Hey Reddit,
I don’t normally post like this—hell, I never post with my porn account—but I’m especially lost right now. Two years ago, I got into a doctoral program for English lit, thinking it was what I wanted for my career. I’ve always excelled in school, so grad school would be a cinch! I got BAs in English and Creative Writing during undergrad, and it was some of the most rewarding work I’ve ever done. Grad school has been two years of (what feels like) a continuous mental health crisis, and today I may have wasted my last chance to get out with a degree.
I’ve dealt with anxiety and depression my entire life (medicated for six years), but after moving away to school, I very quickly spun off the rails. I was the furthest from home I had ever been, away from family and friends and my support network. My relationship with booze and weed, which had been casual, became habitual. I’m not the most social person to begin with, but the isolated lifestyle of grad school made it worse than I could have imagined. The only friends I had were in my cohort, and their being somewhere in between coworker and friend made it difficult to speak with them candidly about my struggles. After all, they had the same workload that I did, so complaining felt stupid, and sharing the extent of how bad shit had gotten seemed like it would be a one-way ticket to a grippy socks vacation.
Frankly, I should probably have gone on that vacation. I could still use one. There hasn’t been a day gone by since, like, October 2022 that I haven’t thought about killing myself. Most of the time it isn’t active, just your typical ideation like “Oh, grad school makes me want to die lol.” One of my favorite recurring ideations is hurling myself into an industrial woodchipper like in Fargo—it’s so ridiculously violent that it usually snaps me right out of my funk. Where would I even find an industrial woodchipper?
It’s gotten worse lately though. This winter was bad. I’d fantasize about finding the nearest Wal-mart and exercising my constitutional right to purchase a firearm, driving to one of the many nearby beautiful state parks that I was never able to find time to go visit during the semester, and blowing my brains out. When I realized that I needed to give my family some plausible deniability for my suicide so they could grieve my loss rather than my decision, I’d fantasize instead about “losing control” on the highway. I hoped the seatbelt would take my head and launch it straight out the windshield. Or I’d fantasize about pulling a Christopher Supertramp and just leaving without warning to fuck off and die in the woods—not violently, but by something that looked natural. God, what I wouldn’t give to be devoured by a bear.
All of these options were moot though, as I was too anxious to leave my house and drive for groceries for the entirety of March and April. Can’t drive yourself off a bridge if you’re too afraid to drive. Fret not though, friends—I’m back home with family now, stable and safe, and I no longer feel the pull of the void quite so strongly as I did at school.
Anyways, the workload was like nothing I had experienced in undergrad, and even though I knew it was going to be a lot of work, I thought I could keep up.
I was wrong.
I really gave it my best effort that first semester. I prepped each class I taught as a TA excessively, answered student emails within five minutes of receiving them. I started every other day with an anxiety vomit, but I went to class. I did my best to read everything assigned to me. I threw myself at Foucault and Derrida and fuckin Homi Bhabha and the 40 other opaque critical theorists they had us read, and I struggled through them to the best of my ability, but I never seemed to be on the same page as anyone else, so I found it more and more difficult to speak up in class until I stopped speaking entirely. Still, I wrote the 75 pages of critical writing they assign to us in the last week of the semester. I barely slept and hardly ate. I wrote what I thought they wanted, did my best to model myself after what we had read.
They told me that my efforts were disappointing, that my work “barely qualified” as critical writing. I think part of me died when I got that feedback. I got the impression, at least from the instructor who told me I barely qualified, that I had disrespected them on a professional and personal level. I come from a creative writing background, so I tend to inject personality and voice into whatever I write. Both my peers and other faculty I’ve discussed this feedback with agree that the paper (while definitely not fully formed) did not warrant that level of harshness, but it broke something in me.
I kept up for most of the second semester, but by the time those end-of-semester essays rolled around, I felt a writer’s block like I had never felt before. It wasn’t the sort that went away if I forced myself to write through it, like every other time I’d felt the block before. No, this was debilitating. I was paralyzed. I tried chipping away at it, and I tried tricking myself into writing by telling myself I was just taking notes. None of my old tricks worked, even that time-honored tradition of putting my back to the wall by waiting until the deadline and writing manic, anxiety-fueled bullshit. Every time I had ever faced something like this before—a mountain of writing that I didn’t want to do—I eventually slipped into gear and got it done.
It didn’t happen. For the first time in my life, I didn’t complete a final essay. I just couldn’t force myself to give a fuck. I couldn’t give a fuck about my work, about my grades, about my reputation at the university, about my future career, about my future continued existence. At some point, I became apathetic to my life and the world around me, but still, I pressed on because it was the only thing I thought I could do. One does not just get accepted into a fully-funded graduate program every day, you know, and I’d never forgive myself if I gave up on it so quickly. That’s what I was told, at least. Beyond that, I didn’t want to disappoint my friends and family and everyone who helped me get to grad school.
So I stuck with it, finished the essay and came back after the summer, and after forcing myself through the fall semester, I didn’t complete two final essays. My untreated burnout got worse. Imagine that! At the beginning of this semester, I made the decision to drop from the PhD track, cut my losses and get an MA. All I needed to do was finish one course this semester, one measly 25 page essay about the fucking kinetoscope, but I couldn’t do it. All I did this past semester was smoke myself stupid, play video games, and wish that I was dead. I spent months lying to my parents and my therapist, telling them both that while everything wasn’t fine, I was persevering and making progress. I’ve shared a little with my mom, now that I’m home and shit’s gone sideways, but all she did was cry and ask if I need to be taken to the ER. Nobody wants to make mom cry, and the last thing I fucking want is medical debt.
My deadline—the “missing this deadline will result in dismissal from the program” deadline—was today at noon, and I missed it. I have ten pages written, and I could finish it today if my brain wasn’t fucking broken, but instead I’ve written a confession to Reddit. I’ve emailed my DGS and will hear his verdict tomorrow morning, but honestly? I could fight for it, but don’t think I care anymore. I’ve been suffering for two years, and I don’t know if a master’s degree is worth it. This degree won’t make me happy—my depression brain says that nothing will, but I know that isn’t true. I wanted the MA so I could teach at a community college because that feels much closer to praxis than jerking off to Frantz Fanon until I get tenure, but I’m not even sure if I like teaching or if it was just the least of all evils I had to deal with as a grad student. (Lowkey, Fanon is probably the way to go if we’re jerking off to critical theorists, but I digress)
So Reddit, what do I do with my life? I’m a 25 year old burn out who 1) may have just lost their big shot at a slightly less worthless degree than the one they got in undergrad 2) just moved back in with their parents to a dead-end Midwest town 3) has few marketable skills and little job experience because they’ve been in academia hell for two years 4) has not had a relationship in even longer than that and 5) is generally a/pathetic.
Ending it isn’t on the table, so what do I do? Has anyone here gone through something like this? How can I rediscover my lust for life and letters? Where have you found your passion?
EDIT: forgot you needed two returns between paragraphs

