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2019.11.02 23:47 yes_add_extra_cheese BabyMonkeyMystery
Welcome to the Baby Monkey Mystery subreddit. This subreddit is dedicated to researching the famed Baby Monkey Hate Enigma, the mysterious group of YouTube commenters who seem to hate baby monkeys.
2020.12.02 04:49 CabbieCam People Against the Unethical Lying of Sakor the Self Proclaimed Savior of Monkeys
This is a community for those who have watched the "Baby Monkey Mona & Donna," channel on YouTube and found themselves with many negative feelings, from the way he treats his monkeys to the obvious lies.
2024.05.16 00:58 shadybabynight Does anyone have any footage of Hit Me Baby One More Time from Brighton?
Setlist.com showing that they performed Hit Me Baby One More Time in full and with the band for the first time at Brighton a couple of nights ago but both compilations on YouTube have cut it out! Anyone have any footage please?
It was played as first song after the encore (which was The Who Medley when we saw them in Leeds).
submitted by shadybabynight to TenaciousD [link] [comments]
It was played as first song after the encore (which was The Who Medley when we saw them in Leeds).
2024.05.16 00:32 jaceysongs Limping Calicivirus: kittens
Have a healthy litter of four kittens, 9 1/2 weeks old, actual bundles of joy. Tonight we noticed male getting very lethargic and curled up for hours not moving. He felt slightly warm to touch, and stopped even opening his eyes when prompted. It then became apparent he couldn’t walk properly and his front right paw had gone lame and he was limping and squeaking. Shortly after we noticed his sister have a very similar condition. The other two babies are fine and have been running around and playing all night. Our question is- it’s nearly midnight now, we strong suspect limping calcivirus and have watched the kitten ladies video on YouTube. We need to take them to a vets as they are clearly quite unwell but can this wait until the morning? An out of hours vet is going to cost so much more that we can’t accommodate, unless this can be fatal in hours. Sorry if this is a stupid question- can it wait until morning with limping calcivirus ? Thank you, I’ll answer any more questions in comments x
submitted by jaceysongs to cats [link] [comments]
2024.05.16 00:25 Dangerous-Ad3495 50F Failure trying to rebuild, advice?
I’m very depressed and low currently - I don’t need Reddit Cares or a referral. I need solid advice from post-menopausal women and other folks 50+ I have asked for advice in some subs and being a relatively regular Redditor I did not expect the anger and mean responses. If you have a mean response, please choose instead not to respond.
For those willing to give solid advice: I am on the verge of what could be a new chaptephase of life and I want to prepare now to enter it well and rebuild myself through it.
I am currently unemployed, this most recent period of unemployment has been 5 months. I am in week 3 of a 6 week recovery from a total abdominal hysterectomy. The week prior to my surgery I took a 5 day in person Level 1 RV tech service class co-sponsored by RV Technical Institute & RV Women’s Alliance - both of which I learned about via Reddit. Apparently there is high demand for RV techs and while the entry salary is $40-50K when you are certified you can make 6 figures (entry and later have 401K match - this is important to know later on). They work M-F 40 hours, no weekends. Day 4 of class I was verbally offered a job - they are waiting on my doctors clearance to work. I loved my time meeting these folks and learning the industry. I passed the class and its exam, and the job offer company offered to pay for the remainder of my certification.
I applied to take the Level 1 class because I want to RV part-time. I don’t yet own an RV, I watch a lot of YouTube & camped about 3 times in my adult life. I love being outdoors, I wanted this to become a post-retirement hobby. I’m thinking Class B van. When I became unemployed, I considered what are the best opportunities of things I enjoy to make lifelong income?
As this was happening a statewide nonprofit offered me a job right away - I applied for one job and they considered me for 3 roles, they are putting me in the highest paying role of the 3 (about $80K, 401K employer match, fully remote but must reside in-state). I am happy they are excited about hiring me but super leery due to my recent past. This job is in my career field and a very different role. 2024 is my 31st year in my career. Almost 4 years ago, the onset of severe perimenopause symptoms upended my entire life. I had just left my job of longest employment of 8 years (began at 55K, left at $68K) for another job in the same organization that paid $115K and seemed like a reach. It was, I wasn’t a good fit and I quit 8 months later. Over my 8 months unemployment without benefits I decided to sell my house I’d owned & lived in 7 years to a broker, allowing me to break even and move out quickly (I had no help moving & moved myself). I took another job as I moved in with family, that job ($70K) would have been perfect but the org foundemy boss was not willing to do what was needed and necessary to make the job manageable and practical. I quit 8 months later and was able to secure unemployment benefits.
The new statewide nonprofit job asked me candidly about my last job -I was honest about my shortcomings & contributions, as well as the environment. I encouraged them to contact my references, who know my shortcomings and how a truly developmental environment would aid me in finally overcoming them. They are still excited to finalize the job offer. I expect they will by this Friday & then I will contact the RV company declining their job offer. But, I want to stay close to RV’ing.
I also am launching a lifelong side business based off of lessons learned from what I most enjoyed about my career in community development - I will soft launch in June with a hard launch planned in early 2025, it’s a virtual space as I want my work from now on to be home-based and/or fully remote; and I am getting through these tough baby “how to start an LLC in my state” baby steps.
I am never married, no kids. I last dated in 2004. I had a 17 year FWB 2004-2022. I tried an international non-denominational church on and off from 1996-2002, 2011-2014, and 2020-2023. I found that church isn’t really prepared to serve or engage older folks so I am not sure I’ll return & I am doubting joining any church as a senior single.
I am the youngest sibling but the one charged with being responsible for my immediate family. My parents, divorced, are 80 & 82. My next oldest sibling is 58. The three of them are chronically ill. I am healthy & trying my best to stay that way and improve it. My older sibling has lived with one parent for about 4-5 years. I’ve been here just over 1 year. I plan to move out into a housing cooperative apartment ASAP (if approved, their “rent” is a fraction of traditional rent).
I spent my life’s savings & retirement the past 4 years to now. I believe having a community of support will be crucial as I age - if I become sick where I cannot work, there is no one to support me. I never have had friends - I have many acquaintances & 1 friend of 30 years. I have never dated more than 2 years but almost all my exes tried to befriend me after apologizing to me about our relationship. I can think of 3 men whom if I said yes to dating them my life would have been different but I simply did not want to & it’s hard to regret that. I do not believe someone will emerge to date now whom I will be attracted to, who actively wants to be healthy & will be with me in my healing into my best self. That makes me sad and holds me back.
I do not want to be sad so much or depressed so often - it comes from never belonging. I am not perfect, I know my flaws & I try to be honest about them as I work on them (learned that as I began my career & never stopped). But I failed in my view, I don’t have a life where I feel whole & fulfilled. All I have written here are my attempts in progress to rebuild not just my income and life’s savings, but to do so as I build my best life. I tried my best and nothing worked out. I’m taking things slower than I have and I ask myself if what I am doing brings me freedom, peace & joy.
How should I change my view/my mindset as I rebuild? Other specific advice?
submitted by Dangerous-Ad3495 to AskOldPeopleAdvice [link] [comments]
For those willing to give solid advice: I am on the verge of what could be a new chaptephase of life and I want to prepare now to enter it well and rebuild myself through it.
I am currently unemployed, this most recent period of unemployment has been 5 months. I am in week 3 of a 6 week recovery from a total abdominal hysterectomy. The week prior to my surgery I took a 5 day in person Level 1 RV tech service class co-sponsored by RV Technical Institute & RV Women’s Alliance - both of which I learned about via Reddit. Apparently there is high demand for RV techs and while the entry salary is $40-50K when you are certified you can make 6 figures (entry and later have 401K match - this is important to know later on). They work M-F 40 hours, no weekends. Day 4 of class I was verbally offered a job - they are waiting on my doctors clearance to work. I loved my time meeting these folks and learning the industry. I passed the class and its exam, and the job offer company offered to pay for the remainder of my certification.
I applied to take the Level 1 class because I want to RV part-time. I don’t yet own an RV, I watch a lot of YouTube & camped about 3 times in my adult life. I love being outdoors, I wanted this to become a post-retirement hobby. I’m thinking Class B van. When I became unemployed, I considered what are the best opportunities of things I enjoy to make lifelong income?
As this was happening a statewide nonprofit offered me a job right away - I applied for one job and they considered me for 3 roles, they are putting me in the highest paying role of the 3 (about $80K, 401K employer match, fully remote but must reside in-state). I am happy they are excited about hiring me but super leery due to my recent past. This job is in my career field and a very different role. 2024 is my 31st year in my career. Almost 4 years ago, the onset of severe perimenopause symptoms upended my entire life. I had just left my job of longest employment of 8 years (began at 55K, left at $68K) for another job in the same organization that paid $115K and seemed like a reach. It was, I wasn’t a good fit and I quit 8 months later. Over my 8 months unemployment without benefits I decided to sell my house I’d owned & lived in 7 years to a broker, allowing me to break even and move out quickly (I had no help moving & moved myself). I took another job as I moved in with family, that job ($70K) would have been perfect but the org foundemy boss was not willing to do what was needed and necessary to make the job manageable and practical. I quit 8 months later and was able to secure unemployment benefits.
The new statewide nonprofit job asked me candidly about my last job -I was honest about my shortcomings & contributions, as well as the environment. I encouraged them to contact my references, who know my shortcomings and how a truly developmental environment would aid me in finally overcoming them. They are still excited to finalize the job offer. I expect they will by this Friday & then I will contact the RV company declining their job offer. But, I want to stay close to RV’ing.
I also am launching a lifelong side business based off of lessons learned from what I most enjoyed about my career in community development - I will soft launch in June with a hard launch planned in early 2025, it’s a virtual space as I want my work from now on to be home-based and/or fully remote; and I am getting through these tough baby “how to start an LLC in my state” baby steps.
I am never married, no kids. I last dated in 2004. I had a 17 year FWB 2004-2022. I tried an international non-denominational church on and off from 1996-2002, 2011-2014, and 2020-2023. I found that church isn’t really prepared to serve or engage older folks so I am not sure I’ll return & I am doubting joining any church as a senior single.
I am the youngest sibling but the one charged with being responsible for my immediate family. My parents, divorced, are 80 & 82. My next oldest sibling is 58. The three of them are chronically ill. I am healthy & trying my best to stay that way and improve it. My older sibling has lived with one parent for about 4-5 years. I’ve been here just over 1 year. I plan to move out into a housing cooperative apartment ASAP (if approved, their “rent” is a fraction of traditional rent).
I spent my life’s savings & retirement the past 4 years to now. I believe having a community of support will be crucial as I age - if I become sick where I cannot work, there is no one to support me. I never have had friends - I have many acquaintances & 1 friend of 30 years. I have never dated more than 2 years but almost all my exes tried to befriend me after apologizing to me about our relationship. I can think of 3 men whom if I said yes to dating them my life would have been different but I simply did not want to & it’s hard to regret that. I do not believe someone will emerge to date now whom I will be attracted to, who actively wants to be healthy & will be with me in my healing into my best self. That makes me sad and holds me back.
