Nursing home admissions check off sheet

TL;DR: Read my last Vocation theory then watch RageGaming’s newest DD2 video at 9:40 to the end, fucker bootlegged my whole post
So i just got home from work, watch some youtube, come across RageGamingVideos newest vid from like 1 hour ago as of now “Dragons Dogma 2 - This is HUGE - New DLC Islands, New Vocation, Expansion Hint & More!”
I sit back, watch, it’s fairly interesting with some new hints and such i’d not heard of or noticed. then he gets to the vocation section.
i have been theorizing about vocations on here since it started, held onto my copium after we had 10 confirmed and everything, i’m very interested in the pattern and the different possible play styles so i enjoy looking for things to analyze, but i also don’t like to talk about anything unless there’s SOMETHING substantial about it.
recently i posted another, i wanted to see if anything could be surmised by looking through and analyzing the armor and descriptions for everything that’s unique/mostly unique to trickster, and there was a lot to acknowledge so i wrote it out with some connective tissue from my own perspective, hoping to start a conversation about my findings.
after checking just now, my post was 10 days ago “Trickster Armor Analysis for DLC Vocation Hints”. Before i posted it, I looked up key terms in the sub that i’d used in my post, to see if anyone else had been talking about it, and make sure i wasn’t wasting my time writing it all down. One of those terms was Shaman. There have been about 3 posts in the time frame of DD2 pre-release —> now that even mention a shaman. In the RageGaming video, the guy says “a lot of people like the idea of a shamanistic-esque vocation…”
no they don’t. nobody is talking about that. i am literally the first and last person to bring up the idea since release.
so i started to pay some closer attention.
he goes on to say “you also have things that aren’t super related but, have you ever wondered why the actual punching…seems to be so developed?”
i note this bc that is a bonkers transition with no analysis or reasoning, it doesn’t make sense. to just bring up the monk topic while acknowledging that it’s “not super related”. also, the most upvoted comment on my post mentions the very same thing. seems like he just started talking about the next thing he wanted to talk about, in order to ensure he could reach the same conclusion.
“one of the things most requested in Dragons Dogma, for the sequel, was a punchy based vocation”
eh. one of the things a lot of fans wanted was a monk. not “a punchy based vocation”, a monk specifically bc we know we were supposed to have one in the first game. he’s so coy about saying “monk” the whole time he’s in this section
an excerpt from his video
“so what if trickster, with it’s flowing dance kind of, almost martial arts-esque movements, but it still uses the spirit magick with the smoke and stuff, is a hybrid vocation of shaman and, let’s say, you know, monk, is the stereotypical one for punching…”
an excerpt from my post from 10 days ago with 12 upvotes and 2 comments
“it’s entirely possible that trickster is made up of monk+shaman…”
……bruh……..i mean, if this was actually something people were talking about i’d probably ignore it, but nobody has said anything about a shaman aside from me since before release, and my post comes out to shaman+monk being one of the possibilities that makes trickster. it was 10 days ago. and now suddenly it’s all half assed and regurgitated on this clickbait youtube video, and you can’t even send people to reddit to discuss for themselves?
it feels like he wanted to take and leave certain things from my post to maintain the separation should it end up accurate or inaccurate. if i’m correct, then the 2.8k people who saw his video as of now are gonna say “RageGaming predicted this!!”, and if i’m wrong, then he can easily say “damn, the community sure can be crazy sometimes” i mean he even acts like the whole concept is off the deep end at the end of the video
“this is, of course, you know, going way off the deep end. deeper than the rivage elder setting out to sea. but it is fun to speculate and think about theses things, and it’s not, i would say, completely insane”
which, opinion, is also crazy cause it’s not that the stuff i found isn’t suggestive of shamans and/or monks, it definitely is (“Monkish Gaiters” are certainly more suggestive of “Monk” than they are of “Trickster”), it’s simply that whenever anyone talked about vocation potential for about 2 months on this app they were called schizophrenic, so he’s gotta add that to let folks know “i also think they’re completely insane most of the time, but not this one, unless it’s wrong of course!”
and a part of me wants to be like, “that’s kinda cool. he’s really just bringing attention to my idea, maybe folks will talk about it” but then he follows up with
“but that’s MY current up to date thoughts on DLC, expansions, where it stands…”
so i gotta at least call the dude out. there’s no way you just came to the exact same conclusion as me, 10 days ago, with a fraction of the evidence and nothing to incite you to go down that path, bc no one but me is talking about it.
hopefully someone sees this, what should i do? i want to comment on his video and link my thread with no other words, will that even do anything? at first i was like “maybe” but now that i’ve looked at it for a bit, nah, this fucker definitely just ripped off my whole post.

Last month, I had strep and didn't know it for 5 days. Throat was barely sore and it felt like allergies. Day 5 my right knee swells up to a level I couldn't believe. I could barely walk on it. Went to urgent care and they told me it was likely just a side effect of the strep. They put me on prednisone and sent me on my way. 3 days later, it's even worse. I go back to urgent care and after checking me out, strongly suggested I go to the ER. So I did. The ER was very concerned about my knee because it visibly looked very bad. They took some synovial fluid out to test it and the infectious disease doctor said it was on its way to sepsis. The next morning, I get an emergency washout surgery. The next 3 days are hell, I was in so much pain. I was put on IV antibiotics daily for a month after I went home with a PICC line. It had been a month and the healing is almost over from the surgery, but my knee is still swollen(not surprised, I had it drained 2 weeks ago) and it hurts 24/7. I finally got a rheumatoid appt, but it isn't until mid-June. I called around and it is the earliest appt I can get. Luckily, my primary is willing to keep giving me the mobic that I take daily. And I can get on prednisone again if I need to. I just finished a round of it though. My primary is also willing to drain my knee as needed.
How do you deal with the depression that comes ands goes from the nonstop pain? Most days I'm okay memtally, I've started a new job that I love, but I'm starting to dread weekends and days I have off, because there isn't much to keep my mind of the pain and stiffness. I do have my name in for a cancelation at the rheumatoid doctor, but I'm just going to assume I'm not going until mid-June. I just am feeling mopey this weekend and angry. I just want a day where pain doesn't rule my life.

i made a post yesterday asking about seizures related to endo and i went to a free standing urgent care
i had a ct done and they did bloodwork/urine test and it was negative for any growths (they didnt check electric activity in my brain) or any severely off balanced bloodwork.
they continuously asked me if i was anxious or if i was diagnosed with anxiety (yes to both.) i told them i used to take lexapro because they were asking about mental state. the doctor comes in for 5 minutes and asks "whats your biggest fear ??" and im shocked for a moment because ... what ???
they come back and run tests and the phlebotomist and the ct doctor see me convulse. they discharge me and the assistant or nurse or something yanks the iv out and it hurts sooo bad.
in 2022 i had a horrible side pain and i went to that urgent care constantly and they found nothing because they never checked my pelvic region-- its almost a 99% chance that its endometriosis but no one listens when i say my side hurts and my periods feel like they may kill me.
i went to popeyes today with my boyfriend and had more convulsions/seizures IN the restaurant. evergone around me is telling me i cant be alone now because i may get hurt or seize.
when i was discharged the doctors told me "come back if you convulse, here's how anxiety presents in women!! make sure to eat healthy!!"
i dont know if this is wrong to talk about here sonce it isnt endo related but im so frustrated that the closest urgent care doesn't do anything. i either have to suffer and have useless tests that explain nothing or i have to be 200k into debt at the age of 18 ... literally what the fuck.
when i had my side pain tbey told me it's psychosomatic and dismissed me AGAIN.
i know how i work when im anxious or bored or stressed or nervous and i promise its not related to any of that. i so so SO badly wish people took womens health more seriously and i wish i didnt have to go into debt just to get a diagnosis.

How old are you? What's your gender? Give us a general description of yourself.
-I am a 30-year-old biological female, mentally male most of the time.
• Is there a medical diagnosis that may impact your mental stability somehow?
-I don't think so. I'm relatively mentally stable, I think.
• Describe your upbringing. Did it have any kind of religious or structured influence? How did you respond to it?
-My upbringing was relatively boring. I have my parents and my two younger sisters (28 and 22). I think that my parents were irresponsible for wanting to have children for their reasons. My parents both broke out of religious households and my sisters and I (have one wish before we die and it may sound strange as if our minds are deranged) grew up sans religion. (Extra credit points if you get the reference.)
• What do you do as a job or as a career (if you have one)? Do you like it? Why or why not?
-I am employed as a veterinary assistant by my veterinarian mother. Yay, nepotism. I don't really enjoy my job, but I get paid fairly well for the hours I put in. I enjoy working more when it's just me and the vet because then I have way more control over everything than when the other assistant(s) and the receptionist are at the clinic. When it's just me and the veterinarian, I can get the vet and her patient prepared and in surgery, set up for all of the appointments and other surgeries during the day, prepare vaccine certificates, take phone calls and assist clients, get the X-ray table ready, do any bloodwork/urinalysis for patients done, schedule appointments, and overall get everything done how I want to get it done right then.
• If you had to spend an entire weekend by yourself, how would you feel? Would you feel lonely or refreshed?
-I could probably spend eons by myself and not get sad or lonely. I can have my surroundings be as quiet as I want them.
• What kinds of activities do you prefer? Do you like, and are you good at sports? Do you enjoy any other outdoor or indoor activities?
-I'm not really good at sports, especially team sports. I do like archery, cycling, hiking, weightlifting, kettlebell exercises, weight drafting/pulling and can pull my 1.5 ton car on good days.
• How curious are you? Do you have more ideas then you can execute? What are your curiosities about? What are your ideas about - is it environmental or conceptual, and can you please elaborate?
-First of all, it's *than. I would say that I am pretty curious, I think. I don't really know about executing ideas. I tend to hyperfocus on one thing, if this is what the question is asking. Most my "ideas" are storylines in my head and I have a couple of those. Other more realistic (at least I think they're realistic) ideas are more based on the future of humanity and future civilizations and other crap like that.
• Would you enjoy taking on a leadership position? Do you think you would be good at it? What would your leadership style be?
-I do not want to take on a leadership role. I think if I had someone else to tell what to do who would do what I say would be the best way that I could be a leader.
• Are you coordinated? Why do you feel as if you are or are not? Do you enjoy working with your hands in some form? Describe your activity?
-Coordinated as in calculated or not clumsy? Well, I enjoy gardening, home improvement, and all of the physical things I said about the sports question.
• Are you artistic? If yes, describe your art? If you are not particular artistic but can appreciate art please likewise describe what forums of art you enjoy. Please explain your answer.
-I am pretty artistic, but not the most. I draw mostly tangible things like dogs, cats, horses, and humans. I also like drawing dragons and aliens and other crap. I would just say that animals and outside scenery are the main focus of my drawing. I also draw some surreal and kaleidoscope-esque things and other things. I am not very good with clay, but I like making tiny clay sculptures. I also like making music. I play a dozen different instruments and use my ability to read music (western notation and tablature) to play with modes, transpose, transcribe, etc my sheet music from lessons and schools in between each instrument. It's a sort of my own little game with my own rules for me. I can do this by ear, but it's more fun and more challenging with actually mapping things out. I also incorporate basic algebra and the FOIL method into my music theory game rules. I don't know if that made sense.
• What's your opinion about the past, present, and future? How do you deal with them?
-I think we can learn from the past, but it's not something to get hung up on. Wars, genocides, mass extinctions, and more efficient ways of life (on a softer note) are something to consider. I think it's kind of stupid when parents don't understand that their child is an adult and has changed while they won't let the past go, or whatever. For the present, it's just here. I just go along with whatever is thrown my way whether I can take it or not in the end. For the future? I'm not sure. I don't want to sound contradictory to what I said about the present, but while the present is here and is... here, I like to think about what I can be doing in the future. I will reach my 80lb weight loss goal in 1 year, for one example. I will have this sort of "devil on the deep blue sea behind me" moment (another reference of The Police) if I can just figure out how to break those chains that bind me here.
• How do you act when others request your help to do something (anything)? If you would decide to help them, why would you do so?
-If it's something that I can realistically and physically help them with, then I will help them. If it's something isn't detrimental to me, I don't see why not. If I can't help them with something, then I will point them to something or someone who can.
• Do you need logical consistency in your life?
-Yes.
• How important is efficiency and productivity to you?
-It is very important. I think it should be important to everyone. Like I said in an earlier question, I like to take charge of the productivity because then I know it will get done correctly even if it's not done how someone would like it done.
• Do you control others, even if indirectly? How and why do you do that?
-Yes and yes. As said earlier, I get everything in my external surroundings prepared exactly how I think it should be done and everyone else (whether coworker or client, at least in the workspace) just follow with what I already have set up. Other than at work, I don't really interact with other people all that much, so I just have control over people at work.
• What are your hobbies? Why do you like them?
-My hobbies are the exercise things and "art" things that I mentioned earlier along with reading books. I enjoy them because they are essentially an escape from reality as well as that I make a little money from taking drawing commissions for art roleplay games, so there's something to that. The exercise and music are more for helping my mind and body. I can come home to walk on my treadmill for an hour, do some deadlifts, and then play bass a little bit once I have exerted myself, for a small example.
• What is your learning style? What kind of learning environments do you struggle with most? Why do you like/struggle with these learning styles? Do you prefer classes involving memorization, logic, creativity, or your physical senses?
-I could have done better in school with how smart I was (my teachers would pull me out of class and would nag me about my grades). I had to have paras in some classes for some reason, but they and the teachers both sucked at explaining things to me in ways that I would understand. I think my science and band classes had the highest grades. I was bad at math and with understanding what my English literature and writing teachers were trying to teach me. TLDR for this is that I can't learn things on other people's terms. For school in specific, if I had dropped out and learned the world my way without the pressure of grades, I probably would have learned things a lot quicker. I like a lot of things now that I hated learning in school. I know that this question isn't all about school. I think logic and creativity would be most how I prefer classes. With science classes and band, I could easily use both.
• How good are you at strategizing? Do you easily break up projects into manageable tasks? Or do you have a tendency to wing projects and improvise as you go?
-This depends on the task. I have a bunch of notes that I make for myself regarding a task so that I can come back and either do it the same if it works or change it if it messed up. Usually, I start something completely new sometimes by winging it and piecing things together to what works in the most convenient way.
• What are your aspirations in life, professionally and personally?
-Well, like I said before, I'd like to lose 80 more pounds by the end of this year. I'd like a different career and to move out of the current state I live in. I'd also like to keep myself independent for the rest of my life.
• What are your fears? What makes you uncomfortable? What do you hate? Why?
-I don't really have any fears. Smalltalk and hyper people make me uncomfortable. People trying to "help" me with things I've already planned out because they think their way is better without thinking things through or explaining why their way is better annoy me. Clients who come in and tell some dumb sob story about how their dog was badly abused by its previous owner and about how sick it makes them to think about it annoy me. Do they abuse their dog? No. The dog is with them, now. They need to stop worrying about the dog's past because the only "trauma" their dog has now is its owner's negative and irrational emotions towards the past situation.
• What do the "highs" in your life look like?
-My highs are that pretty on top of the world feeling. It can be little things like getting my rent, utility bills, and car payments done on time. I also am more mentally "aggressive" if that makes sense. Usually, I keep my highs internal. I don't really know how to explain the non-sensory highs.
• What do the "lows" in your life look like?
-The lows are me being externally crabby, no motivation to do anything, naggy, eating an ungodly amount of unhealthy and savory food. I think "bitchy" is a good way to describe it.
• How attached are you to reality? Do you daydream often, or do you pay attention to what's around you? If you do daydream, are you aware of your surroundings while you do so?
-What is spatial awareness? I am aware that I am here, but I feel very detached from my body almost constantly. I can completely lose myself in whichever of my storylines I want to. I do it at work a lot where I can just autopilot my body while my brain goes to LaLa Land.
• Imagine you are alone in a blank, empty room. There is nothing for you to do and no one to talk to. What do you think about?
-If it's a blank and empty room, that sounds like prime breeding grounds to just zone out and not think about anything. If I get bored, I can revisit my internal storylines and look for something in their to either start a new storyline or go back and rewatch one of my other filed storylines. I often like to think about if I were to trade bodies with an unrelated biological cisgender male and about the differences that I would experience like what having a higher center of gravity would feel like, for one. Another thing is what a civilization would do with having to harness radiation from black holes to use as power.
• How long do you take to make an important decision? And do you change your mind once you've made it?
-This depends on the situation. If it's a pet that broke its back and has no use of any of its legs, that's an automatic euthanasia. Other times, because I have no examples right off the top of my head for this, it can probably take a while for it to mull over.
• How long do you take to process your emotions? How important are emotions in your life?
-So, everyone's emotions are valid, but they should not let them get in the way of logic. I feel pretty calm most of the time, but sometimes there will be one thing that just sets me off and then I get passive aggressive and snappy. These times are all shallow and short-lived, though.
• Do you ever catch yourself agreeing with others just to appease them and keep the conversation going? How often? Why?
-Not really. I don't like talking to people just to talk and I will tell them what I think if they ask for my opinion. If something comes up in their conversation that I can reply to, if it's something I disagree with I'll answer them so long as they will listen without interrupting my point of view. If they get hissy with me for disagreeing, then they shouldn't have asked for my opinion. This only goes for people who engage in conversation with me. I do not seek out conversation with others unless it's important information.
• Do you break rules often? Do you think authority should be challenged, or that they know better? If you do break rules, why?
-I break rules if the rule in place doesn't make sense. If the rule does make logical sense, then I'll follow it. I follow most rules at work, but sometimes I'll be extremely honest with clients and tell them things that I think they need to hear even if the vet yells at me later for it. She usually puts the receptionist and me in charge of bluntness, though, because she can't bring herself to hurt her clients' feelings. In the real world, this also depends on the rules broken because I don't want to do something against the rules (speeding, for instance) and have to fork money over for a ticket or go waste time in a court of something that could have been avoided if I had followed the rule in the first place. Authority figures depend on the person in charge. Some of them do and some of them don't. I don't know what else to say about this. I think it's pretty straightforward.

