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I came to this sub hoping to find solutions but instead finding a lot of gloomy posts. Most recommend surgery which is not reasonable for the vast majority. This sub should have non-surgical intervention information as well. Theres lots of talk online about doomscrolling and how bad it can be for mental health, I view this sub as a form of doomscrolling for OSD. Well, i'm here to change that.
I'm 33m and had OSD when i was 14-17 ish, but it resolved itself. I took up powerlifting when i was 23/24, and have trained with heavy weights off and on for the last 10 years or so. I do have some lingering injuries from when I was younger (ankles and hip). Recently my knee decided it would flare up and the pain has made it impossible to train the way I like to. Squatting or lunging would give me sharp pain, 6-8/10 scale. Taking time off from training didn't help either. I was thinking to go surgery, but speaking with various Dr's here made it clear that was a poor option. All suggested pysio and stretching. I'm not a huge fan of physio and now that I have a newborn I don't have that kind of time.
I started digging a bit more and the physiotherapy route became more appealing, but I would do it myself in place of my old workouts. Better to be a bit weaker and pain free than train through the pain and end up broken. The more reading I did, the more I realized that OSD is effectively a tendonitis or tendinopathy, with the added bonus of having a painful protrusion on the tibia. But given that it's a tendinopathy, that can be treated. Typical treatment for tendinopathy is load reduction, static stretching, dynamic stretching (mobility), and physiotherapy. I also did some searching and found This Post on a running subreddit about how a slantboard helped someone with OSD.
Searching for slantboards and exercises with them, I came across Knees over Toes Guy, specifically this video. Its a bit long-winded, but the main takeaway are to do the following exercises:

1. Backwards walking (preferably on a treadmill with the power off, but can be done outside in a safe place on a flat surface)
2. Tib raises (leaning your back on a wall, try to have your toes touch your shins)
3. Calf Raises
4. Single leg split squat, but with heel and/or foot elevated, can use a pole or stick to balance. Add weight as appropriate
5. 'Patrick' Squat (single leg step down squat)

I do 4 sets of 15 or 20 for each exercise. it should take you about half hour. You may not be able to train as much or as hard if you're taking this on.
The goal for all these is to engage your knee and patellar tendon in a targeted manner, in movement patterns that are safe and aligned with the function of the knee. So far these are working great for me. I have gone from a baseline pain of 3-4/10 to a 0-1/10, and during exercise my pain is now 1-3/10 instead of the 6-8/10. Of course I havent resumed heavy lifting, but even doing simple exercises would hurt and now I don't have as much pain.
In terms of mobility, This video shows you what dynamic stretches you can do to help with the knee. To simplify, the exercises are:
Big toe stretch. slant board calves stretch calves raises 3 sets of 20 hamstring stretch on slant board J-Curl on slant-board 90 90 position . ISO hold harder version butterfly stretch . Hands or dumbbell couch stretch 10-15 sec ATG KOT split squat ( start elevated and assisted.
Try this for a couple weeks, if you're here you're probably fed up with your situation and want some help. Not much downside to giving it a go.

I want to start by saying I really appreciate this medicine for what it did for me. I was desperate for help at a time where life felt difficult to cope with and Pristiq absolutely helped. I got through some major life challenges with an open mind and for that I’m really grateful.
I started weaning off a month ago, dropping from 75mg to 50mg for two weeks, 50mg to 25mg for two weeks and today I am scheduled to stop taking it completely.
My taper plan feels aggressive compared to what I’ve seen, but I trust my psychiatrist so I’ve followed it.
75 to 50: I felt heightened anxiety, a bit of nausea, some lightheadedness. I noticed I wasn’t flushing or feeling hot as much as I was used to, this was one of the most annoying side effects for me with Pristiq. I always ran so warm.
50 to 25: I had the same symptoms and also started to become aware of my feelings much more. Simple things made me want to weep, from sad to happy things. My bf suggested we go cosmic bowling one night and I got emotional 😹 it wasn’t all “cute” though. The second week was pretty miserable. Work stress was putting me in an existential crisis. Things felt harder to deal with, I wanted to isolate more, I was irritable and felt kind of out of my mind.
The last two days I’ve felt more stable.
25 to 0: I can’t say much because it’s my first day but I can say that I have felt pretty good today and I haven’t had a soul crushing headache the way I would previously if I ever missed a dose or was late. At this point, I’ve also noticed that my metabolism feels better. I’ve lost some stubborn weight that I haven’t been able to lose since being on Pristiq.
Some things I’ve done to self-regulate during my taper: Lift weights 3-4x a week Eat as healthy as I can, not avoiding treats that make me happy Lotssss of water and electrolytes Less coffee Be more intentional with my sleep
I’ve been pretty lucky, I don’t wish to jinx it and I’ll definitely report after a month off of it. I’m grateful this little online pocket exists, it’s made me feel less alone in the journey and like there are people who can relate. 🫶🏻
My mom said it really wonderfully today “The same symptoms you might experience coming off are the same symptoms that made you seek medication, it’s all about being smart starting medication, being smart on medication, and being smart getting off medication. Every step has its value, and they all bring you closer to yourself.” I just really loved that.