Air, shelter, water, and food, all essentials of life we take for granted. The gratitude of being alive,
smothered by emotional baggage. Just a bunch of pill induced zombies, riddled by life’s perplexities. Not
me, not any more at least. No, now I wake up every day reborn with a newly discovered purpose in life,
thanks to, him.
Most would be emotionally devastated and seek long term therapy, after what I had endured.
Most would need to be heavily medicated, to calm their anxiety of the fear he would return. No, not me,
the person I once was, is now dead. Suffocated, frozen, dehydrated, and starved out of me. Who I was
perished, and I am grateful. I am offering you the same, but before we get started, let me explain how I
arrived at this place of serenity.
The night was the same as always. I had just finished gorging myself on junk food while binge
watching a reality show. Empty bottles of soda surrounded me as I surfed the streaming networks.
Knowing my weight was getting out of control, I still managed to finish off the bag of greasy potato
chips. My bottles of meds sat on the end table waiting for me. Depression, anxiety, stomach, and heart
pills all courtesy of the negligence of my life choices. One by one I swallowed the antidotes of a better
me. Yet, there never seemed to be a stronger version of myself, no matter how many pills I ingested.
Falling asleep, I told myself tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow I will try harder. As I drifted
off to sleep, I felt a sting in my neck, only waking up for a few seconds. My eyes opened just enough to
see him standing over me. Fighting to stay awake, my eyes latched closed, and I fell into the darkness.
Upon awaking, I could hear sounds of mumbles surrounding me. Feeling heavy and disoriented, I
managed to flicker my eyelids. As the minutes passed, my surroundings became more lucid. The foul
stench of pig shit singed my nose hairs. Dust from old haybales stimulated my sense of smell, inducing a
sneeze. An unimaginable pain coursed through my mouth. Still dazed and confused, I heard a voice say,
"we can't have that, now, can we?". Once again, I felt a sting in my neck, causing me to drift out of
reality.
"Wake up", I heard as I came to, "we need to get started". Started with what, I tried to ask. Yet,
my mouth wouldn't open. Tranquilized still, I thought maybe my brain just wasn't cooperating with my
body. Flexing my jaw, I tried again to speak, it was useless. All I could do was mumble. My words were
nothing more than muffled grunts behind a padded wall.
Looking around, I could see I was not alone. Vision blurry, I still managed to make out a large
silhouette of a man sitting in front of me holding a cutting needle and thread. He then placed the needle
on a barrel and stood up. Whistling, "The Sun will come out tomorrow", I began to look around. There were other people with us. Including myself, all tied to chairs and mouths sewn shut. Three of us were men. The fourth was a woman in her
mid-forties. She was crying and moaning uncontrollably. Mucus ran down her face dripping from her
chin. Trying to console her, I batted my eyes. It was all I could do without having the use of my mouth
and arms.
The injection he had no doughtily given me, had worn off. Like the woman, I found myself in panic
mode. My heart raced fast. I thought I would have a heart attack. Wanting to scream, I
couldn't. Wanting to run but I was incapacitated. Fighting my way out, entered my mind, but how? How,
with my hands bound behind my back. Besides, I wasn't a fighter, and the man was massive. He would
be very intimidating under any circumstance. His raggedy hair was sandy blonde with a mixture of gray.
Deep wrinkles hid behind a handlebar mustache, which stretched across his face. Thick eyebrows sat
untamed above his devilish eyes. Watching him, I tried not to make eye contact. I looked everywhere,
other than at him. The other two men looked as frightened as me. One man, the bigger one, had tears
but made no sounds. The other man was a very frail older man. He shifted side to side as he tried yelling
from behind his fastened lips. His arms bared scars of that of a junkie. His body, covered in scabs.
Cautiously, I looked around. A rusty old plow sat in the corner next to some feed sacks. A saddle
lay across an old broken table. Two horses stood quietly behind their stall door. I could see rays of light
shine through the cracks between the boards. It was daylight, knowing that gave me comfort somehow.
The barn was dusty, and as painful as it would be, I hoped I would sneeze again. At least then I could
scream. Abruptly the man stopped whistling and spoke.
Your mouths are bound together so that I cannot hear you. People talk too much, making the
world noisy. All loud with pathetic excuses of their weaknesses. I am not going to kill you. Your life is in
your own hands. Up to this point, you have wasted your life hiding behind your addictions. Cowering
and leaning on crutches of life’s temptations. I am here to save you from yourselves.
The rule of three is simple. You can survive three minutes without air, three hours without
shelter, three days without water, and three weeks without food. If you truly desire to live, then you will
triumph. If not, you will perish. I am here to help you unpack your emotional baggage. Air, the very
breath you breathe, you have taken for granted. So, please slow your breathing and relax. We are about
to begin.
While you were sleeping, I provided you with adequate fluids and nutrition. I cannot have you
starting off, on an empty tank. I want to be as fair as possible and make this a pleasant experience.
Though, I warn you it will not be easy, and you will have to dig deep within yourselves.
The burly man began whistling once again. He placed an egg timer on a barrel, grabbed a plastic
bag and spoke. You can survive three minutes with no air. Do you have the desire and strength to want
to live? For you, I truly hope so.
Standing behind the heavier man he turned the timer and then placed the plastic bag over his
head. The man jerked in his chair, thrashing about. One minute, he said. The man still moving wildly.
Two minutes, almost there just hold on. Three minutes he announced, ripping the bag from the head of
the now motionless man. “Oh dear, I guess he did not have what it takes, next”. My heart raced even
faster as he stood next to the now inconsolable woman. I would be after her. I had to slow my breathing
if I were to live. Picking up another bag, he stood behind her.
The air went in and out her nose as she hyperventilated. “There, there, I’m not going to hurt you”,
he said, as he patted her on the shoulders. “Three minutes is a miniature amount of time. I wish you the
very best.” Her legs kicked out lunging back and forth. Her muffled shrieks filled the barn. “Are you
ready?” He then reset the timer. Fearing for my own life, I turned my head and concentrated on my
breathing. Trying hard to block her out, I went to another place in my head. As hard as it was, I imagined
I was calm and at peace lying on a sandy shore. Desperately, I wanted to cover my ears. Her loud cries
soon became small whimpers. Then to gurgles as she choked on her own vomit. Turning my head back
towards her, I could see her convulsing as life left her body. “Not quite a minute, what a shame”, he
said.
Thinking back to when I was a child, and held my breath under water, outlasting my brother.
Back then, holding my breath was easy for me and I always won. Being in my mid-thirties, I wasn’t a
child any longer. Could I beat this, I questioned. Unlike the woman next to me, who reeked of tobacco, I
didn’t smoke. My chances were greater than those who came before me.
Excepting the inevitable, I practiced my anxiety exercises my therapist had taught me. Four, four,
four, inhale hold, exhale hold. If I panic, I will surely suffocate, I told myself. The other man was calmer
now and followed my lead. Our eyes locked on to one another as we breathed. “Very good, that is what
I want to see, a thirst for life, the will to live.”
Picking up a bag, he then stood behind me. I took a deep breath as he turned the timer. I felt the
panic trying to set in, but I pushed it deep down. Oddly enough, the tune he’d been whistling popped
into my head. “The sun will come out tomorrow”, played as the bag was put over my head. “So, you got
to hang on ‘til tomorrow.” Not wanting to see the blurred images through the bag, I closed my eyes. I
just kept humming the tune in my head. “One minute”, he said. Getting more difficult to hold my breath,
I could feel my heart beating faster and my blood pressure rising. The tune still reeling in my head,
“tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow”. “Two minutes”. I can do this, I’m almost there, but my
mind was getting foggy, and my chest tightened. My muscles tensed up as I felt my existence dwindle
away. The tune that kept me going had faded away somewhere deep into my brain. Hungry for air, I
started scratching my hands behind my back. I was going to die. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I managed to
think one last time. “Three Minutes”!
Air rushed through my nose, as I clung to the remaining life I had. It was the greatest feeling just
being able to breathe. I’d made it, I had beat him, I was alive. “Congratulations, you did well”. “Breath
and continue to appreciate the gift, I have given you”.
Tears rushed down my cheeks, as I sat watching the man set the stage for the last occupant. As
sympathetic as I was, I was overwhelmed too just be alive. Still fighting my anxiety, I closed my eyes,
four, four, four. Sounds of distress and faint scuffling could be heard, yet I refused to open my eyes.
Three minutes passed quickly. “We have another fighter, outstanding.” Opening my eyes, I seen that the
other man had also survived. “Two out of three, I wished it faired better.” “It is a pity they perished, yet
the pigs will eat well.” “Nothing should ever go to waste”. “Their carcasses are a valuable resource.” I
am thankful for their contribution.”
“I will let you rest up.” The next gift, is that of shelter.” “People of the world scratch and claw to
have bigger dwellings of that of their neighbor.” Never being thankful of the shelters warmth when it is
cold.” “Not a second thought about the materials taken from the earth to provide that comfort.” “I will
teach you to not care about the size or the looks. You won’t care if it’s a barn or a house made of sticks.
You’ll learn to be content as it shelters you from the storm.
Not understanding what was coming next, I tried thinking of ways to escape. Wringing my hands
together, I tried loosening the rope. He had his back turned removing the bodies from the chairs. Yet
somehow he still managed to catch on to what I was doing. “That’s a double sheet bend knot.” Try as
you might, you will not loosen or untie it.” “Yet I commend you on your perseverance.” “If you escape,
you will not learn the valuable lesson I am trying to teach you.” “Sit and be patient, like I told you
before, I’m not going to kill you.”
He was right. The more I tried twisting my wrists, the tighter the rope became making them bleed
and burn. “Why was he doing this and why me”, I wanted to ask. The inside of my mouth was so dry,
and I was thirsty. All I could think about was water to wash out the metallic taste left from the wounds
of my lips. Making eye contact with the other man, I wondered if he was as thirsty as I. “The storm will
be here soon, and we can continue.”, he said as he removed a hacksaw hanging from the barn wall.
We watched as the man carried on as if he’d done this before. He laid the saw across a table.
Sweat dripped from my head as I panicked. What was he going to do to us? I thought. Do not worry, this
saw is not for you, he said as he placed the woman’s body on the table. He then began to dismember
her legs. He continued to hack through the bodies throughout the day. He would casually take breaks
between the removal of the body parts. After he was done, he used a rusty old wheel barrel to take the
parts out of the barn. He kept his word. I could hear the pigs happily squealing as he fed them.
The light that had previously comforted me dwindled away as darkness approached. As frightened
as I felt, all I could think about was water. “It is time”, he said as he wiped sweat from his brow. “I will
untie your arms so you can move freely. I encourage you to move as much as possible to keep the blood
circulating. Frostbite and hypothermia are inevitable if you let yourself settle. You can wear the clothes
you have on, but nothing more.
The barn was heated with an old wood stove. Our captor had fed it wood throughout the day. Yet
the wind from the storm outside seeped through the cracks. A chill came over me, fearing what was
next. The four technique no longer working. He then placed a makeshift collar around our necks.
Connected to the collar was a chain. After untying the ropes from behind our backs he told us to stand.
Fearing what he would do, I did what he told me.
He then unlatched the wooden brace holding the barn doors shut, unveiling winter’s wrath.
Weather in Michigan was unpredictable and harsh at times. That night was no different. The wind
bustled through the doors as we all stood staring into the night. Snow was falling rapidly and had quickly
begun accumulating. “Tonight’s storm is only a mild one but will last a few hours.” “Having your mouths
bound is a positive.” “It will protect your lungs.” Your heart rate will lower the less you move so keep
moving to boost your circulation.” “You will have to endure three hours in the weather.” “This trial is
brutal, I know but if your life is precious then you will improvise, adapt, and overcome.
He then led us by the chains out of the barn and into a wooden pen. It didn’t have a roof but was
too tall to climb over. “I know you must be thirsty, but if you try and eat the snow you will only amplify
dehydration and hypothermia.” He then removed the collars and locked the door. As he walked away in
his rabbit fur coat, he turned and once again said, “Do you have the desire to live, for you I truly hope
so.”
Frantically I surveyed the pen looking for a way out. The enclosure was made of old pallets, thin
boards, and cattle fence. It was sturdy enough to keep us in but not the wind out. It must have been
about twelve feet wide by twenty-four feet long. Rubbing my hands along the gaps, I felt something
warm run down my fingers. I had sliced my hand along the inside of one of the pallets. He had secured
razor blades and sharp nails from the inside to keep us from climbing out. Even if we were able to make
it to the top, we wouldn’t be able to climb over the razor wire that spiraled along the perimeter.
More frantic than I, the other man ran back and forth. He was shaking and sweating profusely. How
could he be sweating in this weather, I thought. On the other hand, I had begun to shiver. My feet had
already begun to tingle. Wearing only gym shorts, socks, and a t-shirt, I knew I must keep moving. The
other man was more fortunate than I. He was wearing pajama bottoms, socks and a hoodie. At least he
had a layer to break the wind.
The snow was dry and easy to move. Thinking maybe we could get out from the bottom. I began
moving the snow with my hands. As I moved it, I motioned for the other man to help. My attempts to
get his attention went unnoticed. He had found a nail long enough to cut through the stiches in his
mouth. Watching him, I debated on doing it myself. Though I thought of the burly man and his hacksaw.
Deciding it was best to keep my lips bound, I watched him saw through his. He yelled in agony as blood
dripped from his lips. Be quiet, I wanted to tell him, he’ll hear you.
When the last stitch broke the man dropped to his knees gasping and crying. He then stood up,
removed himself from his pants, and began urinating in the snow. “I’m Evan”, he said shivering and still
covering the white snow yellow. His urine smelled foul as the wind carried the smell. Not being able to
talk, I used a stick to spell out my name. Letter by letter, I spelled it out, Liam. He didn’t acknowledge
what I had written. He didn’t seem to care about what my name was.
Bending over he began to eat the yellow snow. Then pulling up his sleeves, he did something that
made my stomach churn. He picked off the scabs from his arms and started sucking on them. I now
understood he was detoxing and was trying to get a fix from the meth that had exited his body. I had a
cousin in jail once, who had described this same behavior from the inside. After doing this for a few
minutes he then spoke. Stuttering out his words, “I know it’s disgusting, but it is what it is.” “Now how
we gonna get out of this here, Liam. No matter what he was or what he spoke, it was comforting to hear
him speak to me.
Not knowing how to get out I just started moving. Shaking my head and still shivering, I began to
do jumping jacks. There wasn’t a way out and I was so cold. Knowing that I had to keep moving I
continued. I knew that if I didn’t move, my heart would slow and eventually stop. “You gonna listen to
that Behemoth or ya gonna try and help me find a way out?” Stopping, I once again tried looking from
the bottom. He looked for a way to climb over. Neither of us found a way to escape. Both of us,
shivering we stopped looking.
As we huddled together in the corner, a voice came from a speaker. “One hour has passed, two
hours remain.” Your lust for drugs trumps your lust to live.” “It will be your demise.” He’d seen, he’s
watching us, I thought. Not wanting to die, I began running in circles. The pain was excruciating. Every
step I took was like stepping on needles. My nose felt like it would break off.
“It’s no use, we’re gonna die, Evan said as he plopped on the ground. Using my arms, I motioned
for him to get up, but he refused. He sat in the corner with his teeth chattering and shoulders shaking.
While Evan sat, I continued. Running from one end to the other, tears freezing as they plummeted from
my eyes. As I ran, I tripped over something that caught my attention. It was a stack of a few boards
hidden under the snow. Uncovering them I counted them out in my head. There were several I dug out. I
crafted a fort in my head. We could use the wood for a shelter. Once again, I motioned for Evan to help.
Evan didn’t speak or move. “Two hours”, I heard as a voice projected from a hidden box.
Quickly I stumbled to Evan, shaking him. Tears ran down my cheeks as I faced the truth. I was
alone. Evan’s inability to try had snuffed out his life. He was dead. Time seemed to stand still in that
moment. Looking at his lifeless body, I realized he wasn’t a frail old man. He in fact was my age. The
drugs just made him look old. My sadness for him abandoned me to be replaced with anger. He should
have tried harder. I was now alone. He had left me alone.
Feeling numb and secluded, I wanted to give up. There wasn’t much fight left in me, yet
something in me snapped. I didn’t want to die. Ripping my wet clothes off, I threw them to the ground.
Trying to keep my temperature above freezing, I jumped and staggered in the snow. Laying Evan’s body
flat on the ground, I thought I would use it as a warm layer between me and the ground. One board at a
time, leaned them over Evan’s body and up against the pen, making an ominous clubhouse. Shivering
and naked, I crawled inside and laid on Evan’s lifeless body.
No longer having the strength to move, I lay crying. In the last hour I replayed my life. If only I had
another chance to do it all over again. If only I thought as my eyes closed. The door then opened, “Three
hours”. “Stand up.”, he said as he wrapped a fur coat around my frigid body. ”Come on, you have passed
but you are not out of the woods yet.” Replacing the collar around my neck he then led me back into the
barn.
“I have prepared a warm bath for you.” He then helped me lift my legs over a galvanized water
trough. “There, there”, he said, “Just sit and let the bath warm your blood. The pain of prickly needles
washed over my body as the numbness dwindled. Fading in and out, I watched him carefully remove a
stockpot from the stove. He poured the water from the pot over my head. “Just relax, you should be
proud of yourself.” “You have outlasted all who came before you.” “You’re a fighter and you value your
life. I watched as he warmed pot after pot, continuously pouring them over me.
“I will have to give you warm fluids intravenously.” “Try to stand”, he said as he lifted me up and
out of the trough. He then dried my body with a towel. After he dressed me in dry clothing, he led me to
a makeshift bedroom converted from a stall.
As he assisted me into the bed, I noticed a tray with medical instruments on it. What were they
for I wondered, but to tired to care anymore. He then placed the I.V. needle in my arm and covered me
up. “Rest up and sleep while I deal with the frostbite.” Before I was able to think about what he had just
said, I went out.
Waking up, I was no longer cold. The shivering and pain from the night before gone yet replaced
with new discomfort. My hands, feet, face, and head all pulsing. Slowly, I removed the blanket with my
bandaged hands to see my feet. Both were wrapped in bandages. Looking over my entire body, I
reached for my face. It was also bandaged. I could feel that my ears and nose were missing. “I know this
must be shocking to you, but it had to be.” “You had deep frostbite in your fingers, toes, ears and nose.
They had to be amputated. “I have sealed off the wounds and have given you antibiotics to fight off
infection.” “Be grateful your alive.”
“You are very ambitious, and I want to reward you for your success. “If you can continue to
cooperate, I will remove the stitches from your lips. “Don’t speak unless I ask you to.” “Can you give me
word that you can stay quiet?” I nodded in agreement.
As promised, he removed the sutures from my lips. Handing me a tin cup of water, he told me to
drink. Words can’t express how refreshing the first sip was. Not being able to control myself, I gulped
down the entire cup. Handing the cup back to him I managed to mumble, “more?” Violently, he struck
me in the face and stood up. “More, more more”, he yelled as he paced the floor. “Always wanting
more!” “You should have savored every last drop rather than gulping it down like a pig at a trough.”
“You have reached your third trial.” “Water is the source of all life and you will learn to appreciate it. Do
you have the desire to live?” “For you, I truly hope so.”
Locking the door behind him, he left the room. Feeling relief from his absence, I took a deep
breath. Concentrating on the air that went in and out my lungs, I was thankful to be alive. It had been a
couple of days since I was able to breathe through my mouth. I felt happiness and gratitude to just be
able to breathe. The blanket and bed kept me warm from the cold that seeped through the barn walls.
Feling relieved, I felt safe for that minute. I pulled the blanket up under my chin and just lived in the
moment. Looking for ways to escape no longer crossed my mind. Still fearful of the man, yet I felt a
strange feeling of gratitude toward him.
Mixed emotions danced around inside of me as I lay. Thinking of the others that were with me, I
pitied them. Had they truly wanted to survive, they would be alive. Had they fought harder, they would
have won against his trials. My sympathy for them abandoned my thoughts, replaced with
disappointment. Questioning my mental state, I laid wondering if I’d gone mad. How could I sympathize
with a man who had essentially tortured me. How could I be thankful to a killer, I wondered. As
comfortable as I was, I was thirsty. Three days was a long time to go without water. Knowing this, I
closed my eyes to try to sleep through it.
A familiar tune whistled through the cracks of the wall. My eyes blurry from crust, I wiped it away
with my bandaged hand. Curious, I tried peeking through a hole in a board. Seeing the two horses in the
next stall brought back anxiety from the first trial. Sounds of mumbling could be heard. Listening
intensely, I realized he had more victims. Wanting to scream out to them to calm their breathing, I said
nothing. Fearful he would kill me if I spoke. Though I didn’t have to. He was telling them to be calm and
they would live. If only they would listen, they could live. One after another perished throughout the
ordeal. Once again mixed emotions of sympathy and anger fought within me. I slammed my hand
against the stall boards. Why am I angry at them, I questioned myself. Hearing the distinct sound of the
hacksaw cutting through the bodies, I became sick. I crawled back in the bed and covered my head.
“Wake up, you have rested enough.” Leading me into the room where the bodies were, he
motioned for me to pick the parts up. “I will cut the meat and you will load it up.” “Do you
understand?”, he asked. I nodded yes and began putting the severed limbs in the wheelbarrow.
“Take it out back to the pigs.” “I trust you won’t try to run.” You will not get very far in your
condition and the weather” He was right, still bandaged and weak I knew I would freeze. Reluctantly I
put a arm, leg, and head in the wheelbarrow.
Once again, the cold made me shiver as I treaded through the snow. The night was calm. The
moon shined down on the solar panels that lined the buildings. I was on some sort of homestead.
Nearing the structure that housed the pigs, I cringed at the thought of feeding them. The squealing led
me to the hog house. Opening the door and entering, I gasped in horror. Piles of bones lay everywhere
within the house. The pigs squealed in delight as I tossed the body parts to them. The smell was pungent
and took my breath away. Not being able to hold back, I vomited the only liquids I had in me. After
unloading my delivery, I left to retrieve another load. Feet still bandaged, and I was cold, the thought of
running left my mind. Yearning for the warm bed, I trudged my way back to the barn. This went on
throughout the night.
“Almost done, this is the last of it.”, he said as he cut through a torso of a woman. “You have done
well, and I am proud of you.” “I know your cold and must be thirsty.” Yet, you still have forty-eight hours
left until you can replenish your thirst. “Keep motivated and you will triumph over your it” After the last
load was completed, he led me to the bed and rebandaged my wounds. Curiously looking down at my
severed toes, I seen I was missing five of them. The same as he bandaged my hands. I was four less
fingers. Two were gone from each hand.
My stomach grumbled as I tossed and turned. All I could think about was water and food. I
eventually passed out from the nights work. Waking up, I felt disoriented and weak. The hunger for food
and water still consuming my thoughts. “Twenty-Four hours left”, his voice said from outside the stall.
“Get up, I have more work for you.” “You have to earn your keep.”
The man then entered the room and placed the collar around my neck. “Here is a coat to keep
you warm, he said as he placed it on my back. Then he handed me some rubber boots. “These should
help keep your feet dry while you dig.” Wanting to ask, dig what, I didn’t dare from the fear of being
struck again. The task will be difficult but not impossible. Handing me a shovel, he led me to the spot he
wanted dug.
“The weather has let up and the temperature has risen. I can not trust that you might try to run.
He then locked the chain to a stake in the ground. “The hog house needs cleaned of the bones.” “Dig me
a hole big enough to bury the remains of the less fortunate.” “I will return in twenty-four hours.” You
have fared well so far, keep up the good work and you will be rewarded.” He then turned and walked
away.
The sun was just beginning to rise, and it felt warn against me face. The black sky turned to a
canvas of pastels. The view was stunning under any condition. After admiring the horizon, I started my
grueling work. Trying to dig with missing toes was difficult and excruciating. Placing the shovel into the
frozen ground, I bared down with all my weight. Breaking the ground seemed unfeasible, but I managed.
Letting out agonizing cries, I repeated the movements until I finally moved dirt.
Scanning around, my head was on a swivel looking for cameras. The thought of trying to escape
weighing heavily. Using my bandaged hands, I felt for any gaps in my collar. It was tight around my neck.
I Then looked for any weak links in the chain but found none. The steak the chain was hooked to must
have been buried ten feet, I thought as I gave it a tug. Giving up on any escape attempts, I continued to
dig.
The hunger and dehydration had started to take effect. My head pounded like a hammer on a
nail. I became nauseous. Fearing I might throw up, I sit and rested on the ground. Looking down at the
homestead, I wondered who the man was. Nearly falling asleep, I pushed myself up off the ground.
Visions of water surrounding me engulfed my every thought. God, I was thirsty.
After I finished digging the hole I fell to my knees in exhaustion. Worrying that if I fell asleep, I
would die of dehydration. Standing up, I desperately tried staying awake. The chain weighed down my
neck making it hard to stand. Using the shovel as a brace, I wedged it into the ground and balanced the
chain over top of the shovel. It lifted the weight off me, allowing me to stand easier. Standing and
swaying, I watched as day turned to night and night back to day. “Congratulations”, the man said as he
walked up the hill toward me.
“II knew you would conquer the test.” “You will soon be rewarded for your victory.” Leading me
back to the barn, I stumbled and fell. The man picked me up and helped me to my feet. As He laid me in
the bed, oddly enough I wanted to thank him. “Before I tend to your bandages, I am going to start an I.V.
to restore your electrolytes. He then handed me a cup of water. “Drink”, he said. Wanting badly to gulp
it down, I refrained and sipped slowly. The water was refreshing as it moistened my mouth. Water
wasn’t something I normally craved but, in that moment, it was all a I wanted. Living mostly on energy
drinks and sodas, I rarely drank it.
As I sipped, I thought about my body and how I had neglected it. Peculiar enough, the man was
giving me all I ever needed. He had somehow managed to push my stronger version to the surface.
“Good news”, he said as he wrapped the final bandage around my foot. “You have made it to the last
trial.” “But before we discuss that, I want to reward you on your accomplishments.” “I’m sure you have
questions, and I will allow you to ask them.” A little conversation will do us both some good.” I must say
I am as curious about you as you are of me.” He said as he poured me another cup of water. “But not
until you have rested.” “I look forward to it, I will see you this afternoon.” Locking the door behind him,
exhausted, I fell asleep.
Hunger pains interrupted my slumber. Turning about in the bed, images of food ravaged my
thoughts. Trying hard, I managed to push the vivid images of cheeseburgers out of my mind. Replacing
them with the image of the man conversing with me. What would I ask him, I pondered. Would I set him
off again and be fed to the pigs. One would think that I wouldn’t want to talk to him after he had cut off
my nose, yet strangely enough I did. I was curious about him.
My tossing about abruptly interrupted as I heard the man enter the room. “Well now, how do you
feel this afternoon?” He asked, as he pulled a old wooden chair next the bed and sat down. To scared to
speak I laid quietly. “It Is o.k., he said cheerfully as he patted my leg. “You may speak”. “Better but
hungry”, I managed to mumble. “Yes, I know you are hungry, but you have entered your final trial.” You
must endure three weeks with no food.” You have been here a week.” “Two weeks remain.”
“People of the world are gluttons. Indulging in prepackaged garbage to feed the body. Never
having to hunt or forge for it. If you make it the three weeks, you will have learned to appreciate what
you put in your mouth. You will think about what it is for, rather than just stuffing your face. Do you still
have the desire to live, for you I truly hope so.
“What is your name?”
“Liam, my names, Liam”
“Well, Liam, my names Doc” “It is finally nice to meet your true self.” I’ve been waiting along time for
this.” “You are now worthy to speak to.” “You have shed your old, infected skin and are growing new
skin.” “I have helped you thus far to create a better, you.” “You may speak freely”.
“Why are you doing this”?
“To save you.” “To rid you of the worlds temptations” “I am extracting all you have digested and
replacing it with the will to survive.”
“Who are you”, I fearfully asked.
“I am a doctor who the world cast out due to what they call negligence.” “I only pushed my patients to
better themselves and refused to subscribe fake antidotes”. “I didn’t hand them a crutch when they
could walk on their own.”” I left the city and moved off grid”. “Here I am free to practice as I see fit”.
“My patients now, are those that want to better themselves but just need a little push.” “Yet, none have
come as far as you, Liam.” “What is it, you desire, Liam?”
“A life of fulfillment”, I said.
“Are you not now, achieving that goal, Liam?”
Before I could answer, he told me, “Enough talk for the day”, we have work to do. “Don’t speak
unless I ask you to”. Unhooking my I.V., he then furnished me with warm clothes and boots again. “Grab
the wheelbarrow”, he said as we excited the barn. He then led me to the hog house. “I want you to pick
up the bones and put them in the hole you dug. Feeling weak, I pushed through the chore. The sight of
the mutilated parts wasn’t as repulsive to me as before. Yet, I did wonder who they were and where
they had come from. The day sped by quickly.
That night, I laid in the bed thinking of the man. Could he be right with what he was doing. I did
feel a new feeling of accomplishment. Had I truly shed my old self. Had he had given me what every
doctor before him had failed at. Questioning my own thoughts, I drifted off to sleep.
As the days went by, I would often help him rid the world of the weak. Every few days he would
bring in new patients. One after one they failed his trials. Some made it past the first, only to die in the
pen or the cooler, depending on the weather. We had many evening conversations where I learned
more about Doc, as he did me. Some nights I would listen to him mourn their deaths. He would often sit
by the stove talking to himself and crying. He would question their inability to understand what he was
doing. Finding myself somewhat sympathetic to him, I spoke out. “It’ll be o.k. you’re a good doctor, they
just don’t have a desire to live. “Thank you”, he said, “but do not speak unless I tell you”. With that I
climbed into bed and covered my head.
Ribs now visible, I was nearing death. No longer having the energy to help him any longer, I spent
the remaining few days in bed. As the final day approached, he came to me and said, If you don’t die
through the night, I will intravenously feed you the nutrients your body requires. Then you can truly live
your life. Tears filled his eyes as he pulled the blanket over me. You have been an outstanding and
cooperative patient and I thank you. Share to the world the gift I have given you.
Waking up, I was confused and again fighting off a sedated state. Rubbing my eyes in dismay, I
stumbled out of bed and tripped over my tennis shoes. Looking down at my disfigured feet, I was
perplexed at the sight of the floor. Continuously wiping at my vision, I scanned the room. Soda bottles
littered the nightstand. An empty potato chip bag lay empty on the bed.
Falling onto the floor, I curled up into a fetal position and cried. Visions of the dead filled my
thoughts. My mind was baffled with an emotional and ethical struggle. Four, four, four, I tried to
manage as anxiety reared its ugly head. “No!”, I yelled. I was alive and I was thriving. Quickly jumping to
my feet, I ran to my dresser mirror. It would be the first time, seeing the new me since my amputations.
Raising my head slowly my eyes met a man I had never seen before. A mangled mess stared back at me.
Yet, I didn’t see the ugly. I seen a victor. A man who fought for his life. I seen a man with the desire to
live. Admiring my new self, I calming starting whistling that familiar tune. I knew what I had to do.
The next few months, I spent talking to the detectives. Occasionally throwing them a false bone
toward their investigation. Had I not been a missing person, I would have avoided the police all
together.
A year has passed since my abduction. My life has changed for the better. I have faired well. I
often think about Doc and if he is still practicing. I did what he asked. I survive, appreciate, and share my
new gift to the world. I no longer spend my days waiting for life to toss me a crumb of its cookie. There
is value in the very air we breathe, the water we drink, the dwelling that shelters us, and the nutriment
we eat. Yet, it’s been difficult to convince people of this without some persuasion. So, please calm your
breathing. I am not going to kill you. This will only take three minutes. So, relax, do you have the desire
to live?” “For you, I truly hope so.