I just spent my 35th birthday with my father and stepmother. I’m his late in life baby; my half-siblings were 18 and 20 when I was born. He’s 77 now.
I live out of the country but ensure that I visit for a few days every 6-8 weeks; I am blessed to have a job that enables frequent travel.
After he retired, my father moved from the state I grew up in back to the state he’s from, and where my siblings have always resided. I remember frequent visits to their state as a child, but only one instance of either sibling visiting us in my home state. At the time, this seemed normal to me - they had minor children, and my mother, their stepmom, was a difficult and nasty woman. But, they’ve been split since I was 13, and writing this now I can’t remember a single visit of theirs after the divorce.
I recall my father drinking beer, but never remember tracking it in my childhood or teenage years. In my culture, dads drank beer - that was a given, and nothing to examine. I do remember though him getting very angry sometimes, being constantly negative, talking about himself and how he fixed THIS thing that no one else could figure out, etc I found him a struggle to be around as a young teen and felt very guilty for it.
When I was 19, my dad got prostate cancer. I moved off my college campus to live with him, to care for him after his surgery and buy his adult diapers. Between his sweetheart of a girlfriend and I, we nursed him back to health. When my father talks about this period, however, the highlight that’s mentioned is how wonderful and selfless it was for my then-40 year old brother to drive up for a single day after his surgery.
After retirement he moved to the state my siblings are in along with his girlfriend, whom he finally, thankfully, married. He lives about 40 miles away from my brother. Years passed, but my siblings didn’t visit or call. My brother would reach out, but only if he had a truck or work machinery in need of repair; he let me elderly father tow his repaired truck to his home because he “didn’t have time” to go get it. Meanwhile, not unnoticed by my dad, he spends 3 full weeks at his wife’s parents’ out of state, helping them remodel their home.
My father and his wife re-sided their house alone.
When my father’s outbuildings - and nearly home - burned down while I was out of the country, neither sibling showed.
Once, they claimed they were coming to Thanksgiving and everyone bailed last minute, leaving them with a fully cooked meal and no one at the table.
This has been the pattern for years.
My sister - at 50 - paid a once-every-three-years visit and talked about herself the whole time, announcing to them that “this is the year of ME.”
On this visit, my father told me that “for my birthday” he’s inviting them all to breakfast. I was upset - it starts a cycle of him checking his phone desperate for a text. My brother claimed he would show, but canceled while we were en route, claiming a bad gut. I scoffed and my father defended him, as he always does.
My father spent the weekend deeply upset, drinking away his feelings, refusing to admit that he is angry at my siblings for their neglect. He just pounds beer all day instead, and at night switches to a bottle of wine.
By 5pm he’s slurring, repetitive, and living in the past. Everything that comes from him travels a well-worn groove - there is no present, nothing new, and no future, just figments of the past played on repeat.
I don’t know what I’m looking at to be honest. I don’t know why my siblings are this way - did he do something unforgivable when they were young? They smile to his face, act like nothing is wrong. Can they really be so cruel?
I talk to my father about his drinking sometimes. This time, I said dad, it’s poisoning you, you know. It’s poisoning your brain and body. He gazed into the distance and said something honest, “well I’ll have to die of something…. can’t run a race car anymore.” Racing was an activity he shared briefly with my brother, and one he excelled at in his youth in the 70s. It represents a lot of things to him. But what I took from that is he knows he’s killing himself.
I am just so angry and so sad. I am sad for his loneliness, and isolation, and rejection. But I’m angry that he refuses to move forward. I’m angry that he takes my own presence for granted. I know what “busy” is - I work 14 hour days - but I am there, with him, regularly and whenever he needs me. Yet he absolves them, “well, they’re busy.” I’m sad and angry that he won’t fight for his life. That he has a wonderful wife who he could have an exciting present with, and a future, but she can’t even take him anywhere because he indulges so wantonly in hating everything. I am angry and disgusted when people stop by to visit and he can only talk about how amazing he is, alienating them with the same repetitive lines I’ve heard for years.
I don’t know what to do with all this emotion. If nothing changes he will die of liver failure, and I will have to watch the whole thing.
What a heavy weight to carry.
Thanks for listening. Any insight or advice is welcome.

I'm posting this not only to share this information that might be useful to others, but also in hopes of hearing some advice or your own personal theories on the subject. This post will be a bit long.
After having one intense dream I haven't been able to lucid dream, and I started recording any information on it in a journal in hopes of finding a way to lucid dream again. I'll share my dream below, as well as some journal entries that I found important, including posts and comments from reddit and other online forums I thought were relevant.
I've been an avid lucid dreamer since childhood, more than half of my dreams have always been lucid as long as I've known. About seven years ago I believe I started traveling to the astral realm during my dreams, often seeing the mall hub, airport and large city. I always thought they were dreams until I started researching astral travel as well as the TheMallWorld subreddit. It also sent me down a spiritual rabbit-hole including hermeticism, gnosticism, simulation and prison planet theory.
Spring 2023 was when I woke up to the matrix and reconnected with my spirit. I was meditating daily at this point and never felt more free and "myself". In my last lucid dream almost a year ago, I was in an office with a man. I felt he held some sort authority over me. I told him I wanted to leave and he said I couldn't, I still had more to do. When I tried to leave he called security and they chased after me. I became lucid. I stopped in my tracks, and willed myself out of the dream. I didn't wake up like usual, I'd teleported to a beautiful mountain scene. I looked down and in my hand was my cell phone, it was ringing. I answered, and on the other end was the man supposedly in charge of my dreams. He was angry that I'd left. He told me I needed to come back, I wasn't ready to be where I was. I knew he was trying to manipulate me, so I told him I wouldn't fall for his lies anymore. I'm a sovereign being and he can no longer control me. This made him furious, he screamed into the phone that he would call the police on me and have me arrested. I just laughed and hung up the phone, knowing wherever I was it was out of his reach. I think he was an archon.
Since then, I haven't been able to lucid dream. My dreams have all mostly taken place in Mall World or a hospital, I'm hiding from the police or nurses while trying to escape every night. I'm always being stabbed, shot or injected with a needle most often. A few times I've managed to almost become lucid, I say almost because it's like I forgot as soon as I realized that I was dreaming. Once I tried fighting off three police officers, I managed to overpower them but then more came and tazed me. I've also tried fighting back against the nurses, I stood my ground and firmly yelled "NO I REFUSE" but another one snuck up behind me, injected me and I woke up. They've also pretended to be people I know, an entity pretended to be my husband before shooting me in the chest with a shotgun and I bled out in the snow. Another one pretended to be my mother who laughed hysterically while I watched my husband die and desperately tried to save him.
Here is a great post on the subject, OP has some excellent info. I agree with everything included. Especially how these beings control lucidity and their eyes look strange. When I focused on a nurse's face it looked like the girl from system of a down's "Aerials" music video.
Here is another post, from the mall world subreddit. I was one of the only people who agreed with OP, he got torn apart in the comments.
I've recorded some other people's experiences that match up with mine, I've noticed an increase in manipulated dreams being reported on multiple subreddits including this one. I won't include usernames for privacy, don't be surprised if you see your own experience paraphrased here. Thank you to all who shared, this is very valuable to me.
Reports of "Evil Hospital" in Mall World
Described by many astral travelers and lucid dreamers, Mall World is a shared place in the dreamscape/astral plane, definitely check out theMallWorld sub for more context if you don't know. Here is a link to an older thread about it. A common theme besides the mall is an "evil hospital" where people including myself are trapped and often trying to escape. We're chased down by nurses or uniformed guards and drugged, injected and sedated. There is a dark and endless basement in the hospital. Here is a link on a post about it.
"It looked more like an airport or something inside. Tons of windows/glass walls and ceilings."
"I've been there, dark and creepy. They strapped me to the bed and injected me after capturing me at the airport."
"I was taken to this sphere in the sky. I could see people going about their day, like an alien mall. Then they took me to perform tests, they love puzzle tests and injections."
"Before I woke up I dreamed I was being injected and couldn't move."
"I'll 'wake up' in a hospital setting or be in a situation hiding or being hunted. The fear, pain, sadness— these are all fully experienced. I have felt, for instance, myself being shot in the back. They can make you feel yourself being shot and bleeding to death, or being operated on, over and over and over."
"People whose dormant DNA is being activated and their frequency is elevating. I believe these injections are used to keep the energy body trapped inside this dimension."
"There is some very fucked up MKUltra type shit always going in in this place; from what I've read on Mall World, I'm guessing it's a similar brainwashing scenario"
That last quote— am I being brainwashed? I noted in my journal that it feels like my lucidity and perception is being controlled.
Here are some reports on the "authorities" and lucid dreaming, I believe the police/security are archons and the nurses are some sort of greys or artificial intelligence. I've also heard accounts from real people acting as nurses or security for lucid dreamers.
"Feels like every time I lucid dream, some authorities pluck me out of the dream and plop me into Mall World, where even if I realize I'm dreaming I cannot lucid dream."
"I manage a security team in my dreams tasked with stopping or dealing with folks who go lucid. I don't really understand why."
"Lucid dreaming is not just happening in your head when you do it. When you dream, you're returning your consciousness to its natural state. There is much manipulation carried out to prevent this. When you go into the dream state, your conciousness can be doped with a sort of anesthetic... these dream characters chasing people when they become lucid is a common occurance; they're there to make sure you don't get info on what they're doing behind the curtains and bring info back here. This is why you wake up as soon as they touch you."
"I don't think you're allowed to lucid dream there. I think lucid dreaming gets you locked in" I've been locked in ever since I stood up to that man in my dream. I can't escape this place in my dreams.
Some people also mention underground tunnels in the hospital, when I've seen them I was running and hiding from the nurses and men in white lab coats.
"They [the tunnels] all connect in some way and once the authorities figure out you're trying to help people or rebel we always end up running away from them because it's the only way out but I wake up before I escape with anyone. Some of the doors have extra supplies or it's a broom closet or another door that connects to a high school."
"These service tunnels are the back door to the entire realm. Tends to be filled with hospital workers and employed "locals" who can navigate it. Not a place you want to end up, honestly."
From my compilation of notes and the experiences of other people, this is what I concluded: 1. Mall world is part of the simulated matrix, fake reality meant to keep me trapped. 2. The "evil hospital" is a prison to prevent lucid dreamers from escaping this reality. 3. The "drug" in these dreams sedates the astral body or consciousness and prevents lucidity or awareness. 4. I can use lucid dreaming to affect my waking reality or communicate with my inner source
This is some of the notes I've taken that I believe are relevant. I've tried many things to gain lucidity. During the day I practice mindfulness and self awareness and control. At night before bed I declare my sovereignty and demand I be left alone during my dreams. I've tried visualizing a safe house to keep me safe in my dreams, a practice I found here in this sub. I've also tried doing reality checks and wake induced lucid dreaming (WILD). Nothing has worked. I would love to hear your thoughts or advice. I hope you found this post helpful.