I got a call from my local Disability Determination office that my CDR exam with a psychologist was cancelled. But I hadn't received a letter or other notification that it was scheduled. I finished submitting my CDR forms a couple of months ago.
I called the employee back, and he said my CDR case is still going on. They might reschedule in the future, but they don't know when. My disability benefits will continue in the meantime. I asked if this might go on indefinitely, and he said yes.
I'm feeling nervous about all this, especially since I suffer from anxiety, social anxiety, mild depression, and low energy. I get easily stressed. Can I call back the employee and ask if I can not have a CDR exam, even if it's pretty far in the future? Any idea when it will be scheduled, if it will?
Can I just provide more information instead of going in for an exam? I hadn't been prescribed meds for mental health in while, since I got bad side effects, and I'm afraid I'll get more if I tried other meds. I'm concerned about the long-term effects of meds, too. Through the years, I've taken a long list of psychiatric meds, and they weren't helpful. Also, I hadn't seen any therapists or psychiatrists for a while, since they haven't been helpful, and they've been rude, hurtful, and condescending to me. They're often like that to patients they don't like, and I'm unlikeable due to a number of factors, including being a very stigmatized ethnicity in my area (and the world), and automatically seen as more unlikeable, less empathic, and less warm than other ethnicities.
I hadn't worked since getting disability about 11 years ago, except for sometime as a caregiver for my mother. I know about the SGA, but I couldn't even work other jobs to meet the SGA, ever. I'm a pretty severe case, though a lot of it is also severe stigmas against me, and how my ethnicity is bullied a lot more, with anxiety and a soft demeanor encouraging people to be rougher and nastier to me, making my life very painful and stressful whenever I have to interact with anyone. I'm unable to network, I have no friends or partner, I get severe anxiety for interviews, and I do poorly in interviews. And that's just the beginning - if I do get a job, I'm bullied endlessly because of shyness, anxiety, and a soft demeanor, in addition to my ethnicity often being bullied and looked down upon.
I was with the DOR on and off all these years, and got nowhere. That itself is proof of how I can't work. People generally are incredibly rude and condescending to me, so I can't get anywhere with people.
I suffer from ADHD-like issues as well, and haven't been able to do self-employment all these years, too.
In the past several years, I was very unsuccessful trying out community college for a few separate semesters, and couldn't finish or get past the first few class meetings, and was stuck with the fees.
I'm still in an online bootcamp, and have barely moved forward with it after starting it 8 months ago, with some pauses and freezes. I had to switch mentors and advisers 3 times already because they were condescending, and I couldn't move forward with them. I also met with a career coach, she was rude as well, and I'm not seeing her again. I'm seen as shy and awkward, and that's magnified because my ethnicity seen that way, and generally looked down upon and poorly treated, with people feeling domineering instead of respectful, without the camaraderie they have towards people of other ethnicities.
Sorry about the longish post. What should I do? Should I call the employee back and explain some of this to avoid the CDR exam, if it's finally scheduled at some time? I'd feel nervous not knowing when it's scheduled, and it could be a long time later. Should I send additional information? This includes doing poorly with the latest hospital I was at (they barred me from going back), not getting anywhere with multiple counselors at DOR, not being able to complete or get anywhere at a community college (had to quit within a few class meetings), not getting anywhere in an online bootcamp, not having any friends/partner, only interacting with my parents, and rarely leaving the house since the pandemic started. Also, they know that I hadn't had any job at all other than being a caregiver for my mom for some time, and that stopped a couple of years ago. I never had any other jobs since getting on SSDI about 11 years ago, though I'm aware there's the SGA. I suffer from a lot of pain and anxiety due to being treated poorly, and people devaluing me. Life has been nightmarish for me.

I’m trying to understand space. I think my confusion may be a product of the “fabric” analogy used to explain relativity.
All of the ways I’ve heard relativity explained treat it as if space is physical. Not in the sense that way we can see it with our eyes and touch it like matter, but we can observe the effects of it, e.g. smaller masses orbiting larger masses. This makes me think that masses in space are sort of suspended in this “fabric”.
Let’s say we used a bowling ball in the center of a stretched piece of fabric to demonstrate how masses curve the fabric of space. The edges of this cloth have to supported, I.e. using a clamp around the edges of the cloth so it can support the mass that is the bowling ball.
My question is, what holds the “fabric” of space in…existence (for a lack of a better term). What are the “clamps” that allow space to support all of the mass within it? If nothing, and everything is free falling through space, what determines the trajectory of the masses? Why would a mass’s trajectory be along the x axis vs the y axis? vs the Z axis? A combination of all of them?
I apologize if this post is confusing, as it is hard to explain something I’ve yet to fully comprehend, but enlighten me!

Methylene blue, renowned for its efficacy in treating methemoglobinemia, harbors a plethora of medical utilities beyond its conventional usage. This article delves into the multifaceted world of methylene blue, exploring its diverse indications, recommended dosages, and potential side effects to foster optimal patient care and safety.
Indications for Methylene Blue
While primarily employed for methemoglobinemia, methylene blue extends its therapeutic reach to several off-label applications. Noteworthy indications include mitigating post-injection pain during propofol administration, combatting chloroquine-resistant Plasmodium falciparum malaria, and averting ifosfamide-induced encephalopathy. Moreover, it aids in identifying parathyroid glands during surgical procedures, showcasing its versatility in clinical settings.
Mechanism of Action of Methylene Blue
Methylene blue's efficacy stems from its intricate mechanism of action:

• Restoration of Hemoglobin Function: By reducing oxidized hemoglobin, methylene blue reinstates its oxygen-binding capacity, pivotal in treating methemoglobinemia.
• Vascular Regulation: Inhibiting enzymes like endothelial nitric oxide synthase (eNOS) and inducible nitric oxide synthase (iNOS), methylene blue facilitates vasoconstriction, regulating blood flow and pressure.
• Antimalarial Activity: Vital in combating Plasmodium falciparum, methylene blue reduces resistance to chloroquine and inhibits glutathione reductase, amplifying susceptibility to treatment.

These multifaceted actions underscore methylene blue's efficacy across various medical domains.
Administration of Methylene Blue
Typically administered intravenously, methylene blue dosage and regimen vary with the indication:

• Methemoglobinemia Treatment: A recommended dose of 1 mg/kg of a 1% solution, infused over 5 to 30 minutes, ensures therapeutic efficacy.
• Lymph Node Mapping: Utilized as a dye, intraparenchymal administration doses of 2 mL and 5 mL of a 1% solution facilitate precise mapping.

Adherence to prescribed guidelines by healthcare professionals ensures optimal therapeutic outcomes tailored to individual patient needs.
Adverse Effects of Methylene Blue
While efficacious, methylene blue usage warrants vigilance owing to potential adverse effects:

• Bluish-green Urine Discoloration: Benign and transient, urine discoloration may occur post-administration.
• Limb Pain: Intravenous administration may evoke mild limb discomfort, typically tolerable.
• Serious Adverse Effects: Caution is warranted to avoid serotonin syndrome, CNS-related symptoms, and neonatal complications, including hyperbilirubinemia and respiratory depression.