I do not want to be sad so much or depressed so often - it comes from never belonging. I am not perfect, I know my flaws & I try to be honest about them as I work on them (learned that as I began my career & never stopped). But I failed in my view, I don’t have a life where I feel whole & fulfilled. All I have written here are my attempts in progress to rebuild not just my income and life’s savings, but to do so as I build my best life. I tried my best and nothing worked out. I’m taking things slower than I have and I ask myself if what I am doing brings me freedom, peace & joy.
How should I change my view/my mindset as I rebuild? Other specific advice?
2024.05.15 23:44 Antique_Ant_3762 SECOND UPDATE: my doctor is trying to back out of tubal ligation
Hello again!
If you haven’t seen my previous two posts, please check my post history.
Tldr; my OB was trying to argue with me about removing my tubes despite the fact that another pregnancy will be deadly for me.
In the comments of BOTH posts, people were suggesting a lot that I switch OBs. I had tried every single one in my area and none could take me at the time. My OB sent me to another OB for a second opinion on my tubal removal surgery during my scheduled c section, and I’m very very happy to report that the staff there were so unhappy with my treatment by her, that they’ve now taken over my care!
I never have to see that woman again, and this doctor did not question me ONCE about my wishes, he only clarified that this is the plan and said okay!
Once again, thank you guys for giving me back my backbone. I’m glad I told them what was happening to me. Their receptionist is also a survivor of HG and was amazing to speak to.
The best part? My old OB has a policy that you are not allowed to bring anybody with you. At all. Including your baby to your postpartum visit. The new OB not only allows me to bring my husband, but told me they’d be offended if I did not bring my baby. I could not be happier to be calling my old OB to fire her!
submitted by Antique_Ant_3762 to BabyBumps [link] [comments]
If you haven’t seen my previous two posts, please check my post history.
Tldr; my OB was trying to argue with me about removing my tubes despite the fact that another pregnancy will be deadly for me.
In the comments of BOTH posts, people were suggesting a lot that I switch OBs. I had tried every single one in my area and none could take me at the time. My OB sent me to another OB for a second opinion on my tubal removal surgery during my scheduled c section, and I’m very very happy to report that the staff there were so unhappy with my treatment by her, that they’ve now taken over my care!
I never have to see that woman again, and this doctor did not question me ONCE about my wishes, he only clarified that this is the plan and said okay!
Once again, thank you guys for giving me back my backbone. I’m glad I told them what was happening to me. Their receptionist is also a survivor of HG and was amazing to speak to.
The best part? My old OB has a policy that you are not allowed to bring anybody with you. At all. Including your baby to your postpartum visit. The new OB not only allows me to bring my husband, but told me they’d be offended if I did not bring my baby. I could not be happier to be calling my old OB to fire her!
2024.05.15 22:50 PracticallyAPotato Spittin Chiclets Episode 500
On this special 500th episode of Spittin’ Chiclets, the boys are joined by a myriad of guests while taking a look back on the craziness that shaped chiclets as we know it. But first, playoff hockey is in full effect with the Bruins forcing a game 6 at home, Dallas taking a commanding 3-1 series lead, Edmonton finding the goal in the dying seconds to tie the series, and Carolina looking to turn the corner being down 3-2. It’s the Chiclets 500 baby! TO 500 MORE! Tune in LIVE.
Support the Show:
PINK WHITNEY: Take Your Shot with Pink Whitney
GAMETIME: Download the Gametime app or go to https://gametime.co, enter your email, and redeem code CHICLETS for $20 off your first purchase (terms apply).
VERIZON: Visit http://Verizon.com/barstool to learn more.
DISCOVER: Check out Discover.com/creditcard to learn more about the service you deserve. https://www.discover.com/credit-cards/brnd.html?cmpgnid=dp-dbr-inet-lcs-ps-AT-%25esid!&iq_id=dp-dbr-inet-lcs-ps-AT-%25esid
G/FORE: Check out G/FORE's 2024 Tourney Collection and don't forget to visit https://www.gfore.com/chiclets for 10% off your first order.
You can find every episode of this show on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or YouTube. Prime Members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. For more, visit barstool.link/schiclets
submitted by PracticallyAPotato to SpittinChicletsPod [link] [comments]
Support the Show:
PINK WHITNEY: Take Your Shot with Pink Whitney
GAMETIME: Download the Gametime app or go to https://gametime.co, enter your email, and redeem code CHICLETS for $20 off your first purchase (terms apply).
VERIZON: Visit http://Verizon.com/barstool to learn more.
DISCOVER: Check out Discover.com/creditcard to learn more about the service you deserve. https://www.discover.com/credit-cards/brnd.html?cmpgnid=dp-dbr-inet-lcs-ps-AT-%25esid!&iq_id=dp-dbr-inet-lcs-ps-AT-%25esid
G/FORE: Check out G/FORE's 2024 Tourney Collection and don't forget to visit https://www.gfore.com/chiclets for 10% off your first order.
You can find every episode of this show on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or YouTube. Prime Members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. For more, visit barstool.link/schiclets
2024.05.15 22:03 TechnoBlazeLinux I found something more disturbing and disgusting
I found video that makes me completely disturbing and disgusting video on Krypton's Deep Web via Hackertosh Terminal.
If you don't know what is Hackertosh, this is old school baby-step hacking computer who never been used.
I published that video on YouTube.
Here is a link: https://youtu.be/6AyBDfMUqBA?si=Z4BO6cGiTmyIfZG2
Here is a document how I found it and what I see: https://youtu.be/6AyBDfMUqBA?si=Z4BO6cGiTmyIfZG2
Just to warn you, maybe there is some fetish content in this video.
submitted by TechnoBlazeLinux to u/TechnoBlazeLinux [link] [comments]
If you don't know what is Hackertosh, this is old school baby-step hacking computer who never been used.
I published that video on YouTube.
Here is a link: https://youtu.be/6AyBDfMUqBA?si=Z4BO6cGiTmyIfZG2
Here is a document how I found it and what I see: https://youtu.be/6AyBDfMUqBA?si=Z4BO6cGiTmyIfZG2
Just to warn you, maybe there is some fetish content in this video.
2024.05.15 21:24 n_b_Z People featured on my YouTube channel
 | Welcome to the Reddit community for my YouTube channel: No Bowling Zone submitted by n_b_Z to nobowlingplease [link] [comments] Like I say in my YouTube description - I don't do deep dives on these peoples lives or anything. I just take the bits that are funny, intriguing or just plain weird. But this post is just a little summary of all people I have featured on my channel so far. Plenty more to come. By no means do I wish any of them any ill will, or for them to be trolled (not that I can control anyone) but I do want to show you guys people who put themselves out there, who they themselves are a bit 'out there'. So.. I guess I might as well start with These two. They are the reason I started my channel. They are endless hours of both purely unintentional comedy and a complete horror show. They are essentially homeless hoarders with 3 (?) cats and a child that was taken away from them. Trust me, I've seen them interacting with the baby, it was for the best. No Krystal the baby cannot have sushi. 10 ouvy 10 sliving stars. Highly recommend. https://preview.redd.it/67tco9mhsm0d1.jpg?width=960&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=0132ca4e7222f0dda52678c0589fccabb4cee301 John Birmingham is a guy from Virginia, USA who my algorithm has so gracefully shown me. Maybe it was god? Praise God, praise Jesus. He is a very interesting character to put it politely. Very much into his God and Jesus. Praise God, praise Jesus. Could possibly be schizophrenic/autistic from what I have heard on my Discord and in my YouTube comment section. At first I wasn't even going to make videos on him because I thought maybe he was putting it on, or it was a character. But I can say with 99% certainty that isn't the case. I could watch him for so long, all the little tangents he goes on and delusions that make you wonder what is true and what isn't in his world. I've always wanted to have an eye into the world of a schizophrenic who maybe should be taking more meds than they are. And this is a pretty good one. I dno if anyone remembers the game XIII? I think that's what started it. Anyway.. talking of tangents, NEXT. https://preview.redd.it/xil99618wm0d1.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=46fbf5ad24ade83b04ef1da3c372df58a553129e Justus Schrom Frasier And Home Movies Fan is a man from Arizona, USA and, as it stands, is currently toothless. He likes to post hypothetical questions - typically regarding the two topics: Frasier and Home Movies. He also posts food reviews, video diaries and 'movie reviews'. I say 'movie reviews' because they mainly consist of pointing the camera at the floor and him showing the film's case. Stardate;2024AD https://preview.redd.it/dpia6l0fym0d1.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3a7d062ad5cb10308bcb9b392c5131e4a7ebc417 David Walters, a man from London, England who is in his 50's is someone I have forgotten about a bit recently - as I'm finding more and more people. But he is a classic to me, I have known about him for years and so finally made some videos on him. He mainly posts himself rapping or singing but also produces his own music. There are a few, but not many, videos of him with no music, talking. One of which is here and the rest are still to be done. This 'Greatest Hits' playlist is a good place to start though if you want to understand what he's all about. These other MC's ain't like him, these other MC's ain't got his style. https://preview.redd.it/t66zq50g1n0d1.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=fe54c8560eb2544285bc68c7b658ee39bdddb908 And last (for now) but not least.. well kind of least. I have completely forgotten about Coaster Carl. But I remember he loves roller coasters. Sort of a 'Tim, nice, but dim' character. Probably not going to make any more videos on him unless for some reasons his videos start to get a lot of attention and people want it. https://preview.redd.it/v26m7xwv2n0d1.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=48d899ab1e91dd61d228856ea756c7d74d497666 So yeah that's the brief summary of people that are featured on my channel and some of my reasoning for choosing them. Hope you enjoy my channel. Cheers. No bowling. |
2024.05.15 20:13 Weathers_Writing I think God might be real, just not in the way you think
When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*
submitted by Weathers_Writing to weatherswriting [link] [comments]
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*
2024.05.15 20:09 Weathers_Writing I think God might be real, just not in the way you think
When I was three years old I was in a really bad car accident. I didn't know it at the time, but that singular event would come to define everything about my life moving forward. What I remember about the accident is mostly a collage of backdated comments I was able to reel out of my father in the following years. He was driving me and my mom in his old '91 Chevy Tahoe through the twisting backroads of Southern Illinois, weaving his way through the gnarled branches of oak trees which interlocked into a braided ceiling overhead. A fog had rolled in, giving the impression that we were driving through a cloudy tube. Everything was simultaneously bright and opaque. I didn't mind though, as I was in the back seat working on a coloring book. My mom was in the front, talking with my dad or turning around to entertain my completed pictures.
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*
submitted by Weathers_Writing to nosleep [link] [comments]
Although I was of the age where my memory was just beginning to mature, I still recall two things very clearly from the accident. First was the sensation of breaking. I remember feeling the way a plate must feel to be dropped: weightless at first, then suddenly meeting a much larger, more solid object—the air popped like a firecracker, and the entirety of my body shattered into hundreds of fractals. And then I remember a hand. It was my dad's hand pulling me from the wreck.