Today, heading up to a hotel room to investigate a murder that had just occurred, I arrive at the door to find two Enforcers had arrived at the same time as me, and one started shoulder-barging the door after violently knocking and demanding they open the door immediately. Unfortunately for the victim's partner, they were just a LITTLE too slow in coming to the door, as they arrived at the door and were in the process of unlocking it as the Enforcer finished barging it open, knocking the partner immediately unconscious.
As the shoulder-barging Enforcer checked the apartment, the other Enforcer noticed the unconscious partner and checked on them, waking them up. They immediately stand up and run to the alarm, setting it off and retreating down the stairs. The other Enforcer, who just finished checking the hotel room, walks out and, having been the aggressor who knocked the partner unconscious and, therefore, the reason they activated the alarm, begins to get targeted by the automated alarm turrets. It was at this point that I discovered that Enforcers who are responding to a murder are invulnerable, as the turret continually filled the Enforcer with an endless stream of bullets, murdering my framerate as the floors and walls were soaked in an endless fountain of blood. In addition, since the Enforcer would not die, the alarm system never stopped having a target, and so never ended.
As my framerate dipped lower and lower, I figured I would need to deactivate the alarm myself via the hotel's office cruncher. Unfortunately for me, this particular hotel did not have a convenient doocruncher code post-it note, and I had not yet had reason to investigate the home of the manager to try to find it there, so I had no way of accessing the security system. I left to get a codebreaker from City Hall, but the alarm kept going, and by the time I had gotten back, the hotel's poison gas system had been activated, and since the alarm was neverending, since the Enforcer who activated it was invulnerable, the poison gas had ended up actually filling the entire first floor of the hotel, making reaching the cruncher and logging in before the gas killed me impossible. I had to give up and abandon that game for an earlier save before the hotel murder happened. 😖
Side note: Yes, I already submitted the temporary save I made to the official bug reporting system.

I recently got a job offer which I’m so excited about! The hiring manager shared that it was down to two candidates and they wanted to check references to help make the final decision. Luckily, my references are also people I have really great relationships with, and they gave glowing recommendations.
I want to thank them, and thought of sending flowers. But I have 3 references to thank, and I can’t find too much flowers-wise that is below $50. I can’t exactly afford $150 worth of thank you gifts after a few months of unemployment. What is something similathat has a similar gesture that I can send by mail? I’m wanting to stick to a budget of no more than $20/per.
Ideally this would be something ordered off of a website and sent to their home, similarly to flowers.

Hello, my name is Jonathan Kerr and I’m looking for help paying for a mistake in my life. Growing up I had always had two dreams: 1. Becoming a great husband and father 2. Becoming a cardiovascular surgeon. The most important of the two was that I wanted nothing more than to be a great husband and father, and make sure I did everything to provide for a happy and stable family after growing up a child of divorce myself.
I chose to become a cardiovascular surgeon because the heart has always fascinated me and I had the mental fortitude to succeed in classes as well as a desire to fix many of the issues that we have in healthcare today... I’m sure we’ve all encountered a doctor worn out by the long hours.. exhausted by the same cases day after day. Sometimes ignoring the things we’re trying to tell them.. And instead of treating us as human beings, we are treated as a task to check off. This has led to most patients becoming nonchalant about their health because when asked questions they need to settle worry, they are brushed off. I wanted nothing more than to become a part of changing that..
On my journey, I excelled in my undergrad but had only applied to 3 schools albeit on my part it wasn’t the smartest choice to apply to so few.. but money was always tight and I just couldn’t afford 100-200 dollars for every application. I tried to stay as close to home as possible, growing up in a split home.. made me want to keep my family as close as possible. Long distance wasn’t something that I thought I could handle.
After the first time I decided to talk to an admissions dean and they suggested nursing to get clinical experience and boost my applications experiences there, so I did. I worked in an OR on a lung transplant team. I loved my job, I had an amazing partner that I thought I’d live the rest of my life with ( I even bought an engagement ring for when she was ready— because I had money I started saving from our first date to get my dream ring I started designing at 8yo and could afford it), there wasn’t really anything missing but the feeling that I could offer more. I watched some surgeons slack off, some excellent at their job, some take time to talk to patients, some ignore them entirely. I decided this would be a great place for me to start doing more to get that second dream and be more of a solution.
So my partner supported me, she was magnificent at all of it. Helped me study, helped me pick schools, helped me practice interviews, everything I needed to succeed and I did. Issue was that even though I asked to only apply to schools she was comfortable with me being at distance wise, I ended up at the farthest one. I was nervous it could affect our relationship but she assured me we would be okay and it was only temporary. Within the first two weeks at the school I was written up for a professionalism violation because I, albeit with an upset tone but without any rude language or raising my voice, asked a professor what kind of doctor she was —implying (PhD or MD- we had both and it’s the first weeks so how was I supposed to know) because she had told everyone the answer to a question earlier in the week and it was on the quiz she marked that same answer incorrect and refused to acknowledge what she told/taught us, just told everyone to study better. I was trying to tell her that you can’t lie to patients in clinic. I had some experience from nursing and it isn’t fair to our patients not to own up to our own mistakes, even if you mark us wrong please admit it or you’re teaching these young students that behavior is okay.
Even though within 10 minutes we hugged and I apologized to the professor after talking to my partner and she explained that my phrasing may have been offensive, 2 weeks later I was told I could possibly be expelled and would need to do a 1 year professionalism program, drug screening, IQ test, mental disability test, and physical. I complied with the program, but felt very isolated at this school from the start due to a fear that any verbal mistake or lack of perfect phrasing could get me expelled. So it was hard to make friends. My parents being over 5 hours away visited a combined 3 times in 2 years. My partner was very attached to her family and I told her it was okay, saw me roughly 30-50 days out there in 3-5 day chunks that slowly got shorter and farther apart over the 18 months.
I started missing family events to study to pass exams or giving up sleep/studying to make a drive back for a birthday party. It slowly was breaking me, I cried everytime I came home that I was afraid that this career would give me 1 dream but destroy the other and I’d never be there for my family. My partner assured me that it was only a short time and continued supporting me back to strength no matter how many times I tried to fold. I listened to more surgeons talk about making the most of the time with their kids or waiting weeks to see their partners in other states. I witnessed more doctors on rotations that would just say “oh well” about miscommunications between specialists or it’s written down they’ll find it. I witnessed nurses over using sedatives on patients for “agitation” and the descriptions of agitation were just raising voices or doing weird stretches. I witnessed physicians tell me I took too long talking to patients when I tried to understand their underlying issues and one patient that this came up had been an alcoholic with liver disease and through our discussion he came to ASK ME to get him help with his drinking to better his health. In other cases I watched people who had their “capacity for decisions” taken away and when talking with them it seemed very questionable if this was just stated to force a treatment on them or hold them in the hospital. The things I was witnessing were weighing heavier on me: if I’d ever be able to be a solution passing orders down to nurses? Would they follow them or even over use them? would correct decisions be made if communication by all physicians isn’t the same level of effort? And much more ran through my brain.
With the way I commit to jobs and activities I push myself to keep going until the problem is fixed or finished to the best of my abilities, I started to see all the extra hours I’d start putting in to fix this and the hours with my future family disappear. During this time I called that partner, because her sister said she was worried about her, and she broke up with me over the phone. I won’t do specifics, because I still really don’t understand what happened, but I’ve found my peace through prayer and breakthrough, as well as witnessing what I’d call some miracles.
I attended school for a little longer after this, but the fire wasn’t there. I helped patients and felt great in my last few days pushing myself to do more when the others seemed to be done with a case, I even got complimented by an attending that I would be a great clinician and have a great skill set.
Sadly for that attending and his compliments, I decided I needed to take a leave of absence to figure things out. So I left school and I’ve been home a few months and seeing therapy to discuss everything. I came to the decision that this dream isn’t worth losing my most important dream, because a career will always be just a career and I can do so much at point of care as a nurse.
When my grandmother got cancer last year I thought I’d lose her and called her weekly but now I see her every day and it makes me monumentally happier. She’s recovering well and just got news a few weeks back we don’t need radiation or chemo! I’ve developed more self esteem and self love over this time as well. I’m not sure of anyone’s beliefs but I’ve found comfort in Gods answers for me and I’m sure life will lead me back to that second dream if I keep pushing forward. The reason I’m on here, starting other posts to different Reddit pages and developing a gofundme is that i have ~$300k in student loans.
I’ve written letters to prominent religious figures for prayers, letters to prominent wealthy figures in media for assistance, and I have interviewed and got a new job to start tomorrow April 29th as a cardiovascular nurse and they even offered to train me for first assist in surgery.
My dad is allowing me to stay with him to save on rent and put all my money towards my loans that I can and help take care of my grandma, like I said I want to and enjoy working hard Im not asking for all my loans just help with the new large sum added by the degree that was a mistake, at this rate even with assistance programs i wont be able to do anything but pay on them till my late 30’s. I don’t want to keep imposing on my father as kind as he is and I want to pursue my true dream, after proper healing of course, of being an amazing partner and father that can be there for his children without pushing for overtime constantly. I want to be the dad at all the sporting events, the uncle at every birthday, visit my grandma often, the husband who cooks for his wife after work because she shouldn’t have to every day.
If there’s anything even a dollar it would help me immensely every day, and I will continue to find every way possible to keep pushing for ways to succeed in getting that dream. If you’d like to make a contribution to the loan account directly feel free to reach out and ask for the information. I passed all the book courses for anyone curious and I’m free to answer any questions if you text me at 724-302-9272, please ask anything you need I will have to respect the privacy of people involved though. Don’t forget though, while their are many stories of ways that I saw the system fail physicians and them in turn start to give up on the patients or lack effort, there are plenty of physicians out there I’ve seen giving up everything to see patients health prosper and make a solution out of the most dire situations.
I just can’t commit to giving up my family to make that happen. God bless you all, and I hope everyone finds their dream no matter how big or small.
https://paypal.me/silverjon?country.x=US&locale.x=en_US

My husband and I met when I was 18 and have been together for 18 years and we have 2 healthy boys together. We have a great relationship and awesome sex life and have never cheated on one another. Despite being happy with our relationship, we have always struggled with $.
He's a very hard worker and has worked in the same field for 15 years and I have always worked also because he has never made enough $ alone to support us. I have no problem working because I know he tries his hardest and without me making a income, we couldn't afford to live now a days. He is making more now than he ever has and I'm a server and the last couple of years with the economy I don't make near what I use to. We have always struggled to pay bills and afford just to get by and every week he gets paid and I work 4 days a week but after paying bills and groceries and everyday necessities we can't even make it a full week before payday again.
Right now we are renting 2 rooms in our friends basement because we can't even afford to live on our own. My oldest has his own room and we share a room with my youngest, we share a car also. We argue sometimes and it's almost always because we are stressed out over $ and bills and upset that we can't afford to give our children a decent life. Because of where we live right now, I have to drive 30 min every morning and evening to take my kids back and forth to school and I've been trying to look for a better paying job but I only have so many options when I have to be able to take my kids to school and take him to work and pick him up from work. Even if I do find a better paying job I know that it's possibly only a extra $200 to $300 a week more and that's still not going to be enough to afford our own place and pay all the bills.
A friend of ours recently told my husband that he could get him a job working with him with a company that has a 20 year contract to work within 1 hour of where they are working right now. They're current job site is located only 20 minutes away from where we live and it's a 5 year job and after the 5 years they move to another site that will still be within 30 minutes of the current site. The shifts are 7 days on and 7 days off, 12 hours a day for 7 days and then he's off 7 days and they break down the paychecks to where you get 3 days on one check and 4 days on the next check so that you get a paycheck every week. The pay is $30 a hour and anything over 40 hours is time in a half so he would work 84 hours a week and 44 of those hours is at $45 a hour. Our friend after taxes is bringing home $8000 a month while with both of us working we only make $4000 a month. This job could change our families life for the better and we could actually afford to pay bills and provide a stable home for our kids to finish growing up in.
My husband for some reason doesn't want to work this job. He says working 7 days a week is crazy and that he'll never be home!!?? It's 7 days on and 7 days off!! So he will only be working 2 weeks a month and I added it up and it would actually be a day less of work than what he's working now! We've had a couple arguments about it and I don't know what his problem is. I know its going to be a hard adjustment at first but our friend told us that half of his shift he has no work and just plays on his phone so it would be longer hours but way less work than the labor intensive job he has now. He would go into work at 7am and get off at 7pm. He would be working 3 more days a week and 2 hours more a day but then he would have a whole week to rest. He has mentioned that it will be the end of our relationship because all I'm wanting is $ and with him working 7 days straight that I would cheat on him. It's absolutely crazy for him to even think that! We've been together almost 20 years and I have never cheated on him ever.
When we aren't at work, we are together and do everything together, we don't hang out with any friends or anything unless we are together!! We had a fight about it earlier and he told me to put the application in for him and he'll take the job but to just watch it will be the end of us!! I asked our friend if they hired women because I would take the job in a heartbeat but of course they don't. I'm putting the app in for him tomorrow because we need this financial boost for our family to be able to live comfortably but for the life of me can't figure out why he doesn't want the same. So does anyone have any advice on this situation, am I selfish for wanting him to take this job??
tl;dr: Need advice on why he is so hesitant to make life easier for our family?