Methylene blue usage is contraindicated in individuals with hypersensitivity reactions or glucose-6-phosphate dehydrogenase deficiency, necessitating careful monitoring and prompt intervention if adverse effects manifest.
Conclusion
Methylene blue emerges as a versatile therapeutic agent with a spectrum of medical applications, transcending its conventional use. Understanding its indications, mechanisms of action, administration protocols, and potential adverse effects is paramount for ensuring safe and efficacious patient care. Collaboration among healthcare professionals facilitates optimized methylene blue utilization, enhancing patient outcomes and fostering holistic well-being.
📋 Source: Methylene Blue: Benefits, Dosage & Side effects

tldr, i don't know if i like men because i find THEM attractive, or if i'm attracted to how much easier it would be where i live and feel content with avoiding confrontation, but there's other factors at play as well
i've never really had to question my attraction towards women since discovering i was queer. the road to figuring it out was far from linear, but once i made that realization, i never second guessed it or felt like a faker. whenever i find myself with feelings for a woman, my only question is whether it would be worth pursuing further or if "she totally flirted with me" is just projecting because that's what i want her to be doing
i also have OCD and very likely autism (if i could pursue a diagnosis without discrimination following, i absolutely would) so i've had trouble discerning between different types of relationships for some time now, pretty much my entire life. usually, my attractions towards men are on those who either express an interest in me first (or that happens to be what i perceive), or they treat me well and objectively would be a healthy candidate for a partner. along with difficulty knowing whether i'm feeling platonically or romantically interested, the most difficult part for me is recognizing whether i'm feeling this attraction because it's what i truly want for myself, or if it's because it's "easier" and i'm just happy to avoid confrontation and that i can say "see, look, i do like men!" since most of my family is incredibly queerphobic, and i live in a somewhat religious area of the south (while not being religious myself). and i do recognize that my whole life i've very much so been a people pleaser, and spent some years forcing myself to be straight, even after realizing i was queer, which is part of why i'm having so much trouble now.
i've attempted mentally putting myself into romantically intimate situations with men to determine if i would enjoy it, but i always feel completely neutral because i know it's not real. i've always found it difficult to place myself in a situation that i know isn't real, especially if i haven't actually been in it myself; deaths in movies or series never bothered me until my grandfather passed, and while i may get a bit choked up now, it never has a lasting effect on me since i realize that it's fiction and i can still consume content relating to the character or keep up with the actor. i have the same problem imagining myself in these scenarios with women, who i have dated and know for certain i am interested in; i understand that it's not real, so the appeal is lost on me. i also know for certain that i'm entirely ace, so any kind of sexual intimacy either leaves me disinterested or actively grossed out, regardless of gender.
i've also tried looking at other resources online, like hearing stories from other sapphics who were intensely questioning at one point, but there's not been any clarity from them. i've always been more introverted, so actively looking around to meet people i don't already know can become very draining very quickly, but since this kind of socialization is often a key part of other people's stories, i can't relate and have trouble connecting with anything else they say from that point on, which makes it difficult to find parts of their story i relate to enough to be able to come to a conclusion. i also know that every individual experience with being lesbian, bi+, or any queer ID is different from person to person, and i used to struggle with mirroring the people i was with as a form of masking so i feel like i sit at the opposite end of that spectrum now, actively distancing myself from random stories online that i might otherwise relate to out of fear of pretty much identically starting to mimic them.
i'm not looking for someone to give me the answer directly, moreso maybe some advice or tips on how i can see the difference between genuine attraction and appreciating the convenience of it for myself? i would have no issues with being either lesbian or omni/bi+, i'm entirely comfortable with my attraction to women and have never had any issues with the mspec community. i also know i don't need to find the answers right away, but after some years of constant back-and-forth it's only become increasingly uncomfortable to view myself as a complete stranger. it feels like there's a core part of me missing, and until i have it figured out, i just don't feel wholly connected with myself. throw the gender dysphoria into the mix and holy moly i am not having a great time
if anyone knows some steps i'd be able to take to figure out if i like men because i find them attractive, or if i like men because it's easier where i live, that would be much appreciated

no one helped me move out, staff and faculty at the college are just...im tired of being seen how they see me. im 24f and i just want to be done with my last three semesters follow my new advisor's plan and be free.
my friend is moving, im glad now. he'll love it. i love my new dorm. its refreshing. a new chapter. today i found my old self. she was gone for a long time. she's a lil weird and childish but strong. a believer and a lover, but not for everyone. friends few to none cuz a relationship is what i want. marriage. kids. the ultimate goal. lots of sex. and since i cant have that i'll just focus on finishing by 25.
thats all i have to do. focus on me, enjoy the days and stay on my lane.
i pushed things with my baby ima call him now. i love treating him like a baby. i think of him like that when i touch his ears and hair. i would touch his lips slightly and face if i could. spend all day with his head on my chest or lap giving him affection. being close. i pushed him yesterday but i needed support. i cant let bad energies ruin this. if they didnt already. my nephew healed me. his smell, his cries, his potato face. a small broken piece is fixed. and im happy. im happy cuz im not like my family. we share traits but im out of that cycle. now im dealing with the effects...i've made it this far.
he doesnt know i used to imagine this moment as stories when i was 12-17. that there was a story of two soulmates and one of them was names knight. and his voice is exactly what i would want. i would think of the story in english to make it less personal. he was older than her (YA fictions vampire style lol) had white hair. was kind. i believe in soulmates since i was little. true love. the type that you change for without being told. and i see him trying and i love him for it. i just want him in my arms. in my lips. i want to taste him.
and how we met was me being curious if they had received my resume. unexpected, i wasnt gonna walk i. it wss the only place that hired me. he hired me lol. got in trouble for it. and he met me at the end of my tumultuous ass road. i dont think he's old. i love our age gap. inlove he's the dominant one . i love he's experienced and i dont judge him for it for real. ik i react differently but im curious if his body count is 76. idc, im me. i'll make sure it stays at 77 double lucky.
i love just being there and idc who looks at us. i never did. he's fine like wine. and i cant wait for the right moment to mmmmmmm. it feels that its coming. i saw the mazda of my dream. i just want to tell him i'll wait for him, to make sure to call me and that we'll see each other once a month. i would do long distance but i need to talk about it. i want to try. i dont want to give up. i stayed. life made me stay.
i want to taste him so when he leaves i'll just focus on my degree and drawing for fun again cuz i wont waste my time with other people or dating since i'll be his. i want to hear his moans and taste his skin. look into his eyes. open myself to him like a flower.
rn all i want is to see him next to me.