Conspiracy theories involving “elite” pedophile rings have recently been dominating social media in a disorienting frenzy. They have been around for some time but in this century rose back to popularity during the 2016 Election cycle. This crop, at least, took root with what became known as “Pizzagate.” Promoters of that conspiracy theory in 2016 used social media platforms to make unfounded but viral allegations that Hillary Clinton and other prominent Democrats were running a pedophile ring out of the basement of a pizzeria even though that restaurant had no basement, or any ties to known politicians other than the typical flesh pressing (Phrasing I know) moments fit for a picture hung on the wall. Since then, the dark theme of Pizzagate has found new life with permutations forming part of the #Qanon conspiracy theory, incorporated under the umbrella term “pedogate.” The gist of the #pedogate conspiracy theory is that global elites (politicians, celebrities, and wealthy businesspersons) are covertly involved in a far-reaching ring that uses young children for sexual purposes. “What most of these conspiracy theories involve in one way or another is laying accusations of pedophilia or involvement in pedophile rings at the feet of people that they despise or hate, and during the 16’ election cycle, Democrats were a wide target for an opposing political movement that had hijacked the rival Republican party. Pizzagate originated with the “alt right” and “alt lite,” far right extremists who range from outright white supremacists to those who publicly shun racists but otherwise fall in step with their belief systems. Pizzagate jumped from the fringes to the mainstream because as it denigrated Hillary Clinton, it sucked in supporters of then-candidate Donald Trump. After the election all mention of pedogate seemed to be put on a simmer while other National outrages boiled over (#Covid #RussiaGate #BLM) and just like clockwork (heading into our next election cycle has been turned back up. The pedogate conspiracy and all associated stories employ a centuries-old tactic: playing on deep-seated human anxieties by conjuring images of imperiled children, the purest and defenseless victim of any manner of injustice. An example in the modern era of weaponized conspiracy was the satanic panic of the 1980s, in which a wave of hysteria over alleged child molestation at daycare centers swept the nation. But while that phenomenon was a moral panic attributable, at least in part, to social anxiety over white middle class women entering the work force en masse for the first time and entrusting their children to others, the current conspiracy theories about pedophile rings equate to similar propaganda. They carry a danger for stirring up violence. If you want to elicit violent action the way to do it is through hate and fear. Once you target and label a population as pedophiles, you can do anything you like to that population with full excuse being given to the myth you’ve wrapped around it. That’s not to say fears of child abuse or sex trafficking are unfounded. There are many as pedophilia has ancient roots and in many cases was encourage by many world cultures and religions a lot later into Civilization than we’d like to admit. The International Labor Organization reports that 25 percent of the world’s 40.3 million victims of human trafficking are children. The most vulnerable, according to the National Human Trafficking Hotline, are migrants, runaways, the homeless, and youngsters who have been victims of violence. Despite their obsession over the topic, conspiracy followers aren’t worked up about those children who are in true harm’s way. In the world of propaganda, it’s never about real children. Instead, it’s about what children represent. The children imperiled by conspiracy theories, in other words, are only metaphors. Children carry a vast amount of weight in any society, but especially modern ones when they’re expected to survive past the age of five. It wasn’t as intense before the 18th century when child mortality rates were really high. They represent the future, and all that is beautiful and decent and honest in a society, because they are innocent. For most people also, the meaning of their existence is rooted in their children. Children are eschatological, they represent death for us, and what is coming behind us after we are gone. They also represent the threat of loss, if they disappear, if they die, that is the death of society. That’s why they became so crucial and central to Cold War propaganda. The real terror of the nuclear holocaust would be the death of the children, because that’s the death of everyone. A recent example of this is in a recent police investigation into conspiracy claims of PizzaGate style accusation of Portland’s Voodoo Doughnuts. Detectives attempted to contact the person accusing Voodoo Doughnuts on social media of running a pedophile ring. The accuser did not cooperate with investigators and it’s been documented in other coverage online that they had become agitated and accused the Police with complicity when tracked down in person, even though they were attempting to investigate. The pendulum of conspiracy theories about systematic child abuse has swung back and forth for centuries. Examples such as blood libel, when Jewish communities were attacked over false allegations of murdering and consuming Christian children in the Middle Ages. In Europe, During the Thirty Years War, entire villages were put to the sword because it was believed they were abusing children of the other religions. One characteristic that helps Pizzagate-style conspiracy theories gain popularity is that they function like a puzzle game and give its audience a large level of involvement through social media. A lot of conspiracy theories are oracular, where the information comes from one source an oracle. Then there are others where there are a few people who promote the notions, almost like gurus or a conspiracy priesthood. But Pizzagate, it’s more of what one would call a participatory conspiracy theory. Participatory conspiracy theories lay out a scenario or situation and then they ask their audience, ‘what more can you find out about this, what more can you add?’ It turns the audience into willing participants, some knowing they are creating a destructive madlib and other (potential real victims) caking on mystical distraction to issues that have been unreported or scars that have not bee properly treated. The thing about participatory conspiracy theories is it can really create a devoted following because it gives people something to do, it makes them feel they can solve the whole thing or uncover new aspects to it. Once you get that energy going it’s almost self-sustaining. Followers of the Qanon conspiracy theory, call themselves “bakers” because their protagonist “Q” pops up on Internet message boards and leaves “crumbs” (i.e., clues), and they are tasked with picking up the crumbs in order to solve the puzzle. (“Q” is supposed to reference the character’s government security clearance level).
#Q followers believe an even more incoherent version of Pizzagate. This is largely a right-wing fantasy that originated in a series of incoherent posts on #4chan in 2017 by someone calling themselves #QAnon. Following on the heels of similar idiocy such as Pizzagate, it advances a fantastic web of deceit that wraps up Trumpism, deep state fearmongering, evil, satanic pedophilia rings controlled by the Democratic Party, investigations into Russian meddling in the 2016 US election, the Las Vegas shooting, and New World Order paranoia into a package easily and wholeheartedly promoted by internet cesspools and far-right personalities such as Alex Jones. The premise is that President Trump is secretly working to take down a global ring of elite, cannibalistic, satanic pedophiles. And the investigation into Russian meddling into the 2016 election, led by former FBI director Robert Mueller, is actually an investigation into the so-called “deep state”, where a cabal of evil, globalists, including Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama, are responsible for everything from a global pedophile ring to the mass shooting in Las Vegas in 2017. According to the enlightened, when Trump awkwardly took a drink from a bottle of Fiji water at a press conference in November 2017, it wasn’t because he was thirsty; it was actually a secret signal to those in the know that the annihilation of deep state pedophiles had begun (or was about to begin). Because as everyone knows, Fiji is a hot spot for child trafficking. ( I could go on and on with this poorly thought-out shit, I will spare you ) The role the Internet and social media play in helping to spread such insanity can’t be underestimated. Just a few decades earlier, conspiracy theorists would identify each other using letters to the editor printed in newspapers and magazines. It was a lot harder to identify your fellow conspiracy theorists. You would have to physically meet to swap your stories or send letters or call. They would set up these groups that would communicate by newsletter. They would meet in a physical space, like someone’s living room. I personally witnessed people from my childhood, dutifully photocopying newsletters they had received in the mail to give to others (Primarily at my #JW congregation, how ironic). Now obviously it can go much more quickly, because you can identity people immediately. You can quickly share ideas and the data you’ve collected. The Internet allows such people to exist in bubbles where they rarely have their beliefs challenged. The extraordinarily polarized society we’re in right now has made people less willing to seek out other view points. Because of the internet you have less chance of doing this. There’s very little incentive to look outside one’s own bubble once they have become invested in a conspiracy theory. Once you start to act out on those behaviors you are forced to double down by repeating the act to prove it was a just act. Eventually you get caught up in a movement that totally defines your conscious and you can’t get out of it. The second you step out of that world view your actions go back to being reprehensible. Now the question becomes, “What’s the harm? If it sheds light on child abuse, then isn’t it still productive?” The answer in this case is a resounding NO. In my opinion and PAINFUL experience, the root cause and sustaining factors of institutionalized child sex abuse are all things that would counter your typical Conspiracy Nut’s world view, thus causing a complete blackout to the problems. The entity taking part in the harming of children on a local and tangible level aren’t some suit and tie wearing global elitist. It’s a guidance counselor, youth pastor, unvetted young substitute teacher, aunt/uncle/cousin/neighbor. It’s anyone who has been given routine private access to a child’s mind and body because of the social conventions that have been protected for generations by our relatives whether they themselves are guilty of abuse or not. In all the Qanon madness I also kept very close tabs on the pending prosecution of the Boy scouts of America and never saw any widely shared memes about their involvement in the abuse syndicate. Why is this? How is this so? Aren’t these people watching the news, seeing the court records and hearing the individual cases being brought against Scout Leaders (SOME OF WHO RAN THEIR OWN NETWORKS!!)? When I would find mention of accusation it was met with the ever scarce “skepticism” because if the media is covering it, it must be a plot to destroy the organization. There are now non-for profit organizations setting up victim funds and protections for people to come out with their stories and somehow THIS is the fake ruse. Some that know me know that I was a Jehovah’s Witness as a youth/teen/young adult. That chapter of my life could fill many chapters and the research on the organization, the real true black and white history of the religion would honestly surprise you. I saw what I now know was abuse, I personally experienced abuse in many forms. The perpetrators involved are either still Witnesses or are dead or have moved “away from the organization”. But one thing that was left intact in each situation was the secret that they prey on children. The parents, these organizations and the collective promise to keep up appearances are directly to blame for the suffering untold thousands, millions of children and broken adults. All for what? Pride and Vanity and a commitment to all involved to protect them from the “mean old world” despite allowing predators to eat their children from within. Being a #JW was a very interesting experience. It provides a very efficient form of insulation from outside society and allows people involved to view the chaos from afar. There is this persistent (albeit false) sense of shared peace that members have. It’s as though for three days a week you go to this meeting where no matter what, everyone has a smile and feels about things EXACTLY how you do. There is no cursing, there are no politics, there surely isn’t any destructive influences that would tarnish your chances of salvation. For a parent this is a refuge when raising a child in a world that is dangerously unpredictable. A Child that you are unable (or unwilling) to teach coping skills to get along by societal standards, A child you want to protect by hiding. This is problem #1. As an adult the congregation presents an avenue for which you can act and behave in a way that allows you to reconcile your past, a way to have less of those nights awake because you think about past wrongs you’ve committed against people. It’s the proverbial band-aid for a guilty, bruised, destroyed conscious of any size. Coming into the organization takes nothing more than the desire to change, publicly declaring your willingness to hand over your life to God (The organization). Bam, You’re in! No credit check, no background check. This is problem #2. A JW is taught that “every facet is an asset” (Ministerial Servants know what I’m talking about). What this means is that every facet of your life is an asset to the organization to spread its word. If the world see’s their product’s application into your life and thereby how much better it is than a normal person’s, then they’ve made an “Effective Witness” to the world. This causes Witnesses of any age to allow almost every facet of their life to be a tool by the organization. For a parent this includes their children. This is problem #3 When you get a culture that insulates itself from the real world, that allows you to enter without any coherent vetting, give access to children whose parents feel obligated to present as a “witness” to the lifestyle. You get a twisted corridor in which victims can get lost for a lifetime and predators can hide in plain sight. For any proponents of the “Save-The-Children” movement to not take a step back and really analyze their local community and lifestyle through these lenses only illustrates that child abuse is being weaponized politically at the expense of others whom you aren’t willing to save because it would look bad for ‘your side’. If you truly care, you wouldn’t be sharing email forwards about what evil unverified unmentionable thing you read some celebrity or politician did. Instead, you’d be drawing back on your experiences as a child. Even if nothing happened directly to you, I’m sure you know some one that had an experience that forever harmed their life. Who did it? Was there a pattern or social condition that allowed for this as was laid out in the JW example? How could it have been avoided? Would you have stopped it if you saw the signs? Are you willing to stop it in the future, knowing what you know now? If you can answer any of those questions with a yes, then you have all you need to WRITE your own material to reach real victims and their families. Does your action cause problems for your ‘side’? It shouldn’t matter and you know that. If it does make a difference to you then you are no better than the shadowy pedophilic cabal that you are so obsessed with.

I have two reddit accounts, so if these stories are familiar, that's why. Someone commented that one of these sounds like abuse from my Christian parent to me. So I've compiled all most of them here. (Most of them are to do with Christianity, the hypocrisy of Christianity, or the consequences of my choice to leave it.) Please be honest but also recognize that this isn't all the times sometimes these are amazing people and I love these people but for my sake I need to know if it's really that bad.
"I'm rather young. My mom (42F) and my dad (41M) both grew up in the church. My grandfather is the pastor of his own church and my mother was raised by her grandmother who played piano in the church. Growing up I'd say I was the perfect little Christian girl. I liked praying and went to church, I wanted to help the world, and I wanted to be baptized before I even started kindergarten. I remember that vividly. I was sitting in the kitchen in one of our folding chairs because we couldn't afford real ones and I was begging my mom to let me get baptized.
My family and I are African American. The church I went to when I was little was a black church. My mother was the praise dance choreographer so of course I did praise dancing. I'd go to Sunday school, I wore the big puffy dresses, and I knew all the songs. Of course I had the common experience of being assaulted in a sexual manor by someone I went to church with. But we were both the same age and I just knew I was uncomfortable and she just knew that's how people bigger than us touched each other. All that came of me telling my mom and me not having to go to her house anymore. I was always told that I was intelligent and I believed everything I was told without question. Then my sister was born and we moved. At first everything stayed the same. We ended up having to switch churches as the previous one was an hour away from our new home. We found a new church. A church were you can wear your hoodie and jeans like it's a Tuesday. I made friends and played sports and nothing really changed until I was eight. When I was eight there was a girl on my softball team I'll call E. E is Jewish and at the time I thought everyone was Christian. As in Christianity was the default and only option. But my friend E's church wasn't called a church but a synagogue, and she couldn't eat specific foods together. E also talked about BaBat Mitzvah's. When I brought that up to my mom she said my friend was Jewish and that being Jewish is like being Christian but they read from the old testament exclusively but they don't believe in Jesus.
Which a while later caused me to spend all night crying because I put the two and two together of: Believing in resurrection Sunday and that Jesus was gods son is what got us into heaven and I cried worrying one of my closest, sweetest friend and her nice family would go to hell. Then school, which had always been easy, became hard. Which made me feel dumb. Especially since my self worth was put into how smart I was and I wouldn't dare get below an A or high B because I was scared I'd get punished. Like the time I slammed my fingers a metal door on accident and spent the next fifteen minutes in tears and my mom told me if I kept crying she'd take me to the hospital to have them cut off my fingers. Because of moments like that disappointing my parent or having to big of an emotional reaction was not okay and it made me scared and uncomfortable. They knew I was struggling, they were the ones who stayed up till four something in the morning with me trying to explain the concept. But with every minor and major struggle I felt like my worth was slipping away. But the better I did in school the more my outstanding grades became the expectation which resulted in acknowledgement for my academic achievements disappearing. I felt like I was falling apart so I'd spend hours pray and begging god for help. To take the feeling of being worthless away. I developed an eating disorder sometime before ten. Specifically binge eating. My parents would find the trash, not understand that it was more than just "the sin of gluttony" and yell which made me feel threatened and eat more food.
And then I'd pray on my knees on the hard wood outside my room door with nails and splinters in it and hurt myself because not only was I a dumb glutton but I also apparently wasn't good enough for god to save or help. It made me think if he wants a relationship with me so bad why does he ignore me? I'd hold a knife to my wrist when I'd wash dishes to see if I felt him then. I questions if I'd even go to heaven. For all my problems the answer was to pray but the problem was I'm doing that but my prayers aren't being answered. I was having thought of death no twelve year old should have. On my birthday I was like a puppet simply going through the motions. Then I started questioning my sexuality. Not to mention, I'm now cut off from the world because this is all during covid, on the bright side they gave me my door back. Now I'm older and I have questions like. How was Adam able to name all the animals and understand god not wanting him to eat from the tree and their need to stay in the garden, but not comprehend his nakedness? How was Eve able to be tempted and not understand her nakedness? Why did they and apparently god think being naked was wrong? How are we not all messed up from tons of inbreeding and how do animals still exist after the inbreeding the would've occurred after Noah's ark if he only saved one male and female of each species? Why did god want to flood the Earth and purge it of it's evil humans if he was the one who decided free will would be a good idea? Since he is perfect and all knowing their shouldn't have been a moment of let me make something I'll destroy, wait nvm. My parents have changed a lot since I was little and have let me go to therapy. Of course I have a Christian therapist. Which I wouldn't mind if it wasn't for the fact that every time I bring up trauma that's linked to religion or need advice in terms of how to change a bad behavior or over come anxiety the advice is to pray. And at times I feel like I'm in a moment of doubt she feel she should try and pull me back in. But they also said I have to volunteer in the childern ministry at church.
I used to work with children ages three to five. Now I'm in one to three. And it feels like I'm spreading propaganda. They tell me what to say and what the goal is for the kids to believe by the end of the month. After I can't help but feel dirty. I'm at the point in my journey were I don't believe. But I have to keep working in the childern ministry, I have to go to church every Sunday, my parents are both devotional authors with published books. I'm the only one in my family who doesn't believe both extended and intermediate. I just wanna know I'm not crazy. I feel like I'm being brainwashed or something. Like drink the blood and eat the body of Jesus!? It's all too much. And now that my parents know they're trying to make me go back to believing. And I listen to them talk and it's like I can't have a conversations with you. You put your faith above all else. You believe whole heartedly, my point of view is automatically wrong to you because faith trumps logic so why would I share it with you? But at the same time it's majority of the music they play, it's all their advice, I go every Sunday, my classmates and friends are majority Christian and yet I even though I see the flaws and hypocrisy, I still can't help but wonder, am I the crazy one?"
"My grandma would grab me and call me "big booty Judy." And my butt was grabbed, spanked, and frequently talked about. Sometimes she'd just sit there tapping it while she talked. It started when I was around three or four and just continued. Though now I'm in my teens and rarely see her. But my breast were also a topic for a while. Comments like "where'd you get those from?", "she's bigger than you.", and "her sisters the tall one but she's the curvy one." They felt icky but I didn't dwell on them. But she's also an alcoholic along with many other things. She dated my mom's friends when she was in college, gets shit faced in at events like birthdays and funerals. Shakes her ass on family members and frequently offered us alcohol. But I always took pride in being her favorite grandchild. Which she constantly reminded me I was. She also has a serious spending problem. But the funny thing is. She goes to a church church. She's in the choir and used frequently as a look example. She hosts church events and potlucks. She even remarried in the church. Never mind the things I just said that'd be considered sins. She's the perfect Christian woman."
"How do you cope with the level of disrespect? I'm not eighteen yet, but I'm still able to be disrespected. My main problem is the disrespect from my parents. My parents who wish to be respected in their beliefs and don't want their minds to change. But at the same time, my dad has sent my scriptures and stuff for the past couple of months since it came out. I don't believe in God or Jesus. They force me to serve and volunteer at church and attend every Sunday. They paired me with a not so ethical Christian therapist. Then both gang up on me about it and take my silence as defeat when I'm just respecting their beliefs. I'm literally the only non Christian in my family. I also have mental problems from staying with them and just in general, but they won't test me because I don't behave in such a stereotypical manner. I want to say they love me, but does someone who blatantly disrespects you love you? I'm having a hard time with seeing if I should do something as drastic as no contact after I reach a certain age.
But at the same time their those awful parents who don't just blatantly suck but also have messed me up quite a bit, resulting in me not feeling like I have a right to be upset. I've told them about how Christianity mixed with their parenting drove me to suicidal thoughts, almost going through with it, and an eating disorder I'm still battling. I also can't just leave and close the door behind me. I'm the oldest, and their are two more kids just like me, and if I turned my back on them, I'd never forgive myself. They're my siblings, but they're also what stopped me from going through with the bad thoughts I was having. They need someone who will be honest, say the weird things, and answer the ignored questions. So, how can I deal with the blatant disrespect so that I'm around for them? What skill for stress management can I use? How do I block out the constant religious gaslighting that happens in church? Because I have over two more years of this."
"My dad said if people don't wanna have a baby, they shouldn't have sex even if they're married. But sir, you had three babies while financially unstable because you couldn't keep your damn hands off my mom. You were planning me, but your job fell through, and when my mom went to get back on birth control, it was too late, so I'll give you a pass with me. But my siblings were both surprises. So, quit judging and practice what you preach. But that's not what pissed me off the most. He said women will put all their time into work and not their husbands, and that's why some men cheat, but the way he said it, it was like he was justifying it. But my dad, he'd go to hooters alone, and when I needed tights, he got them from a woman their and it made me think what if. And I know it's stupid, but that what if. It is so loud.
And it's not even the first time he's said something along the lines of justifying it and almost blaming the woman who gets cheated on. But then he likes to be all up in arms about how his friend married a woman who cheated on him multiple times. My dad's like, I wanna pour into my kids but then makes no effort, and when we spent time with him, we had to initiate it. He doesn't do the hey you wanna . . . stuff. But he has his own company, and they can't get any work right now, so he spends most of his time at home. And then says I'm just to tired to spend time with ya'll.
My mom was sick to the point of being half passed out in a drive-thru after taking my brother to karate and having to pick up dinner. I would've offered to drive him if I could. I'm still leaning, and I'm bad at staying in one lane. But my dad was really busy on his PS5 with his made-up football team. So busy he couldn't take my brother to karate nor could he pause his game to get dinner. I'm kinda starting to hate him. He's also done a couple of other things, but that's what recently has made me mad. But I don't feel like I have a right to be mad because he's here and a lot of my friends dad aren't, and he's not physically abusive like my best friends dad is. I just don't know how I should feel. Is everyone's dad like this?
Edit: It's mothers day and he couldn't be bothered to get the food, pick up the groceries, nothing. #1Dad guys."
​
So is it truly a horrible go no contact at eighteen situation, a be watchful situation, or is it fine? I know some of this stuff is a lot but some of it was also in a moment of extreme emotion. Remember like I said in the beginning they're not always like this.