You sit shoulder to shoulder in the auditorium. Your scratchy black suit rubs against two arms wrapped in finer material. You shift in your seat, moving uncomfortably in the plush chair beneath you. Your leg is shaking; you are anxious for the show to begin. The massive room rumbles with murmurs of conversation—inquisitions about how the show will be, complaints of hunger, protests of too-tight clothing, and ties choking necks. You are silent.
September 6, 1981
Louise trudged up the dusty gravel path towards her home, a rotted trailer perched atop a steep hill. The bus driver never ventured up the path, leaving Louise to trek the quarter mile herself. She stopped momentarily and watched as the yellow bus sped away; the shadow of a lone hand waved her goodbye. She waved back, too late for anyone to see it, “Bye, Miles.”
Her house stank of cigarette smoke. The soft shag carpet collected to odor, spitting it out with every step. The windows and walls were yellowed with nicotine. The trailer was quiet; the constant droning of the radiator was the only thing to be heard. Louise set her backpack down and walked into the kitchen to make herself dinner. Her mother wouldn’t be home for several hours, and school lunch was never enough.
After Louise ate a measly bowl of microwaved leftover Kraft, she sat down to do her homework. She pulled out the math sheet they had gotten that day. Numbers shifted and combined; they peeled off the page and swam around her. Louise needed help. She dialed a number she knew by heart. The line rang.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered, her voice slightly distorted through the phone.
“Hi, Mrs. Wilson,” Louise said in a timid voice.
“Hi, Louise,” Mrs. Wilson’s voice softened, “I’ll get him for you.”
Louise heard her muffled yell, “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Hey Louise! What’s up?” a boy's voice asked.
“Hi, Miles. Have you done your math homework?”
“I’m doing it right now.”
Louise stretched the cord to where she sat at the table, “Great.”
The lights dim, and silence washes over the crowd. The curtains part. Fifty people in tuxedos sit on stage, various instruments in hand. The conductor stands tall. He introduces the orchestra, lifts his gloved hands, and the music begins.
March 9, 1983
“You’re still coming, right?” Miles questioned nervously.
“Yes, Miles, I’m still coming,” Louise rolled her eyes before smiling at him.
Miles relaxed a little bit, “Okay, good.”
Miles had mousy brown hair that was cut short. His dad had served in the military, so he thought this boy should have a ‘man’s haircut.’ He was tan even in the wintertime. He had bright hazel eyes that glowed electric green in the sunlight. Louise was about an inch taller than Miles, a fact she was immensely proud of.
The pair walked down the school hallway. It was Friday. Wonderful, glorious Friday. Louise rejoiced in the days that she didn’t have to come into school and pretend she liked people— pretend she liked anything, really. She hated the teachers, her peers, the hospital grey of the walls. She liked Miles. He ignored the cigarette stink of her clothes and the rudeness of her tone.
Today was Miles’ birthday. He’ll be ten. Miles had invited everyone to the party; there would be a bounce house. He’s ‘going all out for the big one o’ as he kept telling Louise. She was nervous about the party; her gift was okay at best, and she dreaded the disappointed but polite smile she knew Miles would pull.
“My mom will be here right after school to pick us up. You know what my mom’s car looks like, right?” Miles asked.
“Yeah, I remember.”
Lousie walked out to Mrs. Wilson’s car, a sleek, silver Porsche; Louise felt like a celebrity when she rode in it—rich and important.
“Hi, Louise,” Mrs. Wilson smiled, “How was school?”
“Hi, Mrs. Wilson. It was good.”
Louise settled into the plush leather seats and set her backpack in front of her. They sat in silence for a moment, the soft drum of the radio filling the air. Miles ripped open the door, excitement lighting up his face. He sat down, his position mirroring Louise’s.
“Hey, buddy. How was your day?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
“It was great, Mom,” he smiled.
She smiled back warmly, “Well, that’s good.”
Mrs. Wilson pulled out of the parking lot, Louise and Miles chatted idly about school and the party. After a short while, they pulled up to Miles’ house—a two-story white house with columns in front. Louise loved it. Sometimes, during sleepovers, late at night, she pretended it was hers. She quietly walked down hallways, running her fingertips across the smooth wallpaper. She felt the soft carpet on her bare toes and imagined it knew the shape and weight of her foot. She opened the fridge and pretended not to be surprised at the selection of food that awaited her. Then, she would return to Miles’ room and lie down next to him in the sleeping bag he lent her, stare up at the tiny glowing stars stuck on his ceiling, and pretend it was her and her mom that put them up— that it was her mom that held the step stool for her so she wouldn't fall.
Louise and Miles hopped out of the car, ran up to his room, and plopped their bags down. They still had a few hours before their other classmates would arrive. They sat on the ground and leaned against the bed. Louise pulled out Miles’ gift from her bag and handed the small gift bag to him, “Happy Birthday.”
“It’s not time for the party,” Miles said, confusion evident in his voice.
Louise shrugged, “I wanted to give it to you now.”
Miles smiled at her before gently taking the tissue paper out of the bag and reaching in. He pulled out a light blue paper swan. Lousie had spent hours getting the folds just right so the paper was sharp instead of rumpled. It was beautiful.
“Louise,” Miles started, his face curved into a slight frown, like he was about to cry, “Thank you.”
“Do you really like it?” Louise asked nervously; she fidgeted with her fingernails.
Miles set the swan down gently and dove towards her, wrapping her in a hug, “I love it.”
The party was a hit. Louise nearly made herself sick from the combination of an ungodly amount of candy and jumping in the bounce house. Almost everyone from their class was there, shoving presents in Miles’ hands before running to the snacks and entertainment. Night fell, and Louise climbed in the Porsche again, though it was just her and Mrs. Wilson this time.
“Did you have a good time, Louise?” she asked, making eye contact through the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, it was awesome. Thank you for having me,” Louise responded, polite as ever.
“Oh, you are always welcome, sweetie,” Mrs. Wilson smiled.
Louise looked out the window for the rest of the drive, the stars blurring against the black night sky. They pulled up to Louise’s house; her driveway was empty.
“Are you sure you are okay until your mom gets here?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
Louise smiled fakely, “Yeah I’ll be alright. She should be home soon.”
“Okay, sweetheart.”
Louise climbed out of the car and walked to her door. She looked back before stepping inside—Mrs. Wilson’s face was a mirage of pity and sympathy. Louise waved and stepped inside, choking down guilt as she did.
The sweet sound of a violin fills your ears—a lone instrument bellowing a quiet tune. It starts slow—soft, like a warm hand caressing your face, a mother wiping away your tears.
You forget yourself for a moment; you are back in your childhood home, where your bed is indented with your shape. You smell your favorite meal being cooked downstairs. You hear your mother humming her favorite song from the kitchen. Your father isn’t home yet. You are excited to see him.
You wish it were real.
It is not.
June 11, 1984
Louise was having a terrible day. Her mother was off work and slumming around the house— she was like a ghost in her own home, and she had nothing to do. They didn’t have cable this month, so Louise’s options were to sit in her bed and do nothing or visit Miles. She chose the latter. Louise bid her mom a short goodbye, telling her where she was going and not much else, and peddled off on her bike. She was drenched by the time she arrived at Miles’ house. So she ditched her bike in the grass and ran to ring the doorbell. Mrs. Wilson answered.
“Oh. Hello, Louise,” she smiled.
Mrs. Wilson was a nice woman, and Louise absolutely loved her. She was as thin as a twig but had a motherly warmth about her that Louise itched for. Miles was the spitting image of her, matching her tanned skin and bright eyes.
“I’m afraid Miles isn’t here,” she continued.
“Oh,” Louise said, disappointment swirling around her tongue.
“I’m sorry, hun,” Mrs. Wilson gave her a sympathetic look, “He’s out with his dad fishing for the day.”
“That’s okay,” Louise lied and started to walk back to where she abandoned her bike.
“Wait a second, sweetheart,” she called, “Do you want some lemonade? I’d hate to just send you home after you rode all this way.”
“Sure, Mrs. Wilson. Thank you.”
Louise followed her into the kitchen and sat down at one of the barstools to wait. It wasn’t long before she had a nice tall glass of lemonade in front of her and a bag of chips in her hand.
“You can go watch TV if you want,” Mrs. Wilson smiled at her, “I’ll be out in the garden if you ever need anything.”
“Okay, thank you,” Louise said.
She wandered into the living room, and the plush carpet under her feet felt amazing. She flicked on the television and turned it to her favorite cartoon station. She did feel strange behaving like she lived there, especially when the house was empty, but her desire to relax in the air conditioning trumped the feeling. She mindlessly watched Jerry outsmart Tom in the comfort of a home that wasn’t her’s.
Louise finished her snack but didn’t feel like returning home; she knew her mother would be there, heating the house with cigarettes and sex. Mary had moved on from Steve quickly. So, she laid down and continued watching television. At some point, she fell asleep. Louise woke up to the soft voices of Miles’ parents talking in the kitchen. Someone had turned the TV off and taken her dishes. She could hear the shower running upstairs. Louise had no idea what time it was; the sun was now visible in the living room windows, the sky was orange. She was about to get up and ask Mrs. Wilson when she heard her name. Miles’ parents were talking about her. She got up as quietly as she could and snuck closer to the swinging kitchen door.
“Is there something we can do?” Mrs. Wilson asked her husband in a concerned tone.
“I don’t think so, Jenny,” Mr. Wilson responded, “She just has a hard life, that’s all.”
“I feel like we should do more for her.”
Mr. Wilson sighed, “We can only help her when she’s here. You know what Mary thinks about handouts.”
“Oh, poor Mary,” Mrs. Wilson said, her tone sympathetic, “I should call her and tell her Louise is gonna stay the night.”
Louise heard footsteps sound in her direction. She ran as softly as she could back to her position on the couch, feigning sleep. Mrs. Wilson swung open the door and picked up the phone that hung on the wall next to it. Louise heard the click-clack of buttons being pressed, the muffled ringing, and then her mother’s voice on the other line.
“Hey, Mary,” Mrs. Wilson said, “Is it alright if Louise stays here tonight? She passed out on the couch and I don’t think it’d be smart to have her ride home now.”
Lousie couldn’t hear her mother's exact words, but she must have said it was fine because the next thing Louise knew, she was being picked up and carried up the stairs. Mrs. Wilson set her down in a room she was unfamiliar with. She figured it was the guest room. Mrs. Wilson kissed Louise gently on her forehead and told her goodnight in a whispered tone. Louise missed her mother.
The room was bird-themed. The walls were painted a dark navy, and a thin metal peacock stared at her from where it hung. A copy of the NATO phonetic alphabet was hanging, too. It must have been Miles’ old room. Louise remembered when he came to school in second grade and told her he was moving into the attic. There was an opening to the roof up there, and Miles was in love with the idea of sitting up there and watching the sun set and rise.
Miles was in love with a lot when he was little— the sun and sky, the warmth of his mother’s hugs, iced tea on a hot day. Louise didn’t think she was in love with anything. She didn’t think she ever would be. Louise was almost asleep, the plush, silky sheets lulling her into another bout of slumber. Her door squeaked open. Miles’ small frame was a shadow in the doorway. He looked so small. He didn’t walk into the room, choosing to loom in the entrance.
“Goodnight, Louise,” he said in a small voice.
“Goodnight, Miles.”
When you were little, you thought everything was perfect. The world was alive with hope and magic. Everyone got along, and there was nothing wrong.
Of course, now you know that is not true. But a part of you, a little tiny part, wants to go back to when you didn’t know. When life was good, and you didn’t know better.
That’s how the music sounds. Like you are an innocent kid sitting on the front porch eating a red cherry popsicle. The juice runs down your face. It looks like blood.
July 15, 1984
Louise was once again sitting in the back seat of the Wilsons’ Porsche, but this time, she was without a backpack-- sans her school clothes. She wore the itchy Easter dress her grandmother had gotten her two years prior. Louise wore it to her funeral. She stuck out like a sore thumb, a pastel beacon amongst the waves of black. It was Sunday—the Lord’s Day, as Mrs. Wilson had told her. Louise hadn’t been inside a church for a good reason—she’d never been to a regular Sunday mass. But last night, she had stayed the night at Miles’, so she was on her way to church. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
They pulled into the parking lot, the ancient steeple looming over the car. Louise could recognize that it was a beautiful church, but the body of Christ hanging in the stained glass window did nothing to settle her nervous stomach. The pop of car doors sounded; there was no going back.
The wooden pew was uncomfortable, the kneelers even more so. She listened to Miles’ soft whispers of direction and did as he said. She fell and rose when she should; she crossed her arms instead of taking communion, she shook hands with strangers, and mumbled, ‘Peace be with you.’ And then it was over, and Louise was waking back to the car, her white flats cutting into her feet.
“What did you think, Louise?” Mrs. Wilson asked in a kind voice.
She shrugged her shoulders, “It was okay. I didn’t really know what to do.”
“You’ll learn,” Mrs. Wilson responded, a promise on the tip of her tongue.
Louise was silent on the ride back; she leaned against the window and watched as trees blurred together in a mirage of green. Louise didn’t know what it was like to believe in God. She thought she felt it there for a moment-- a quiet tingling in the back of her mind. But then she remembered that she wasn’t with her family; the Wilsons were not her parents. She remembered her mom was working a double today so they could have electricity. And what God would think that was fair? Not one Louise wanted to believe in.
The music sounds like the church hymns your mother made you sing. She meant well; she thought she was giving you the gift of her religion. You couldn’t tell her you didn’t want it. It was all she had ever known.
What child betrays their mother?
May 21, 1985
It was the summer after sixth grade. Lousie and Miles had biked to the pool in town, a desperate attempt to escape the heat. The air was thick and humid, and sweat sprouted from Louise's skin, dampening her shirt and shorts. The sun beamed down on her back; there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The pair parked their bikes out front and ran into the small building. A bored-looking teenager accepted their fifty cents each and let them in. The air reeked of chlorine, and the painted concrete was slick with warm water. Miles and Louise threw their towels down and began to shed their swimsuits. Louise’s hands were shaking with anticipation; she hadn't been to the pool in so long.
“Race you,” Miles said, darting towards the water's edge.
“No fair,” Louise groaned as she kicked off her flip-flops and ran after him.
Louise heard a distant whistle ringing and a call that running wasn’t allowed before she splashed into the blue depths. The cool water encapsulated her, and goosebumps formed on her skin. She bobbed to the surface and saw Miles climbing out and heading towards the diving board.
They stayed until the sun was beginning to set; Miles’ mom didn’t like him being out that late on his own yet, so they peddled back home soggy clothes and pruny skin.
When Louise returned to her house, it was dark. She could see the kitchen light shining out onto the brown lawn. Steve was home. Louise’s mom, Mary, had picked him up a few months back. He was a short, fat man. His breath always smelled like beer, yeasty and vile. He had dark hair and a beard to match. Her mother claimed she really liked him, but Louise knew she just needed someone to help pay the bills.
One of the few good things about having kids as young as Louise’s mom had her is that she never had a hard time finding a sleazy older guy to keep around. Being pretty also helped, and Mary sure was pretty. Mary was tall and slender, with long, curly auburn hair. She was covered in freckles and had eyes that glowed emerald green. When Louise was young, Mary would smile often, but as her eyebags grew, her smile faded. She could fake it when needed, but it was never like Louise remembered.
Mary and Louise could have been twins— minus the smile lines she didn’t think she’d ever have the chance to earn. Maybe that was why, when Louise walked into her kitchen in nothing more than a bathing suit, Steve forced himself on her.
You clutch the armrest on your chair, digging your nails into the fabric. The music is screeching, a distorted version of what it once was. You want to cry. You think your ears are bleeding. You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping to distract yourself from the perverted disgust mess of noise assaulting you. Your mouth tastes like metal. The urge to stand and walk, no, run, out of the theater is so strong you can hardly bear it.
You do not get up.
May 22, 1985
Miles called and asked if she wanted to go swimming again. Louise didn’t have the heart to tell him she never wanted to go swimming again, so she lied and said she was sick. Miles was at her door an hour later with a container of homemade cookies and Guess Who.
The two sit on the floor of Louise’s bedroom, the soft blanket she put down covering the scratchy carpet. Louise’s room was small and dingy. The walls were cracked and stained; she lived out of one small bureau that had been unceremoniously shoved into a corner of the room. Last Christmas, she begged her mother to help her hang lights on the ceiling. They were still up, casting a rainbow glow over the room. It was the only source of light she used. She had a small nightstand piled with pencils and markers; she had long since stained her light pink sheets while drawing. Cookie crumbles littered the floor. Louise was losing the game; most of her people were still up, while Miles only had about five people left to choose from. He chewed his lip in concentration. Louise usually laughed at him for it; he always seemed to take the board games they played too seriously. This time, she didn’t notice he was doing it.