Harness the potential of your CRM implementation with these crucial do's and don'ts
Use insights and take your CRM strategy to the next level.

Do's of CRM

1. Allocate Resources Wisely: Ensure your team dedicates time to the CRM project or hire a consultant who understands your needs.
2. Adopt a CRM Project Management Methodology: Streamline processes with methodologies like Agile or Kanban for better coordination.
3. Get Buy-In from Staff: Educate your team on CRM benefits and provide training for efficient usage.
4. Regularly Review CRM: Continuously assess and adapt your CRM to evolving business needs.
5. Select the Right Partner: Choose a CRM expert aligned with your requirements and budget.

Don'ts of CRM

1. Don't Treat CRM as Just Software: Understand CRM as a strategic shift in your business, not just a software installation.
2. Don't Rush Software Selection: Identify specific business needs and select the right CRM solution.
3. Don't Forget to Update Information: Keep processes and documentation updated for smooth transitions and user understanding.
4. Don't Expect Instant ROI: CRM success takes time and expertise, don't expect overnight results.
5. Avoid Communication Lapses: Ensure clear communication at all levels to prevent project failure and resistance to change.

Implement these strategies to maximise the effectiveness of your CRM and drive a business success!
To read our full blog: https://www.itsolutionssolved.com.au/blogs/post/dos-and-donts-of-crm
Use insights and take your CRM strategy to the next level.

1. A Cross-Sectional Study of Blood Ethylmercury Levels and Cognitive Decline Among Older Adults and the Elderly in the United States
   • "Significantly increased risks for lower animal fluency test (odds ratio (OR) = 13.652, p = 0.0029) and CERAD W-L delayed recall test (OR = 6.401, p = 0.0433) scores were observed among the higher ethyl-Hg exposure group as compared to the lower ethyl-Hg exposure group. This study supports the hypothesis that increased ethyl-Hg exposure is associated with significant cognitive decline in older adult and elderly Americans."
2. Thimerosal-Derived Ethylmercury Is a Mitochondrial Toxin in Human Astrocytes: Possible Role of Fenton Chemistry in the Oxidation and Breakage of mtDNA
   • "Ethylmercury causes a 50% collapse in membrane potential in astrocytes at 1 hour. Accompanying this collapse in membrane potential we observe a significant increase in the levels of various ROS. The internal mitochondrial steady state level of superoxide increases by 70% in treated cells and is matched by an increase in cellular hydrazine reactive carbonyls. Using H2DCF-AM we observe a 200% increase in steady state production of reactive oxidants, which from deconvolution we know to be mitochondrially generated (Figure 2). Mitochondrial DNA, and not nuclear DNA, is far more vulnerable to ethylmercury-induced damage. We observe a 240% increase in the levels of mitochondrial DNA breaks, a 300% increase in 3′OH DNA nicks and 460% increase in the levels of oxidized bases/apurinic or apyrimidinic sites"
   • "At higher concentrations (>7.2 μM Thimerosal) a loss of mitochondrial signal and of DCF is observed."
3. The relationship between mercury and autism: A comprehensive review and discussion
   • "This review found 91 studies that examine the potential relationship between mercury and ASD from 1999 to February 2016. Of these studies, the vast majority (74%) suggest that mercury is a risk factor for ASD, revealing both direct and indirect effects. The preponderance of the evidence indicates that mercury exposure is causal and/or contributory in ASD."
4. Examining the evidence that ethylmercury crosses the blood-brain barrier
   • "22 studies from 1971 to 2019 show that exposure to ethylmercury-containing compounds (intravenously, intraperitoneally, topically, subcutaneously, intramuscularly, or intranasally administered) results in accumulation of mercury in the brain. In total, these studies indicate that ethylmercury-containing compounds and Thimerosal readily cross the BBB, convert, for the most part, to highly toxic inorganic mercury-containing compounds, which significantly and persistently bind to tissues in the brain, even in the absence of concurrent detectable blood mercury levels."
5. Comparison of blood and brain mercury levels in infant monkeys exposed to methylmercury or vaccines containing thimerosal
   • "These studies indicate that ethylmercury-containing compounds and Thimerosal readily cross the BBB, convert, for the most part, to highly toxic inorganic mercury-containing compounds, which significantly and persistently bind to tissues in the brain, even in the absence of concurrent detectable blood mercury levels."
   • "The results indicate that MeHg is not a suitable reference for risk assessment from exposure to thimerosal-derived Hg. Knowledge of the toxicokinetics and developmental toxicity of thimerosal is needed to afford a meaningful assessment of the developmental effects of thimerosal-containing vaccines."
   • "The average concentration of inorganic Hg did not change across the 28 days of washout and was approximately 16 ng/mL (Figure 7). This level of inorganic Hg represented 21–86% of the total Hg in the brain (mean ± SE, 70 ± 4%), depending on the sacrifice time. These values are considerably higher than the inorganic fraction observed in the brain of MeHg monkeys (6–10%)."
   • "Absolute inorganic Hg concentrations in the brains of the thimerosal-exposed monkeys were approximately twice that of the MeHg monkeys."
6. Exposure to Inorganic Mercury Causes Oxidative Stress, Cell Death, and Functional Deficits in the Motor Cortex
   • "It was observed that chronic exposure to inorganic mercury caused a decrease in balance and fine motor coordination, formation of mercury deposits and oxidative stress verified by the increase of lipoperoxidation and nitrite concentration and a decrease of the total antioxidant capacity. In addition, we found that this model of exposure to inorganic mercury caused cell death by cytotoxicity and induction of apoptosis with a decreased number of neurons and astrocytes in the motor cortex. Our results provide evidence that exposure to inorganic mercury in low doses, even in spite of its poor ability to cross biological barriers, is still capable of inducing motor deficits, cell death by cytotoxicity and apoptosis, and oxidative stress in the motor cortex of adult rats."
7. The retention time of inorganic mercury in the brain--a systematic review of the evidence
   • "Estimates from modelling studies appear sensitive to model assumptions, however predications based on a long half-life (27.4 years) are consistent with autopsy findings. In summary, shorter estimates of half-life are not supported by evidence from animal studies, human case studies, or modelling studies based on appropriate assumptions. Evidence from such studies point to a half-life of inorganic mercury in human brains of several years to several decades. This finding carries important implications for pharmcokinetic modelling of mercury and potentially for the regulatory toxicology of mercury."
8. Astrocytes in the central nervous system and their functions in health and disease: A review
   • "Because astrocytes contain metal-binding proteins such as metallothionein, they are also involved in the uptake and sequestration of some heavy metals."
9. Proximal tubular transport of Metallothionein-Mercury complexes and protection against nephrotoxicity
   • "MT has a very high affinity for Hg; thus, mercuric ions that are not already bound to MT may bind to MT within the cytoplasm to form large Hg-MT complexes that may be retained in the cell. This will be particularly true in segments of proximal tubules that have higher levels of MT, i.e., cortical proximal tubules. MT is capable of binding 6–11 molecules of Hg (He et al., 2021); thus, it is logical that cells and tissues with higher levels of MT will accumulate more Hg."
10. CHD's Compilation Of Peer-Reviewed, Published Research Showing Adverse Effects of Mercury