I have two reddit accounts, so if these stories are familiar, that's why. Someone commented that one of these sounds like abuse from my Christian parent to me. So I've compiled all most of them here. (Most of them are to do with Christianity, the hypocrisy of Christianity, or the consequences of my choice to leave it.) Please be honest but also recognize that this isn't all the times sometimes these are amazing people and I love these people but for my sake I need to know if it's really that bad.
"I'm rather young. My mom (42F) and my dad (41M) both grew up in the church. My grandfather is the pastor of his own church and my mother was raised by her grandmother who played piano in the church. Growing up I'd say I was the perfect little Christian girl. I liked praying and went to church, I wanted to help the world, and I wanted to be baptized before I even started kindergarten. I remember that vividly. I was sitting in the kitchen in one of our folding chairs because we couldn't afford real ones and I was begging my mom to let me get baptized.
My family and I are African American. The church I went to when I was little was a black church. My mother was the praise dance choreographer so of course I did praise dancing. I'd go to Sunday school, I wore the big puffy dresses, and I knew all the songs. Of course I had the common experience of being assaulted in a sexual manor by someone I went to church with. But we were both the same age and I just knew I was uncomfortable and she just knew that's how people bigger than us touched each other. All that came of me telling my mom and me not having to go to her house anymore. I was always told that I was intelligent and I believed everything I was told without question. Then my sister was born and we moved. At first everything stayed the same. We ended up having to switch churches as the previous one was an hour away from our new home. We found a new church. A church were you can wear your hoodie and jeans like it's a Tuesday. I made friends and played sports and nothing really changed until I was eight. When I was eight there was a girl on my softball team I'll call E. E is Jewish and at the time I thought everyone was Christian. As in Christianity was the default and only option. But my friend E's church wasn't called a church but a synagogue, and she couldn't eat specific foods together. E also talked about BaBat Mitzvah's. When I brought that up to my mom she said my friend was Jewish and that being Jewish is like being Christian but they read from the old testament exclusively but they don't believe in Jesus.
Which a while later caused me to spend all night crying because I put the two and two together of: Believing in resurrection Sunday and that Jesus was gods son is what got us into heaven and I cried worrying one of my closest, sweetest friend and her nice family would go to hell. Then school, which had always been easy, became hard. Which made me feel dumb. Especially since my self worth was put into how smart I was and I wouldn't dare get below an A or high B because I was scared I'd get punished. Like the time I slammed my fingers a metal door on accident and spent the next fifteen minutes in tears and my mom told me if I kept crying she'd take me to the hospital to have them cut off my fingers. Because of moments like that disappointing my parent or having to big of an emotional reaction was not okay and it made me scared and uncomfortable. They knew I was struggling, they were the ones who stayed up till four something in the morning with me trying to explain the concept. But with every minor and major struggle I felt like my worth was slipping away. But the better I did in school the more my outstanding grades became the expectation which resulted in acknowledgement for my academic achievements disappearing. I felt like I was falling apart so I'd spend hours pray and begging god for help. To take the feeling of being worthless away. I developed an eating disorder sometime before ten. Specifically binge eating. My parents would find the trash, not understand that it was more than just "the sin of gluttony" and yell which made me feel threatened and eat more food.
And then I'd pray on my knees on the hard wood outside my room door with nails and splinters in it and hurt myself because not only was I a dumb glutton but I also apparently wasn't good enough for god to save or help. It made me think if he wants a relationship with me so bad why does he ignore me? I'd hold a knife to my wrist when I'd wash dishes to see if I felt him then. I questions if I'd even go to heaven. For all my problems the answer was to pray but the problem was I'm doing that but my prayers aren't being answered. I was having thought of death no twelve year old should have. On my birthday I was like a puppet simply going through the motions. Then I started questioning my sexuality. Not to mention, I'm now cut off from the world because this is all during covid, on the bright side they gave me my door back. Now I'm older and I have questions like. How was Adam able to name all the animals and understand god not wanting him to eat from the tree and their need to stay in the garden, but not comprehend his nakedness? How was Eve able to be tempted and not understand her nakedness? Why did they and apparently god think being naked was wrong? How are we not all messed up from tons of inbreeding and how do animals still exist after the inbreeding the would've occurred after Noah's ark if he only saved one male and female of each species? Why did god want to flood the Earth and purge it of it's evil humans if he was the one who decided free will would be a good idea? Since he is perfect and all knowing their shouldn't have been a moment of let me make something I'll destroy, wait nvm. My parents have changed a lot since I was little and have let me go to therapy. Of course I have a Christian therapist. Which I wouldn't mind if it wasn't for the fact that every time I bring up trauma that's linked to religion or need advice in terms of how to change a bad behavior or over come anxiety the advice is to pray. And at times I feel like I'm in a moment of doubt she feel she should try and pull me back in. But they also said I have to volunteer in the childern ministry at church.
I used to work with children ages three to five. Now I'm in one to three. And it feels like I'm spreading propaganda. They tell me what to say and what the goal is for the kids to believe by the end of the month. After I can't help but feel dirty. I'm at the point in my journey were I don't believe. But I have to keep working in the childern ministry, I have to go to church every Sunday, my parents are both devotional authors with published books. I'm the only one in my family who doesn't believe both extended and intermediate. I just wanna know I'm not crazy. I feel like I'm being brainwashed or something. Like drink the blood and eat the body of Jesus!? It's all too much. And now that my parents know they're trying to make me go back to believing. And I listen to them talk and it's like I can't have a conversations with you. You put your faith above all else. You believe whole heartedly, my point of view is automatically wrong to you because faith trumps logic so why would I share it with you? But at the same time it's majority of the music they play, it's all their advice, I go every Sunday, my classmates and friends are majority Christian and yet I even though I see the flaws and hypocrisy, I still can't help but wonder, am I the crazy one?"
"My grandma would grab me and call me "big booty Judy." And my butt was grabbed, spanked, and frequently talked about. Sometimes she'd just sit there tapping it while she talked. It started when I was around three or four and just continued. Though now I'm in my teens and rarely see her. But my breast were also a topic for a while. Comments like "where'd you get those from?", "she's bigger than you.", and "her sisters the tall one but she's the curvy one." They felt icky but I didn't dwell on them. But she's also an alcoholic along with many other things. She dated my mom's friends when she was in college, gets shit faced in at events like birthdays and funerals. Shakes her ass on family members and frequently offered us alcohol. But I always took pride in being her favorite grandchild. Which she constantly reminded me I was. She also has a serious spending problem. But the funny thing is. She goes to a church church. She's in the choir and used frequently as a look example. She hosts church events and potlucks. She even remarried in the church. Never mind the things I just said that'd be considered sins. She's the perfect Christian woman."
"How do you cope with the level of disrespect? I'm not eighteen yet, but I'm still able to be disrespected. My main problem is the disrespect from my parents. My parents who wish to be respected in their beliefs and don't want their minds to change. But at the same time, my dad has sent my scriptures and stuff for the past couple of months since it came out. I don't believe in God or Jesus. They force me to serve and volunteer at church and attend every Sunday. They paired me with a not so ethical Christian therapist. Then both gang up on me about it and take my silence as defeat when I'm just respecting their beliefs. I'm literally the only non Christian in my family. I also have mental problems from staying with them and just in general, but they won't test me because I don't behave in such a stereotypical manner. I want to say they love me, but does someone who blatantly disrespects you love you? I'm having a hard time with seeing if I should do something as drastic as no contact after I reach a certain age.
But at the same time their those awful parents who don't just blatantly suck but also have messed me up quite a bit, resulting in me not feeling like I have a right to be upset. I've told them about how Christianity mixed with their parenting drove me to suicidal thoughts, almost going through with it, and an eating disorder I'm still battling. I also can't just leave and close the door behind me. I'm the oldest, and their are two more kids just like me, and if I turned my back on them, I'd never forgive myself. They're my siblings, but they're also what stopped me from going through with the bad thoughts I was having. They need someone who will be honest, say the weird things, and answer the ignored questions. So, how can I deal with the blatant disrespect so that I'm around for them? What skill for stress management can I use? How do I block out the constant religious gaslighting that happens in church? Because I have over two more years of this."
"My dad said if people don't wanna have a baby, they shouldn't have sex even if they're married. But sir, you had three babies while financially unstable because you couldn't keep your damn hands off my mom. You were planning me, but your job fell through, and when my mom went to get back on birth control, it was too late, so I'll give you a pass with me. But my siblings were both surprises. So, quit judging and practice what you preach. But that's not what pissed me off the most. He said women will put all their time into work and not their husbands, and that's why some men cheat, but the way he said it, it was like he was justifying it. But my dad, he'd go to hooters alone, and when I needed tights, he got them from a woman their and it made me think what if. And I know it's stupid, but that what if. It is so loud.
And it's not even the first time he's said something along the lines of justifying it and almost blaming the woman who gets cheated on. But then he likes to be all up in arms about how his friend married a woman who cheated on him multiple times. My dad's like, I wanna pour into my kids but then makes no effort, and when we spent time with him, we had to initiate it. He doesn't do the hey you wanna . . . stuff. But he has his own company, and they can't get any work right now, so he spends most of his time at home. And then says I'm just to tired to spend time with ya'll.
My mom was sick to the point of being half passed out in a drive-thru after taking my brother to karate and having to pick up dinner. I would've offered to drive him if I could. I'm still leaning, and I'm bad at staying in one lane. But my dad was really busy on his PS5 with his made-up football team. So busy he couldn't take my brother to karate nor could he pause his game to get dinner. I'm kinda starting to hate him. He's also done a couple of other things, but that's what recently has made me mad. But I don't feel like I have a right to be mad because he's here and a lot of my friends dad aren't, and he's not physically abusive like my best friends dad is. I just don't know how I should feel. Is everyone's dad like this?
Edit: It's mothers day and he couldn't be bothered to get the food, pick up the groceries, nothing. #1Dad guys."
​
So is it truly a horrible go no contact at eighteen situation, a be watchful situation, or is it fine? I know some of this stuff is a lot but some of it was also in a moment of extreme emotion. Remember like I said in the beginning they're not always like this.

So about 7 weeks ago I met this girl. We stumbled across each other on social media and she asked me for marriage. My 17 year old brain hastily said yes without any thinking. We got to know each other and truly she is on deen on very religious. She also has very good qualities and characteristics and an amazing person. I come to find out she lives in Europe while I live in the US and she is a year older and that we are different races. We kept talking for a couple days and yes I know it is haram but we both couldn’t control ourselves. After a couple days I say we should stop talking and see what Allah has in plan. I got so attached to her that within that same day I said I couldn’t and we kept talking. Another week passes by and I said we should stop actually this time. After a lot of tears that day I was able to somewhat calm down do my prayers tahajjud and istikhara to see if she is good for me. Suddenly in the middle of the night I get this claustrophobic feeling and I knew something was wrong with her. I break no contact once again and almost 12 hours later she replies saying how she was in the hospital the entire day with a really bad fever. I took this as a good sign as I knew something was wrong with her and felt it especially after istikhara. We go on talking again and our feelings for each other get stronger. She also does istikhara a couple days later and right after she jokingly asks her mom if she can marry outside her culture. Her mom got extremely mad at her. That same day another family came by and dropped her a proposal. We both acknowledged this as a asnwer to her istikhara but neglected it as I got a good sign and she looked to have gotten a negative. Fast forward a couple weeks she tries to explain to her parents about me and they completely destroyed her emotions because they don’t like me and rather want her to marry the guy who dropped the proposal. After calming her down she went to sleep. A couple days later I had an operation and while under anesthesia I told my mom I liked this girl and she later talked to me saying she wont allow it due to my age and me still being in school and not having a job which is completely letly understandable. Few weeks pass and she gets a dream. She dreamt of me and her drowning indicating we sre drowning in sin and awe agreed to go on no contact that weekend. The next day She dreamt about henna on her hands and feet, adopting an orange cat and watering a plant back to life. After she did some research according to Ibn Sirin they all indicate marriage soon. She also dreamt of adopting a pair of twins a boy and a girl which indicated a person you have a close relation with will not lead to marriage. This really scared us but the next day we went on no contact again having faith in Allah. The first couple days were hard but it got better and until last week. She told me how she said yes to that guys proposal. She met with him a couple times and her parents and siblings like him. She also told me how she tried really hard almost everyday trying to convince her dad about me and I have been open to talk to her parents from the beginning. Her father was so furious one time he almost broke her phone. She is extremely scared of her parents so she said she won’t pursue me anymore. She gave me a description of what that guy was like and from what she said the guy does sound good. He has a job same race older and on deen. Although we both promised each other that we would wait it looks like Allah had other plans. From my time with her I stopped bad habits like watching 18+ videos, lowered my gaze always, stoppped cursing, stopped masturbation, started tahajjud everyday, not missing a single sunnah prayer, reading quraan everyday. She always provided me with hadiths and verses from the quran when i needed help she was always there for me when i needed help. I truly love her for the sake of Allah. She made me a better person and my heart aches so much for her. This weekend I stopped talking to her as I felt guilty for talking to someones soon to be wife. Before we parted ways I asked her if she still had feelings for me she didn’t say yes or no rather said she feels some type of way for the guy that hes a good person and has a stable job and will take care of her. After that we parted ways and said Fi Amanillah. It hurts so much because I truly loved her we even gave sadaqah in each others name. I just accepted that guy is her naseeeb and I cannot do anything about it and whenever I go into sujood it is always her name that comes first. I wish I had ended it when she got her signs from her istikhara. I do good sometimes but then all of a sudden i go into such deep sadness because of all the memories that just flood in. Shes a great person she even said before we part she will make dua for my health and that I find someone better than her and I do trust Allah that he has something better planned for me but in the moment it hurts so much please give me advice i read quran and do extra salah but it still hurts. Shes such an angel I cant imagine living knowing shes with someone else. Jazakallah Khair