I ended up hospitalized for weeks after the crash. My mom was less lucky. The impact had killed her instantly.
As I've alluded to, I was young, and at the time I didn't fully understand the implications of what had happened. I knew something was missing, but it was like a word on the tip of my tongue, or the forgotten vanilla in a cherished cake recipe—coloring my experience, but not the whole of it. Not like my dad. For him, it was the whole fucking cake. He had somehow made it out with only a few scratches. I'm sure he had a really bad case of survivor's guilt, and frankly, looking back, I wouldn't have blamed him if he slumped into despair and spent his days drinking away his sorrow. But he wasn't that type of man. He got help. It took him years before he was able to recall anything that happened that morning, and most of it is still repressed, but he shared with me what he could. Or at least that's what I had thought.
My dad was a Middle School teacher since before I was born, and he kept his job until very recently. As a result, we didn't have much by way of resources. I grew up on Disney Channel and TV dinners for the most part, but I didn't mind. When I became of school age, his job actually made caring for me pretty convenient. Since our Elementary and Middle schools were connected, he was able to drive me there and back each day.
It was around third or fourth grade that I realized I was different. I didn't understand the other children or even the adults most of the time. They would say things then immediately change their mind, or they would talk about something and in the next breath forget its existence entirely. I remember one day at lunch, I had just gotten my tray of hot food and sat down with some friends. One of the kids, Alex, was talking about a stuffed bird he had won for getting first place in Mr. Curtis's pop-up math competition. We were all admiring its blue wings and white belly and sharp black beak and beady eyes. I left mid-conversation to get a chocolate milk. When I came back, I asked to see the bird again, and Alex said "what bird?" I was perplexed. "The bird—the bluejay you were just showing us." I remember all of the other kids looking at me like I was crazy. I figured they were all playing a trick on me, so I got up and went over to Alex's seat and crouched down, looking under the table, then I sprung up and tried to open his lunchbox. "What are you doing!?" he yelled. I felt so confused and embarrassed that I ran to the bathroom to cry.
And then there was another time a group of kids were laughing about a joke one of the girls, Taylor, had made about our homeroom teacher's face looking like a seal. I knew it was mean, but at the time I just wanted to fit in so I played along, but when I made a comment about her resemblance to the semi-aquatic animal, they all looked at me confused. "What are you talking about? We never said that…"
These misattributions kept happening, and it led to me being ostracized from most of the little childish cliques that popped up. I developed a quasi-standoffish temperament which I used as a shield against a chaotic world that I didn't understand. My dad eventually had me tested for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), but I passed the test. He asked if I wanted to move to a different town with different schoolmates, thinking that perhaps I was getting bullied, but I told him it was fine. Somewhere deep down I felt like no matter where I went, this problem would follow me.
You may think that I was simply coping with the absence of my mom, and while I'm sure that her absence has left certain holes in my life, kindly, no, that wasn't what was happening. You see, at first I didn't notice the instances of what I'll call "blinking". I simply thought that I was misremembering things: objects, words, events. They were all little things anyway. A bird, a joke, my pencil box. It wasn't until sixth grade that I realized the magnitude of the phenomenon.
I was in my dad's 6th grade Social Studies class and we had just been assigned our "Ancient Civilizations" project which involved creating a diorama of our chosen civilization and presenting its features to the class. My friend at the time, Claire, had taken my first choice of Ancient Rome (which we had a heated argument about at lunch), so I was left with Ancient Egypt. At the time, all I pictured for Egypt was a plate of sand. However, my dad and I went through some illustrated history books and pictures on the internet and he really built up the project for me.
Over the course of a couple months, he helped me shape three pyramids out of small wooden planks and a bunch of tan clay. We placed them in the center of a giant square shoebox lid which served as the container for the diorama. Then he bought some small wooden mannequin puppets and we dressed them up in cloth clothes (mostly kilts and tunics) and colored their eyes, mouths, and hair. We added a few obelisks and some small box-huts which were collected into a little village around the Nile. Finally, we added a light glaze of glue where we felt would be necessary and then covered the whole project with golden glitter.
As we worked on each part of the diorama, my dad helped me understand what we were adding and why it was important to Ancient Egypt. I loved the way he talked about history. He spun everything into a miraculous story. To this day, I don't think I've ever had a teacher who came close to his level of charisma and creativity. As a result, I became really proud of my diorama. I memorized all the little details and rehearsed my speech in front of the mirror for hours leading up to the last couple weeks of class. And then, two days before I was supposed to give my presentation, everything fell apart.
First, I need to apologize for deceiving you about an aspect of my story. I thought it might help you to understand what I was going through at the time. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane. I get that. But please hear me out. The truth is that I was never assigned to present on Ancient Egypt; everything else about Clair taking my first pick and dad helping me with the whole project and my excitement leading up to the presentation was all true, but it wasn't a project on Ancient Egypt, it was a project on Ancient Sidovan, which was a civilization located on the eighth continent called "Catalan" (the same name as the spoken language, but unrelated) which was due West of Australia in the Indian Ocean.
I know this sounds incredible, and if you want to believe it's all in my head, I get that, but I remember clearly all sorts of facts about it: the Malagasy, the same people who populated Madagascar, were the first peoples to discover Catalan and settle it. However, about five hundred years later, Indian ships would arrive and create the civilization known as Sidovan. A pidgin language formed between the indigenous population and new arriving Indians called "Hiesa" (pronounced: Hai-E-suh or Hai-ʔ-suh). Catalan had a warm climate with plenty of natural resources, but Sidovan had a dense enough population to require agricultural production. They grew rice, grain, sugarcane, vegetables, and even tobacco.
I remembered all of these facts and more. My diorama reflected the main features of the Sidovan civilization. And then two days before my presentation, I woke up and my diorama was entirely different. The hilly grasslands were traded out for sandy dunes. The Hindu statues and stone palaces became clay pyramids and large spear-like pillars. And everything was covered with the ickiest yellow glitter I had ever seen. Tears stung my eyes as I trampled over to my dad's room and banged on his door. "Dad! What did you do!?" I yelled.
"Honey?" He responded, rushing over to the base of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"The diorama. It's ruined!"
"It's what?" he asked and ran up the stairs, leading me to my room. He looked over it for a few seconds, checking to see if everything was intact, then said, "I don't see it, honey. Where is it ruined?"
I was completely dumb-struck. What did he mean he didn't see it? "All of it!" I shouted. "The whole thing is wrong. Where's the grass and the stone buildings and the lady with the four arms and the elephants? Where is my project!?"
My dad looked at me in silence. "Lauren, baby, what civilization do you think you were working on?"
"Ancient Sidovan, of course! We've been working on this for months now! Dad, please tell me you remember."
He knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. "Honey, your project was on Ancient Egypt. There is no Ancient Sidovan."
"Y-you're lying." I protested. "Books, you have books. On your bookshelf."
He took me into his study and showed me all of his books. None of them were on Ancient Sidovan. He even turned on his computer and typed in the name of the civilization, but all that came up was a near match "Sidon". I remember feeling the sudden urge to puke. My entire body felt like it was pumping battery acid instead of blood. "I—I don't," I started but suddenly my head felt very light, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I had lost consciousness for over half an hour, enough time for my dad to call 9-1-1 and have the ambulance transport me to the nearest ER. They ran all sorts of tests on me, but they all came back fine. After a couple hours of IV fluids and monitoring, they released me with my dad.
I ended up skipping the rest of school that week. My dad didn't make me present my diorama. In fact, he never brought the subject up again. Part of me was glad. I just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened. But another part of me couldn't move past what was clearly the most absurd thing to ever happen to me. About a week after the incident, I tried to broach the subject, but when I asked my dad about it, he didn't seem to remember our conversation at all. He said I had fallen ill and that's why I needed to go to the ER and miss class. I felt like I was going crazy. If I was older, I probably would have voluntarily checked myself into a psychiatric ward. But I was young and helpless and alone, and I decided that if I just ignored the changes well enough, I could still get along. This proved difficult though, as the blinking would only exacerbate in the coming months.
Up until the time of the project, I hadn't been able to directly observe the phenomenon. It was always in retrospect that things disappeared. It was during the summer after sixth grade that this changed. I still remember the first time it happened. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in front of the mirror. After it was dried, I threw on my clothes then went to tie my hair up in a ponytail, but as I went to set the elastic tie, I felt its weight dissipate in my hand. I gasped and held my hand out. The circular black band was gone.
Fast forward to seventh grade and the blinking had spiraled out of control. Reflecting back on it, most people would probably have assumed I was drinking psilocybin-infused water, as the delusions were somewhat consistent with psychedelic phenomena: except these distortions were real (at least they felt that way to me).
I'd wake up and grab the box of Special K but end up eating Cheerios. The McDonalds logo would look yellow and red one day, but purple and black the next. I'd be watching a show, and then a different show, and then a different one. It was as if the entire universe was a Christmas tree with millions of lights, and the lights kept shifting hues randomly, faster and faster, and I was the only one who could see their changing colors. I remember one night my dad made spaghetti for dinner and we went out onto the porch to eat it. While we were sitting, I saw our neighbor's house, a two story townhome, blink and become a single story bungalow. I gasped, and my dad asked what was wrong, but when I tried to explain he just gave me a strange look. For him, no matter what changed, the world was "always that way". While for me, it didn't have "a way".
The situation peaked when Clair, that friend I mentioned before, disappeared. I texted her (my dad had bought me a BlackBerry at the beginning of summer break) but didn't get a response. When I asked her other friends if they knew where she was, I got the usual "what are you talking about?" look. I knew right away what had happened, even though I didn't want to believe it. I went to the teacher and asked if there was a Clair in our class. She said "no". I broke down in front of everyone. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out of school. The lady at the front desk tried to stop me, but I just barrelled past her. I kept running until I got to a big park across the street and bawled my eyes out until the police arrived and escorted me home. When they tried asking me what was wrong, I didn't say anything. There was literally nothing I could say that they would understand.
That night I prayed to God for the first time. My dad wasn't a religious man. He went to Catholic church with my mom when she was alive, but after she died he never went back. Still, I knew how to pray, even if I never did it. I copied some of the people I saw praying in movies and interlocked my fingers and knelt down on my bed, stuffing my head into a pillow. "Dear God," I said, "Please, please, please help me." I told Him about my struggles and asked Him to make them stop. I spent an hour saying the same things over and over again. And when I was finished, my little body was so tired, I fell right to sleep.
I knew something was different the second I opened my eyelids. I didn't only feel relieved, but I felt… embraced. I felt like someone was watching over me. I felt like I wasn't alone. I moved through my day with cautious apprehension. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to be let down. But to my surprise, the blinking had stopped. At least I couldn't remember any of the inconsistencies, and to me, that was a win. I began to pray regularly, and the more I did, the more I could feel the sense that someone was looking out for me. It was like I was getting a big hug from some cosmic force that loved me and wanted me to be happy.