Hi! My first post here.
To cut to the chase, I have a mother who always wants to find something wrong with my life. Ever since I was a child, she found the smallest things to be mad at me for, such as doing a chore just slightly incorrectly, and every single time she'd call me "useless". She constantly compared me to other children, and still does the same now and my big age of 19. Apparently, I'm not independent enough, and I don't care about her enough, even though I'm constantly going out of my way to prove that she's wrong. She's my mother, I would do anything for her. But she doesn't see that at all. Once, I told her I didn't like it when she called me worthless, and she told me that she said it because I am. She never apologized. Trust me, there's loads of things she's done to me that many of my friends feel like would justify me running away, but I'm not going to be too morbid.
At the same time, she's my best friend. I'm an only child who grew up with little friends, so the person I interacted with the most was her. We share a lot of the same interests and gossip about family drama. It's at those times, I feel like I'm wrong about her. But this time, she did something I feel I can't forgive her for.
Last July, I finally got a boyfriend. It seems like we're soulmates...we met on dating app but found that we have so many friends in common and also that we used to go to the same school as children. He's more than I could ever ask for. He travels to where I am by train for more than 2 hours every week (so a total of 4-5 hours). Once, he travelled more than 3 hours (a total of 6 hours) to see me in my university campus because I was feeling depressed about my assignments.
He indulges in my passions and interests. He doesn't have much money but sometimes scrimps on his meals throughout the week so he can afford to get me a small treat like ice cream when we see each other. He bought me roses on Valentines. He buys me meaningful gifts whenever he can. He understands me on a super deep level and we talk about everything. I could call him at 3am with a problem and he'd pick up. He never gets mad at me, and we've never had an argument because we always sort out our issues by communicating effectively. Heck, he even follows me to church sometimes because he wants to show me that he's interested in the things that matter to me and because he wanted to make a good impression on my mom-who married someone who never took interest in anything she did or liked let alone follow her to church every other week.
He's the most amazing guy I could ever want, and his family loves me (he jokes that they love me more than him). It's just that I haven't met them yet, since there's the distance to take into account, and because both his parents work so they're constantly busy. Also, they wanted to respect the fact that my mother might not let me go all the way to their house because of how far it is. Still, he always tells his family about me, and I often speak to his 3 sisters on the phone as they're younger than me and sometimes like hearing my advice.
My boyfriend, though, has met my mother on multiple occasions and she told me she loved him. My dad on the other hand, is actively avoiding meeting him (example: we were supposed to follow my dad to the temple for a special occasion, but at the last minute he backed out. He would never back out from that kind of thing).
If you're wondering, this is where the issue starts. My mother thinks it's incredibly suspicious that I haven't met his family yet (even though I told her I'm meeting them on the day my boyfriend graduates from pre-university). It was never really a big deal to me, since I have met his close friends and spoken to his sisters-and the fact his parents knew about me and liked me was enough. I understood that they are both busy working people and they live quite far from me. But yesterday, all this blew up in my face.
I asked my mother if she'd be okay with me taking a trip with my boyfriend, just for a couple of days, to celebrate our first anniversary. I wasn't expecting a yes or no, really. Just asking. Initially she yelled at me about how I haven't even met his parents yet and how he hasn't met my dad yet (which was entirely his fault) and said we should do it in September instead. I said okay.
Then, when I got back to campus later that night, I called her again to check up on her and she brought this up again. She said my dad disapproved of the trip and went on for 15 minutes about many things. I'll summarize in a list about what she said.

• He isn't good enough for you
• He doesn't want you to meet his family
• His family probably doesn't like you because they haven't met you yet
• You guys are taking things too fast and should continue getting to know each other
• You're always sacrificing for him
• You're getting the short end of the stick
• There are better people for you to date
• You're sacrificing your studies for him and you'll get distracted by him