[Previous]
Memory transcription subject: Governor Tarva of the Venlil Republic
Date [standardized human time]: July 12, 2136
I couldn’t help but quake in regret as the human ship touched down on the landing pad before me. Would they come down running, frothing at the idea of tasting unfamiliar flesh? Or would they immediately start blasting everything in sight, relishing in the cruelty coded in their blood? As much as I wanted to cry and scream, I had to remain calm for these beasts and the others accompanying me: Kam and my diplomatic advisor, Cheln.
I would normally have more people, but because of our nature as Venlil, nobody bothered to come, forcing me to drag these two here.
Kam’s tail flicked in anxiety, wanting to do something he so little has the power to perform.
“You’re going to get us all killed, Tarva.” He hissed at me, “Might as well hand us to them on a silver platter, all tied up and gutted.”
“Kam, you’re making me really nervous, and that will happen if you don’t shut up. All that we’re doing is buying the Federation some time to save us from these freaks!” I hissed back. “Venlil Prime is not going to be another slaughterhouse!”
“You know I’m not going to be all uppity and friendly with them. I could barely hold it when that transmission came.”
“Neither did I, but here we are! So how about we all act as if they’re just prey? Can you do that for the sake of not being torn apart?”
He huffed, turning his head away from me, his tail curling up in spite. If we’re predator food, I’m ensuring you’re the first one. Drifting away from the thought, I prayed that Cheln, on the other hand, would be more reasonable than his militaristic counterpart.
Speaking of Cheln, I wonder how he’s doing—and now he’s frozen in place. Wonderful. This is absolutely what I need right now. I hope that the humans would just pass this off as standard Venlil behavior and not just begging to get out of here…
Hearing the clanking of the human ship’s ramp hitting the floor, all three of us snapped out of whatever fear lingering thoughts that poisoned our minds. Unexpectantly, I was slightly shoved forward, Kam and Cheln hiding behind me as they peeked over my shoulders.
Ohpleasedontdothistome! I could feel my eyes watering, unable to control my prey instincts as one simple goal came: live. But that couldn't happen; I had to do this for Venkind. Sighing, I wiped my tears away. My voice, once again, was trembling. “W-welcome! Welcome to V-venlil Prime!”
Looking up the ramp, heavy footsteps came—a pair. The one known as N-04H was the first to step down, followed by S-4R-4.
“Greetings,” the former began, its cold, metallic voice present as it descended the ramp. “The tactical advantage provided is in mass gratitude to us.”
Oh, it’s even bigger in person! Speh, why did I do this?! My heart throbbed at the sight of the predator, as all I ever wanted to do at the moment was to run away, but we, as Venlil, had to keep up a facade of strength. Predators thrived on the assertion of dominance, so I doubted they’d turn down a blatant challenge.
Both of these beasts stopped precisely in front of us, keeping a rather coordinated stance amongst each other.
“U-um… as you know, I-I’m Governor Tarva of Venlil Prime and these are–”
“General Kam of the Venlil Armed Forces and diplomatic advisor Cheln,” the human interrupted. How did it know?! Was it listening to us from afar?! Spehspehspeh! How much can they do?!
“H-how did you know our names?” Kam interjected, his tail tucked in between his legs, quite visibly fearful of the thing already knowing his name.
It slowly moved its head to directly face Kam, staring him down with its disgusting forward-facing eyes. This caused the general to let out a small squeak in fear, contrasting his earlier hostile attitude.
It remained silent as if it was a machine going through possible responses to hide its knowledge before finally speaking, “You look like a Kam.”
What the speh is that supposed to mean?!
A thud sounded beside me, which I realized was Cheln hitting the pavement. My diplomatic advisor fainting was not a good look, I knew that. Even Kam had his ears pressed against his head, earlier bluster forgotten.
Both predators didn’t react, ignoring the fact that there was an easy meal right in front of them. By then, I knew that humans reveled in the thrill of the hunt, refusing to accept such simplicity. They wanted us to run, fleeing for our lives as they tore us apart one by one, joyed by the cruelty they so exerted.
They knew we were afraid, and they knew that we knew that. It was obvious the human thought we should abandon Cheln, rather than allow weakness to tarnish the gene pool.
Kam knelt by Cheln’s side, trying to rouse him. Given that the nurturing trait stemmed from compassion, that wasn’t the sort of behavior to exhibit in front of predators either. I had to nip this conduct in the bud, or else the primates would think it was commonplace. That answered what I should do, but how could I leave a man to die in the cold? How could I chastise my general for basic empathy? That level of cruelty was beyond my sensibilities.
“You are afraid.” N-04H stated, “Do our large presence pose an instinctual threat, contributed by an unfamiliarity to the unknown? We are likely the first extraterrestrial life you encountered, correct?”
What... That’s why they think we’re afraid? Um… yeah, I think we can recover from this…
“Y-yeah!” I exclaimed, “T-that’s why! You’re practically the first species not from Venlil Prime to set foot here! Um.. please pardon us for our fearful attitude…”
“You are pardoned.” It said bluntly. Gazing at Cheln, it marched on over him, kneeling beside Kam. “Allow me to assist.”
“You’ve done enough, monster!” Kam spat.
“Allow me to assist.”
“No! I am not letting you–”
“That was not a request.” N-04H interrupted, for the first time, displaying emotion. And it wasn’t kindness like us prey. It was a predatory tone, the fleshy mask of theirs slowly slipping, uncovering whatever true beasts they so had hidden.
The tone had made Kam flinch back, fear overtaking his protectiveness. He had begrudgingly stepped back, covering his eyes and ears as he expected poor Cheln to be a meal.
“Thank you,” the human said, slowly picking up Cheln with ease, with no indication of him even weighing anything. It gave its attention to me, brown eyes meeting mine. I froze, inspecting the hellish landscape that protruded in its eyes, a faint red glow displaying its desire to consume.
I could see Venlil Prime being nothing but a mere wasteland, the innocent inhabitants long gone as they became slaves to the predators' hunger. Children separated from their parents as they became livestock to the eventual horrors.
The Federation must stop them; we have to exterminate Earth before they exterminate us. For now, we all had to play along with the game presented.
“W-would a tour be nice for you two?” I squeaked.
It looked around the area, scanning everything in sight. At this point, a tour would be meaningless if it weren’t for the fact that it would stall them long enough for a fleet to arrive.
“A tour would be of utmost importance to us.” Great… Just great…

Hello. My name is Bungling-Worm. You may remember me from my highly condemned submissions such as "Socialists-The Moralist Busybodies Preventing You From Beating YOUR Cheating C\nt of a Wife and Annoying Children", "Profit or: Humanity's Raisin Deter (sic).", "Who Really 'Needs' Clean Air and Water Anyway?", "Hayek Was Right! - How Fascism Saved Western Civilization™ From the Bolshevik Menace" and "SWEATSHOPS!-The Greatest Gift to Third-World Youths Since the Polio Vaccine.*"
Today I'd like to address my fellow capitalists. It's no secret that, much like the U.S. military in Iraq circa 2003-2011, we're losing the battle for the hearts and minds of our intended slav..subje...vict...vassa...thral...our fellow men™. For this reason my employer, Generic Right-Wing Think Tank Inc., in partnership with our good friends in the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency and the U.K. Special Intelligence Service (formerly U.K. Military Intelligence, Section 6), have contacted the eminent propagandist conservative philosopher picnic-boy and gained his gracious permission to make an official Part 2 to his highly acclaimed How to argue in favor of capitalism and against socialism, a helpful guide the table of contents of which is freely available (for a limited time only) here: https://www.reddit.com/CapitalismVSocialism/comments/1cqvdsv/comment/l3wuegi/
Without picnic-boy's pioneering achievements in sophistry this work would not be possible. Now, without further add-do (sic) I give you a sneak peak into the table of contents of How to argue in favor of capitalism and against socialism, a helpful guide: Part 2.

1. State, often and always without evidence (because none exists), that socialists control all mainstream news media, organized religion (especially the Catholic Church, the Jesuit Order, the Hasidic College and every sect of Islam), Western academia, K-12 public education, the entire U.S. civil service (from the municipal all the way up to the federal), the FBI, the CIA, the Justice Department, the Democratic Party, the Fraternal Order of Freemasons, Hollywood, all police unions, the entire federal judiciary, all the major drug cartels and organized crime syndicates, the Federal Reserve System and the governments of literally every single third and second world country, especially the far-right and non-white majority ones. At the exact same time, and this is really important so pay close attention, accuse socialists of being unpopular teenage losers living in their parents' basement who're too lazy to get a job.
2. When socialists remark upon how similar the claims in point 1 are to contemporary Neo-Nazi conspiracy theories and start to question how you feel about Jewish people turn around and accuse them of being "the real anti-semites" for "wanting to take all the Jews' money away ". In no way is this conflation of all Jews with rich capitalists a form of economic antisemitism. If someone points out that it is simply cherry pick quotes from Marx's "On the Jewish Question" out of context so that none of the parts where Marx makes it clear he is only critiquing Judaism as a religion while at the same time advocating for the political emancipation of Jews as people are clear to the reader. After that go on to talk about how much you support Israel and how much happier you think diaspora Jews would be if they permanently immigrated there. Also and for no particular reason talk about the "failure" of the Kibbutzim apropos of nothing and don't elaborate on anything.
3. Always portray struggles of democratic socialists within ML states/the Eastern Bloc as struggles for capitalism. Yes, it is true the people who organized the East German Uprising of 1953, the 1956 Hungarian Revolution, the Prague Spring of 1968, and the Polish Solidarity Movement of the 1980's (before the Vatican and CIA hijacked it) all demanded democratic socialism, yes they all said that, but what they "really wanted" was capitalism and don't you let any so-called "historian" tell you otherwise.
4. Pretend that socialists invented the very concept of the state and thus that all state rulers from the Roman Emperors, Egyptian Pharaohs, Greek Archons, etc. to modern Kings, Kaisers, Tsars and Presidents were/are "socialists".
5. Don't forget to liberally pepper your psychotic rants with plenty of freudian slips and accusations in a mirror. For example, make the claim that socialists want to destroy the family so that they can isolate, abuse and indoctrinate women and children while at the same time assert that wives and children are nothing more than an extension of "the individual" who need to be shielded by this individual from an unrealistically hostile and confusing world (literally everything and everyone outside the home).
6. Assert that socialists invented taxation and ignore that the first taxes in recorded history took the form of land-rents set by the first governments (which were councils of militaristic landlords).
7. Defend rent-seeking and landlordism so long as it's done by private individuals. Remember rent-seeking is only bad when the government does it because they spend that money on social parasites and welfare leeches, unlike landlords who spend it on their second families in the next state over.
8. Claim fascism is a form of socialism but also defend the legacies of lesser known fascist regimes, military dictatorships and other totalitarian right-wing governments whose symbols and mottos the people in your country haven't developed a learned fear response to yet the way they have the Swastika and the Fasces.
9. When leftists point out that the main victims of things like the Great Purge and the Chinese Cultural Revolution were socialists,communists, anarchists and other left-wing intellectuals who opposed Stalin and Mao's cults of personality either ignore them and maintain that the "real victims" were the tiny minority of "innocent" religious extremists, ultranationalists (who were "definitely not" fascist collaborators or spies), and resource hoarders who were killed or do a complete one hundred and eighty degree pivot and actually defend the Great Purge and Cultural Revolution because "The more left someone is, the more violent/dictatorial they are, therefore anyone to the left of Stalin and Mao would have been more violent than them and it's a good thing they were killed."
10. If you think any of these points are self-contradicting just remember that doublethink is merely a tool and "communists" (Stalinists) shouldn't be the only ones allowed to make use of it.
11. Ignore the mountains of evidence that an anti-Stalinist left exists. Portray these leftists as right-wingers and edit their most famous works to leave out the many mentions of their own support for socialism.
12. Remind your interlocutor(s) that socialism is gay and cringe.
13. Remember that reading is gay but total illiteracy is still kinda cringe (unfortunately). Therefore read as little as humanly possible without going full illiterate. Our recommendation is to only read blurbs from ancap websites, your favorite right-wing conspiracy theorists' social media threads and your fellow "capitalists' " reddit posts and nothing else.
14. In keeping with point 13 let the only things you "know" or "learn" about socialism be things you absorbed through osmosis and half remember from your high school history textbooks assuming you even read them at all. Never look at primary sources, never listen to people trying to explain things to you in detail, always complain that quotes provided to you are "blocks of text" or "unoriginal".
15. Remember that conformism, unquestioning obedience to authority, an unflinching belief in the correctness of the current socioeconomic status quo and conventional wisdom, and a general Panglossian worldview with a huge heaping of moral nihilism (which is definitely a real philosophical school of thought and not just a rationalization of one's own sociopathic tendencies) are actually somehow radical and that "conservatism is the new punk rock" of the 21st century.

For context, I am in University about 50 miles from where she and my parents live, so I commute every weekend and most weekdays to see her. I love her. Plain and simple, in so many ways. We used to work together until she got a better job recently. Yesterday was her birthday. I made her some cookies common in the continent she's from, and baked them into heart shapes. I also got her 25$ of lottery tickets, flowers, her favorite energy drink, and a handwritten card with a lot of writing and drawings of us and her cat. I dropped it off to her in the morning after an all-nighter (going through it with finals and papers right now) and drove to the University to work my full shift. First she texted me thanking me for the gift, then asked me "what the fuck" those cookies were and that she choked on them. I was sad, told her what they were, and she told me I shouldn't have cooked something as a gift since I'm a bad cook. (I am, but I've made other stuff that she liked in the past). She also complained that the whole point of buying lottery tickets is to buy them, not to scratch them (I disagree?). She texted me that I shouldn't have gotten her anything if it was just going to be low effort.
I saw her later that night after she got out of work, and she was mad at me. She said I ruined her birthday by giving such a low effort gift, and that I didn't care about her. She brought up that I ruined her birthday last year too (by not immediately stopping our text conversation about some other girl and wishing her happy birthday the minute it got past midnight). Anytime I responded that I did put effort into the cookies, she would just deny it. Incredibly frustrating since I know how much effort I put in. She was mad the flowers I got her were not in a boquet, only loose, which didn't make it seem like a special occasion. At the heart of it she was mad that my gifts weren't special? To me the card and cookies were plenty special but she just says that it was stuff I've given her other days. She started calling me ret*rded, to which I responded "You're mean to me and I don't like it". I don't remember much of what she said (I'd had 4 hours of sleep in the past 2 nights), but she doubled down and continued calling me a wide variety of hurtful words, from ret*rded to stupid to childish and immature. I was already long sobbing, and in the middle asked her to just hit me instead. She obviously refused. She asked if I even wanted to go on our trip this upcoming weekend. I responded yes, and she replied that maybe I don't if I don't care about her enough to get her a decent gift.
She's horrifically depressed, and I know she has some specific trauma in response to people not caring about her birthdays. I think that explains part of it. Still, I tried. I am also depressed myself. I've tried bringing it up to her a few times and she responds that I'm "always bitching too much" because my life is so perfect. Compared to hers its way better, yes, but that doesn't mean I need a reason to be depressed. She's also acted distant the entire Spring semester. I rarely spend time with her, and even more rarely is it time that isn't just "okay we can see each other for 5 minutes but I have to go in". We havent' had sex since January, or cuddling. I very much miss both of these things, and we've had (rare) opportunities for them shes missed because shes too busy sleeping (I'm not allowed in her appartment to join her, mom discovered we had sex).
At the end of being yelled at when she denied me a hug and told me essentially to go away, I had a nervous break. Honestly I've been working too much and I'm overwhelmed with needing to find a new second job and the immense weight of finals and final essays ,things breaking on my car, and now this. I sped off, her and her mom heard my tires squealing and uninvited me from the trip. I drove recklessly for about 2-3 minutes on backroads while scream-crying about killing myself and fighting the urge to drive into a tree. Not proud of it. But I am devastated about missing the trip. She backed out on us living together, and promised we could have time to cuddle on the trip. I honestly don't feel like I have anything to look forward to.
I do a lot for her. I drive two hours round trip every time I want to see her, sometimes even for 5 minutes to drop off some food before going back. I've spent the past academic year working to support our long-standing plans of moving out together (This past weekend was my first time having more than one day off in a row since accompanying her to her surgery in October). I bring her flowers weekly, at work I do all of the hard stuff for her and massage her shoulders if she feels sore. I bring her food from my University and any treats she wants from the surrounding stores. I always ask if she wants anything. I have never said anything hurtful to her. She apologizes when she hurts my feelings too much and she realizes it, like last night. I spend thousands on her, whether jewelry (the most expensive ring she lost), buying her contacts or paying big bills when shes strugglign like drivers' ed or her wheel bearing replacements.
She texted me that shes sorry I'm not going and that she hurt me but I need to control my emotions better. That she loves me so much and regardless of our fights she will always love me so much. I responded that I felt like an unappreciated chore and didnt want to get yelled at. She replied that I'm not a chore she just hasnt had time and has been too depressed to make time for me. We texted a bit and I slept a few hours until my final/work today. She clearly didn't like me defending myself by saying that if i got a present i didnt like i wouldnt call my partner a "worthless ret*rd" by responding "i never called you worthless dont put words in my mouth...i sent you messages apologizing and being worried and your response is victimizing and arguing more...not happy with ruining my birthday? had to go further and ruin the day after?"
We've been texting each other throughout the day happier things. She's been sending me recipes to be a better cook and wants me to see her for 5 minutes after work in about 2 hours from the time of writing. I want to be with her. I love her, I've done so much, I will continue. But I feel like I'm being verbally abused. And I don't know how to stop it. I'm so overwhelmed with everythign in my life and I really just need someone on my side. I think i'll just first establish a rule of not interrupting/yelling and then telling her how hurt and lonely I feel. That I love her and I can totally work with her on managing time for me and depression but that I cannot tolerate verbal abuse.
TLDR: Gave girlfriend cookies for her birthday. She didnt like them and called me a ret*rd. I had a nervous break from other combined stressors, made a scene with reckless driving, got uninvited to a trip with her and her mom. She is texting me recipes and being nice to me today. I will see her in a few hours. I am hurt and overwhelmed with life and just want to be treated like I'm loved.
Thank you readers