“Does your person have brown hair?” Miles questioned.
Louise didn’t respond. “Louise? Are you alrigh—”
“Do your parents ever touch you?” Louise said, eyes trained on the floor.
Miles’ face scrunched up in confusion, “You mean like hugs?”
“No.”
“What do you mean then?” Miles questioned.
Louise’s eyes fogged up with tears, “Never mind. Let’s just play the game.”
Miles eyed her with sympathetic confusion before realizing what she meant, “Louise…”
He moved to hug her, but she flinched away from him. Miles sat back; he wasn’t touching her but was close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off of him. Louise sniffled, trying desperately to contain her emotion.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Miles whispered.
Louise turned to look at him, her face pale and puffy, “Please don’t.”
Louise and Miles sat like that for a long time. When the sun set, he got up and called his mom, begging her to let him stay the night. Louise didn’t hear the conversation, but Mrs. Wilson must have agreed because the next thing she knew, she was being guided to bed, and Miles was settled on the floor next to her, leaning against the bed and holding her hand.
The music turned sweet. It drifted through your ears pleasantly, passing over the cracked, dry blood. A chorus of flutes is playing, light and soft.
It feels like the pillow in your dorm room, childhood mixed with freedom.
You know this feeling won’t last. But right now, in this moment, you lay your head down and pretend the world is new.
May 17, 1986
Miles and Louise had biked miles to the movie theater. Miles had begged Louise to see the new movie coming out, one that Louise was less than excited about. He had been to the movies some months before with his mom and had seen the trailer. The next day, he begged her to see it with him when it came out, and she agreed, not knowing anything about it.
Miles was practically giddy with excitement. His eyes glowed with it. The theater was packed; they stood in the line shoulder to shoulder with what must have been every other kid in town. Louise clung to the red crushed velvet rope that segmented the line for dear life. The feeling of so many people pressed up against her was nauseating. She screwed her eyes shut, pushing down a wave of oncoming dizziness. Before she knew it she was being pulled along to the ticket stand. Miles produced them with a broad smile on his face, “Two for Top Gun.”
He then bought a giant thing of buttery popcorn and two glass Cokes. They made their way to their seats and waited for the movie to begin. Miles shoved popcorn in his mouth, salty yellow kernels going everywhere. Trailers for various movies played on the big screen— Miles leaned over nearly every time and asked Louise if she would go with him. She said yes every time.
The movie was beautiful. It was nothing like Louise had ever seen before; it made her yearn for the sky, the feeling of freedom unlike anything she would ever know. And then it was tragic, and she was crying in her seat, wailing over someone she didn’t know. Begging him to wake up.
They left in silence, walking to the bike rack to a chorus of shoes against pavement. They stalled for a moment before getting onto their bikes and parting their ways.
“What would you do if I died?” Miles said, his eyes trained on Louise’s.
“I don’t know,” her eyes were red and puffy, “I don’t think I could go on.”
“Me neither,” Miles agreed.
Miles stared at her for a beat before getting on his bike and peddling home. Louise imagined her life without Miles on the way home. Sharp metal against skin, blood seeping into water. She didn’t think it would be much of a life.
When you were in 6th grade, you played the clarinet. You always had a fondness for them.
They were the only ones playing, the dulcet tones of a wooden reed against black plastic. The song was picking up pace, like a heartbeat.
In 6th grade band, you sat next to a girl you liked. She was better at the instrument than you. You didn’t care. You remember taking her to the winter formal and carrying her shoes when her feet got sore. You remember your dad giving you the talk before you went.
You haven’t seen her in years. You wonder how she’s doing.
The clarinets are done with their solo. You forget about her again.
August 21, 1987
This year, Louise’s birthday fell on the first day of school. She dressed nicer than usual, an attempt at vanity that made her hate herself. Miles had given her a music box that played You Are My Sunshine. Louise had told him that she missed it when her mom sang it to her before bed. She cried in the bathroom.
At lunch, she stood in line with a group of girls in her PE class. Miles was a few feet ahead of her, and the kids in her school took cutting in line more seriously than she thought was necessary, so she stayed put. She stood silently while the girls talked about a teacher they didn’t like, choosing instead to eavesdrop on the conversations around her rather than contribute to the one she was in.
Brian Miller’s voice sounded broken and raspy, like a kid with money for cigarettes and not much else. He was a stereotypical bully, big and tall, with an ugly look plastered everywhere he went. He couldn’t stand the thought of someone not being in pain. He was talking to Miles, his voice loud enough for Louise to hear from where she was: “Why do you hang out with that poor girl all the time? Does she give it up easily?”
His lips were curled in a cruel sneer, showing off his yellow teeth. Miles looked at him, barely visible to Louise over the people between them. Then, suddenly, he wound up and punched Brian square in the face. Louise heard the crunch of his nose being broken— blood spurted on the floor and onto the onlooking students. Brian grunted in pain, bringing his hand to touch his bloodied face slowly before launching into a vicious returning attack. He only got a few punches on Miles before the nearest teacher pulled him away. Louise pushed through the crowd that had formed, leaning down at Miles’ side. His face was nearly unrecognizable; bruises were starting to form already.
“Why did you do that? Oh my god, Miles, why did you do that?” Louise choked out, tears fogging her vision.
“I love you,” Miles tried to smile, blood staining his teeth.
A teacher pushed Louise out of the way, assessing the damage. What felt like seconds later, an ambulance appeared, along with Mrs. Wilson. She was frantic; her hands were shaking with fear. Everything was silent. At some point, everyone had cleared out except Louise. She was standing here like an idiot, staring at Miles’ bloodied face.
Louise felt a strong hand grab her arm, a mother’s hand, “Come on, Louise. You can ride along.” Mrs. Wilson stood in front of Louise. Her eyes were red, but she had composed herself. Louise’s voice came out as nothing more than a whisper: “Okay.”
She let herself be pulled into the ambulance; the siren was the only thing she could hear. She watched as the EMTs worked, their skilled, gloved hands dancing over his body.
“Louise, he’s gonna be okay,” Mrs. Wilson whispered in her ear, “Come here.”
She pulled Louise into a hug, hiding her view of Miles. Louise closed her eyes against Mrs. Wilson, willing her breath to slow. They stopped abruptly at the hospital. Louise and Mrs. Wilson climbed out and watched as nurses and interns swarmed Miles’ gurney. They were ushered to the waiting room and sat down on hard, terribly patterned chairs. At some point, Mrs. Wilson called Louise’s mother to tell her where she was. A doctor brought them to Miles’ room after over an hour. His face had been cleaned and bandaged, and his nose was clearly broken.
“Louise,” Miles said, his eyes lighting up.
“Miles,” Louise responded, “Are you okay?”
“I’m right as rain,” he tried to smile but winced.
“Don’t lie to me, Miles.”
“I’ll be okay,” he reassured her, reaching up to squeeze her hand.
They stood like that until Louise’s mom came to get her. Louise crawled into Mary’s beat-up Sedan and slumped in the seat.
“Are you okay, baby?” Mary asked her.
“Mom, what if he died?” Louise ignored the question.
Mary sighed, “Sweetheart he’s fine. He’s just got a concussion and a broken nose.”
“I know,” Louise said, “I know he’s fine.”
The bags under Mary’s eyes seemed heavier today, and her face seemed more wrinkled. Louise looked more like her every day.
The music takes on a somber tone. Long, drawn-out notes fill the air. You think of your mother again, the way she looked sunken in her hospital bed— decaying before your eyes. You remember the feel of her bony, pale hands wiping away your tears in her final moments.
It was the first time you saw your dad cry.
The wail of violin chokes you.
December 17, 1988
Louise was lying on her back in Miles’ bed. He’s had the same one since they were kids; the box springs creak under their weight. Miles was above her, his eyes boring holes in hers. His parents were not home, the house was eerily quiet— the ambient creaking distracting Louise. His record player sang sweet music from his desk. His room was cluttered with dirty clothes and various knick-knacks. A blue paper swan sat on his bookshelf next to his worn copy of The Hobbit. His closet was open, casting weird shadows along the walls. The lights were off.
The soft touch of Miles’ lips trailed down her chest to her stomach. She tried to push down the nausea— make her body stop squirming. Her hand clutched his shoulder tightly. He had asked if this was okay. She had said yes.
Louise felt another article of clothing being slid off her body. She was cold. Her eyes shot to the ceiling. One glowing star was still stuck on the popcorn texture. Miles had taken them off the year before. He had missed one. Louise felt the heat of salty water run down her face into the soft pillow. She hated herself.
‘Dear God,’ she thought, ‘if you can hear me please, please just let me be okay. Let me want this.’
She didn’t receive a response. God wasn’t listening. It was just her and Miles in a house too big, in a world too small.
“Louise?” Miles said, his voice laced with concern, “Hey. Are you okay?”
All she could muster was an ‘I’m sorry’ before getting up, running into the bathroom, and emptying her stomach into the toilet.
The air stunk of sour yeast.
The music bounced up and down, building up to its crescendo. Excitement filled your chest, the entire orchestra almost all playing now.
A chorus of brass filled the air—French horns and trumpets battle for dominance on stage. Your eyes are wide in anticipation; you have waited the entire night for this.
You are sixteen, and you and your friends sit around a fire, passing a bottle of Jack around. It is the Friday before school starts. You wanted one last night of summer fun before your life filled with books and assignments.
The whiskey burns a path down your throat. It makes you nauseous. You get so drunk you can’t stand up. Your vision blurs as you stumble into the surrounding woods. You are alone. You vomit more than you thought was possible. You think you are going to die. You miss your mom.
You haven't drank since.
You don’t think you ever will.
August 4, 1989
The granite bar was cool under Louise’s fingertips. She sat in Miles’ kitchen, spinning nervously on the metal bar stool. She was chewing her lip; her mouth tasted like blood. Miles sat next to her, his demeanor the exact opposite of Louise’s.
“I mean, come on, Louise. What are you gonna do with your life?” Mrs. Wilson lectured her.
“I don’t know,” Louise mumbled.
Mrs. Wilson sighed, “Miles has wanted to be a pilot since he was eight. What do you want?”
Louise took a deep breath, “I don’t know. I’m sorry I can’t be like Miles. But I’m not your fucking kid so leave me alone.”
Louise stood up and stomped up the stairs. She heard Mrs. Wilson yelling her name, but she didn’t turn around. She buried herself in Miles’ bed, wrapping herself in his soft comforter. Louis heard the stairs creak with weight and then a knock on the door.
“Louise, I’m sorry,” Miles said, walking into the room.
Louise sat up, her face dry, “Why are you sorry? You didn’t yell at me.”
“I still feel sorry,” he said as he sat down next to her.
Louise took a deep breath and leaned on his shoulder. Miles rested his head against hers, “She loves you, you know.”
“I know.”
“She just wants you to do well,” Miles said.
“She wants me to be better than my mother,” Louise corrected.
“Is that so bad?”
The music doesn’t matter right now. You are fifteen, and your father is yelling at you about your future. You don’t know what you want to do. You want to be better than him.
He backhands you.
The arm of the person next to you brushes against yours. You jump. The conductor's hands are blurry with movement. The theater is alive with sound.
You miss your dad.
February 14, 1990
Louise and Miles sat across from each other in a restaurant that was too nice for the amount of money they brought. Louise ran her fingers across the laminated menu, fidgeting nervously with the edge of the paper. The restaurant was packed, Miles had made the reservations months in advance.
“Do you know what you want?” Miles asked.
Louise pursed her lips, “I think I’m gonna get the chicken piccata.”
Miles eyed the menu, “That looks good.”
“What are you gonna get?” she returned the question.
Miles smiled, almost boyishly, “The steak.”
Louise hummed in response. She set her menu down and reached for her water glass, running her finger across the rim. Condensation dripped down outside the glass, her fingerprints marking the surface.
“Are you excited about prom?” Miles asked.
Louise laughed a little, “Do we really have nothing else to talk about other than a dance in two months?”
Miles rolled his eyes playfully, “I guess not. What did we talk about when we were kids?”
“I have honestly no idea,” Louise smiled, “I don’t think we talked a lot. We mostly played.”
“We did play an ungodly amount of Donkey Kong.”
Louise chuckled, “God, was that game even good? Or were we just kids?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Miles smiled.
The waiter came by and took their order, collecting their menus and refreshing their drinks. It wasn’t long before their food arrived; the plates were decedent and beautiful. They left the restaurant with doggy bags in hand and significantly poorer than when they walked in. Louise clambered into Miles’ truck and waited for Miles to start it. But he didn’t. He was staring at her instead.
“What?” she asked incredulously.
He smiled at her, “I have something for you.”
Her face fell in surprise, “Miles, you told me the dinner was a gift.”
“Well,” Miles shrugged. He reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet box. She took it gingerly into her hands, excitement boiling in her chest. She opened the box softly and found two silver rings. One was engraved with ‘Miles,’ and the other said ‘Louise.’ Miles picked up the one that said his name and handed it to her.
“This one is for you,” he looked at her with huge puppy-dog eyes, “And the other one is for me.”
“Miles…”
“Do you like it?” he asked nervously.
She melted, “I love it. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he said, leaning in and kissing her sweetly.
“Are your parents home?” she asked against his lips.
“No, they won’t be home in hours.”
This time was different than the first. No bile rose up into Louise’s throat; she didn’t have to repress her squirming body. The air smelled like clean linen— fresh and new.
You are crying, and you don’t know why. The music sounds more like singing now, wrapping you in lyrics and hugs. You feel warm and fuzzy. Like you are a little kid who just got home after swimming all day. You are tired in the perfect way. You sink into your blankets and fall asleep.
A humming noise wakes you up. You are in the theater. There is music playing. You aren’t a kid anymore.
You had a drink at dinner before the concert.
You swallowed it with ease.
March 20, 1990
The hum of the radio filled the sweet night air. Louise and Miles lounged in the bed of his beat-up pickup. It was his father's old farm truck, a janky, rusty thing that only ran when it felt like it, but Miles loved it. It was his pride and joy. Any weekend he wasn’t with Louise, he was fixing it up; he would spend hours under the body of that thing, coming into the house reeking of oil and exhaust. Mrs. Wilson hated it; she feared for the safety of her nice beige carpet and the cleanliness of his jeans.
It was freshly spring; it was dry and warm for the first time this year. They were laying on his mother’s old picnic blanket, something she probably wouldn’t care for if she knew. It was pitch black, the only thing that illuminated them were the stars and the faint light of Louise’s kitchen light. They had returned from cruising around town, and neither wanted to go inside yet. They had been lulled into a comfortable silence, their hands knotted together perfectly. And then, suddenly, Louise had a question.
“Do you hate me?”
“Louise…” Miles sighed.
Nervousness leaked into her tone, “I was just making sure.”
“That I don’t hate you? Even though we’re dating?” Miles scoffed, “Why would I be with you if I hated you? What would I gain from that?”
“What if you were using me?” Louise said, her voice small.
“Oh my god,” Miles sat up and put his head in his hands, “‘What if’ Louise, when have I ever, in our entire lives, used you?”
“I don—” she started.
“If you are basing your fear of our relationship on ‘what ifs,’ maybe we shouldn’t be together. You are so absorbed in your past that it's like you aren’t even seeing me, not now, not in the present,” Miles shot at her.
“That’s not fair,” Louise said, her voice breaking with emotion.
Miles took a deep breath, “I’m sorry for what happened, and I get that healing is a hard and long process. But, Louise, I’m tired, too. ”
Hot, stinging tears rolled down Louise’s face, wetting the blanket, “I know you love me. Sometimes I’m just scared.”
“Why are you scared?” Miles whispered.
“I don’t know,” she sniffled, “I am what I am.”
“You are what you are,” Miles repeated, “And I’m tired of pretendning I can change that.”
“Then stop.”
Louise wiped the tears off her face and climbed out of the truck. Her receding footsteps echoed in Miles' head, a pounding that sounded eerily like his heartbeat— fast and hard. Miles sat there for a long while. The radio was still on, blasting The Smiths.
Trumpets blast loud, then louder. You think your eardrum might burst. Then, the music lulls to a stop. The lights do not come on. It is like the entire world has stopped to take a breath. One big inhale. You fill your lungs. The air smells like honeysuckle.
You are a child running in the yard with your dog. You are barefoot. You step on a bee. You limp into the house and cry to your mother. She puts your foot on ice.
You will never feel the grass on your bare foot again. You do not need to learn the lesson twice.