As you can see, none of these are true. The last one made me especially angry because I go to what is known as a "smart kid school" in my country and it's very hard to get a distinction on our assignments! However, a condition on my student loan says if I get first class honors, they will cancel my debt completely. So my mom kept burdening me with how I dug a hole by myself for choosing to be in a relationship with him during university life (EVEN THOUGH, she wanted me to date around in university before. The difference is, she wanted me to basically be a playboy...playgirl? I don't know. When my mom was young she was exactly that. Had tons of boyfriends and cheated on a lot of them. She even told me to join a speed dating event).
I had never been so hurt in my life! What happened to "don't worry about money just focus on getting your degree"? Anyway, my boyfriend never complains when I tell him I need to be by myself on that day because I need to study and do my work...I'm one of the hardest workers in my class and he knows how much my studies mean to me. It's not my fault I'm not getting distinctions.
Now I'm a mess. I want her to love my boyfriend, and I want my dad to love my boyfriend. But he's truly done as much as he can to get their approval but he's depressed himself knowing that none of his efforts have been seen by them. He has a life, a curfew, and a worrying mother too...he can't always be accommodating to me (his mother initially didn't like me because she felt like he was spending too much time and money coming to see me but came around eventually), so I accommodate to him whenever by choosing a convenient location for us to meet up and meeting up at a later time. Because of this, my mother says I'm doing too much because distance isn't an excuse (it kind of is).
Anyhow, my question is, how in the world do I deal with this? Or at least, I need some comfort...this is the best relationship I'm honestly ever going to have but my mother wants me to date around because that's what she thinks having fun means. She thinks I'm sacrificing everything when the truth is, I'm having loads of fun in university with my new friends, I still see my old friends, and I have more than enough time to focus on my studies. He's not distracting me from everything.
How do I convince such a stubborn woman to be on my side?

Captains, work has begun to repurpose a quarter of both of our hothouses to the production of alcohol. While our food and medical crop output will be lowered, this will help to end the rationing down at the public house. It'll take a day or so to resow the areas, grow the plants, and start processing them, but soon enough our citizens will have access to drinks again after their difficult workdays.
​
Stat Chart:

Healthcare: 3/5 (Average) Capacity: 28 Treating: 27 (Sick 10, Injured 12, Gravely Ill 5) Healed per Day: 21 Untreated: 0	Carehouse Capacity: 15/15 Treating: 10 Engineers (Amputees), 5 Workers (Amputees)	Hope: 5/9 (Optimistic)	Discontent: 5/7 (Resentful)
Raw Materials: 145 +82/Day +10% Hope Bonus +40% Extended Shifts	Coal Production: +647/Day +40% Extended Shifts +15% Foreman Bonus on two mines Coal Usage: 435/Day Coal: 2703	Ration Production: 39/day Ration Consumption: 28/day Rations: 674 Estimated Days of Rations: 24	Steam Cores: 1
Natural Temperature: Freezing (-25°C)	Home Temperature: Citizens Living in Warm (+10°C) Housing: 336	Work Temperature: Sufficiently heated workplaces: 10 Insufficiently heated workplaces: 12	Fatigue: 2/7 (Tired)
Population: (368 Citizens) (136 Workers) (32 Guards) (63 Engineers) (32 Medical Personnel) (32 Administrators) (14 Scouts) (59 Children)	Coal Mine Safety: 3/5 (Hazardous) -1 Base Safety -3 Toxic Fumes +1 Air Shafts +1 Ventilation Plant	Scouts: Unit #01 - 4 Unit #02 - 5 Polaris Scouts - 5	Guards: 0/32 Guard Posts - 30 Guard Booth - 2
Workers: 11/136 Coal Miners - 45 Steel Workers - 5 Lumberers - 15 Gardeners - 30 Amputees - 5 Hunters - 15 Prostitutes - 5 Cookhouse Amputees - 5	Engineers: 1/63 Researchers - 5 Amputees - 12 Gardeners - 10 Lumberers - 15 Steel Workers - 10 Foremen - 3 Generator Maintenance - 10	Medical Personnel: 9/32 Medical Cabins - 20 Care house - 2 Arrested - 1	Administrators: 7/32 Public House - 5 Guard Office - 6 Child Shelter - 4 Department of Information - 10

Now Captains, we're presented with a great opportunity to properly develop our telegraph system! The foundation has already been constructed, setting up the necessary equipment in the Department of Information and laying cables in all of the city's roads. Now, we're able to start installing telegraphs in various buildings around Frostantinople. Being able to communicate from anywhere in the city will prove a significant boon, but our construction crew is only so big. As such, you'll have to decide on what group of buildings to equip first. Over time, this will create one interconnected network, but it'll be an ongoing project. For now, some of the best candidates of building types have been suggested, along with the perceived benefits the project will have. All of these choices will improve as the network grows, and more buildings have lines of communication. Read through the choices and their effects, and when you're ready, cast your vote.
​
Equip Citizen's Homes More of a luxury than the other choices, but one our people will surely appreciate. Being able to communicate and coordinate with other citizens from the comfort of you own home? What will they think of next? Our citizen's homes will be connected to the Telegraph Network. This luxury will help to reduce discontent.
Equip Guard Buildings We've had several run-ins with revolutionary organizations, and criminals in general. Giving our guards lines of communication will allow them to quickly respond to reported crimes. Our Guard Headquarters and Guard Stations will be connected to the Telegraph Network. This utility will result in better responses to crimes and events regarding civil unrest.
Equip Production Workplaces While we try to promote safety where possible, accidents happen, and when they do they tend to be particularly bad. A telegraph won't make workplaces safer, but it'll allow far quicker responses in the event of an emergency. Our Sawmills, Steelworks, and Coal Mines will be connected to the Telegraph Network. This utility will result in better responses to workplace accidents.
Equip Medical Cabins Our healthcare system is vital to the city's survival. Contacting our medics and making sure they're ready to receive sick or injured citizens slightly faster may not seem like much, but in life or death scenarios, every second counts. Our Medical Cabins will be connected to the Telegraph Network This utility will result in better responses to medical emergencies.
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Thank you for taking the feedback well and asking for some clarification!
That is generally my impression from the pictures, of someone who's a bit of the way into chemo (pale/wan skin, thin hair, somewhat gaunt appearance). None of them in isolation are all that bad, but there's something about the way they all come together.
Perhaps if one of them improved, the rest wouldn't be amplified so much. I'd suggest starting with the hair. Save up and splurge a bit on a stylist. Tell them your goals - that you're coming to them to help you design a look and haircare plan to give your hair volume and compliment your regular appearance (wear typical clothes and makeup). Take all-around pictures of the cut immediately after, and then use those pics to guide your regular hairdresser.
My read on your paragraph is that you're in a bit of denial and reaching to justify how people treat you. Most people are about their appearance.
It's extremely well established that people treat attractive people better.
Yes, you're right, the extremely unattractive/frail/etc, but it comes from a different driver in the mind.
In between the two extremes, there's an uncanny valley type effect. Someone moderately ugly will be treated worse than someone extremely ugly.
Maybe it is something in your demeanor, speech, whatever. If you want to do a video call, I can give you feedback on that.