Super long post so grab your tea and settle in.
I, (50f) have two kids; daughter (19) and son (18). My daughter has always been difficult. She would blame her brother for things she did, fight with him endlessly, lied continuously to me, stole from family and stores and was a hard teen to raise. She began seeing a boy (21m) 3 years ago and honestly I didn’t care for him from the start. He was rude, intitled, zero respect and already had quite the legal record.
My daughter ended up pregnant by him about 1 month into their relationship she was 16 he was 18. They lied to me and told me he was 16. They also lied about the pregnancy. She really didn’t get a pregnant belly and anytime I mentioned she was gaining some weight and could she possibly be pregnant she would accuse me of fat shaming her and being rude just for asking. Fast forward a few months and she said she was staying at her best friends for the weekend. Her friends mom even backed this story and lied to me saying, yes she is with us. When in fact she was at boyfriends recently acquired apartment ( I had no idea about and was told he lived with his grandparents). She went into labor that weekend, I still had no idea she was pregnant. When she finally called to say she was at the hospital and had a baby she insisted she had no idea she was pregnant and it was a suprise to all of them. I didn’t really buy that but didn’t argue, none of it mattered. She had a new baby and baby needed taken care of. With her story of not knowing I immediately went shopping. Bought everything you would need for a new baby. She let me know she was moving in with BF and would be raising the baby with him. When I dropped off the baby gear (literally an F250 truck load) to the apartment I notice quite a few items were already in place for a new baby, and realized they knew and had already gotten some stuff. None of that really mattered to me, I was a grandmother now and the how’s and why’s weren’t changeable so I just moved on. I tried really hard to accept her BF and invited him into our little family. He was always rude making snide comments about my son and their father. Father took his life a month before baby was born, whole other story. He would say how much better he was and would never leave his family, just a little turd. He wouldn’t let her visit without him. I couldn’t even talk to her on the phone without him listening and answering for her. He seemed extremely controlling and jealous of any relationship she had, even with her brother and I.
This kid could never hold a job for more than a month, sat around playing video games, didn’t help with baby, didn’t clean or cook. Just a waste of space, smoking weed and doing nothing. I tried not to say anything but the look on my face was telling whenever she would talk about him to me. They eventually got behind and lost their apartment and refused to move in with me because I wouldn’t allow him to stay, just her and the baby.
They were living in their cars and couch surfing. She had very little contact with me durning this time. At one point a friend of theirs called me to tell me BF was being abusive and I drove to where they were living to see if she would come home with me and leave an abusive relationship. She refused, actually became very angry I would even butt in to their relationship like that. I honestly just wanted my babygirl, my first born safe and not hurt. A little time goes by and eventually she reached out and I help her get into an apartment, he wasn’t on the lease. A couple months go by she tells me she is 5 months with number two. I am less than thrilled but it is what it is and I am just happy she is in an apartment.
Then, I get a phone call. She was just taken to the hospital because BF hit her in her pregnant belly and baby wasn’t moving. (Baby is fine).
Cops were called he is taken to jail. There was apparently an incident before this where he gave her a black eye. The police were called then but he ran and they didn’t find him but there was still a report filed. I was never told of the black eye story till later.
The time he is in jail (3 months), she is at my house daily. I am helping her with the baby and her pregnancy. I go to doctors appointments was even in her labor room. Things were actually good between us and her and her brother were getting along great. Brother is an amazing uncle and loves his niece to death. Buys her anything she wants and they are so close. She tells me she is done with BF, has a restraining order. Is moving forward and sees how in 3 short months her life is actually improving.
But sure enough as soon as he is released (2 felony charges) she takes him right back. She lies to me saying she won’t and isn’t but I don’t believe her at all. So I drive to her place and he is there. She screams at me to mind my own business and if she wants him it’s not up to me. Again I have been there everyday with both baby’s. Helping her and getting a chance to know my grandkids. At this point am very attached to my little angels and extremely frightened for her safety . She tells me, If I can’t get over the fact she will be with BF, then she never wants to see me again. I’m crushed but at the same time I am done. Done with all the lies, done with being told I can’t see the kids. With baby number one I have gotten to see her just a handful of times until the three months BF was in jail. Done with being treated like crap from my daughter. I feel like she was just using me while he was in jail. So I say fine.
That was in march. I haven’t spoken to her since. She hasn’t reached out at all and even changed her number. I feel guilt because I didn’t really fight the no contact. I mean I miss the babies something horrible but I am so done with lies. But I also feel guilty because what if he is still hurting her. A couple of her friends let me know how she and the kids are doing. And now that she isn’t pregnant I know she could kick his butt in a fight. I feel like I have abandoned her but she is the one who said no contact.
I’m I wrong for wanting no contact as a parent?

I was on a flight this afternoon with my three year old daughter who, mostly, was really well behaved. She stayed in her seat and quietly played on a tablet while eating the occasional snack. Half way through the roughly 2.5 hour flight the man seated in front of her turned around and asked me to have her stop kicking his seat. It was clear he was already pretty frustrated with the situation which I had not noticed so I talked to her about it. We discussed how when she touches the seat in front of her the person can feel it and how that is rude behavior as it makes them uncomfortable.
I’m on high alert for any kicking now which never comes, but it quickly becomes apparent that my daughter is exactly the right height to keep bumping the seat in front of her. The seat is too long for her to bend her legs so they stick straight out and end within an inch of the seat in front of her. Whenever she wiggles or adjusts how she’s sitting she bumps the seat. I talk to her again about how it’s disruptive to touch the seat in front of her. I move her legs to angle towards my middle seat. I ask her if she wants to sit in my lap. I have her sit criss-cross-applesauce, but nothing lasts for long and she’s back with her legs poking forward sitting in her own seat. For the next 30 minutes I get nothing but dirty looks and scowls from the seat ahead as I talk to my daughter over and over again any time she even looks like she might touch the seat. She inevitably rests her feet on the back of the seat again and I get an angry “Are you kidding me? Make her stop” from the guy in front. I tell him I’m trying, but she’s a kid and her legs stick out right into the back of the seat. He can hear me trying. I’m not sure what else he expected me to do. For any parents out there, I welcome pro tips.
Now here is where I start to loose some sympathy. As the plane gets closer to our destination the flight attendant comes around asking folks to put their seats in the upright position and this guy’s seat moves up. He had been reclining back and then complaining about her feet bumping his seat?!
The plane lands and we’re in the cheap seats waaaay in the back so it’s taking a while to unload. I have my headphones in and am packing up all of our gear while we wait. My daughter stands up and at some point while looking out the window and/or playing with the in-headrest touch screen display touches the man’s long hair. I’m packing and don’t see. He loses it and turns to me shouting “Are you kidding me?!”. I’m lost at this point as I didn’t see what happened and it’s clearly not about kicking his seat as she’s standing up. With prompting he tells me about her touching his hair. Exasperated I ask if he said anything to her before yelling at me. I’m not expecting much, but wouldn’t most people say something like “please don’t touch me” and then tell the parent. I can’t correct behavior I don’t see. He gets set off and starts into it’s not his job to parent my kid. I need to get her under control. Then proceeds to tell me what a bad parent I’m being.
AITAH? Should I have been doing more?

Beseiged by nasty rumours and a whisper campaign, Priyanka Chopra has decided to immerse herself in work and focus on her forthcoming music album. But while the 29-year-old Pee Cee has opted for a dignified silence in the face of nasty media whispers, friends of the actress claim that her calm faade is just that.
Juggling work, her father's illness, and these rumours have taken a toll on the star. In particular she is upset and flummoxed by the campaign unleashed by a powerful producer-director who can make and break careers in Bollywood. "At a recent party while he was feeding her cupcakes, she heard rumours of him bitching her out-all this is very hurtful," said a close associate of the actress who did not want to be identified. The associate-cum-friend believes that a powerful clique of star wives is behind this spate of anti-Priyanka stories. "Priyanka has done nothing wrong. If these women are insecure about their relationships with their husbands, they should sort it out with them, at home. Why should they attack her?" thunders the friend.
The actress, who along with Vidya Balan has often been seen as Bollywood's go-to girl for meaty writer-backed roles, has confided to her friends that whatever is happening to her could be a function of the way the male-dominated industry operates. But she refuses to let it affect her work. "The only way she can strike back is by doing more work, good work. And it is not just films. There is music, endorsements… she is a brand, a multi-faceted personality and there is no way any star-wife can take that away from her." Says the friend emphatically, adding, "To all those who are calling her names, we would like to ask them, what are your achievements? You will only be remembered as Mrs so and so…!"
As for the stars that have allegedly refused to work with the actress, another friend counters by pointing out that she has always maintained a healthy professional relationship with her stars. "Truth is, she has not signed any new films for this year, as she is busy till October. There are several big-ticket projects she has been approached for. But since she has a policy of not announcing any project before it is ready to go on the floors, people will have to wait until August for news on that front."
When Mumbai Mirror called for her version of the events, Priyanka said she would only talk about her work and the music album. "Whatever has happened is in the past," is all she would say.
However, her protective friends were more forthcoming. "Ever since she was nine years old Priyanka has been in awe of Shah Rukh Khan. But now she is scared to even utter his name in public, no matter how innocent or professional the context." Responding to rumours that the two will not be seen together because of various pressures, the friend says, "Priyanka and SRK shot together for Farhan Akhtar's adult literacy mission film recently. There is nothing on the anvil right now for them to share a platform in public." But sources close to the actress say they continue to remain friendly.
The actress, who is flying out of the country to finish work on her music album, has a lot going on in her life right now. For the last six months her father has not been keeping well. According to her concerned friends, it is not easy for her parents to read the vicious reports about their daughter every day.
"She is a feisty fighter, a hardworking girl and will not tolerate any attempts to discredit her
professionally," says the friend, before joining the actress on the sets of Krrish, where she is shooting till the wee hours of the morning
Poor Little Rich Gauri
Is she on the verge of a nervous breakdown or is she just a bratty star wife?
From being fiercely private to being Bollywood's biggest party animal – Gauri Khan's recent uncharacteristic and irregular behavior has left her husband and friends shocked. So, what's really going on with the gorgeous Mrs Khan?
Kicked out of London hotspot
Gauri Khan and friends were kicked out of famed London club Tramp, leaving lines of illegal substances and broken bottles of Champagne in their trail. Known for its infamous celebrity guests, the club is no stranger to nefarious activities, so the party of 10 must have been doing something seriously bad to have to be escorted out of the premises!
Partied till 7am at IPL without SRK
Despite her husband leaving South Africa mid IPL, Gauri decided to stay back and party till 7am every night with her four girlfriends. Fellow party animals were shocked to see that the usually reserved Gauri was letting her hair down on the dance floor, somthing no one had seen her do before. Masala! heard someone quipping, 'We want what she's on!'
Keeping bad company
From safe (and boring) K-Jo to wild (and bored) star wives, Bhavna Pandey and Maheep Khan and hot (and spoilt) south Mumbai IT girls Renu Chainani and Nandita Mahtani – Gauri has changed her company drastically in the past few years. SRK expressed how he did not approve of their group activities and was heard telling Gauri to 'grow up and accept the responsibilities that fame comes along with'. His harsh lecture, however, fell on deaf ears as she made plans to go to with the same friends to Europe, Miami and then LA soon after! When confronted about her irresponsible behavior and the fact that SRK was sitting at home playing video games with the kids, while Gauri was out partying and neglecting the kids, the latter lashed out at SRK telling him that he had no right to control her life and abused him. So angry was the actor that he finally threatened to leave for Mumbai with the kids if she didn't get her act together!
Fed up of being the perfect mrs Khan
For years now Gauri has played the role of the perfect star wife – dressing and acting the part, being seen with the right people (only those who SRK approved of!) and building an image that she exploited and enjoyed at the time. She confided in a friend saying: 'I am tired of living for the world of fans, I want to live for myself. Why can't I?'
Breaking free or breaking down?
While many of Gauri's friends believe that she's just living life for herself, other's are convinced that she is on the verge of a nervous breakdown!
Masala! verdict
Tired and fed up of playing the perfect celeb spouce, the allegedly bratty Gauri is trying to break free. A friend of the couple told Masala! "Gauri now wants to live life for herself. What's wrong with living in the fast lane?" Nothing, we guess, as long as she's got her seatbelt on and her hands firmly on the wheel!

A week or more ago I wrote here about moving out. It was rough, mentally draining (because I was still processing the family fight that caused the move), but I’m feeling much better now and appreciate the support I received a lot. Living alone looks more and more like a blast, even if I have to learn a lot of new things — but I like this too, feeling like an explorer of sorts, heh. Slowly transitioning from being an adult child to being an actual adult.
Following the fight we recently had a few brief chats with my mother and because I needed to take some of my other stuff I left behind I thought it was probably safe enough to try and meet. Very briefly. So I did. It was very, very brief and I was trying to pack as quick as possible, almost didn’t say a word. Today I decided to return for one last time in a while to take the last batch of stuff (mainly books, wasn’t important, but felt like a more or less final step) and… the interaction left me retrospecting.
Basically I bought myself this nice simple hat recently and knowing my mother, intuitively I expected her to comment on it, so I legitimately thought about hiding it in my backpack to avoid any comments. Just didn’t want to hear anything unnecessary. But then I felt lazy and just took it off and held it in my hand. And of course as soon as it was seen there was this baby talk that I’m not sure I can convey. It’s like “oooh, look at you, handsome”, but in this really unpleasant demeaning tone like I’m not in my 20s, but a child trying to act like an adult by buying something for himself.
I immediately felt very off for some reason and just found a way to refocus the attention elsewhere (internally cursing myself for not hiding that shit beforehand). Being autistic and having a very cyclical memory, I still replayed that phrase she said till the very evening, but just as I was starting to knock that off… out of the blue, at midnight, she wrote me and commented the same thing again, in text form. That’s where I couldn’t help it and just briefly responded “Please do not react like that, I don’t like being commented when it’s something this small. I get that you feel this way, but there’s no need to focus on my idle choices like this.”. She thought I was joking and acting “grumpy” in a playful way, so I had to elaborate and after she understood what I was saying she got upset. I can add the screenshot here, but it would be in my native language, so probably wouldn’t be helpful, lol.
And now I’m sitting here remembering how our initial recent big fight even started. It was a very small thing like me having breakfast that was commented. It was her temperament quickly losing control when I said in a neutral, focused-on-the-food tone, that I want to just have my breakfast alone. A domino effect that led to the weight of my emotions accumulated to explode.
I’m not sure what is the point of this post, probably just idle thoughts to contribute to this ongoing conversation that is this sub. I started this post by talking about being an adult child who finally gets his chance to become a proper adult. And these small altercations are like… punches in the guts. That baby talk. My own choices, however small, being perceived as “playing as an adult”. Might sound like a normal parental reaction, but if I’m telling this then I mean it — it’s more. It’s something unhealthy that I can’t shake. I think you guys can relate.
I ordered some more things for myself though. It calmed me down. Currently I have no special reason to return again, but if I should — I’ll probably hide anything new about me. There’s no significant progress in my mother and even if hiding yourself is a depressing idea, I don’t have the mental capacity to do it the other way. It’s a compromise.

Hi everyone,
I know this question has been asked before, but I am hoping to get some feedback for my specific situation. I have read online that both of these apps work great with real debrid. I have used both and am leaning a bit towards Stremio due to simplicity and cloud storage for my library. I know I can use back up add-on to save my setting on Kodi when I do a clean install but if I am setting up a new device, I'd have to start from scratch (I don't know how to save back up and restore from a network). I am hoping to get some feedback on the performance of both apps and which you guys prefer. I should also mention I am using a Firstick 4k Max for streaming connected to my LG S80QR system.
I know Stremio is recommended for the fact that it works out of the box. I see that Kodi is recommended due to the ability to customize and trakt integration. I am hoping to get some feedback on the points below as these are a priority for myself when deciding which app to use.

1. Reliability - cocoscrapers seems to provide a great amount of links in 4K and 1080p. Torrention also provides a sufficient amount of links. From your experiences, which one has been more reliable? Which one will be more reliable in the future? Kodi has been around for years and addon support is great whereas Stremio and Torrentionare relatively new; can we expect ongoing support for these?
   
2. Performance - how has your experience been with video and audio playback on Stremio vs Kodi? Has anyone had any AV sync issues? What about use with surround sound system? Any issues with quality of 4k stream? I have a 5.1.3 system and would hope I can put my system to good use.
   

2.1. Audio passthrough - I noticed Stemio does not have this setting for Android TV. Is it not needed or already embedded into the app? Looks like tunneled playback is something different, not sure if it accomplishes the same thing.

1. Customizations - clearly Kodi takes the cake here but what specific customizations are essential to you on Kodi? I like the options available for video and audio but are these necessary on Stremio or are adjustments automatically made on Stremio depending on the devices you are using? E.g. downmixing from 7.1 to 5.1.
   
2. Parental controls - Kodi has some options for parental controls, Stremio has nothing. Will there ever be any options for this in the future?
   

One of the things that annoys me the most about Stremio is that when I am watching a show and go to check something else, when I go back to the show I was watching, it automatically starts playing from where I left off. Is there anyway to disable this?
All feedback is greatly appreciated.

I, 18M, am currently passing my first and hopefully last gap year. However, in light of visa issues, I have never been more stressed in my life, I can't sleep and every time I wake up I want everything to be over.
For context, I will be going to Lithuania in order to attend university, specifically LSMU. Last year I applied from the Philippines and got issued a visa but was unfortunately too late since the start of the school year was September 2023 and I got my visa, which in this case a Temporary Residence Permit (TRP) around October 2023. I was forced to take a gap year, and go back to Qatar since I wouldn't want to go to university falling behind by a month on health science studies.
Fast forward to this year, I went back to Qatar. and when it came to the reapplication my parents and I were really confident since we already knew what to do and we decided to try and apply at a closer country (UAE), we even got my VISA ready because we were so confident.

• 1.) The first cause of real stress was when I tried to reapply and a day later it had said "decline" because I had missing documents, these were documents that I did not need during my last application. And, according to the Lithuanian Migration Department, you can only apply 4 months after rejection. The academic year starts at September 2024 and It is already May 2024. So I went like "oh fuck I need this application to be perfect before I reapply".
• 2.) The second one was after I have finished gathering the documents that I have missed which was a Police Clearance Certificate (PCC) and a Notarized Affidavit from my parents. I really looked into the consular website and noticed that the Lithuanian embassy in the UAE does not accept files issued in Qatar because it is not accredited. HOLY FUCK, I start thinking to myself why is it not accredited if its in the literally in the same region (GCC). So I literally might have to fly back to the Philippines in order to apply, spend god knows how long waiting, could be 2-3 months doing absolutely nothing. Still waiting on a reply from the Lithuanian embassy If I could apply from Qatar and giving them until Saturday or Sunday or else I really have to fly to the Philippines.
• 3.) I have a girlfriend, met in Qatar, and we are now long distance. She is in Singapore right now and coming to Qatar around the end of May. I have not told her that I might be flying to the Philippines this Saturday or Sunday so we might not even see each other when she goes back to the country. We have not seen each other for 346 days. I miss her and it sucks that I don't even get the opportunity to see her again since I will be in the Philippines all summer and when I come back she is already back in Singapore. My parents and I argued about this because I wanted to be here when she arrived and spend time with her but they said I needed to go fly ASAP.

I am under so much stress right now that I can't even do day to day activities without having a lingering feeling of anxiety or panic. I can't even type without shaking, FUCK WHAT DO I DO. The application might be fucking rejected again, I have not gotten a reply from the embassy, I doubt I will even see my girlfriend this year. and I am arguing with my parents over my girlfriend. I know that they understand but they want to do what is practical for me. It is literally just an overwhelming amount of things going on but I have been pretending to be okay this whole time but I'm not. Pretending to be okay is stressful too, this whole situation is literally eating me on the inside and I feel like I am getting killed mentally and emotionally just because everything I want to be under control is not.
I extend my hand for help, please.