Hello! I bought a bouquet for my gf for her birthday and by the time I got home, I realized there were lillies in the batch. Yikes! I snipped all the lillies off and checked all the other flowers which were nontoxic/mild allergy. The cat doesn't have access to the bouquet either. Is there anything else i need to do? I just read online that even llicking pollen off can kill them. I don't want a gift for my gf to kill our cat.

I’m a little confused about preeclampsia. I would appreciate some insight!
I’m 27 years old FTM at 33 weeks and 3 days. Around 28 weeks, I started experiencing slightly swollen feet and hands but it wasn’t too bad. In week 30, I suddenly started feeling sudden extreme fatigue, nausea, and dizziness that never went away. My first and second trimesters were very mild in terms of these symptoms. I messaged my OB, and the nurse had me up my hydration and keep track of my blood pressure that stayed around the 115-130/70-80 range over the course of 2 days. Still didn’t feel great. Nurse said that my blood pressure seems to be stable and that I’m experiencing normal pregnancy symptoms.
Fast forward to yesterday, I went on a one-mile walk around the neighborhood. Towards the end of the walk, my hands started swelling up really bad to the point that I couldn’t bend my fingers/close my hand. My arms felt heavy and it was extremely uncomfortable. I got home and sat on the couch for a few minutes to see if it would go down, and then I called the after-hours nurse line.
While I was waiting for the call back I took my blood pressure, it was 114/90. It was about 5 minutes later when they called me back. I explained the situation and she said it can be normal, especially since the heat and humidity have picked up, but it could also be a sign of preeclampsia. She had me take my blood pressure again and it was 140/88. She said that was a little high. She had me lay on my left side and wanted me to take my blood pressure again with the cuff on my right arm. It was 140/93. She was concerned with that number and said that I might need to come in to get checked. She talked a bit about preeclampsia and what it meant. Then, she had me take my BP again about 2 minutes later on my side and it came out to be 122/63.
She asked if I had any other symptoms like blurry vision/vision changes or a headache. I told her that I had a very dull headache that has been going on for a few days but it wasn’t awful. And that I hadn’t taken anything for it yet. She said that I didn’t need to come in but to be on modified bed rest for the next few days, watch out for those symptoms, and continue to monitor my BP. She also told me to take baby aspirin once a day. She told me to call back if something changes, and to call my OB’s nurse line on Monday to see if they would like me to come in sooner (next appointment is on Friday).
Since then, my BP has been 122/79 before bed, 106/67 in the morning, and 132/86 in the afternoon. Headache has gotten a little worse today and I plan to take Tylenol here in a bit.
A few other things I should note: I’ve been experiencing shortness of breath when I get in that deep fatigue/nausea/dizziness. I have some pain in my right rib cage but nothing excruciating - feels worse when I lay on the right side.
I’ll be calling my nurse line in the morning, but would appreciate some insight. I’m slightly confused about preeclampsia.
Can blood pressure spikes/sudden swelling like this be a one-off thing? Can you have normal BP readings majority of the time with a few spikes but have preeclampsia? What is considered blurry vision? Sometimes my eyes feel out of focused/heavy/tired with a headache. What should I be bringing up with my nurse phone call tomorrow that might be helpful?
Any other insight would be greatly appreciated!

Hey everyone, I'm wondering if there's anyone who has a good deal of experience with RPG Maker MZ who would be willing to be for lack of a better term, a 'development buddy'. I'm not looking for somebody to make my game for me or anything like that–though I'm gonna be honest, if somebody offered to let me just write the dialogue, handle the art and work on the general concept stuff, I'd probably be super happy to do so!
Mostly what feels reasonable to hope for now is just somebody who has a lot of experience with the actual RPG Maker MZ environment, and in an ideal situation has experience with VisuaStella's plugins (since I've seen a number of their's that handle a lot of things I'd really like to be able to use in my game.)
I've run into a lot of situations where I try to do something, and then it doesn't work and I don't know why. (Which is annoying because the other day I swapped out the processor in an old 2010 Mac Pro that a friend saved from recycling at work, and which I've repurposed into a torrent and plex server... so like, I'm not clueless with computer stuff.)
Where I'm coming from is I'm a 'neuodivergent creative type'. If you want an example of my writing and my skills when it comes to graphics check out Thicc Skinned that's a webcomic I made from some sample pages I was using to try and pitch agents on a graphic novelization of a novel I wrote. (Still need to actually self publish that thing.) I worked on that with a penciler from Brazil around the start of the pandemic. I probably would have kept working on it if I had reliable funds coming in at the time, but the guy doing the pencils ended up getting more higher paying jobs, and so I was just sitting around doing nothing.
So yeah, as you can see, I can draw and I can write.
What I'm having trouble with is that I keep watching tutorials that explain how to do stuff, but they're not always explaining what I want to do, and I feel like it would be a lot easier if I could just talk to somebody who could just say, "Oh yeah best way to do that is with this thing you've never heard of."
Also it would just be nice to have someone to bounce story ideas off of etc.
What am I trying to make? First and foremost I want to make something that looks good, something that looks kind of like what your memories of FF6, Chrono Trigger or Pokemon feel like. I've played around with Galv's layes and figured out that without having the file size get absolutely insane, I could probably just draw every village with a few layers of PNGs stacked on top of each other. (Tenative plan would be use repeating grass tiles for the ground, sprites for things like trees and flowers that I want to feel like they're blowing in the wind,) custom drawings for each house in each village, two shadow layers, one under the player and one above them, and also a lighting layer set to screen above the player. (Yeah I'm aware for someone who hasn't spent too many hours in Photoshop that might sound like a lot, but my brain has no trouble keeping all that straight in my head.)
Story wise, broadstrokes it's an Isekai where Jane (a manic pixie tomboy) from our world drops out of the sky into the game world directly into a pond where two fantasy RPG characters who 'totally aren't gay' were definitely not going to go skinny dipping. Of course when she says that she's not from their world, they assume she's just hit her head and or is nuts. They head back to their village, and on the way back get attacked by a wild monster you get a tutorial fight where you're introduced to the battle mechanics, and learn that Jane is a healer, which means not only can she heal people, but she can't actually attack anyone. If she punches anyone, they gain 100 HP. So she's dependent on the guys she just met to help her get home, because she's pretty sure that's what you're supposed to do when you get stranded in a crazy fantasy world.
My hope is to build a reasonably well developed world where what you decide to do matters. For example at one point you'll end up at a factory where the workers have unionized (or whatever unionization looks like in a fantasy RPG setting) and they've said no we're not working harder for less wages. You can either choose to side with the workers or the bosses. If you side with the workers you run through a reasonable gauntlet of comically named encounters, and in the future and you eventually vanquish the owners of the factory and the workers take over, you'll then be able to purchase cheaper healing items through out the rest of the game, and in the late game because of your choice then, you'll be able to get something like better equipment for your final build going into the last boss fights. If you choose to side with management, you can skip the 'dungeon' aside from defeating a few easy to defeat workers, but items aren't cheaper in the rest of the game, and later in the game some things will be a bit different.
If you're wondering, "Is this game going to challenge the idea that unregulated capitalism is a good thing?" Yes. Yes it will. I also may or may not choose to make allusions to various political figures while naming monster encounters.'
I also have an idea where you'd have some not overly common random encounters with local monsters which not unlike Pokemon would just basically be animal like things with elemental affinities, and those would just sometimes happen when walking though certain areas outside of towns etc, but you'd also periodically have one time encounters when you pass through areas where there'd be these beast-man type characters who travel in packs potentially with local monsters, and you could defeat them but not kill them, or you could choose to wipe them out. Then later on in the game you'd end up in a village that would be filled with NPCs who represent their families, who are either starving and resentful because someone killed their family member who was supposed to bring back food and supplies, or they'd be full and happy if you hadn't killed their loved one who went on to mug other people.
Anyway, if anyone who knows what they're doing would be open to being a resource for me, let me know. Ideally my preference would be chatting on either iMessage or Facebook messenger. (I guess whatsapp works too I just kinda hate that one) We could also just use Reddit though I do find Reddit tends to be weirdly laggy and unreliable for messaging.

Yup, just as the title reads, I've been reading the endless infidelity stories on these subs for years. My turn finally came. Yet somehow, I still fell for all the classic cheater lies, and made all the wrong moves. Here's my story.
I 30 M met my now ex-GF 27 F on Hinge in early August of 2022. After our third date, we decided to date exclusively. She told me that if we crossed the intimacy line, that I could no longer see other people. While I didn't like the idea at first, I decided to go ahead with it because I really liked her and wanted to see where things could go. I had no interest in other people at the time. We became official after about 6 weeks of dating.
Truthfully, the beginning was rocky. She insisted on seeing me once a week. Eventually we could progress to twice a week according to her. This also resulted in sex once a week, which I found strange for a new relationship. But I kept an open mind. People are different. We also didn't text much. Hours and hours between our messages. Slowly though, with much resistance, the communication and time together did increase, and we began a normal relationship. Meeting friends, going on adventures, and dreaming of our future together.
D-Day came on November 6th, 2022. She had stepped out to a thrift store for about an hour for a clothing exchange. I waited for her to come back at her apartment. As I was texting her, her iPad kept ringing in her bedroom. I went to silence her iPad so I could work on my laptop in peace. As I picked up the iPad, I saw my messages, amongst other notifications. Then I saw a notification from Google Voice. It read: "It's been great. Just made it to Rio. I get home Thursday. Xo" The alarms went off immediately at the "XO." I thought it was very strange. The number wasn't saved. She had never mentioned Google Voice. At the time, I didn't know what Google voice even was. I began to dread that this message could be what I thought it was. As a long time lurker on these subs, I remembered not to ever reveal what you know to catch a cheater, until you have undeniable proof. So I googled the number. It belonged to a charity with 2 owners. One lived in California (other side of the country); a bank CEO. The other was a 62 year old professor at a university 10 minutes away.
I sat on this information and kept silent. Acted totally normal when she came home. The next day, we went to go pick up her new dining table she ordered. It was a 30 minute drive. I decided to confront her just as we left for home, so that she would be forced to face me. Me: "So since we've started dating, have any other guys been hitting on you?" Her: "Not really, why?"Me: "You're so attractive. I find that hard to believe." Her: "Guys don't really talk to me that often." Me: "So you're sure that you're not talking to anyone else right now? No conversations that you wouldn't want me to know about?" "Not at all." As I looked at her, she was so calm. So sure that I had no idea what was going on. It scared me. It was the first time I saw a glimpse of who she really was, and how cold she could really be. Me: "So who the fuck is Kirk then?" Immediately, she looked at me with panic. Her faced turned white. Her voice was shaking so hard that she couldn't get her words out properly. She began to apologize immediately. She knew she was caught. She gave me her phone and showed me all the messages. I was sick to my stomach as I read the messages. She was prostituting herself to this man for money.
As I scoured thorugh her messages, she dropped another bomb. There was a second guy. Her most recent doctor ex she had told me about. Turns out they were still in contact. She said she was helping him with errands but they had stopped sleeping together by the time she and I started dating. She didn't want to tell me that she was still in contact with him because she knew I would suspect something. She showed me those messages too. As I looked through the messages, I didn't have 100% proof of something going while we were together. While he was out of town, she was watering his plants, every week and taking care of his airbnb. They went to dinner once (but she came to see me right after). It seemed like he was using her for free labor. A little too many favors from someone who is just a friend. But my main red flag was that she was trying to get him to go on a trip with her in the next 3 months, while dating me. That was all the proof I needed.
I crossed-checked the dates. I had finally figured out where she had been while taking forever to text me back. While seeing me once a week. It was my biggest fear. Another man. In this case, more than one. I was hit by a Tsunami of emotions and endlesss questions. How could she do this to me? After all the love I gave her? After I told her about being cheated on by my other 2 ex girlfriends and how badly it hurt me? After I turned down a job in DC for her? After I told her my friends we're concerned and think she's a cheater, she'd still cheat? After I told her about this sub and how I believed in exposing cheaters to everyone? Did she not care about risking giving me STDs? Did she care about me at all? Is she just pure evil and playing me for a fool? Why throw our relationship away to sell your body to an old man? Am I not worth more than $500? More than dinner, shoes, makeup, and a vacuum? Did he know about me? Did you guys laugh at me and how stupid I was? Did you laugh with your ex too? Are you in love with your ex still? Are there others? Have you always been a prostitute? How did I get myself into this situation again? Why can't I make better decisions? Why can't I find a good partner? What's wrong with me?
Out of all those questions, all I could ask her was "Why do this? Her answer: "I don't know."
Anyone who has been in this situation knows how big of a slap in the face this is. It's a classic line for the backstabbing cheater. Of course she knew. She carefully crafted lies for months to get away with it. She was greedy. Wanted the best of both worlds. To eat her cake and have it. She didn't care how much she damaged me in the process. She didn't care how many lies and backstabbing it took to get what she wanted.
I broke up with her immediately. But I gave her a chance to prove that she was sorry. And she did. She was what exactly what you'd want someone to be if they were truly sorry. She did everything I asked from her. For the next 2 months, with nothing promised in return. She got to me. I decided to give it another go.
D-Day #2 was May 30th, 2022. I found an old phone of hers in some stuff hidden in her room while I was helping her clean. I waited till she went to bed. I powered up the phone, and snooped through her messages. Nothing too crazy, but her most recent ex was on there. I wanted to see what their relationship was really like, because I didn't trust her to tell me everything. I uncovered 2 more lies she'd been telling me. First, they didn't break things off in February, 6 months before meeting me. They last had sex (from what I could tell) about 1 week before our first date. Also means that she lied about being celibate for 6 months before meeting me. I was furious, and decided to really dig through her phone to see what else i could find.
I found another name in her phone that I had never heard of. I read their messages, and he was a clearly a former lover. But not just any lover. A 67 year old partner at a law firm. My heart sank. Another sugar daddy. This was clearly a pattern, and not something she's never done as she insisted for the past year.
Now this was before she had met me, but rolled into while we were initially dating. but she told him she had decided to stop seeing him because she had met a guy she really liked at the time. This was right around our 5th date, so it could have been me. She also started sleeping with the professor right around this time, so this could have been her switch to a new sugar daddy. I became furious. She had told me about a guy before, but I realized she was just changing small details about this guy. Instead of being 40, he was 67. He wasn't white, he was Arab. It's true that he was a lawyer though. It's true that she went to Miami with him too. It's not true that she had never dated an older guy before the professor like she told me. It was not true that she had never had a sugar daddy before. (Small side note, she had been denying that the other gentleman was her sugar daddy. She insisted that she just preferred older men and didn't want to tell me). We were in therapy at this point, so I didn't attack her. I decided to take a peaceful and non-judgmental route. I asked her if she had any other men that she was talking to while dating me that she didn't mention. She denied it. I told her his name. She kicked me out and dumped me. i didn't explode. I explained my side to her, and gave her the space to explain hers to me. We went to therapy and talked it out. She said she hid it out of shame. More lies and no remorse from this woman.
So what did I do? Give her another go after a month of therapy. 6 months later, she dumped me out of the blue for good.
This final part is my opinion of infidelity. I want my story to be an example for people to read and learn from. Don't take them back. If you even have the chance to. It's never worth it. The relationship will never be the same. The "trickle truth" is very real. I got nothing but trickling for the rest of our relationship. She was going to lie until she died, unless I caught her red-handed. I spent the rest of the relationship in a state of permanent distrust. My mind was consumed with so many unanswered questions, daily. I could not enjoy anything we did together because I would always question if she was playing an angle. I hated myself for not being strong enough to stand up to her and leave her. I was embarrassed to tell friends and family that I was still with her. I was embarrassed to tell my therapist that I was still with her, after finding out she lied to both of us during therapy. I lost a lot of money that I could have saved for myself, that I spent on countless dates. I felt defrauded, violated, heartbroken, and ashamed after our break up. Literal physical pains in my chest for days. I was in a deep depression for two weeks after we split. I'm better now, but still recovering. I'm trying not to be jaded, but it's hard not to become cynical after a year and a half of my life being spent like this. Don't do it!