I made it a habit to pray regularly. I asked my dad if he could take me to a church, and he agreed to take me to St. Mark's, the same church that he and my mom used to attend. Over time, I realized that the actual church services weren't as important to me as the praying. For whatever reason, there was something about praying that was like a glue for my brain, holding the entire universe together. As I got older, I considered that maybe it wasn't that the changes were no longer happening, but that I simply didn't see them anymore. In other words, maybe I was just becoming like everyone else. Either way, I didn't mind.
In my teenage years, I got into mindfulness meditation. I thought that I'd want to go into religious studies and become a theologian, so I started to learn about Eastern traditions in addition to Christianity. I joined a bunch of different school clubs to meet kids of different faiths: Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam. I tried to find a common thread which linked them all and would explain what happened to me as a child. The metaphors of Heaven and Hell, Good and Evil, the Taoist Yin and Yang—duality. Every religion seemed to speak about a way of being that would lead to a better place. In some cases that better place was a physical future existence, and in others it was merely being in contact with the perfection of nature or the present. Metaphorically, the teachings could explain what I had gone through in a kind of loose way, but there were no explicit statements about my condition.
***
I want to fast forward to why I've decided to write about this now. To give you an idea of where I'm at, I'm now 25 and working on finishing my MA in Computational Linguistics. I know that's a bit of a switch from what I was thinking when I was a teenager, but I really only interested in religion because of the value praying afforded me as a child. I didn't actually have much interest in the subject, itself. After my first year of college, I changed to an English major, which ultimately led to me taking a linguistics class and enjoying it so much that I switched tracks in my Junior year. Considering the state of the world, I thought minoring in Computer Science might help me financially in the future, so I ended up charting a path which I figured might lead to something like developing translation software.
Anyway, everything was going fine until a few weeks ago. I was out at an all-night diner with a few of my friends from the program. There was Jeremy, Martin, Bella, Jordan, and Macy. We had been working on a group project together involving modeling construction grammars by generating primitive 3D structures using C# and running the code through a game engine (it's a bit weird, but essentially we were trying to create a multidimensional model for language using a similar but more advanced concept than other LLMs), and just had a breakthrough. It was 2AM though and not a brain cell existed between the six of us, so instead we focused on a different problem: Macy's ongoing breakup with her semi-long distance trucker boyfriend. We tried to explain why Mike wasn't going to work out as we ordered a round of milkshakes and waited for the lone overnight kitchen worker to scoop out three balls of ice cream from the Deans carton for each of us, blend it, then have the server deliver the vintage diner glasses on a plastic tray.
I dug into my thick strawberry shake with a spoon. It was delicious. I kept eating but focused back on the conversation. I remember feeling something odd about one of the scoops, but I was so entrenched in Macy's story that I didn't notice the metal shard in my ice cream until I felt it against my lip. "P-tuh" I spat out the shard and ice cream all in one motion, then covered my mouth which I was sure was bleeding. The silver blade was probably as large as my thumb, and it had two jagged edges, as if it was fastened for the purpose of causing damage. "What the fuck!" I yelled.
Everyone at the table turned to see what was the matter. "Hey, Lauren, you okay?"
I spoke through a covered mouth, using my free hand to point at the table. "That was in my—"
But it was gone.
"In your… shake? Was something in your shake?" asked Jeremy.
I froze. In that moment, the stories of my childhood that I had only remembered as faint nightmares came back in a wave of crushing terror. How could I have been so stupid to think they would simply vanish forever? No, this isn't the same thing, I thought. But deep down, I knew it was. I drew my hand away from my lips and saw that it was dry—no blood. When I looked back up, all of the blood in my veins went cold. My friends were… smiling at me. Their lips were elastic like taffy, stretching to reveal their teeth. I could feel them radiating malevolence, as if the only thing holding them back from picking up their utensils and stabbing me to death was some thinly veiled force field. The moment lasted for what felt like half a minute, then Jordan said two words which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Found you"
The words ricocheted in my now adrenaline powered skull. But just as he spoke them, the world blinked and my friends were back. Bella reached out and grabbed my hand. I pulled away, but when I saw her concerned expression, I relented.
"Sorry, guys, I think I'm going to have to call it." I said.
"You sure, L?" asked Jordan. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah, thanks, but I just…" I stumbled for a lie, but when one wouldn't come, Martin stood up and said he'd walk me out to my car.
"Thanks," I said as I got into my little 2015 Jetta. "It's just been a long day."
"No problem, Lauren. You know, if there's ever anything—"
"I know," I said but didn't mean. Some things just couldn't be shared.
I drove for about five minutes before stopping at a gas station. I pulled in and parked near the back. Then I interlocked my fingers and prayed for half an hour. I apologized for not taking my praying seriously and asked to once again be granted peace. Unlike my younger years, I also drifted into other avenues of thought. I imagined my mom. I pictured the whole arc of my life, all of the little decisions that led me to where I was. I cried for a long time. I felt like that little girl again reaching out for help. I still felt so lost, so out of control; there were so many things missing, and I was so confused.
I decided then to take a trip back home and visit my dad who was now working as a private tutor. He made enough prepping affluent students for the ACT and SAT that he could spend his free time pursuing his real passions: reading and writing. When I arrived at his doorstep that weekend, he greeted me with open arms. "How are you, kiddo? It's been, what? A year or so?"
It was actually more like two years, but I didn't tell him. I just smiled and nodded.
"Well, come in."
The house was almost exactly how I remembered it. Linoleum floors, beige walls, a few scattered pictures, the scent of camomile. Everything minimalist. There was a quaintness, a prettiness to the way everything seemed to be well kept and in a perfect place. From the cherry wood chairs we'd sit in to eat, to the cream-colored loveseat. I felt at home.
I spent the drive thinking of what I would talk to my dad about, but ultimately I wasn't sure what I'd say. I loved my dad, but I think growing up it was easy to see him as naive. After all, arguably the most important episodes of my childhood were completely unknown to him. In that way, I kind of loved him from a distance. Maybe losing my mom also played into that. Maybe I just had trust issues. And after what happened at the diner… Luckily there hadn't been any blinks since.
I stayed for a couple days and he showed me around some of the different coffee shops where he'd tutor kids or write some of his stories. I met some of his friends, mostly other retired or part-time teachers who were in a similar place in life. I was happy for him. Then, on Sunday, he made me my favorite meal growing up: homemade carbonara pasta with chicken and broccoli. The sauce had a few different cheeses, butter, olive oil, and a raw egg yolk. It was the perfect blend of creamy, savory, and sweet. After we ate, he cracked open a scrapbook of some old photos and other clippings he had put together.
We reminisced about the past and laughed whenever I'd cover up one of my awkward pictures. He brought up some stories from school that I had forgotten, naming some teachers that I hadn't thought about in years. Apparently I had started at the end, because as I moved to the other end of the book, I kept getting younger and younger. I flipped to the last pages and noticed a couple pictures of my mom that made my heart sink.
"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" said my dad.
"Mmm," I agreed.
I flipped to the last page and saw a collage of newspaper clippings. One of them was related to the accident. It was headlined: "Two Survive Head-On Collision". After a cursory glance at the text, I noticed something odd. It said, "Both the husband and child, a three year old girl, sustained life-threatening wounds. The husband was found unconscious on the scene. The girl was found twenty meters away from the vehicle, crying." I swallowed, trying to remember back to what happened that day. The feeling of crashing, of the world slowing down, then breaking, returned. And then there was a hand. My dad's hand. Or was it? If he was unconscious, who pulled me out of that wreck?
I looked up at my dad. He was smiling.
I shot up and started backing up slowly toward the door. "No, not you, too. What is this? What's happening? Who are you?"
My dad, or whatever was controlling him, laughed."Oh, Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. You know who we are." he purred as he stood up. He lifted his hands and the lights began to flicker then bend in a way which shouldn't have been possible. Dark figures began to propagate from the shadows along the walls. The pictures nailed there began to blink out of existence. I turned to run toward the door but the handle was gone. Glass shards materialized all around me and swarmed like locusts. Certain I was going to die, I dropped down on my knees and once again turned to prayer, this time asking God to directly intervene and save me.
Everything went quiet.
"Honey? Are you okay?"
I didn't trust his voice. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd see that awful smile. He was just toying with me. "It's not you," I said in between muttered prayers. "I know it's not you."
"Honey," my dad said, closer. I felt his arms wrap around me. This was it, I was going to be suffocated. I waited for the inevitable crushing weight of my chest collapsing. I waited to break all over again.
"I would never hurt you, Lauren. I love you more than anything in the whole world."
I burst out in tears. "No, it's not you, I know it's not you. You don't exist!"
My dad's weight dissipated. I opened my eyes and saw that he was no longer there. "Dad?" I called aloud. "Dad? Where did you go?"
I checked all over the house, but there was no trace of him. There were still pictures of him all over the house, so I knew he hadn't blinked out of existence like everything else, but somehow he was missing.
***
I left the house and got a room at a hotel, where I am now. I'm sure at this point that whatever is happening to me is no longer random. Something out there is actively trying to hunt me. Maybe it has been my whole life, but only now it can see me—however weird that sounds. If that's right, then God has been on my side trying to protect me from this demon or monster or devil or whatever it is. Regardless, the methods I was using when I was younger are not going to cut it anymore. I already posted my story in several other small circles and have gotten one reply. A man who goes by the name "Trent" (apparently it's an alias). He said that he has some insight into my "condition" and can offer help if I want it. I'm planning on meeting with him tomorrow. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but at this point I need answers. I can keep you updated with my progress if that interests you, and to anyone who knows anything about what's happening to me, please… I could really use your help.
***
I was just about to post this when Trent sent another message. This is what it says:
Trent: We can do the \*** at **** O'clock. Also, if what you're telling me is true, your mother may still be alive.*
2024.05.15 20:02 enieto87 Donde esta...
La que hacía "el talco papal..."
Sale un hombre dando una leccion de guitarra... en YouTube... Tracy Chapman... Baby can you hold me tonight...
Donde dice la Nota EM7...
Quienes eran los 3 ahí...
Que horror...
Pura gente jodida.
submitted by enieto87 to LasAventurasDeEnrique [link] [comments]
Sale un hombre dando una leccion de guitarra... en YouTube... Tracy Chapman... Baby can you hold me tonight...
Donde dice la Nota EM7...
Quienes eran los 3 ahí...
Que horror...
Pura gente jodida.
2024.05.15 19:52 isaacm28 Happy Wednesday
https://youtube.com/shorts/a_gE0wzXA9E?feature=share
Checkout the Team Fire Hawk Website: http://teamfirehawk.com
Join me for a good discussion and/or good music.
* https://linktr.ee/isaacm28 1) http://www.midind-ime.com
2) https://myfitwatch.net
3) u/IMEYTC Baby!!!
You are AWESOME! Never forget that.
