent me from listening to what they were saying. I began stimming more often, and I became more obsessed with interests I already had, in particular hummingbirds. From what I could find, there are instances where people are diagnosed with ADHD and get prescribed medication for it. The medication treats ADHD symptoms, and so the ADHD that was masking their autism is no longer there, meaning that the signs of autism are more prevalent. I think that may be what I'm experiencing now.
TL;DR I don't know if trying to get a diagnosis is right for me given my demographic, even though my extensive research suggests there's a strong possibility I have autism.

I developed tmj after an operation complication, that caused me to develop foreward head posture and jaw imbalance with my left masseter hypertrophing and my right jawline losing definition. I noticed that my teeth had shifted, in that the midline of my upper jaw had shifted to the right and my teeth on the right became more crowded. I had been given a tmj occlusal splint for the lower jaw and although it fixes my occlusion, it has also realigned my lower jaw to this right shifted upper jaw position. This obviously affects the rest of my body as it shifts to the right including my C1, C2 vertebrae, also causing my pelvis to rotate to compensate. I have been mewing but I’m really unsure of whether I should use the splint or not, because it has given me such an asymmetrical face and caused improper tongue posture despite keeping my jaw stable. My tmj is mostly cured due to Prolozone injections as well as chiro for C1, C2 misalignment. I really want to fix my midline, is this possible with just mewing? And would not wearing the splint cause detrimental effects? Ultimately mewing>> tmj orthotics for the long term? The other alternative is to get braces or Invisalign to fix my misalignment but I’m worried about the side effects of this, if it will make my face more elongated or reignite my tmj and really don’t want to consider this alternative unless it’s the only option.