I (49m) had my first trip to the urologist a couple of weeks ago, and I'm left with feelings of doubt as to her diagnosis.
I was referred to this Urologist by my GP after I found a lump on my testicle. The GP ordered an ultrasound and referred me to the urologist. Ultrasound found that the lump was a cyst and the pain in my other testicle was from a swollen, likely infected, epididymis.
The urologist visit was about a week later. The nurse took my vitals, asked if I could provide a urine sample, and I couldn't on the spot, so she said we would just get one before I left. The attending Dr asked a few questions and told me that it's common for men my age to have enlarged prostates, so he was going to prescribe flomax. Likely the swollen epididymis was from incomplete voiding due to the enlarged prostate. I asked if he was going to run any tests, and he said no. I asked if we were going to try to find out why it was enlarged, since it's only really been in the last 8 months that I've had the issue. Again, no; men's prostates just enlarge around this age and so, we just treat the symptom. I pressed again about testing and he said that the only really effective test was one that had a catheter in one end and a balloon in the other and it was rather extreme, since we could simply resolve the issue with the flomax. He did indicate that men should start getting PSA tests at 50, and so I will get one of those in 9 months when I turn 50.
He left, then came back with urologist that I booked the appointment with, and she said that she agreed with his diagnosis and felt nothing further was needed. When she directed me to the clerk for checkout I let her know that I wasn't able to provide a urine sample when I arrived, and still needed to do that. She said there was no need, so we would be doing any of that.
Am I wrong in feeling like maybe a root cause should be searched for? It just feels like I've been diagnosed with a case of being old and shitty.

I copied and pasted what a random said to me on a reply I made in ask women about being treated badly by ppl and he said it was bc of my looks when I wasn't even the poster I curiously asked how and this is what he said
Thank you for taking the feedback well and asking for some clarification!
That is generally my impression from the pictures, of someone who's a bit of the way into chemo (pale/wan skin, thin hair, somewhat gaunt appearance). None of them in isolation are all that bad, but there's something about the way they all come together.
Perhaps if one of them improved, the rest wouldn't be amplified so much. I'd suggest starting with the hair. Save up and splurge a bit on a stylist. Tell them your goals - that you're coming to them to help you design a look and haircare plan to give your hair volume and compliment your regular appearance (wear typical clothes and makeup). Take all-around pictures of the cut immediately after, and then use those pics to guide your regular hairdresser.
My read on your paragraph is that you're in a bit of denial and reaching to justify how people treat you. Most people are about their appearance.
It's extremely well established that people treat attractive people better.
Yes, you're right, the extremely unattractive/frail/etc, but it comes from a different driver in the mind.
In between the two extremes, there's an uncanny valley type effect. Someone moderately ugly will be treated worse than someone extremely ugly.
Maybe it is something in your demeanor, speech, whatever. If you want to do a video call, I can give you feedback on that.

So, back in August I finally started going to a pain clinic after being diagnosed for the past 5 almost 6 years. I was promptly put on trials of different meds and found a few daily's that gave me a little baseline relief and I'd say an extra spoon of endurance lol This doctor also prescribed me codeine phosphate for as needed use. I was hesitant to take it at first, even when it was needed. When I finally took it, it relieved my pain more effectively than my usual naproxen 500s and tylenol ever did.. and I could still layer those meds if I needed to too.(Codeine would take away 60% of my flare pain.. not fully but made me functional enough to take care of basic needs) I almost wanted to cry I was so thankful to have something this effective on my worst days, even if it was only 60%.
Fast forward to February of this year. My pain doctor was transfered somewhere even further than I was already traveling so I asked to be referred to a Dr closer to me. He had a colleague that worked in my town- even better! The first thing this new Dr did was take me off the codeine and wanted me to stop my naproxen and switch it out for meloxicam. Cool beans, however I'm having blood pressure issues so I can't take it until that's under control (its already been over a month and we're still trying to bring it down and figure it out) and I can't start my lidocaine injections until I have an mri of my problem areas which is 6 months wait minimum where I am.
I had an apt with him last week and was basically begging him to give me a script for the codeine phosphate again.. and he started treating me like a drug addict- going on and on about how high risk I am and how it's debatable what the efficacy of codeine is for fibromyalgia. I was calm and explained that I have my pee tested every visit since August and it's never come back positive, if he looks at how frequently I fill the prescription- I actually refill it less than I'm supposed to because I only take it when I need to, and that I'd be more than happy to get a referral from my GP that I have had zero drug seeking/addiction/red flag behaviour in all the time she's seen me (about 10 years). He said, regardless it's a no. So what am I supposed to do? I don't even have a script for naproxen and I have to wait for all these other "super effective" treatments?! TF
I also did go to my gp, who is the most excellent doctor I've ever had (we LOVE her and must protect her at all costs). I explained my frustration and asked her opinion and if she'd be willing to write me a script. She said, he's not wrong about the efficacy debate and she'd rather not prescribe an opiate if at all possible. But she did write me a script for my naproxen 500s at the very least. Which is better than not having them, but still isn't great. Tbh , much easier to hear from her that it's a no.
I'm just so very frustrated. I understand this is all a process and I've come to terms with the fact that pain is something I'm going to deal with for the rest of my life, but damnit..yk?
Anyways, thanks for listening fibrofam 🖤 I just found this reddit a few months ago and it's made such a difference in my life.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was 13 by a nurse practitioner and a separate psychiatrist. My parents knew I was struggling and wanted to do their due diligence, so took me to a few different doctors/therapists before taking action. I don't blame them at all because they were just trying to help and how were they supposed to know that it was just normal teenage mood fluctuations that caused temporary anger issues? They simply saw me suffering and did what they thought would help. After explaining about 1 intense mood episode I had to all these doctors, and the fact that both my uncle and grandfather suffered from psychotic/detached from reality episodes, I was put on a low dose of seroquel. I don't know how to feel because I know the way I described it was very stark and I can logically see how they would come to the conclusion they did. But I was 13 and didn't know anything about bipolar, I just knew that something was wrong with me for feeling how I was feeling and I wanted help. I didn't really notice any difference with my moods on seroquel so each time I visited the NP I asked her to increase the dose, hoping it would do something. Eventually I got to 600mg. And gave up with expecting it to do anything about the moods and stopped asking for the increases and just stayed on that dose. And I also feel like it's in the range of a "normal" dose so it's not like that in particular raised any red flags. The only reason I stayed on it was that it 1) it gave me apathy and numbed my emotions which, to be honest, was something I didn't mind when my normal emotions were just me suffering from sadness and loneliness. Feeling numb was better than feeling sad, 2) I'm pretty sure I have insomnia and seroquel was the only thing that let me sleep at night and 3) in low doses it acts as an antihistamine so it helped with my allergies. So I can't say that it was entirely unhelpful, but as I went to college and got away from my childhood I realized that when things started happening to me I just... didn't feel anything? People kept telling me I was so incredibly emotionally intelligent, but that was because I didn't have any emotion so relied 100% on logic to make my decisions. It wasn't like I had so much emotions I could detangle them to figure out what they were, I just didn't have any emotions to begin with and you can't detangle something that doesn't exist. I'm now finally weaning myself off seroquel after reading the DSM criteria and doing extensive research and realizing that although some symptoms match up, I don't have nearly enough to actually align with that disease. I'm currently down to 200mg and i'm starting to smell more things, i'm not longer constipated to the point of going #2 hurts, I don't sleep for 10 hours every day, and I can start feeling some emotions again. How do I make peace with the fact that I spent 11 years unnecessarily on this medication, and the only reason the dose got so high was because I, being naive, asked for it? Because I don't expect my health care professionals to say "no, I think I know your body better than yourself and i'm going to dictate what dose you'll be on". To be fair, the anxiety medication they prescribed genuinely did help, and i'm not so much against meds as I think that doctors need to do a better job at explaining how exactly they work, what side effects can happen, and then ask the patient if they would like to try it and what their boundaries/comfortability surrounding it are and follow that lead instead of acting superior and a "let's get as many patients in as possible" sort of deal. Basically being a lot better at informed consent and respecting patients wishes and not treating them like a number. So how do I get past the anger I feel about how much this medication robbed me of normal experiences when I was the person who asked for the increase??? How do you make peace with something like that when it's your fault???