#YouTubeBlack #isaacm #lofimsuic #talkshow #music #isaacmiddleton #calmingmusic #teamfirehawk #enjoymusic #teamfirehawkelite #middleton #isaacm #myfitwatch #imiddletonentertainment #EnjoyMusic #LofiChillMusic #IMEMusic #IsaacM #iamcme #SAGAFTRAstrong #sagaftramember
submitted by isaacm28 to u/isaacm28 [link] [comments]
Checkout the Team Fire Hawk Website: http://teamfirehawk.com
Join me for a good discussion and/or good music.
* https://linktr.ee/isaacm28 1) http://www.midind-ime.com
2) https://myfitwatch.net
3) u/IMEYTC Baby!!!
You are AWESOME! Never forget that.
#YouTubeBlack #isaacm #lofimsuic #talkshow #music #isaacmiddleton #calmingmusic #teamfirehawk #enjoymusic #teamfirehawkelite #middleton #isaacm #myfitwatch #imiddletonentertainment #EnjoyMusic #LofiChillMusic #IMEMusic #IsaacM #iamcme #SAGAFTRAstrong #sagaftramember
2024.05.15 19:36 Grand_Ground7393 Will Clancey continue YouTube after her pregnancy?
Will Clancey continue YouTube after her pregnancy? She is always a week ahead. But oh my she skips an upload. Will she? I see Zac doing a few videos and I see the videos being like her 8 minute videos. Someone mentioned nanny. But she has no content left after baby (boy) is born.
submitted by Grand_Ground7393 to clancyburkesnarkk [link] [comments]
2024.05.15 19:09 ProwerTheFox 27 [M4F] U.K/Europe - Looking for that special someone
Hey there, my name’s Tom and as my title suggests, I’m a 27 year old white guy from the U.K, I’m about 6’2 (so I’m good at reaching for things off high shelves when needed) and admittedly kinda chubby but it’s something I’m working on. I don’t mind sharing pics once we get talking and a connection has been established, but anonymity is something that’s quite important to me for the most part, also I do have kind of a baby-face just so you’re aware. I’m an INFJ if that means anything to you. I’ve got two dogs and will happily share pics of them. I will say I’m fully monogamous and lean more towards wanting kids at some point in life, but I’m in no rush to do so.
In terms of my personality, I’m quite honest but without being overly blunt or rude, I’m fiercely loyal, maybe even to the point where it becomes a negative. I’d say I’ve got a really good sense of humour which is mainly sarcastic, self-deprecating and can at times be incredibly dark but can throw the odd dad joke or shitty pun in when I think of a good one. I’m very emotionally aware and not afraid to share how I’m feeling, I’m also a hopeless romantic I’m looking for ‘the one’ and nothing less. I’d say my best trait is my ability to communicate, don’t get me wrong if I don’t really feel a spark it can feel like pulling teeth, but if there is a spark I’m the type of guy that can hold a conversation for hours and to be honest I can usually tell instantly who I will and won’t have a spark with.
I’m a PC gamer and have built my own machine as well as a few others. I’ve been playing a bit of Minecraft and messing around with a switch emulator over the last 2 weeks or so but do play other stuff as well. It’d be cool if you also enjoyed playing games and wanted to play co-op/multiplayer stuff.
My biggest passion though is without a doubt music. It’s something that’s always been a part of my life, and it’s something I don’t think I’d be the same without. My Spotify is my place of solace, it’s where I go when I’m feeling down, when I need to think about the future or reflect on the past. I’ve also started collecting CDs and vinyls this year and I’ve got a good idea of what I want to buy already. In terms of music genres I’m into I’d say mainly rock, rap and a bit of indie. Off the top of my head a few artists I really like are; Panic at the Disco, Post Malone, Juice Wrld, The 1975, Bring me the Horizon, Nirvana, A Day to Remember and Tame Impala, so if you’re into similar music I’ll have plenty of stuff to share with you.
One thing I’ve got quite into over the past few years is typology. So Astrology, MBTI and that sort of thing, it fascinates me how certain people think, process information and situations in general life. I won’t go into this too much because it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but if something you’ve never looked into, and it interests you I’ll be happy to introduce you into it while we get to know each other.
I’m also quite into the paranormal, more-so aliens/extraterrestrials and unsolved mysteries, I could probably find some interest in true crime, but honestly I’ve never looked into any. Again, if you’re into that type of thing too, I could definitely recommend you a few documentaries on YouTube that are fascinating.
It’s probably also worth noting I do struggle with my mental health and I’ve also recently been diagnosed with high functioning autism, but I can go into that kinda stuff more if necessary
So if you’re still reading, I’m going to assume you’re interested or just really enjoy short novels but if you could let me know what games you’re into or if you’re not a gamer just your favourite album/artist. Low effort replies get low effort conversation.
submitted by ProwerTheFox to r4r [link] [comments]
In terms of my personality, I’m quite honest but without being overly blunt or rude, I’m fiercely loyal, maybe even to the point where it becomes a negative. I’d say I’ve got a really good sense of humour which is mainly sarcastic, self-deprecating and can at times be incredibly dark but can throw the odd dad joke or shitty pun in when I think of a good one. I’m very emotionally aware and not afraid to share how I’m feeling, I’m also a hopeless romantic I’m looking for ‘the one’ and nothing less. I’d say my best trait is my ability to communicate, don’t get me wrong if I don’t really feel a spark it can feel like pulling teeth, but if there is a spark I’m the type of guy that can hold a conversation for hours and to be honest I can usually tell instantly who I will and won’t have a spark with.
I’m a PC gamer and have built my own machine as well as a few others. I’ve been playing a bit of Minecraft and messing around with a switch emulator over the last 2 weeks or so but do play other stuff as well. It’d be cool if you also enjoyed playing games and wanted to play co-op/multiplayer stuff.
My biggest passion though is without a doubt music. It’s something that’s always been a part of my life, and it’s something I don’t think I’d be the same without. My Spotify is my place of solace, it’s where I go when I’m feeling down, when I need to think about the future or reflect on the past. I’ve also started collecting CDs and vinyls this year and I’ve got a good idea of what I want to buy already. In terms of music genres I’m into I’d say mainly rock, rap and a bit of indie. Off the top of my head a few artists I really like are; Panic at the Disco, Post Malone, Juice Wrld, The 1975, Bring me the Horizon, Nirvana, A Day to Remember and Tame Impala, so if you’re into similar music I’ll have plenty of stuff to share with you.
One thing I’ve got quite into over the past few years is typology. So Astrology, MBTI and that sort of thing, it fascinates me how certain people think, process information and situations in general life. I won’t go into this too much because it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but if something you’ve never looked into, and it interests you I’ll be happy to introduce you into it while we get to know each other.
I’m also quite into the paranormal, more-so aliens/extraterrestrials and unsolved mysteries, I could probably find some interest in true crime, but honestly I’ve never looked into any. Again, if you’re into that type of thing too, I could definitely recommend you a few documentaries on YouTube that are fascinating.
It’s probably also worth noting I do struggle with my mental health and I’ve also recently been diagnosed with high functioning autism, but I can go into that kinda stuff more if necessary
So if you’re still reading, I’m going to assume you’re interested or just really enjoy short novels but if you could let me know what games you’re into or if you’re not a gamer just your favourite album/artist. Low effort replies get low effort conversation.
2024.05.15 19:09 ProwerTheFox 27 [M4F] U.K/Europe - Looking for that special someone
Hey there, my name’s Tom and as my title suggests, I’m a 27 year old white guy from the U.K, I’m about 6’2 (so I’m good at reaching for things off high shelves when needed) and admittedly kinda chubby but it’s something I’m working on. I don’t mind sharing pics once we get talking and a connection has been established, but anonymity is something that’s quite important to me for the most part, also I do have kind of a baby-face just so you’re aware. I’m an INFJ if that means anything to you. I’ve got two dogs and will happily share pics of them. I will say I’m fully monogamous and lean more towards wanting kids at some point in life, but I’m in no rush to do so.
In terms of my personality, I’m quite honest but without being overly blunt or rude, I’m fiercely loyal, maybe even to the point where it becomes a negative. I’d say I’ve got a really good sense of humour which is mainly sarcastic, self-deprecating and can at times be incredibly dark but can throw the odd dad joke or shitty pun in when I think of a good one. I’m very emotionally aware and not afraid to share how I’m feeling, I’m also a hopeless romantic I’m looking for ‘the one’ and nothing less. I’d say my best trait is my ability to communicate, don’t get me wrong if I don’t really feel a spark it can feel like pulling teeth, but if there is a spark I’m the type of guy that can hold a conversation for hours and to be honest I can usually tell instantly who I will and won’t have a spark with.
I’m a PC gamer and have built my own machine as well as a few others. I’ve been playing a bit of Minecraft and messing around with a switch emulator over the last 2 weeks or so but do play other stuff as well. It’d be cool if you also enjoyed playing games and wanted to play co-op/multiplayer stuff.
My biggest passion though is without a doubt music. It’s something that’s always been a part of my life, and it’s something I don’t think I’d be the same without. My Spotify is my place of solace, it’s where I go when I’m feeling down, when I need to think about the future or reflect on the past. I’ve also started collecting CDs and vinyls this year and I’ve got a good idea of what I want to buy already. In terms of music genres I’m into I’d say mainly rock, rap and a bit of indie. Off the top of my head a few artists I really like are; Panic at the Disco, Post Malone, Juice Wrld, The 1975, Bring me the Horizon, Nirvana, A Day to Remember and Tame Impala, so if you’re into similar music I’ll have plenty of stuff to share with you.
One thing I’ve got quite into over the past few years is typology. So Astrology, MBTI and that sort of thing, it fascinates me how certain people think, process information and situations in general life. I won’t go into this too much because it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but if something you’ve never looked into, and it interests you I’ll be happy to introduce you into it while we get to know each other.
I’m also quite into the paranormal, more-so aliens/extraterrestrials and unsolved mysteries, I could probably find some interest in true crime, but honestly I’ve never looked into any. Again, if you’re into that type of thing too, I could definitely recommend you a few documentaries on YouTube that are fascinating.
It’s probably also worth noting I do struggle with my mental health and I’ve also recently been diagnosed with high functioning autism, but I can go into that kinda stuff more if necessary
So if you’re still reading, I’m going to assume you’re interested or just really enjoy short novels but if you could let me know what games you’re into or if you’re not a gamer just your favourite album/artist. Low effort replies get low effort conversation.
submitted by ProwerTheFox to ForeverAloneDating [link] [comments]
In terms of my personality, I’m quite honest but without being overly blunt or rude, I’m fiercely loyal, maybe even to the point where it becomes a negative. I’d say I’ve got a really good sense of humour which is mainly sarcastic, self-deprecating and can at times be incredibly dark but can throw the odd dad joke or shitty pun in when I think of a good one. I’m very emotionally aware and not afraid to share how I’m feeling, I’m also a hopeless romantic I’m looking for ‘the one’ and nothing less. I’d say my best trait is my ability to communicate, don’t get me wrong if I don’t really feel a spark it can feel like pulling teeth, but if there is a spark I’m the type of guy that can hold a conversation for hours and to be honest I can usually tell instantly who I will and won’t have a spark with.