So this guy Justin Bruce of Nanaimo, aka South Island Predator Publising, Aka Catcher Fett
The guy really thinks he is some kind of super hero lol His ego must be super over inflated! The guy is an idiot! He gets off by pretending to be an underage boy or girl and then tricking lonely desperate men into meeting with the fictitious person, then he pulls out his phone and starts recording them and swearing at them and threatening them. Even the cops don't take this loser seriously! Talk about entrapment! He's obviously not happy in his own life and this is an outlet for him. He seriously need some counseling! Maybe even more so than the guy's he goes to meet! Funny how he's never gone to meet a women, he's only interested in male's. I think he might be Gay but in the closet. Does this guy seriously think he's going to be the next Chris Hansen or something? LOL 😂 I think there's a lot more constructive ways to spend his time like maybe volunteering in a nursing home, volunteering at the school, picking up garbage. He acts like he's holier than holy, act's like he's never done anything wrong is his life. Any of those amoung you without sin, cast the first stone! What a downer!

My ex (28M) and I (25F) have a beautiful toddler together. When we found out I was pregnant, he was absolutely ecstatic. He made all sorts of promises that I was disillusioned enough to believe even though our relationship had been far from perfect prior to the baby.
The only time he showed excitement about the baby was when someone asked him about it. He would go on and on about how this baby was his life, his everything, his purpose. However, he had no interest in preparing for the baby, in going to the doctors appointments with me, or anything of that nature. (He works very long, odd hours and played video games when he wasn't working or sleeping). I had hoped this would change once the baby came...of course it didn't.
After the baby was born, I immediately began having difficulties. We were in the middle of the formula shortage and I had to make breastfeeding work, but evetytime I ate, i would be in the fetal postion with stabbing chest pains--turns out my gallbladder had given out but I didn't know that at this point. My point is I was in survival mode just trying to feed my child.
On our first day back at the house (three days postpartum) My ex tried to pressure me into giving him a BJ since it had "been so long". I was furious. He replied saying that this is why he had only asked for a BJ since he knew I'd make a big deal if he'd asked for sex--he apparently knows lots of girls who would put out after birth cause they actually "enjoy sex."
So began the next year of my life. I was a stay at home mom for 4mos. He had wanted it this way so that we wouldn't have to pay for childcare and it worked out since I was atill nursing. He had actually told me parents that he wanted to take care of me and the baby and assured them that he made enough to support us all comfortably (he made plenty. ) Instead he treated me like in house labor. He never cleaned, cooked, changed diapers, did bath time, any of it. Never went to the pediatrician or showed any interest in his child. His only responsibility was reading the bedtime book and it was pulling teeth to get him to do that (he wanted to stay in bed and watch twitch).
I continued to have pain when eating and it got so bad that all I could eat was 1/2 a cup of oatmeal a day to avoid any pain so that I could care for our child without being out of commission. There were several times he came back from work while is was in the middle of what I now know as a gallstone attack and I would be crying and Immediately hand him our newborn so I could be in pain without holding a baby. He called me an unfit mother and that this made him question whether I should even be left alone with the baby. He told me I was Just having heart burn and to suck it up.
I drove myself and my baby to the er at two months postpartum and got told I had 20-30 gallstones in my gallbladder. They scheduled me for surgery immediately (I dropped from 200 down to 140 in this time). We stayed at my parents house during my 10 day recovery and he visited one time, leaving after an hour to go game with the boys.
I went through all of my savings during my 4mos as a stay at home mom. He refused to give me money anything, even for groceries while he would consistently order doordash for breakfast and dinner (he would LITERALLY doordash McDonald's when it was less than a mile from us). He also bought a new graphics card, the new switch, new games etc at this point. I literally ate Ramen everyday and spent the money on gas and groceries for our daughter. While I'm so happy that I was able to make our daughters pureed food by hand, I'm not thrilled that I didn't have a choice in the matter since it was cheaper to make than buy.
I went out and got a weekend part time job so I could afford things again. My entire $600 paychecks went to my rent, car insurance, phone bill, and whatever wasleft I spent on the baby. I was called a "financial leach" so many times. I felt worthless. My parents offered to watch our child so that I could begin to work full time. I accepted a promotion and began working more than full time hours--but my roles in the home stayed the same. The only difference was I had to leave an hour and 15min prior to my shift to drive my child to my parents and again when I got off.
At this time, my sister let me know that when I was 2 weeks postpartum, my ex and messaged her confessing his feelings for her and encouraged her not to tell her husband and especially not me. I WAS LIVID. My family had known for months but didn't want to "add to my load."
I continued the hell that my life was. Being the sole caretaker for our child and my ex while be constantly pressured and manipulated for not wanting to be intimate with him. We had many conversations about this but nothing ever changed.
Fast forward and when our child was 14mos, I finally got the courage to leave him after he yelled at me for letting our child be "loud" while he was trying to sleep. I was in the process of putting clothes on so that my baby and I could walk out the door and go get diapers since our last one was currently ON out child. When we came home he yelled at me for wasting money because I bought a pack of diapers for another new mom at my work. (I had a sams club membership and always offered to pick things up for anyone since their diaper deals are INSANE). Now this person always paid me back and it was MY money that I was choosing to spend. I put the baby down for a nap and I left to take a walk. That night was the 4th of July and we took our baby out to the playground to see if we could see any early fireworks. He was on his phone playing Pokémon go (as always) and was not paying attention to his child that was growing increasingly frustrated that they couldn't get his attention. After putting the baby's shoe back on for the 10th time I snapped and asked If he could please put the phone down for once and pay attention to his child. He lost it on me and I left the next day. I have never looked back.
It's been almost a year since we left. He doesn't call us, he has only asked to see his child 10times in the past year and I will go our of my way to meet him or bring them to him. I called HIM on Christmas so he could FaceTime. He pays nothing. I am fine with this. I have always been the sole caretaker and I've never needed his money. I have a wonderful support system and I am so glad I finally woke up and did the right thing for my family.
He recently reached out and asked to see the baby more often. I said yes of course, but that if he wanted to see the baby regularly he would need to purchase a crib, carseat, toothpaste, etc for them. I also said that he would need to get on the same page as me for the daily schedule, discipline, and menu so that some normalcy remains for our child. He got mad that i "make all the decisions " and said that he will be suing me for 50% custody. I said go ahead and sue me then.
The other Day, I couldn't find a babysitter for my shifts on Friday and Saturday evening. I reached out to him to see if he could help. He agreed ang picked the baby up on Friday morning. When he got back to his house, he called to let me know that he had gotten back the results of the paternity test had mailed in and that they were inconclusive. I asked him what he was talking about because this was news to me. He let me know that he had gotten an at home paternity test because the courts require one. He wanted me to "have a copy for my records in case I want to take him to court." I called him on it and said it sounded like he was taking me to court since he had already threatened to do so. He denied it. I then said it sounds like you don't believe that they're actually your child then. He got very defensive and said he has never questioned their legitimacy--to which I reminded him that he had....many many times. He got mad and hung up on me.
As soon as I got to work I saw a text from him saying that I needed to come over after work tonight so that we could have a serious discussion and "settle this" or else he would serve me papers. I told him to serve me then cause I'm tired of him trying to hold it over my head.
I didn't feel comfortable with the situation at all. He has some mental health struggles that honestly do scare me a bit. I am extremely uncomfortable being alone with him. I left work early and let him know that I would be picking up before bedtime. He didn't object.
When I picked up, he told me that we needed to talk. I set my boundary and said I didn't want to talk right now. He continued to stare at me and say "no no no we're talking" I stayed quiet while he told me that he was suing me for custody AND suing me for emotional damage. I stayed silent while he told me that he know this while financially ruin me so he wants to give me one last chance to be "nicer" to him. I told him that I don't know how much nicer I could possibly be to him given our situation. He followed me around and continued to call me an awful parent and so on. I got in my car and left.
I was so uncomfortable with the situation. I feel threatened. He was supposed to watch the baby the next day, but he never reached out to ask what time for drop off or pick up. I had a family member clear their schedule so that they could help us out (she really didn't want me bringing the baby over) . My ex knew that I worked at 3pm and waited until 2:55pm to text me that "I guess I'm not watching the baby" I told him I hadn't heard from him so I figured something else out. He was mad.
AITA?

Woman sitting next to me enjoying some wine warned me that they try to rip people off with incorrect change etc. The woman on the other side of her had been charged for premium tequila and served regular. I thought using my credit card - tap to pay - I’d be fine. Checking my account when I got home I see they double charged me. I think once in USD and once in pesos. I’ve course I’ve disputed the extra charge with the bank.