I (22f) am the person that does most of the household chores. My fiance has cerebral palsy and can't lift a lot of things and wasn't really taught how to cook or clean, and I THINK I have pots. I asked my doctor to test and she did the thing where I lay down, sit up, and stand up. My blood pressure is fine. Nothing wrong there. But when I go from sitting to standing my heart rate increases almost 30 bpm. So she said to "treat it like pots." She said drink electrolytes and take breaks. But I can't freaking take breaks in the middle of making dinner.
I used to love cooking. I love food and cooking was one of my favorite things to do. But now I just can't. I can't even get through one meal without feeling like I'm gonna fall over. I have a metal chair I keep by the fridge but even that doesn't help when I'm cooking and there is no a/c. It's almost in the 90s in California and our property manager said she JUST put us on the list for a new ac. After we've been asking for years. They take forever to do anything here and until they do put in a new ac I think it's gonna be frozen food for the foreseeable future.
I'm just so frustrated. Like I know I need to exercise more. But I can't. I've tried. It was a lot easier when I didn't have a million other things to do. When I was like 16-17 I felt pretty good. I had been exercising for a while and felt a lot better than I had in a few years. Then I become an adult and all that drifted away. I got overweight and started to feel the effects of my physical illness and adhd. Now I can't even finish making alfredo. I mean sure it was homemade but damn it if it isn't one of the easier things I can make. I'm just fed up.

I'm at my wits end, it feels like. I'm in the US, and I'm on Medicaid, bc I have a million health issues that make getting a traditional job basically impossible, so no employer health insurance. And I feel like what this does is make doctors feel entitled to treat me like trash. I have multiple boils, some that recur for MONTHS on end and NEVER drain on their own, only to be told "take more antibiotics."
What's worse is, I'm not even 100% sure if all my issues are HS and psoriasis, or if I've got some other mystery disease lurking about. I get horrific acne, little boils under my skin in my face, I get psoriasis in my ears and hairline and elbows and back of my ears, and then I have boils of all shapes and sizes EVERYWHERE between my legs, on my pubic mound, on my butt, and on my chest! Wounds feel like they take FOREVER to heal. My mother has HS and her docs will lance or drain hers, but with me they just send me away with fing antibiotics that don't do shit.
And they're so PAINFUL. I'm also adhd and autistic, and sensory overload is real. With psoriatic arthritis, I'm already in pain a lot though it's managed through some meds. But then these fing boils just HURT all the time and REFUSE to drain on their own. Bc of that and sensory issues, I can't seem to leave them alone a lot of the time, either- they drive me literally crazy. I feel like I want to rip out that chunk of my body, if it would only make it stop HURTING.
I don't know how to effectively communicate this to doctors and have them take me seriously. I don't know if I need new antibiotics, if I need them to just lance the things, or what, but I'm so desperate for some relief. It's awful.
I have clindamycin phosphate (both lotion and liquid) for hs and triamcinolone for psoriasis. But other than making tender boils sting, I feel like the stuff for hs does nothing. I tried Humira once, and it made my face flare up like there was no tomorrow, I was miserable (more so than now). I've been prescribed methotrexate by my arthritis specialist, and he says it could potentially help with the hs as well but I'm so discouraged by the lack of help medicine has been so far, I haven't even tried it.
Why do doctors go into medicine if they don't want to help people?? It's not my fault the insurance doesn't pay you much, I'm just trying to fing survive, man. Why on earth would you look at me and talk about how little they pay you?? Do I look like I have $100s falling out of my butt??
I'm so tired.

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