I’m a PC gamer and have built my own machine as well as a few others. I’ve been playing a bit of Minecraft and messing around with a switch emulator over the last 2 weeks or so but do play other stuff as well. It’d be cool if you also enjoyed playing games and wanted to play co-op/multiplayer stuff.
My biggest passion though is without a doubt music. It’s something that’s always been a part of my life, and it’s something I don’t think I’d be the same without. My Spotify is my place of solace, it’s where I go when I’m feeling down, when I need to think about the future or reflect on the past. I’ve also started collecting CDs and vinyls this year and I’ve got a good idea of what I want to buy already. In terms of music genres I’m into I’d say mainly rock, rap and a bit of indie. Off the top of my head a few artists I really like are; Panic at the Disco, Post Malone, Juice Wrld, The 1975, Bring me the Horizon, Nirvana, A Day to Remember and Tame Impala, so if you’re into similar music I’ll have plenty of stuff to share with you.
One thing I’ve got quite into over the past few years is typology. So Astrology, MBTI and that sort of thing, it fascinates me how certain people think, process information and situations in general life. I won’t go into this too much because it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but if something you’ve never looked into, and it interests you I’ll be happy to introduce you into it while we get to know each other.
I’m also quite into the paranormal, more-so aliens/extraterrestrials and unsolved mysteries, I could probably find some interest in true crime, but honestly I’ve never looked into any. Again, if you’re into that type of thing too, I could definitely recommend you a few documentaries on YouTube that are fascinating.
It’s probably also worth noting I do struggle with my mental health and I’ve also recently been diagnosed with high functioning autism, but I can go into that kinda stuff more if necessary
So if you’re still reading, I’m going to assume you’re interested or just really enjoy short novels but if you could let me know what games you’re into or if you’re not a gamer just your favourite album/artist. Low effort replies get low effort conversation.
2024.05.15 18:44 Sharp_Ad_8399 Creeper won't leave me alone
I want to start by saying, I love your content Charlotte! I've been watching sense you first posted to YouTube and you never fail to brighten my day!
Onto the story, this takes place over the course of a week for context. I (27 F) am living in a hotel at the moment with my baby boys (1, 3, 4) and the people here are so nice! They've just randomly given us tacos, clothes, a beer, a couple bucks, it's great. So I struck up a friendship with one of my neighbors who's also living here and smokes with me, it was really nice, we talked about religion, Science, fun facts about animals and stuff like that, I was starting to catch feelings, but I was cautious because I'm homeless with 3 babies and he's homeless too, so I didn't say anything and just stayed friends. One day he tells me he loves me, I've only been talking to this man for like 3 or 4 days at this point, and he was drunk, so in my mind I was like "oh, he's THAT type of drunk, ok" so I said I love you too man. I shouldn't have said that. So I invited him over the next day to watch star wars, because I love star wars and he loves star wars but has only seen 7,8 and 9, the bastard child of the original trilogies, so I had to show him the golden days of the movie series. It was great, I was explaining all the lore and things he didn't understand, this whole time, he's starting to get uncomfortably close however, and like kissing my cheek, but he was also drinking the whole day, straight from a 90 prof bottle of vodka, it didn't last the day, so I figured he's just drunk and we already know he's an "I love you" type of drunk. Then, he passes out in my bed... I was like OK, not a big deal, I try to wake him up, hes not waking up, i figure its because hes drunk and ill just send him home when he wakes up from his nap. So when he wakes up, it's like 2am, and he's talking and hanging out still, so I let him know he needs to go to his room. He was shook and confused, he kept saying "but I love you, I can't sleep without you, I don't want to be alone, you're mine and I gotta protect you" all of it. I keep saying he needs to go home, at which point he lays on me and starts kissing me, like full on make out. Now I'm a small person, 5ft4 and 110 lbs, i couldn't push him off and he had me pinned so I couldn't get away. At this point I'm freaking out and keep saying he needs to leave now. He finally goes, telling me he's going to give me a baby tomorrow and I lock up. The next morning he comes out, remembers very little of what happened the night before, but is under the impression we are now together and he's going to live with me 🤦♀️ I said no, he can't come stay with me. He goes on this tirade about how he knew he'd get kicked in the balls, he was planing to propose, but now he wasn't sure, since we weren't going to be together if we weren't living together because he can't afford another night. I was like oh no, whatever shall I do? This man I barely know and was never in a relationship with is dumping me, sounds like problem solved right? Wrong! Now all he wants to talk about is why I'm breaking up with him. So I try to explain why I'm not going to let a relative stranger live with me, because it's potentially very dangerous. He says he understands, problem solved right? Wrong again, this man's ignorance was astounding. After that, every time we have a smoke, the conversation was him "clearing the red flags" 🙄 so I finally just told him to fuck off, problem solved right? Still wrong! Now every time he notices that I've step out to smoke, Mr. Ignorant comes to try to "clear the red flags" and asks if I really think he's the a-hole because he's perfect and doesn't make mistakes, I'm just crazy, but he'll keep coming back until I realize that 🤦♀️ i just keep telling mr. Ignorant im not talking to him. Supposedly, he will be going into rehab tomorrow, so hopefully, that will solve this issue once and for all because I hate confrontation. If not, the next time this happens, I will let him know I will be calling the police on him for harassing me. I'll keep you guys posted if anything new happens!
submitted by Sharp_Ad_8399 to CharlotteDobreYouTube [link] [comments]
Onto the story, this takes place over the course of a week for context. I (27 F) am living in a hotel at the moment with my baby boys (1, 3, 4) and the people here are so nice! They've just randomly given us tacos, clothes, a beer, a couple bucks, it's great. So I struck up a friendship with one of my neighbors who's also living here and smokes with me, it was really nice, we talked about religion, Science, fun facts about animals and stuff like that, I was starting to catch feelings, but I was cautious because I'm homeless with 3 babies and he's homeless too, so I didn't say anything and just stayed friends. One day he tells me he loves me, I've only been talking to this man for like 3 or 4 days at this point, and he was drunk, so in my mind I was like "oh, he's THAT type of drunk, ok" so I said I love you too man. I shouldn't have said that. So I invited him over the next day to watch star wars, because I love star wars and he loves star wars but has only seen 7,8 and 9, the bastard child of the original trilogies, so I had to show him the golden days of the movie series. It was great, I was explaining all the lore and things he didn't understand, this whole time, he's starting to get uncomfortably close however, and like kissing my cheek, but he was also drinking the whole day, straight from a 90 prof bottle of vodka, it didn't last the day, so I figured he's just drunk and we already know he's an "I love you" type of drunk. Then, he passes out in my bed... I was like OK, not a big deal, I try to wake him up, hes not waking up, i figure its because hes drunk and ill just send him home when he wakes up from his nap. So when he wakes up, it's like 2am, and he's talking and hanging out still, so I let him know he needs to go to his room. He was shook and confused, he kept saying "but I love you, I can't sleep without you, I don't want to be alone, you're mine and I gotta protect you" all of it. I keep saying he needs to go home, at which point he lays on me and starts kissing me, like full on make out. Now I'm a small person, 5ft4 and 110 lbs, i couldn't push him off and he had me pinned so I couldn't get away. At this point I'm freaking out and keep saying he needs to leave now. He finally goes, telling me he's going to give me a baby tomorrow and I lock up. The next morning he comes out, remembers very little of what happened the night before, but is under the impression we are now together and he's going to live with me 🤦♀️ I said no, he can't come stay with me. He goes on this tirade about how he knew he'd get kicked in the balls, he was planing to propose, but now he wasn't sure, since we weren't going to be together if we weren't living together because he can't afford another night. I was like oh no, whatever shall I do? This man I barely know and was never in a relationship with is dumping me, sounds like problem solved right? Wrong! Now all he wants to talk about is why I'm breaking up with him. So I try to explain why I'm not going to let a relative stranger live with me, because it's potentially very dangerous. He says he understands, problem solved right? Wrong again, this man's ignorance was astounding. After that, every time we have a smoke, the conversation was him "clearing the red flags" 🙄 so I finally just told him to fuck off, problem solved right? Still wrong! Now every time he notices that I've step out to smoke, Mr. Ignorant comes to try to "clear the red flags" and asks if I really think he's the a-hole because he's perfect and doesn't make mistakes, I'm just crazy, but he'll keep coming back until I realize that 🤦♀️ i just keep telling mr. Ignorant im not talking to him. Supposedly, he will be going into rehab tomorrow, so hopefully, that will solve this issue once and for all because I hate confrontation. If not, the next time this happens, I will let him know I will be calling the police on him for harassing me. I'll keep you guys posted if anything new happens!
2024.05.15 18:24 EtanoS24 My Thoughts (Episode 7) - First Time Reading (I'm Validated!!!)
In case you missed it, here are my reactions to the previous episodes:
https://www.reddit.com/umineko/s/W3975jzCUM (Episode 1)
https://www.reddit.com/umineko/s/KNSuiUpGTD (Episode 2)
https://www.reddit.com/umineko/s/YD15EZQjJH (Episode 3)
https://www.reddit.com/umineko/s/nVsP81nhAx (Episode 4)
https://www.reddit.com/umineko/s/z5X7WIJbFW (Episode 5)
https://www.reddit.com/umineko/s/rb1AMenQtv (Episode 6)
Impeccable Intuition: Holy shit!!! I have learned something new about myself: I should trust myself. However, I shouldn’t trust my mind, only my heart. My logic told me Battler was the culprit, but my intuition signaled out Shannon, Rudolf, Kyrie, and especially Rudolf as being the most suspicious. The Shannon theory was supplemented by logic, but it still came mostly from intuition. I was onto Rudolf and Kyrie ever since episode fucking one!!! And I was especially onto them during episode two.
Note: All this is based on whether the truth Bernkastel showed us is legitimate or not.
I just knew that there was something fucked up about Rudolf (and Kyrie). Something felt off about this from the very beginning. Now, of course, this might end up not being actually legitimate, but leave me alone right now, I’m currently dancing on cloud nine. I’ve gotta shout it to the sky: I’m not crazy! Maybe a little bit with my Battler theories, but my heart was in the right place.
Godddd, I feel so unbelievably validated right now. Y’all really kept your mouths zipped tightly shut every time I mentioned them, didn’t you? Kudos, most communities would’ve spoiled that kind of twist. I’m honestly feeling incredibly appreciative of this wonderful community right now. Y’all are awesome. Thanks for letting me experience things and not letting the urge to reveal things win over.
Return of the Bestcest: Ahahahahaha. On that note, y’all also suck! One of the things I had heard coming into the series was that there was some sort of incest plotline. But y’all really told me, “Oh? Where’d you hear that?” There’s a term for this: gaslighting. Y’all gaslit me into thinking that I had heard wrong. Evil little buggers, that’s what y’all are. XD.