~First~
(Writing, writing, writing: Muse crashes, burns and refuses to respond. Great.)
The Buzz on the Spin
“That’s the third time the call was dropped.” Hoagie states the obvious.
“From what I can tell they’re being hacked like it’s the latest fad. Even if our call goes through clean it’s going to be seen by an audience of several billion at least.” Demon replies. His tiny little girl is sitting on his shoulder so everyone’s watching their language, even Zsebreza. Sure, Kathy was growing quick and was developing a good sense of humour, but not even Minisi wanted to be responsible for teaching her the naughty words.
It takes several more tries with the bridge crew chuckling at things before suddenly the link is accepted to find a thoroughly unamused Asian Man glaring at them. The man then lets out a breath. “Two hundred and eighty six separate calls with the image of a woman presenting herself. I have never been simultaneously flattered and insulted.”
“Spoiled for choice sir?” Demon asks.
There is a moment of a pause as the man’s eyebrow quirks in frustration. “Yes.”
“I’m afraid it’s a common issue the galaxy over sir, we humans are hot commodity. Even a hideous slob of a man would find himself inundated with attention. A competent man with goals, ideals and motivation? A feast before the starving sir.” Hoagie says.
“Clearly Officer Eastman.” He says before relaxing a little. “I am Observer Wu. I have been charged by the nations of Earth with baring impartial witness to what has occurred the galaxy over. I have already spoken to several pockets of humanity, including but not limited to three other space stations, the newly risen nobility of Vucsa and of course, The Dauntless and the Embassy on Centris.”
“So what are you looking for? We’ve sent back numerous eyewitness testimonies and as much in the way of resources and proof of our claims that can survive the damaging effects of Cruel Space. A fair portion of exotic material and cadavers were actually supplied from this very station. What more do you need?”
“I just wish to speak with people. I will be communicating with and travelling to every major locations where humans have touched in the galaxy. To see the truth of things with unclouded eyes.” Observer Wu says and there are some nods. “Now then, if you could describe your location and posting please?”
“Certainly, we’ll do that in reverse though if you don’t mind.”
“I do not.”
“We are posted here to both ensure that we have friendly contacts in an area of interest and to learn more about the galaxy at large. Between ourselves and our fellows posted at other stations we are writing the operations manual for how to maintain, police, administrate, protect and supply a fully functional space station with a substantial permanent population. We’re also recruiting and keeping our eyes out for unusual technologies, tactics and techniques. This station alone contains a permanent population that rivals several first world nations on Earth with an industrial capacity well beyond what those nations can provide.”
“Can it now? This station is self sustaining? Food, air and other such supplies?”
“It turns out that a great deal of air is released by harvesting asteroids. Most of them contain a large amount of ice, even when they’re primarily minerals of some kind. Food is grown in hydroponics on such a scale we outright export it. The mining provides the metals and other materials for further products and again, hydroponics of a different source give us oils which leads to plastics, cloth comes in too. The station is completely self sustaining at this point. If the rest of the galaxy was to vanish then all we need are some rocks and we can keep this place going forever.” Demon explains and Observer Wu nods.
“And have you learned about these techniques and technologies?”
“Yes, however many of them are reliant upon Axiom.”
“And the control of the station?” He asks and Minisi pokes at a few of them with her tentacles to get people to shift away. “And you are... the woman in charge I believe?”
“Indeed. Although not for too much longer. I’ve had my fun but the station has become a tedium. I will admit that your species showing up has broken up the monotony a touch, but only enough to give me enough time to really make sure my heiress has this place on lock and with an unmatched command crew.”
“And you’re fine with them having that level of power?” Observer Wu asks and Minisi has a tentacle point right down at Hoagie.
“This one has been in charge of over ten percent of my station. The most productive Agriculture Decks we have are in his power, both officially and unofficially. The businesswomen there fear the flamingo shirts!”
“Hey, I got flowers on at least half of them.” Hoagie protests and she turns to him.
“Hey hey hey! Station boss or not, no horning on my hubby!” Zsebreza says buzzing into view and pressing back on the woman who leans back in amusement.
“You Charbis are so easy to rile up...” She says fondly as Zsebreza sheathes her weapon while still giving her a massive stinkeye.
“So that video was not an elaborate prank in horrific taste.” Observer Wu notes.
“Reality is stranger than fiction sir.” Hoagie notes.
“Indeed it is, and now that you’ve confused me, I am going to return the favour.” Observer Wu states and Hoagie looks from side to side and everyone else is equally baffled.
“Sir?” Hoagie asks as Observer Wu presses a button on his armrest and requests for a certain passenger to be sent up. “What is this...”
He freezes entirely as the camera shifts and he can see... “Mom?”
“Daniel!” Janet Eastman says with a smile. “And... one of those... things that got you.”
“I told you we needed to edit that video.” Zsebreza says.
“But it would clearly have been faked in some way and...” Hoagie trails off. “I... are you alright? The way out of Cruel Space is no fun.”
“It.. it was not pleasant, but I worked in the kitchens for most of it and it kept me busy.” She says.
“Familiar territory then.”
“A starship mess hall is NOTHING like a Corner Bistro in New York.” Janet says and he chuckles.
“Are you sure you’re alright? I mean... the rail shot into orbit, the initial training...”
“I’m part of the civilian experiment. To see how easy or hard it is to get people out of our little corner of the galaxy.”
“And the verdict Miss Hoagie’s mother?” Minisi asks in an amused tone.
“Something needs to be done about the zero-gravity trip. It’s too much. I’ve needed some chemical help to stay calm during parts of the trip.”
“Yeah, it’s not much better when you’re trained for it.” Hoagie says. “Are you coming here?”
“Of course! Those videos were horrifying! If those girls are walking all over you like that then I don’t care if I’m numbered two hundred to one or two thousand to one! I didn’t work my butt off as a waitress when you were a little boy just to see a bunch of bees walk all over you! So I’m putting you on notice!” She growls out.
“Okay lady, I’m giving you the private number, because I love that attitude. And because we need to get ahead of this before there’s a war kicked off.” Zsebreza promises.
“There is no war that’s going to kick off. Mother, Charbis are a very defensive species and refuse to let people see their relaxed state unless they have absolute trust. No exceptions. That’s why you’ve never seen them in anything less than one of their most agitated states. When not safely in the hive a Charbis is only a few moments away from violence.”
“Is the hive like a beehive?”
“It’s not made of waxy hexagons. It’s a bunker with innumerable defences and very comfortable on the inside. They’re so reinforced and secure that it’s the most defensive part on the station barring the other Hives.”
“Hey, you’re really pushing it...”
“I haven’t said anything secret. I haven’t shown anything secret. Anyone with working eyes can see a Hive is nearly impossible to attack if they want to live, and with how wealthy and good with crops Charbis are in general, any idiot can figure out that they have plenty within the hive.”
“Well... yes, but the idea that anyone has any idea what the hives are like...” Zsebreza says and then Janet’s eyes widen as she realizes exactly what she’s seeing.
“Oh! It’s like THAT! No wonder you haven’t bothered running. It’s not too different from home was it?”
“Tough on the outside, everything you want inside? Pretty much.” Hoagie says and a very relieved Janet lets out a sigh of relief.
“Good. I’m still coming over though.”
“But, what about back home? Aren’t you?”
“Daniel. It’s okay. The old building was... well it was soon to be decommissioned anyway.”
“Oh... and I suppose the little place out back...”
“Gone too.” Janet says.
“I see.” Hoagie says.
“Are you alright?” Zsebreza asks and he nods.
“Yeah it just... the place I grew up is gone. Even if there was a way back to Earth, a true way, then I still couldn’t got home again.”
“Everyone leaves home eventually. Not everyone can go back.” Janet says. “Still. Don’t think you’re keeping me away, just because I’ve gotten an idea about you young lady. I’m coming to make sure you’re treating my little boy right. If this is a woman’s galaxy, then this woman is making sure her boy is with the best in the galaxy. Understand me?!”
“Mom!”
“Daniel.” She says even as he gives one of his fellows a dirty look when they snort. They put their hands up and back away. “So fierce young man. Now...”
•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•
He simply watches the video feed as mother and son speak. Trying to get a grip on the body language of the alien creatures. There’s a great deal of play and movement around the Charbis Bee woman, the ears are a massive tell on the Ikiya-Mas girl and the Mnenmi seemed utterly passive, in control. The men seemed either comfortable or excited and things seemed to be matching up.
Of course Mother Eastman was an open book to his practised eye, worried, putting on a brave front but the kind of woman who had given up her life to raise a child properly and was now chasing him out of not only maternal duty, but a sense of emptiness now that her great struggle was finished.
He knew her story. A sad tale of how to people, neither with families, had found each other and then shortly as life seemed to be picking up for the happy ending, an accident had taken the father, leaving a single mother to mourn and raise a child alone. A woman with no really marketable skills beyond being a woman and having a sympathetic story. She had been hired and remained hired at a moderately successful Bistro for over a decade, even being held on because she had a teenage son at home working a part time to help out.
Sad story, but one that had given her and the boy spines of steel. Still, open book regardless and...
His communicator goes off and he checks it. It is a text from an unknown number.
-Enjoying the show? ~Minisi
His eyebrows climb up a little and he reconsiders his thoughts on the octopus alien. She’s clearly very aware of things, and likely has the implants required to communicate without being obvious. Or he’s looking at a body double. Either way, she’s tipped her hand for... some reason. Which is bothering him. Why did she reveal this?
There is no way to determine without further interaction. So he replies with a simple yes.
-Good, a voyeur who doesn’t even enjoy the show is just a bore.
Is she just mocking him? This seems to be more mockery than anything. So he asks a simple question.
-Why does it matter?
-It doesn’t. You’re a prickly one aren’t you?
-Yes, I am. Is there an issue?
-Not at all.
Well that’s not useful. Is she just poking him for entertainment? She still hasn’t moved at all beyond basic shows of amusement as mother and son make plans to get her to the station and the Charbis daughter in law is putting on a clearly fake show of protesting having the woman be brought into the hive.
A hand falls onto his shoulder and he jumps in his seat a little before turning to see a smiling, but old and withered face. “Can I help you?”
“I was just wondering if I could make use of the communication relays next. As entertaining as the last few months were, I do think I should give a proper warning to my approach. If only to see how the boy responds.”
“Do you think he will respond poorly?”
“Only if he’s changed far more than I’d expect. But who knows? The mystery is half the fun of life now, isn’t it?” The elderly man says. Observer Wu considers for a few moments. This man had broken into his personal office without setting off an alarm, without alerting the guards and all the while needing a cane and with his joints audibly creaking.
“If you tell me how you broke in Mister Koga, then I think I can accommodate you.”
“Oh that? Easy enough, follow me lad, I’ll show you where you need a few more eyes. Or lasers! Lasers are always fun. Not as much as a guard dog, but having a poor inu in the vents is just cruel no matter how much you dislike chihuahuas.”
“That was rather specific.”
“I was suppose it was wasn’t it? Anyways, this way young man.”
~First~ Last

Me 40m have wanted to kill myself since I was a little kid. Never felt like anyone loved me… didn’t really feel like my parents loved me they both vastly prefer their other kid from their other marriages much more than me. I was always just kind of in the way, wanting any attention, and just cried it out I guess. Get through school, somehow didn’t kms then. Changed schools too many times never had lasting friends, still felt like I was just used and tolerated by everyone in my life anyways.
More time, out of school, get married to my wife and have my son. The years were fine I thought, I thought we were living how normal people do, ups and downs. 15 years in, my wife flips on me, lies to my face day after day, acted like a totally different person, cheats on me multiple times, used me for money, and we get a divorce. It was terrible, wish I wasn’t born to avoid how much it hurt.
I never had someone in my life to talk to, never really thought anyone gave a shit about me until her. The betrayal and her just flipping on me, 15 years of this world, fighting together against it with her. I thought we were a good team. Other people would also comment on our relationship saying it seemed healthier and better than most. I felt the same.
Suddenly treating me like an enemy out of nowhere was so confusing and painful. She had devices logged in that she forgot that enabled me to see the full extent of it all, long after she moved out I watched them. It was awful. It’s all I think about and it was so bad. The one person I thought cared about me somehow orchestrated the most painful thing that I’ve ever felt. Nobody has hurt me and betrayed me so much, not even close.
Skip a few years and we are back together. She has apologized and owned up to it all, said it wasn’t me, that she was crazy and in the worst mental health state she had ever experienced. She seems genuine and treats me better than I deserve. But that doesn’t make sense, nobody can be that cruel without motive. The damage is done. I would have already made quick use of my gun on myself but I can’t do that to my son?
It’s been like 2 years back together, I don’t really know how many years honestly because it just runs together because all I do is think and hurt. I am not even working anymore but our financial situation is fine because of her. I am so tired of hurting every day because of it. She destroyed something inside me, that we made together, and I can tell it can’t be fixed or replaced. It was unique and irreplaceable. It’s all I think about. I am permanently hurting, just feeling betrayal and gut wrenching pain every day as the details of the torture replay in my mind daily. Some days are better than others but I want 0 days remembering she destroyed our family just to have sex with a handful of randos, some while still living at home with me and our son.
It hurts so much, I consider myself to be a complete piece of garbage but I honestly can’t even blame myself for what she did. Years later I’m still so confused why she had to hurt me so much. I just want to die. I would rather everyone think I disappeared randomly off because I imagine my son and parents would deal with it better. Better they hate me than feel like I abandoned them and gave up or whatever.
If we are back together now and everything seems perfect, I would have expected the pain to fade but it isn’t. I would really like to stop. There are so many days I hide that her old bullshit isn’t all I’m thinking about. There’s no reason for me to complain about it anymore, I obviously can’t get over it. It’s just beating a dead horse and I don’t know wtf she can even do about it at this point. She’s done everything she can I think. Seems like there’s nothing to do but end it. I’m so tired of hurting and constantly trying to figure out why she did all the things she did. I feel like it’s unfair that I can’t just kill myself. Everyone says it gets better or don’t let someone have that control over you. I am tired of waking up thinking about it and then trying to sleep and being tortured all night. 40 years is enough. I wish there was a god because he would let me die in my sleep. I want to point out I love her, our son, and my parents very much. I’m just tired.

I am a parent of a troubled teen and this is my first post on Reddit. I registered for an account, just to make this post.
About three months ago, I found a post on Reddit discussing Red Hawk Academy in Littlefield, Arizona and it made me so angry I posted a response.
You can find the original posting at troubledteens Beetlejuicenewton.
Here was my written response to the original post:
"This comment is absolutely inaccurate and incorrect. My daughter has been there for months. I speak to her every week and we exchange letters throughout the week. This is the third program, she has been in and hands down the best program. You should not make accusations when you are not the parent and not actively involved in the program. I highly recommend this program. The staff are incredible and have helped my daughter tremendously. To all parents out there, call the school and ask to speak to Valerie. I have told Valerie that I will gladly speak to any parents who are interested in the school. This program has saved my daughter.) and was utterly shocked about what was being said about Red Hawk Academy."
Not understanding how social media works (in this case Reddit), I did not know that one's opinion can be removed from a site if the comment is contrary to the original post.
After posting this comment, I received an email from Reddit that my post had been removed and I was banned from the conversation. It took me awhile to calm down, but now I am in a place where I create a thoughtful post discussing my life with a troubled daughter and our experience with RHA.
Unlike the troubledteens Beetlejuicenewton post, I will not ban individuals who disagree with me.
This is my story...
In 2020, I started to notice a difference in my daughter who was 13 years old. I started to see a shift in her behavior. She was being inappropriate while on the internet, hanging out with troubled kids, and being very unkind to her family members. She started to lie, which turned into chronic lying. She started to get mad and hit her head into the wall. She never hit her head hard enough to receive a concussion, but it did get our attention. One day, I sat her down to discuss her behavior and took her phone. When I opened the phone, she had a screensaver that was a short clip of 2 toddlers being hit by a car. When I asked her why she had this as her screensaver, she said she thought it was funny.
Fast forward a couple of months....she was in therapy that was completely useless. She managed to make a handful of the therapist cry or get really upset. My daughter seemed to find humor in upsetting others. Her lack of empathy was beyond scary. She continued to hit her head into the wall every time she was upset. She then threatened to hurt herself, but it seemed to be more of a threat than anything else.
Fast forward three years...from the age of 15 to 16....she tried to "kill" herself twice (actually didn't really hurt herself, but it did get her into the hospital), hospital dependent (always wanted to be admitted to the hospital), suspended from school for inappropriate behavior (my daughter and her boyfriend were making out at lunch with hands down each others' pants), shoplifted (she shoplifted back-to-back days and took her little brother with her to provide cover), unprotected sex (I only found out because she thought she was pregnant), lying all of the time (she forgot how to tell the truth), cutting herself and still hitting her head into the wall, treated her little brother like crap (he would come to me crying, and tell me that he just wanted a "normal" sister), experimented with drugs (she only told me because she was feeling off and was scared), allowed strangers on the internet watch her sleep)....the list goes on and on.
This all happened within the timespan of 1 year! She was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, and borderline personality disorder. (For parents with daughters who have been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, there is a great book I found on Amazon - When you Daughter has BPD: Essential Skills to Help Families Manage Borderline Personality Disorder by Daniel S. Lobel, PhD.)
Our family finally hit the breaking point. My husband and I were fighting all of the time, my son was so upset about his sister's behavior, and I was on the verge of having a breakdown. I cried all of the time and was so very sad about what was happening to my daughter.
We decided that we needed to send her some place. We could not manage her and she needed more help than we could provide. We sent her to a wilderness camp in Utah that came highly recommended by our therapist. I was scared to send her there, but I did not know what else to do. During her time at the wilderness camp, we had a neuropsychological assessment conducted, which resulted in an autism diagnosis. While she was slightly on the spectrum, it was clear that her behavior was driven by her borderline personality disorder. Within 5 weeks at the facility, we were advised that she was not a good fit for the program and we needed to find a therapeutic boarding school for her.
The wilderness program recommended a therapeutic boarding school in Oregon. We enrolled her in this program. She was a hot mess...she would not get out of bed and refused to go to school. She starting hitting her head into the wall (again), which the staff would not stop because the facility was a "no touch" facility, and the staff would just attempt to "redirect" her. She would punch and kick walls. Within 4 weeks of being at the school, the school called us and told us that we needed to immediately come pick her up because she was threatening to harm the staff members.
We felt desperate and full of despair. We did not know where to turn. We found the one and only program that has helped her....RED HAWK ACADEMY.
I initially called and spoke to Valerie. She and her husband, Sonny, own the school. Instantly, I felt heard and understood. During that initial conversation it came up that the school had received a reputation (not at the school's request) as the school that would take the girls that were kicked out of other programs. When I was filling out the paperwork (which is required for all programs), I got nervous because I had to sign a form that provided RHA with temporary guardianship. I prayed that this would not backfire on me. Unlike the other schools, RHA could restrain the girls when absolutely necessary. People instantly make accusations when the word "restraint" is involved in programs. What people do not understand, and unless you are in the unfortunate situation where you have a kid like my daughter, programs that restrain are absolutely essential. My daughter continually hurts herself and I need someone to stop her.
We dropped my daughter off at the school and hoped (with all of the hope we had left), that RHA would help our daughter. Programs, like RHA, are designed to help troubled kids. By no means, is this a vacation for your daughter or a break from the real world. My daughter tried everything she could to get kicked out of the program. She went so far as to orchestrate a fight with another student so they could both be kicked out. Unfortunately for her (and fortunately for us), she had consequences none of which involved removal from the school.
I have been so scared that we could not find help for her and that she would end up on the street when she turns 18 and most likely would end up homeless, uneducated, and in prison.
My daughter has been at RHA for 6 months and she is now at the point where therapy can begin. She has been so combative and defiant that it took 6 months for her to realize that she was not going anywhere and the only way she would leave the school was to complete the program.
While there have been good and many bad days, I am finally seeing a version of my sweet daughter. The daughter who used to hold my hand and tell me she loved me. For parents who are struggling, know that there are parents who understand your pain, understand the feeling of being out control, and understand how you become unsure of yourself (and your parenting skills). Just remember that you can change the trajectory of your daughter's life by getting her the help she needs. Welcome the opportunity to send her to a therapeutic school, like RHA, where she can get the helps she needs.
Thank you for reading this ridiculously long post, and I hope you can find some peace in knowing that are safe, supportive programs that can help your daughter!
I am going to write another post that specifically discusses RHA. Feel free to reach out if you have any questions.
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Hi, here's some of my answers to questionnaires given to me (i cant post the questions sorry)
This is from the attitudinal psyche typing post i made
https://www.reddit.com/attitudinalpsyche/comments/1cqxzm6/comment/l405c2k/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
The good things in life for me is any knowledge worth knowing, money, or financial value. Sometimes miracles happen, but its no excuse to be waiting on one forever. Coincidences in my life happen too often – I do have a particular interest in the intuitive i.e. scenarios exactly happening in real life before they happen. I can wait for miracles, but whilst I’m doing that, I will try and create them myself. I like learning other perspectives (so long as the other party presents their ideas in a justifiable, well-mannered response), I like learning in academics, so I try to work on that.
I have no control on the bad things in life – although I can be insecure about society’s views upon me, I remind myself that it doesn’t matter, I remind myself of dreams and goals I want to achieve for myself and the future, and hold on for as long as I can. Bad things in life come and go, but there’s no point in wallowing in emotion
Emotions is weird for me – I typically don’t want to have to do with anything emotions-based because it will cloud my problem-solving skills, or my future goals. Biases that impede my judgement could be that I may not care about morales, so I would usually side the majority opinion just to be left alone. It never works for some reason.
I’m very ambitious when it comes to life – I try to refrain from showing it, because I’m afraid others will be ahead. I compare myself to a lot of people to see how well I’m performing, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to ask about someone’s achievements, because I don’t find it humble. If people and obstacles are in my way, I evaluate the roadblock – if its something small (typically it is), I adapt/don’t care. If its big – I just feel melancholy, and in rare cases, confront the roadblock. It is most definitely okay to acquire essential needs by denying them to someone else. I want to be financially secure, have practical knowledge/knowledge for the sake of it, and try to be an all-rounded smart person
I’m pretty simple – all I ask is to be left alone, or to not be trivial and have some respect. People are inherently bad – am I going to do anything about it? No. I can’t be bothered, and I’d rather focus on myself. My duty is to graduate and leave my past behind. I’m not very close to family, or friends because I may not ever see them again. I guess parents owe anything to their child because it’s universal,.
introverted most of the time. I hate talking because I don’t care. Extroverted when it’s something that is interesting to me or benefits me. I feel alive by trying to get all my work done as soon as possible so I can enjoy having a fun time with nothing due.
I don’t need to fit in, but I don’t need to stand out. Social status is important in the sense that it will make me be left alone. Being disconnected doesn’t scare me – if I lost my family, I would accept that death happens by chance or whatever. I am definitely not ‘emo.’
Getting into a school, and realizing it wasn’t as great as you thought it was. the cohort sucks and I do have ideas to prevent the future generations to be awful, but I cannot be bothered sharing them because it’s their fault. people. people I expected more from – to be at least publicly decent, or in any way, contributing to society. no matter how sad it is to me, I can’t do anything about it, so I try to avoid the controversy triggers

Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. I grew up as a military brat, so my childhood memories are a blur of packing, unpacking, and getting settled. It had been seven years since we arrived, and nothing but the grace of God would make me move again. A few years ago, my father got orders to station at a base in the middle of the Mohave. I was only seventeen then, but after a few dozen screaming matches, I decided to strike out on my own a little early. I got a part-time job at the cafe, which was enough to rent a little run-down shack a couple of blocks from downtown. As far as I was concerned, I was living the dream—serving coffee a few hours a week and spending the rest of my time hanging out with friends, listening to music, and drinking.
That particular morning started the same as any other. I woke up around noon with a text from Mark to meet me at the cafe. Took me about two hours to get up and head over. The sun had just begun its descent as I pushed the door to the cafe open, the bell above tinkling softly. The sound bothered me a little bit, but I couldn’t tell why. It seemed to ring a little louder than I was expecting, and gave me this strange drilling sensation inside my head.
I ignored the feeling as the smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries washed over me. I saw Mark and Jamie already sat at our usual spot. Mark looked up as I approached, a grin spreading across his face. "Hey, Alex. Sarah should be here soon."
“So what's on the docket today?” I asked as I sat down, stealing a bear claw off Jamie's plate and taking a large bite before he had the chance to protest.
Mark’s excitement was almost palpable. He was always the one with the big ideas and crazy schemes, which I honestly appreciated. They got us into trouble more often than not, but it beat day drinking in the Walmart parking lot like everyone else our age.
"Alright, check this out," Mark said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I was talking to my cousin who works for the county. He told me about this old, abandoned food processing factory just outside of town. They used to can peaches there."
I gave him a skeptical look. "That’s your idea? Old, canned peaches?"
"No, idiot," he scoffed. "They left behind a ton of nitrates and phosphates. I’ve been doing some reading, and we can use them to make fireworks. I was up all night figuring it out and putting these together." He subtly opened his backpack to reveal at least a dozen PVC pipes fitted on both ends.
"Now that's what I’m talking about," I said, grinning.
Sarah walked in, catching the tail end of our conversation. "Sorry I’m late, I had a breakout and had to stop by the pharmacy. Upped my allergy meds. I fucking hate pollen," she said as I scooted over to make room for her on the bench.
"Is there anything you aren't allergic to?" I laughed.
She rolled her eyes, ignoring my question. "So, what's the plan for today?"
Mark, Jamie and I exchanged cheeky glances. "Well," I started, "let’s just hope you’re not allergic to peaches."
We finally managed to pry the side door of the factory off, which broke free from the hinges and smashed against the floor. Stepping inside, the air was thick and rancid as we bounced the beams of our flashlights around the packaging floor.
"We should split up," Mark suggested. "Alex, you and Sarah check out the storage rooms for the chemicals. Jamie and I will find the control room and see if we can get the power back on."
All of us nodded as we went our separate ways. Sarah and I wandered down the dark hallways, kicking open doors and looking for anything that looked vaguely like chemicals. The corridors were dark and damp, with black mold snaking along the walls like veins.
The first few rooms we checked were empty, filled only with dust and the remnants of long-abandoned equipment. Each door creaked as we pushed it open, revealing more decay and desolation.
As we moved further down the hallway, the mold seemed to become more aggressive, spreading in thick, dark patches along the walls and floors. The air grew heavier, making it harder to breathe. We kicked open another door, our flashlights revealing more of the same—nothing useful.
"This place is a bust," Sarah muttered,
"Let's keep looking," I replied, though I was starting to feel the same way. "There has to be something."
We continued down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the silence. As we approached the end of the hall, something caught my eye. One door stood out, covered in black, creeping mold that seemed to pulse and writhe. Tendrils of fungus snaked out from the edges, reaching out into the hallway.
"Sarah, look at this," I said.
She turned to see what I was pointing at and her eyes widened. "That’s... different."
We approached the door cautiously as the tendrils moved and swayed.
With a deep breath, we each grabbed one side of the door and pulled. It resisted for a moment before giving way, the mold snapping and tearing as we forced it open. The smell that hit us was overpowering, a mix of rot and decay that made my eyes water.
Inside, our flashlights revealed a horrifying sight. At the back of the room sat several pallets with dozens of boxes of peaches each. But it was what grew from these boxes that will haunt my nightmares till my dying day.
The entire back wall was consumed by a towering fungal mass. Thick, fleshy stalks jutted out from the base, climbing nearly to the ceiling. The surface of the fungus glistened with a slimy, wet sheen, appearing almost like rotting flesh under our flashlight beams. Each stalk was covered in a mottled, sickly green and yellow hue, with patches of black mold that seemed to pulse in the dim light.
Interwoven within this horrific sight were bulbous growths, each one throbbing rhythmically, as if with a heartbeat of its own. They resembled obscene, overgrown tumors, ready to burst at the slightest touch. Long, sinewy tendrils extended from the main mass, creeping over the boxes and along the floor like the fingers of some malevolent creature, seeking out any life to ensnare.
The tendrils near the door twitched, slowly inching their way toward us as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores, glimmering in the light like tiny stars, each one a potential harbinger of decay and death.
"Oh my god," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of our own breathing. "What is that thing?"
We stood there, frozen in shock and disgust, before I slammed the door shut.
"Let's get the hell out of here," I said.
We hurried back down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. The lights in the facility flickered on, casting a blinding white light. I heard a bubbling, groaning noise emanate from behind the fungal door, sending a wave of nausea through my body.
We met back up with Mark and Jamie in the main area and quickly told them what we saw.
"Yo, that sounds sick," Jamie exclaimed. "We should blow it up. I found the chemicals in the control room and these bad boys are ready to go," he said, holding up a pipe bomb.
"Yeah," Mark agreed, his eyes alight with excitement. "We'd be doing the world a favor, getting rid of that thing."
Sarah shook her head, her face pale. "No way. I'm not doing this. That thing... It's not normal. We need to get out of here and call someone who knows what they're doing."
Jamie frowned. "Come on, Sarah. Don't be a buzzkill. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to do something epic."
"Epic?" Sarah snapped. "That thing is dangerous. We don't know what we're dealing with. I'm not risking my life for some stupid joke."
Mark stepped in with a grin. "Alright, let's all calm down. If you’re scared you can just let the men handle it.”
Sarah crossed her arms. "Fine, but I'm staying here."
"Suit yourself," Jamie said, shrugging. "But we're not leaving without taking care of that thing."
"Alright, let's do this," Mark said, looking at Jamie and me. "We'll be quick. Sarah, stay here and keep an eye out.”
The hallway looked completely different in the fluorescent lighting. I could see now that each vein of fungus emanated from that single door, like a spiral portal threatening to suck us in.
"Let's make this quick," I whispered, glancing back at Jamie and Mark. "We light the bomb, throw it in, and get the hell out of here."
Jamie nodded, holding the pipe bomb tightly in his hand. "Ready when you are."
We reached the door, and the tendrils of fungus seemed even more aggressive, writhing and pulsing as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores.
"On three," I whispered, gripping the edge of the door. "One... two... three."
We yanked the door open, the mold snapping and tearing as it gave way. The smell of rot and decay hit us again, making my eyes water. The monstrous fungal mass loomed before us, its bulbous growths throbbing rhythmically.
Jamie lit the fuse and threw the bomb as hard as he could inside. It struck one of the orbs, which burst, shooting a fine white mist into the air.
"Run!" I shouted, slamming the door shut. We turned and sprinted down the hallway. The explosion sounded behind us, the shockwave lifting me off my feet and sending me tumbling to the ground.
Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. My parents were in the army, so we moved a lot, but now I'm staying put. I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small headache.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a doughnut off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Are YOU guys feeling ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a maroon off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Not really. Are YOU guys feeling Ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a piercing migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a bagel off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“What's going on?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m scared.”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “It’s fine, Sarah. Just take a seat,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a splitting migraine.
As I slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie, I noticed Sarah outside, fixated on a bird suspended in mid-flight. I went out to see her.
"Are you seeing this?" she asked, her voice tinged with astonishment.
"Yeah," I replied nonchalantly. "That happens all the time. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"What the hell do you mean, 'Am I feeling okay?'!" she screamed. "That bird is frozen mid-air, and you don't think anything weird is going on?"
Her yelling took me aback. I didn't understand her alarm, so I shrugged it off and joined Mark inside. As we began planning our nightly excursion to the peach factory, Sarah burst through the door, screaming, then vanished in a puff of smoke.
"That's odd," I mused, my brow furrowed in confusion before we shrugged it off and resumed our scheming.
The day after, I met Mark again at the cafe. This rhythm had become our existence: meetings by day, adventures by night at the old peach plant. That evening followed the familiar pattern; we reveled in the thrill of hurling pipe bombs into that small enclosed room.
This routine had completely engulfed our lives. Day after day at the cafe, night after night at the factory—it seemed as though this cycle was all we had ever known. Reflecting on it, I couldn't remember any other way of life.
However, one thing increasingly disturbed me—the ringing of the doorbell at the cafe's entrance. Each time I entered, the sound seemed sharper, more grating. Focusing on it brought a searing pain to my head, like a needle drilling through my skull. Yet, despite the agony, I found myself obsessing over it, the sound gnawing at the edges of my sanity.
One day, driven to the brink by this incessant ringing, I decided to confront it head-on. I stood by the door, letting the bell chime repeatedly. Each ring sliced through my mind, but I persisted, sweat beading on my forehead, teeth clenched in torment.
As the pain crescendoed, reality shattered. I woke to the blaring of a fire alarm, not the quaint doorbell I had imagined. The cafe was engulfed in chaos. The hallway was consumed by a sprawling fungal mass, its tendrils creeping along the walls.
In the dim, flickering light, I saw Jamie, or what was left of him. Half of his skull was missing, the fungus attached grotesquely to his exposed brain, pulsating with each eerie beat of his fading heart. Mark was there too, seemingly unharmed physically, but trapped in a delusion, his eyes glazed over, a smile playing on his lips as the fungus encased him.
Sarah lay collapsed by the fire alarm, her hand still on the lever. She had managed to pull it before succumbing to the spores that now clung to her body.
The tendrils that had enveloped me snapped violently, each break releasing a sickening crack that echoed through the eerie silence of the hallway. An outline of my body remained imprinted in the fungal mass, a mold from which I had desperately broken free.
Gritting my teeth against the pain and horror, I scrambled to Mark and Sarah. Mark was less entangled, lost in his fungal-induced stupor. I grabbed him under the arms, his body limp but alive, and dragged him across the floor. The fungus resisted, stretching like sinew before tearing away from him with wet, ripping sounds.
Sarah was heavier, her body weakened but still fighting. I clasped her wrists, pulling with all my strength. The fungus clung to her, tendrils winding up her arms like ivy. With a final, determined yank, the last of the tendrils snapped, freeing her. We left behind fragments of the monstrous growth clinging to her clothes.
Together, we staggered out into the night air, away from the suffocating enclosure. The cool air hit our faces, harsh yet cleansing. Behind us, the fire alarm continued to blare into the night. I fumbled with my phone, hands shaking, to dial the emergency number. The call went through, and within minutes, the sound of sirens cut through the stillness of the night, growing louder as help approached.
The next few days were a blur. I remember fading in and out of consciousness as nurses pumped antifungals directly into my IV, their faces blurring into the sterile environment. Once we were somewhat cognizant, the police wanted answers. One by one, we were interviewed, but we gave them nothing. I still don’t know what the exact penalty is for manufacturing explosives and using them to destroy a building, but I’m guessing it’s not community service. Jamie was still missing, and they hadn’t found any sign of him or his body. I tried to hide my tears as I knew he was already long gone.
After a few weeks, I was finally cleared for visitors and got to see Sarah again. She told me that after the explosion, she ran but couldn’t leave us behind. She came back, only to see us being consumed by the fungus. Try as she might, she wasn’t able to free us as she felt the oppressive spores take her under. She fought back and managed to pull the fire alarm before succumbing again. The doctors told her that her allergy medication gave her some resistance to the fungus; otherwise, she might have been a goner.
Mark was never the same. We never talked about what happened, and after trying once and him flipping out, I figured it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. That summer, he moved to upstate New York to work in his dad’s business. I haven’t seen him since. That fall, Sarah started college at Savannah State. I still call her every now and again, but it’s not like it used to be.
Despite all that happened, I’m not moving again. I’m happy here, and if it’s up to me, I’ll die in this little town. I still work at the cafe, as a manager now. On weekends, I come in and just sit at the booth we all used to share.
I still think about Jamie from time to time. I wonder if he's dead or still stuck in his delusion, picturing the four of us sitting at our table, talking, laughing, and passing the time. Sometimes, when the cafe is empty and the light is just right, I can almost see him there, his smile frozen in that moment before everything went wrong.
The cafe grows quieter each day, the hum of life fading into an eerie stillness. My skin feels different, as if the air itself whispers secrets I can't quite grasp. The itching that started as a minor annoyance has intensified, becoming a constant torment. I scratch at lesions that have begun to form on my arms and chest, red and raw, with patches of green spreading beneath the surface. I’ve started to wear long sleeves to cover my arms and a mask to hide my purpling lips.
Some nights, when closing, as I sit alone in the dim light of the cafe, the itching becomes unbearable. I claw at the lesions, feeling a dampness beneath my skin. Sometimes, when I cough, I could swear I see tiny spores hanging in the air, reminiscent of the bursting nodules growing on the stalks of the monster.
Occasionally, I hear the bell ring and the door open, but no one is there. I look outside into the empty night and see nothing. This went on for weeks, becoming more frequent. But one night, the door opened, and I saw Jamie standing there, the picture of health. I went to embrace him and noticed my lesions were gone too. It was almost as if we had never gone to the peach factory. It was suddenly morning, and the light shone through the cafe. For the first time in forever, we were happy. We talked about nothing, passing the time.
After what felt like hours, he told me it was time to go. But his mouth wasn’t moving—I felt like I could read his thoughts, and he could read mine. We stood up as I took one last look at the cafe and headed off with him, back to the peach factory.
As we walked, a strange calmness settled over me. I remember feeling that I wanted to ask if he had talked to Mark or Sarah, and wondered how they were doing. But deep down, somehow, I could feel their presence and I knew they were doing just fine. The sun was bright, the air crisp. The itching had vanished completely, replaced by an inexplicable craving for the sweetness of ripe peaches. Jamie and I shared a silent understanding, a bond deeper than any words could convey.
The factory loomed ahead, its doors wide open as if inviting us in. The familiar scent of peaches and something else—something earthy and ancient—filled the air. We stepped inside, side by side, feeling at home for the first time in ages.
The last thing I remember before the darkness took over was the feeling of the soft, warm peach flesh in my hand, and Jamie’s voice in my head saying, "Welcome home."