I want to start off by saying that I don’t know exactly what I expect to get out of this. I think you might be able to help me, but I don’t really know how you could. Maybe you can’t. It’s the only option I have at this point, in any case. I don’t know what else to do. If you can’t help me, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me anymore. I really need your help.
I’m a 911 dispatcher. Or, I was. I had been doing it for about 9 years now – it was a nice job. Well, one that puts food on the table, at the very least. I was good at it. Not a lot of people could take a job like that, but it was not too bad for me. Though there've been hundreds of dire events people have called for, it was rather uneventful for myself. I just sit in that room, answering call after call. Nothing much happens in that room. Nothing much happened to me in general. I had a pretty ordinary, uneventful life.
About a year ago, I’d say, this woman called in. No phone number. It happened, sometimes – our department spent our money on things other than an upgraded phone system… but that’s beside the point. She called in about a burglary that was about to happen in this rather poor part of town. She hung up pretty fast. I couldn’t get in a word, but, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think too much of it.
It was not often that a person called in regarding something going to happen rather than something already happening. But, it happens sometimes. Sometimes people catch wind of a crime through word of mouth or see someone suspicious in their neighborhood before they do anything, and don’t know who else to call.
I thought that this was one of those instances, and handled it accordingly. I informed the police, and the police staked out the house that was supposed to get burglarized. Sure enough, a couple of guys tried to break into the place. They were caught before they could even get through the window they had broken open, from what I had heard.
A few days later, this woman called again. I thought her voice sounded familiar. She had this uniquely monotone voice. Emotionless. She sounded so familiar, but admittedly, I didn’t think too much of that, either. I guess I just heard too many voices… they all blurred together and sounded the same sometimes. Her number didn’t show up on the screen again. She called in about an assault. It hadn’t happened yet.
This felt odd to me. Assaults like this seemed like typically an in-the-moment thing. It usually was not planned ahead enough for someone else to know about it. I had a strange feeling about it, but she had hung up just as quickly as she had the first time, without letting me get a word in.
Of course, I informed the police again. The man was caught at the exact time and place that the woman on the call had said, trying to assault a woman on the street, and with a knife. It didn’t seem… premeditated. The news articles said that the man was drunk.
I was a little confused and actually pretty concerned – how did this woman on the phone know? But I didn’t have many options. Her calls didn’t come with a phone number, after all – I couldn’t just call her back to ask. That wasn’t part of my job, anyways. The police didn’t ask.
A couple weeks went by after that. Business as usual. Regular 911 calls – I don’t believe I heard that voice again once for that entire duration. I wish it had stayed that way.
She called again. Her voice struck me as familiar right off the bat this time. I recognized it, now. I knew it was her. This call, however, was far more concerning to me than the previous one. She said that my house was going to get broken into. She didn’t say it like that, she didn’t say that it was my house directly. She said that a house would get broken into, I asked her for the address, and the address that she gave me was mine. It took me a second to process this fully. It was so unexpected that my brain just took a second to click. I finally registered it – that this familiar sounding address was mine.
“What?”
But she had already hung up. Of course she had already hung up.
I sat there for a second, in shock. I couldn’t call her back, because of course her phone number hadn’t shown up again. We didn’t have a way of tracing calls or anything – we would need to get the police in for something like that. I didn’t have many options here. I did what I had done for the last two incidents – I informed the police, and they sent a cop to stake it out. I was still at work when it happened. Sure enough, a couple hours later, some guy tried to break in, and they caught him. They called me after the incident to inform me of this. It was my house after all.
I didn’t really know what to make of this. Not yet. I had recognized that woman as being the same woman from her previous two calls. It was already strange enough that she knew these crimes were going to happen beforehand each time, but it was too strange of a coincidence that one of the crimes happened to me. I didn’t know what to do. I guess I had hoped that it truly was just that – a coincidence. Just a strange coincidence.
Admittedly, I was scared to go home that night. I lingered at work for as long as I could, stalling for time – but, eventually, my boss made me leave. I drove home, probably going under the speed limit. I was a nervous wreck. The police caught the burglar – what was there to be scared of? I just couldn’t shake this ominous feeling off. About the caller. The woman. How did she know my house was going to get broken into? I tried to tell myself that perhaps she was just somehow well-informed of crimes. Maybe she knew some people, heard things through word of mouth, or something. I don’t know. But the ominous feeling wouldn’t go away.
When I arrived in my driveway, it was dark out. I always got home pretty late. I really did not want to step out of my car. I looked out all of my windows, squinting at the bushes and behind all my neighbor’s cars and fences for any sign of someone watching my home, or me. I don’t know why – again, I just… had a feeling.
I didn’t see anyone. After probably 20 minutes of this, I worked up the courage to step out. I finally left my car and went up to my house. Everything was fine, normal. No real sign of the burglary. The cop caught him before any real damage could be done, after all. The police had suggested I leave work when the actual attempt had happened, but I was so shaken up by the call – I told them I would come by the police station to talk about it the day afterwards. I guess I just wanted to be there – at the call station – in case she called again.
Anyways, I stepped inside. Nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, the burglar never actually got to go inside. I should have expected nothing to be out of place, but I checked everywhere anyway. I checked my closets, too. And under my bed. I was paranoid. No one had tried to break into my house before. I was pretty shaken up. I did not sleep well that night, if at all. I was happy to leave for work the next day. Anything to get out of there.
I was expecting another call from the woman the next day. Every time the phone rang, my heart sank a little. It was going to be her. But it never actually was.
The day went by like any normal day. I stopped by the police station afterwards. I needed to, anyways, to get some things sorted out regarding the burglar. But I told them about the incident, too, fully – I explained to them the strange caller. There wasn’t much they could do about it. It did not put me at ease, but I guess I was glad that they knew, too.
I didn’t sleep very well that night either. The days and nights went on like this for a while – expecting the woman each day, with every call, being paranoid in my own home. It was exhausting. But she never did call. Nothing ever did happen to me. I never looked out the window and saw a face staring back at me, watching my house, watching me. Things just went by as usual.
I chalked it all up to myself being paranoid. It was just a coincidence. That’s what I convinced myself. I convinced myself that nothing was unusual, that everything would be okay.
A couple months went by. I had practically forgotten about it all. She never called the 911 operating station again. I finished up one day, clocked out of work, grabbed a water bottle from the vending machine in the front lobby. I was about to step outside and head to my car when I got a phone call.
I took my phone out of my jacket and checked it – no number. Alright, I thought, it was probably a spam call, or something. Those usually didn’t come with a number, you know? Usually they said ‘Spam Caller,’ but, again, didn’t think too much of it. I declined it. I wasn’t one to answer spam calls. I reached for the door handle again. That’s when my phone started ringing again, too. I checked it. No number. That feeling from before – the ominous feeling – starting creeping back into me. I answered this time.
It was silent on the other line for a couple seconds, but those couple seconds went by for far too long as I stood there, silently, anticipating… something. I don’t know what.
Then she spoke. It was her. The caller from before. My blood ran ice cold. I paused, horrified. I recognized that voice, that tone, immediately. It was her.
She greeted me. She hadn’t done that before – which was not too unusual for a 911 call. People usually aren’t going to bother with greetings and pleasantries before telling me about their emergencies, after all. She didn’t either. But she greeted me this time.
“Hello,” she said, so simply, in that monotone voice of hers. I was so in shock, so taken aback and unprepared that I just could not get any words out after opening my mouth. There were a couple more awful seconds of silence before she continued on. “If you step outside, you will get hurt.”
She hung up. Just like that, she hung up. My jaw was still agape, wordless. I didn’t get to say a thing before she hung up. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I was frozen in front of the glass door in front of me. If you step outside, you will get hurt?
I finally snapped out of it and quickly backed far away from the front door. I ducked into a nearby hallway, where the elevators were – away from any glass doors or windows. That was that woman from before. The caller. From the burglary incident. The one who knew. How did she know I was about to leave? Was she outside the building, watching me through the door? The timing was far, far too perfect. How did she find me? And what did she mean by ‘I will get hurt?’ If she really was out there, was she about to hurt me?
I stood in that hallway with the elevators for ages. I didn’t know what to make of the situation, but I sure as hell was not stepping outside. I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified. My legs were shaking, I could barely breathe. I tried to call her back, fearfully, but the call could not go through. Not without a number to call back to.
Finally, I called an elevator and went back up to where my coworkers were still getting ready to leave. I must have looked so scared – they were able to tell right off the bat that something was off. I told them what had happened, I told them about the incident a few months ago, too. I was lucky to have such sweet, caring coworkers.
One of them, a buddy, a coworker named Trevor, offered to walk with me outside. Trevor was a big guy. Strong. I felt a little safer with this idea. If this woman came up to me to hurt me, I was sure Trevor would be able to protect me. I was still scared, to be sure – but if Trevor was there, maybe we could safely find the caller and put a stop to this all.
We went back down the elevators – Trevor and I. I was still terrified. He went outside first. I didn’t want to linger too far behind. I didn’t want to be alone. I stuck close behind him and stepped outside as well.
The chill of the night air hit me fast. It was dark out, apart from the light shining from the sidewalk lanterns by the entrance and out of the upstairs windows, where some of my coworkers still were. They were probably watching us.
Nothing happened at first. Trevor and I both looked around, observing our surroundings, looking for her in the darkness. I stood beside him, still sticking rather close to the entrance.
Then… I heard a noise. It happened so fast. I didn’t have time to process anything. Trevor didn’t, either.
I looked beside me, at Trevor, just in time to watch an air conditioning unit fall from an upper floor, straight onto his head.
Trevor collapsed just as fast – as soon as it hit him. I heard a sickening noise – one of hard metal hitting soft flesh. Another, far louder noise rang through the air as the unit hit the ground. He laid there, sprawled out on the floor, completely unmoving, the AC beside his head.
I stared at his body in horror. He didn’t move. Of course he didn’t move. I was again frozen in place, shaking. I watched as his head started slowly bleeding dark crimson onto the concrete. It started pooling around the AC unit, started dripping off of the sidewalk and into the grass.
There was scrambling behind me, a door opening. I was pushed out of the way, still glued in place, and a couple of my coworkers surrounded Trevor’s body. Someone ran inside to call for an ambulance. I felt sick to my stomach. I vomited onto the concrete below me, but I couldn’t look away.
I didn’t realize until much later that night, after the entire incident was over and I was able to safely make it back home, after the paramedics took Trevor away, after we were told he had died on the spot – that I had gotten a single cut on my cheek. Some of the blood had trickled down from the cut, trickled down onto my jaw and dried there. I hadn’t even noticed. So much was going on. One of the sidewalk lanterns had burst when the unit hit the ground hard. The glass had cut my cheek.
I had gotten hurt. Trevor had gotten hurt. Would I have been the one hit by the AC unit if I hadn’t gotten that call? Surely not – it was horrific timing, but it fell on its own, didn’t it?
The woman had completely slipped my mind during the incident. I realized this later, too. Was she out there? Did she see it happen? Did she plan this somehow? How did she know?
I didn’t go to work the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. I was terrified, scared out of my mind. I stayed locked in my room, curtains shut. I didn’t know what to do. I constantly checked my phone, waiting for her to call again. I blamed myself for Trevor’s death, blamed the woman, blamed the police for not helping me find her.
I picked my phone up time and time again. I tried to find ways to call her back, scoured the internet for ways to figure out who called me. Nothing worked. I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t get any sleep. It was awful.
My boss came by after a couple weeks or so. He was kind. He knew the entire incident was horrifying for me. He let me stay home for a while on paid leave, no bothering me. It was considerate of him.
He came to check on me because I hadn’t been answering any calls. Not when there was a possibility I’d miss one from her if I did so. That was kind of him, too.
I let him in. I was hesitant. Opening the front door was scary, and the daylight behind him was blinding considering I had kept all my curtains closed for that entire 2 weeks. We sat on my couch.
He told me he understood how traumatizing the situation must have been for me. He told me he got it, and they were all sad about Trevor’s death, too, but I needed to come back into work again. I understood. I expected as much, when I saw him through the peephole. He offered a ride, said I could come back today. Said that maybe being around my other coworkers again might help.
I didn’t exactly want to. I felt… wrong about it. I felt as if leaving my house would open up opportunities for that woman to find a way to hurt me. Even moreso, I felt that being at work would increase my chances of missing her call.
I told him as much, but he said he would have to let me go if I didn’t come back to work. I wanted to refuse, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Part of me also wondered if perhaps answering calls there again could entice the woman to call again, instead. Maybe I won't freeze up this time. Maybe I could ask her immediately who she was, what she wanted. I hesitantly agreed, and accepted his invitation for a ride.
He stood back up, pleased. He asked if I needed any time to get ready, and I said I didn’t. He asked if he could use my bathroom first, and I said to go right ahead. As soon as I heard the bathroom door lock, I got the call.
No number. My stomach churned, but I was ready. My phone almost fell out of my hand in excitement. I answered, fast. My entire being was shaking. And there it was – that same voice. She said it just like how she had said it before.
“Hello.”
I didn’t hesitate this time.
“Who are you? What are you doing to me? How do you know?”
Silence. A few seconds of silence. I was on the edge of my seat, breathless, waiting.
“If you get in that car with him, you will die.”
She hung up as soon as she finished the final word.
“What? What are you saying to me? Come back!” I yelled into my phone, screaming hopelessly, even though she was no longer on the other line. No answers. I still knew nothing. Absolutely nothing.
My boss rushed back out of my bathroom, clearly concerned. He sat back down next to me, comforted me. I told him about what had happened. He searched my house with me, but we found nothing, no one. How could she have heard our conversation? How did she know I was about to leave with him?
He thought that maybe she had some sort of listening device on my phone. I didn’t even hesitate, I threw it at the wall, slammed it against the counter, cracking the glass. I turned it off, opened my front door, and threw it as hard as I could into the street.
I begged my boss not to go. He offered me a ride to the police station instead of work. I refused. If I get in that car with him, I will die. He called the police for me with his own phone before leaving. He waited with me until they arrived, then left for work. I begged him not to go, insisting that something would happen to him on the way. He had to get to work, though. He thought it was nonsense.
A car crash. A 3 car pile up – his was t-boned. It was fatal. They said it was a drunk driver. She couldn’t have known, but she knew. If I went with him, I would have been dead.
I was not going into work at that point. Again, the police could do nothing for me. The call was untraceable. Useless assholes.
I stayed home. I didn’t care. I needed to get to the bottom of this. I bought a new phone, I waited. I got them to put my old number, the one from the phone I had broken and tossed away, onto the new one. I checked it obsessively throughout each day, waiting for that call from her. I looked up different ways to immediately trace a call. I could try a couple right after a call had ended, if only she would call.
And she did. It was as if she somehow sensed my newfound resolve, my vigor. She started calling more often, predicting things for me. I had expected more death sentences, more warnings of a future demise, but it quickly became littler things. She would call, greet me in that same voice, that same old “hello”, and warn me of things like a future power outage, or an unlocked window. At one point, she knew of my expired milk. I’m notoriously bad at checking expiration dates – but I knew to check the milk before pouring it into my Fruit Loops. The calls became more and more frequent.
My attempts at tracing never worked, but I always came up with new ideas to try and find out who she was. I would try to listen closely for any background noise that could give me a hint as to her location, or I would try to hang up right after the “hello” to see if anything would change. Nothing worked out for me.
But it became sort of… exciting. It was a game of cat and mouse – I wanted to find her. I was ready for every call, anticipating them. I had nothing else to do. I was fired from my job. I didn’t even care.
I became excellent at heeding her each and every warning. Nothing bad happened to me anymore. I was in complete control. I was actually grateful. I didn’t even care that she somehow knew what I was doing and what was going to happen to me at all hours of the day – I just wanted to know who she was. My guardian angel. Nothing bad was going to happen to me with her watching over me. She made me feel so safe. I relied on her.
The woman called me one night, as I was sleeping. I picked up happily nevertheless, as had become the norm.
“Hello.” Same monotone voice. She was the only person who called me anymore.
“Hi.” I answered, grinning.
“They see me.”
She hung up.
I sat there for a second, processing. They see me. This was the first time she referred to herself, the first time she didn’t give me a warning. I didn’t know how to react. I sat there, motionless, shocked. They see me. I jumped out of bed, now genuinely distraught. What?
I paced for the rest of the night, waiting for another call. I waited for something to happen, waited for it to make sense. Nothing.
Days went by without a call from her. Bad things started happening to me again, things I had stopped looking out for.
Days and days. Weeks.
I checked news articles, facebook, radio stations. Did the police find her before I did? There wasn’t anything about it anywhere, if so. I called the station, they had no idea what I was talking about.
I kept all my curtains open, my doors unlocked, hoping she’d show herself, show how she knew what was happening in my life, come back. I looked out my windows hoping to see a face peering in at me. One never did.
Weeks and weeks. A month or so had passed. I don’t know anymore. I think I lost track.
I miss her. I don’t know how the woman knew everything that was going to happen in my life, but I miss her. I need to know who she was. I don’t know who could have found her. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me anymore, and I’m terrified. I need to find her. I don’t feel safe anymore. Something’s going to happen to me.

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