But Goddamn! There was a lot of incest in this episode. Freaking Kinzo with his own daughter, creating Beatrice (Shannon/Kanon) who then gets with Battler (and George + Jessica). Yeesh. I had been expecting it coming in, but I hadn’t imagined there would be quite that much incest. If Battler and Beatrice/Shannon had a child together, I’m pretty sure its inbreeding coefficient would be 28%, that’s more than the famous Habsburgs who were at only 25%. They’d still lose to the Ptolemies, though; the infamous Cleopatra VII could have had an inbreeding coefficient as high as 45%. And that’s not even the extent of it, Cleopatra was married to her sibling/s, if they had had children together, the resulting child would have had an inbreeding coefficient of about 90%.
And it’s not only incest, it’s incest with his relative who is herself a child of incest. And not only that, but it’s essentially a coterie of cousins trying to figure out which one of them can bang their cousin-aunt the fastest. Are we sure I didn’t get lost and accidentally end up on the crusader kings subreddit?
Smidgen of Beatrice/Metaverse: This is one thing that has really been hurting the story in my opinion. There’s so little Beatrice in it, particularly Beatrice and Battler interacting with one another. I’m still not sure what the relationship of the reborn Beatrice is to the old Beatrice. Did she inherit her memories? If she did, it was never explicit, which is unfortunate, because I would have liked to see it.
Beyond that... c’mon, what’s with her funeral? All that kinda came out of left field. Is this a separate Beatrice, created by Bernkastel to show Featherine the answers. Does that mean that the Battler who appears in this episode is also a piece created by Bernkastel?
Additionally, all of this begs the question: what exactly is the nature of the metaverse? Is it something that has actuality? Or is it something that only exists within the mind (Ange and Featherine’s?), or is the story going to leave this vague and undefined to hone in its thematic messages?
Regardless, the point is that I desire more Beatrice and Battler interactions. I hope that this funeral of hers isn’t the last we see of her. Battler and Beatrice were wed, but I still feel like something’s missing, it hasn’t yet come full circle, not until it is explained what drove Beatrice to the extremity of her cruelty in the first few episodes. That wasn’t simply a hurting heart, it was sadism.
Lion Ushiromiya: So, if I’m understanding it correctly, this is what Shannon/Kanon/Beatrice could have been had Natsuhi not yeeted her off the cliff. Also, does this mean Jessica is lesbian? Lmao. Unless my Kanon = Shannon theory is wrong, that is, then ignore all of this. I’m pretty sure that this is the correct conclusion, though. This comment is my justification of it: https://www.reddit.com/umineko/comments/1co28vs/comment/l3bu6ho/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
Additionally, it is hella suspicious that when Willard tells Shannon to fetch Kanon so they can talk about it together, Shannon says quite forcefully that she is unable to do so. And the fact that Beatrice told Shannon she would create a friend for her using magic, which is usually key in her language for “I’m about to make some shit up.”
It’s an interesting character, the booty pinching is a nice touch. I don’t have much to say on this subject, it’ll be interesting to see where the character goes in the final episode. Hopefully she (he doesn’t feel right) makes things come full circle in relation to the culprit.
Beatrice Castiglioni: The backstory of Kinzo and the true predecessor Beatrice was fascinating. It certainly makes everything fit together, although it is an outlandish tale that no one would have ever been able to guess. I also guessed that the Beatrice that Rosa met was the daughter of the original Beatrice, but I never imagined that she was Kinzo’s daughter, and I certainly never guessed that Kinzo would force himself upon her in the name of banal batshit love. Or that the Beatrice that Maria meets with was both Kinzo’s daughter and granddaughter.
Clair Vaux Bernardus: I am currently working on the assumption that Claire is simply the veiled version of the culprit, Shannon. Meaning that Yasu = Sayo = Shannon = Beatrice = Kanon = Baby Battler. Hence the title she refers to herself with, “one, yet many.” Or, in layman's terms: batshit crazy. She definitely has dissociative identity disorder. I guessed Shannon may have been the culprit in my previous post, but I think the moment it really nailed home is when I realized that Shannon couldn’t be Yasu’s senior servant. She would’ve been far too old.
Besotted Beatrice: Shannon’s story really is depressing, though. I’m sure most of us have felt the pangs of love. Many of us have probably felt it even worse than Shannon, so we should be able to empathize with what she went through. That all being said, it is not Battler’s fault by any stretch of the imagination. They were kids, it was stupid of him to make a promise like that, but such is life, kids are stupid. What is even more ridiculous, though, is holding onto a spur of the moment childhood promise even after growing up. And no matter how much it might hurt to find out that the one you love doesn’t even remember, it doesn’t justify murder, nor does it wipe away the deserving contempt in the face of such an act.
Next Episode?: I’ve been saying this for a few episodes now, but I do really want to see a big magical showdown happen between Battler’s team and the Bernkastel/Lambdadelta’s team. I was also cheering for Battler to come and rescue Lion and Willard when Bernkastel attacked them. I’m still holding out hope for them to get Gamemaster Battler involved. I trust Battler to sort things out, he hasn’t let me down yet. Long live Meta Battler.
Also, sidenote, but I noticed that in the version of the story that Lion and Ange were shown together, they showed the death of every character except for Battler and Eva. That means that Battler might very well have survived the Rokkenjima massacre in the “real” version of events, assuming that we can trust that classification given by Bernkastel. Which I am going to assume for simplicity’s sake.
Also, what happened to Ange? She got shredded again. Is she dead? Is she dead in the “real world”? Or alive? Or what? It’ll be interesting to see. Regardless, now I’m just happy I can now say without reserve: FUCK DOLFMAN. I’m a simple man, this is all I need to be happy, the knowledge that Rudolf was, in fact, a piece of shit just like my intuition was telling me since episode one. I’ve still got it.
submitted by EtanoS24 to umineko [link] [comments]
https://www.reddit.com/umineko/s/W3975jzCUM (Episode 1)
https://www.reddit.com/umineko/s/KNSuiUpGTD (Episode 2)
https://www.reddit.com/umineko/s/YD15EZQjJH (Episode 3)
https://www.reddit.com/umineko/s/nVsP81nhAx (Episode 4)
https://www.reddit.com/umineko/s/z5X7WIJbFW (Episode 5)
https://www.reddit.com/umineko/s/rb1AMenQtv (Episode 6)
Impeccable Intuition: Holy shit!!! I have learned something new about myself: I should trust myself. However, I shouldn’t trust my mind, only my heart. My logic told me Battler was the culprit, but my intuition signaled out Shannon, Rudolf, Kyrie, and especially Rudolf as being the most suspicious. The Shannon theory was supplemented by logic, but it still came mostly from intuition. I was onto Rudolf and Kyrie ever since episode fucking one!!! And I was especially onto them during episode two.
Note: All this is based on whether the truth Bernkastel showed us is legitimate or not.
I just knew that there was something fucked up about Rudolf (and Kyrie). Something felt off about this from the very beginning. Now, of course, this might end up not being actually legitimate, but leave me alone right now, I’m currently dancing on cloud nine. I’ve gotta shout it to the sky: I’m not crazy! Maybe a little bit with my Battler theories, but my heart was in the right place.
Godddd, I feel so unbelievably validated right now. Y’all really kept your mouths zipped tightly shut every time I mentioned them, didn’t you? Kudos, most communities would’ve spoiled that kind of twist. I’m honestly feeling incredibly appreciative of this wonderful community right now. Y’all are awesome. Thanks for letting me experience things and not letting the urge to reveal things win over.
Return of the Bestcest: Ahahahahaha. On that note, y’all also suck! One of the things I had heard coming into the series was that there was some sort of incest plotline. But y’all really told me, “Oh? Where’d you hear that?” There’s a term for this: gaslighting. Y’all gaslit me into thinking that I had heard wrong. Evil little buggers, that’s what y’all are. XD.
But Goddamn! There was a lot of incest in this episode. Freaking Kinzo with his own daughter, creating Beatrice (Shannon/Kanon) who then gets with Battler (and George + Jessica). Yeesh. I had been expecting it coming in, but I hadn’t imagined there would be quite that much incest. If Battler and Beatrice/Shannon had a child together, I’m pretty sure its inbreeding coefficient would be 28%, that’s more than the famous Habsburgs who were at only 25%. They’d still lose to the Ptolemies, though; the infamous Cleopatra VII could have had an inbreeding coefficient as high as 45%. And that’s not even the extent of it, Cleopatra was married to her sibling/s, if they had had children together, the resulting child would have had an inbreeding coefficient of about 90%.
And it’s not only incest, it’s incest with his relative who is herself a child of incest. And not only that, but it’s essentially a coterie of cousins trying to figure out which one of them can bang their cousin-aunt the fastest. Are we sure I didn’t get lost and accidentally end up on the crusader kings subreddit?
Smidgen of Beatrice/Metaverse: This is one thing that has really been hurting the story in my opinion. There’s so little Beatrice in it, particularly Beatrice and Battler interacting with one another. I’m still not sure what the relationship of the reborn Beatrice is to the old Beatrice. Did she inherit her memories? If she did, it was never explicit, which is unfortunate, because I would have liked to see it.
Beyond that... c’mon, what’s with her funeral? All that kinda came out of left field. Is this a separate Beatrice, created by Bernkastel to show Featherine the answers. Does that mean that the Battler who appears in this episode is also a piece created by Bernkastel?
Additionally, all of this begs the question: what exactly is the nature of the metaverse? Is it something that has actuality? Or is it something that only exists within the mind (Ange and Featherine’s?), or is the story going to leave this vague and undefined to hone in its thematic messages?
Regardless, the point is that I desire more Beatrice and Battler interactions. I hope that this funeral of hers isn’t the last we see of her. Battler and Beatrice were wed, but I still feel like something’s missing, it hasn’t yet come full circle, not until it is explained what drove Beatrice to the extremity of her cruelty in the first few episodes. That wasn’t simply a hurting heart, it was sadism.
Lion Ushiromiya: So, if I’m understanding it correctly, this is what Shannon/Kanon/Beatrice could have been had Natsuhi not yeeted her off the cliff. Also, does this mean Jessica is lesbian? Lmao. Unless my Kanon = Shannon theory is wrong, that is, then ignore all of this. I’m pretty sure that this is the correct conclusion, though. This comment is my justification of it: https://www.reddit.com/umineko/comments/1co28vs/comment/l3bu6ho/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
Additionally, it is hella suspicious that when Willard tells Shannon to fetch Kanon so they can talk about it together, Shannon says quite forcefully that she is unable to do so. And the fact that Beatrice told Shannon she would create a friend for her using magic, which is usually key in her language for “I’m about to make some shit up.”
It’s an interesting character, the booty pinching is a nice touch. I don’t have much to say on this subject, it’ll be interesting to see where the character goes in the final episode. Hopefully she (he doesn’t feel right) makes things come full circle in relation to the culprit.
Beatrice Castiglioni: The backstory of Kinzo and the true predecessor Beatrice was fascinating. It certainly makes everything fit together, although it is an outlandish tale that no one would have ever been able to guess. I also guessed that the Beatrice that Rosa met was the daughter of the original Beatrice, but I never imagined that she was Kinzo’s daughter, and I certainly never guessed that Kinzo would force himself upon her in the name of banal batshit love. Or that the Beatrice that Maria meets with was both Kinzo’s daughter and granddaughter.
Clair Vaux Bernardus: I am currently working on the assumption that Claire is simply the veiled version of the culprit, Shannon. Meaning that Yasu = Sayo = Shannon = Beatrice = Kanon = Baby Battler. Hence the title she refers to herself with, “one, yet many.” Or, in layman's terms: batshit crazy. She definitely has dissociative identity disorder. I guessed Shannon may have been the culprit in my previous post, but I think the moment it really nailed home is when I realized that Shannon couldn’t be Yasu’s senior servant. She would’ve been far too old.
Besotted Beatrice: Shannon’s story really is depressing, though. I’m sure most of us have felt the pangs of love. Many of us have probably felt it even worse than Shannon, so we should be able to empathize with what she went through. That all being said, it is not Battler’s fault by any stretch of the imagination. They were kids, it was stupid of him to make a promise like that, but such is life, kids are stupid. What is even more ridiculous, though, is holding onto a spur of the moment childhood promise even after growing up. And no matter how much it might hurt to find out that the one you love doesn’t even remember, it doesn’t justify murder, nor does it wipe away the deserving contempt in the face of such an act.
Next Episode?: I’ve been saying this for a few episodes now, but I do really want to see a big magical showdown happen between Battler’s team and the Bernkastel/Lambdadelta’s team. I was also cheering for Battler to come and rescue Lion and Willard when Bernkastel attacked them. I’m still holding out hope for them to get Gamemaster Battler involved. I trust Battler to sort things out, he hasn’t let me down yet. Long live Meta Battler.
Also, sidenote, but I noticed that in the version of the story that Lion and Ange were shown together, they showed the death of every character except for Battler and Eva. That means that Battler might very well have survived the Rokkenjima massacre in the “real” version of events, assuming that we can trust that classification given by Bernkastel. Which I am going to assume for simplicity’s sake.
Also, what happened to Ange? She got shredded again. Is she dead? Is she dead in the “real world”? Or alive? Or what? It’ll be interesting to see. Regardless, now I’m just happy I can now say without reserve: FUCK DOLFMAN. I’m a simple man, this is all I need to be happy, the knowledge that Rudolf was, in fact, a piece of shit just like my intuition was telling me since episode one. I’ve still got it.
2024.05.15 18:15 Radmom1998 Husband looking at OnlyFans models.
Little backstory literally the day after Mother’s Day I accidentally stumbled upon my husband looking at OnlyFan models try on haul videos. I use his computer to stream on twitch and wanted to play music but forgot that it was his YouTube logged in. Our sex life is good but not spontaneous like it use to. He even joked saying that I should cosplay and in which I replied okay then pick out what you want me to wear? Out of all the content he watches I’m surprised he hasn’t. Should I:
A) Just talk to him about it? I don’t mind porn hub or nude mods but OnlyFans seems like it can get too personal in my opinion.
B) Start looking at male OnlyFans models because fuck double standards and see if he catches on?
C) create an OnlyFans myself! 🤣
D) be a huge slutty tease but no touch. I’m talking wearing booty short while cleaning and tits out while cooking!
He’s totally against onlyfan models which I find ironic because he has no problem watching them. I did see he created an account but no activity or subscriptions. I haven’t dug that deep to see if he’s made any transactions. Seems to me he’s just being a typical guy and was just browsing. He recently was checking out those ai girlfriends as well. I’m just like hello I’m right here!
submitted by Radmom1998 to Marriage [link] [comments]
A) Just talk to him about it? I don’t mind porn hub or nude mods but OnlyFans seems like it can get too personal in my opinion.
B) Start looking at male OnlyFans models because fuck double standards and see if he catches on?
C) create an OnlyFans myself! 🤣
D) be a huge slutty tease but no touch. I’m talking wearing booty short while cleaning and tits out while cooking!
He’s totally against onlyfan models which I find ironic because he has no problem watching them. I did see he created an account but no activity or subscriptions. I haven’t dug that deep to see if he’s made any transactions. Seems to me he’s just being a typical guy and was just browsing. He recently was checking out those ai girlfriends as well. I’m just like hello I’m right here!
2024.05.15 17:41 OkCow121 Camping at Jim Thorpe
Hey everyone, happy to be here. I have a trip coming up at the 100 mile view camping site at Jim Thorpe. I would consider myself a very amateur camper but l'm confident I'll survive. I was wondering what the cell phone service is like in general up there. I have AT&T but I'll be with a sort of large group who probably have other services. I have a baby at home and I'm camping with teenagers so l'm just trying to prepare for different possibilities.
Also any tips for how to pass the time with teens are generally plugged in a lot of the time (with like video games and YouTube and stuff)
Any other tips or recommendations are absolutely welcome on this post, because as l've mentioned I'm absolutely an amateur camper. Thanks!
submitted by OkCow121 to PennsylvaniaCamping [link] [comments]
Also any tips for how to pass the time with teens are generally plugged in a lot of the time (with like video games and YouTube and stuff)
Any other tips or recommendations are absolutely welcome on this post, because as l've mentioned I'm absolutely an amateur camper. Thanks!
2024.05.15 17:39 dickbag69696969 Changing tires on the trail
What do you guys use for lube on the trail? I had a tire problem recently and I was thankful I could get picked up pretty easily.
That got me thinking though, at home, I usually use dish soap and water for the tire and baby powder for the tube. I don't want to carry a squirt bottle around with me because I feel like that's gonna make problems. Would baby powder be useful for lubing the bead of the tire too?
submitted by dickbag69696969 to Dirtbikes [link] [comments]
That got me thinking though, at home, I usually use dish soap and water for the tire and baby powder for the tube. I don't want to carry a squirt bottle around with me because I feel like that's gonna make problems. Would baby powder be useful for lubing the bead of the tire too?
2024.05.15 17:34 OkCow121 Camping Soon
Hey everyone, happy to be here. I have a trip coming up at the 100 mile view camping site at Jim Thorpe. I would consider myself a very amateur camper but I’m confident I’ll survive. I was wondering what the cell phone service is like in general up there. I have AT&T but I’ll be with a sort of large group who probably have other services. I have a baby at home and I’m camping with teenagers so I’m just trying to prepare for different possibilities.
Also any tips for how to pass the time with teens are generally plugged in a lot of the time (with like video games and YouTube and stuff)
Any other tips or recommendations are absolutely welcome on this post, because as I’ve mentioned I’m absolutely an amateur camper. Thanks!
submitted by OkCow121 to jimthorpe [link] [comments]
Also any tips for how to pass the time with teens are generally plugged in a lot of the time (with like video games and YouTube and stuff)
Any other tips or recommendations are absolutely welcome on this post, because as I’ve mentioned I’m absolutely an amateur camper. Thanks!
2024.05.15 17:24 adriancha En vivo modo carrera pes efootball 24 UEFA Champions League Real Madrid Barcelona Manchester city
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2024.05.15 17:23 AnxiousVersion All the issues - no diagnosis - no help
For the first time in ~10 years, I'm in a mental place where I feel like I don't exhibit symptoms of clinical depression - so yay for that!
For a long time, doctors have attributed most of my issues to said chronic depression - and I concede, the depression was certainly not helping. But the diagnosis of said depression (and also, y'know, being a woman) means that most doctors never believed me that I might have ADHD - I had to beg them to have me complete diagnostic questionnaires.
Every time I take one of these, I score right on the edge between ADHD and neurotypical-ness (same with autism, btw). And next, the doctors say "yep, might be ADHD" and then they do fucking NOTHING. No meds other than anti-depressants, no recommendations what to do next. Nothing.
Now that I can finally see what life feels like with no (or very slight) depression, I can assess myself more clearly. And some issues have stuck:
So, that was my "little" rant. I'm glad I was finally able to write something down in a more or less structured way (even though I'm sure I forgot a lot of things). Maybe that will help me convince psych people at some point. Feel free to comment if you relate or have thoughts.
submitted by AnxiousVersion to adhdwomen [link] [comments]
For a long time, doctors have attributed most of my issues to said chronic depression - and I concede, the depression was certainly not helping. But the diagnosis of said depression (and also, y'know, being a woman) means that most doctors never believed me that I might have ADHD - I had to beg them to have me complete diagnostic questionnaires.
Every time I take one of these, I score right on the edge between ADHD and neurotypical-ness (same with autism, btw). And next, the doctors say "yep, might be ADHD" and then they do fucking NOTHING. No meds other than anti-depressants, no recommendations what to do next. Nothing.
Now that I can finally see what life feels like with no (or very slight) depression, I can assess myself more clearly. And some issues have stuck:
- I have very little energy, even for things I want and like to do. The only thing that doesn't take energy from me is watching YouTube and crochet/knitting. Even my other "safe" hobby, which is video games, sometimes feels exhausting. A movie, audiobook or netflix is too much commitment because I can't stay focused and lose track of what's happening. Social events is something I need to recover from, even if I like them and need them in order to not feel lonely.
- I have a very hard time to get started with things, especially with things that require planning / communication with others / multiple steps. I can only do some things when there are deadlines or I'm being forced by an outside factor. That means I can keep up with most things that I have to do (doing the dishes, paperwork, paying bills etc.) but cannot do optional things that would benefit me or that I would like to do (booking a vacation, doctor's visits for stuff that won't kill me, attending a dance class). Even at work, if I don't have an urgent deadline, I work very slowly or not at all. This has cost me a job before and the main reason I don't have issues with my current job is because I now work for my mom.
- My only reasonably productive time is from 4pm to 10 pm. On good days, that is. And when I'm being "productive", I feel its still worse than what a "normal" person would be able to do on a normal day. Also, working in the evening is shitty for my social life.
- Rejection sensitivity is still going through the roof.
- If I manage to get started with something, I need to do it and finish it RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW. If I have to take a break, all the motivation and flow is GONE.
- On the othere hand, if there is something I have to do but don't like doing, that's a massive emotional burden. I can only do baby steps until I need a break, someone has to watch over me so that I can keep going, it takes five times longer than it should and I feel terrible. As a kid, I used to cry for hours when doing boring, hard or otherwise "stupid" homework. At 27, I cry while filing paperwork.
- Sticking to routines is hard. Ever since I finished school, my daily routine has degraded and COVID killed what was left. "Brushing my teeth twice daily and getting dressed within an hour of getting up" has been one of my new year's resolutions. This is the only point where I have noticed some clear improvements lately when my depression get better.
So, that was my "little" rant. I'm glad I was finally able to write something down in a more or less structured way (even though I'm sure I forgot a lot of things). Maybe that will help me convince psych people at some point. Feel free to comment if you relate or have thoughts.