Going to try and keep this short-
I was pregnant in 2021 and into 2022... during that pregnancy (I gave birth in July) one day my tongue just started peeling. (It was in April.)
Long story short, it's never stopped. Basically, I got through this routine of "tongue sort of heals" - then peels all over again.
But a few months ago, it started randomly cracking and fissuring as well...
Yes, it hurts.
What could possibly be going on? Initially I thought this was just a weird pregnancy symptom that would resolve itself (as I'd seen other people say this.) But...

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

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My BP found out I was using OF a month into pregnancy (which was planned). Baby is due in early August. I was struggling with boredom and loneliness, and didn't have a healthy way to cope. I was also extremely stressed by work. I would pay to sext with people, who's real identity was always anonymous. I just saw it as porn 2.0. I saw it as me going to the strip club in Vegas with the fellas. It WAS cheating because I was satisfying a sexual and emotional need outside of my regular. AND bP was pregnant....I don't know what the hell I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. It was Brain rotting behavior. Mind numbing. Dday was December 18. After months of failing to reconcile, BP moved out on April 12. BP's family and BP asked for NC. They demanded space. It's been exactly one month, I still haven't heard from BP. I have no idea where they live, or what's happening with the baby. I am scared to text because I am just afraid of what BP will say, it's been pretty toxic and hurtful for both of us since Dday. This is the longest we have not spoken. It's surreal. They asked me to leave them alone, so I can't do anything else but let them be. I don't believe that they love me anymore, trust me, or feel safe with me. They have a ton of trauma from their past, and have a tendency to shut down during conflict OR explode. It's been so long in NC it feels like years. I can't imagine even making eye contact with them, hugging them. It feels like the relationship we had was from a different dimension. A past life. A parallel universe.. All I can hear in my head is their anger towards me, and how disgusting they feel I am. I feel horrible about myself. I feel humiliated. I am in therapy, but still struggling with passive si / no plan. Has anyone been in such a situation? The pregnancy aspect adds a layer of complexity that is beyond overwhelming. At what point do I let BP go? My life coach said BP told you they are done by their decision to move and not tell you anything. What more clarification is needed? But I just can't get myself to believe it. It's too painful to be true. It would be easy if they had died honestly, because I can accept whatever god does. But accepting that this is because of my own sexual perversion is the most humiliating thing I've ever experienced and I can't imagine ever recovering from this. Please help.

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

I am really confused if I am Into women or not. I thought I was because of I found women sexually arousing in porn, Eventhough I never had crushes/feelings for real women. I have tried to date around the last 1 year, which resulted in 5 dates. I swipe most of the time left when I am on dating apps, since I am not physically attracted- doesn’t matter if I swipe 1 or 1000 (yes there are 1000 women on dating apps in Denmark) there are no one I am physically attracted to. The dates I have been on has been all where I didn’t feel an attraction.
I have kissed some of them and the kisses were either repulsive or awkward/numbness. Especially with tongue kissing it was like going through motions.
Every single time they wanted me to touch their vagina and tell me how wet it is I get icked out, it feels very disturbing and I start to go with it. I really don’t like the feeling, so I felt quite repulsed during fingering and oral. I ended up gagging through it the First time :/.
When I touched boobs it felt like touching skin without feeling. Like I sucked nipples and nothing? No arousal. It was very going through motions and I ended up feeling depressed and regretting after.. every single time my brain screamed I never want to feel that wetness/ fingering feeling again.
I don’t know if it is plain obvious that I am probaly not Into women then

I am really confused if I am Into women or not. I thought I was because of I found women sexually arousing in porn, Eventhough I never had crushes/feelings for real women. I have tried to date around the last 1 year, which resulted in 5 dates. I swipe most of the time left when I am on dating apps, since I am not physically attracted- doesn’t matter if I swipe 1 or 1000 (yes there are 1000 women on dating apps in Denmark) there are no one I am physically attracted to. The dates I have been on has been all where I didn’t feel an attraction.
I have kissed some of them and the kisses were either repulsive or awkward/numbness. Especially with tongue kissing it was like going through motions.
Every single time they wanted me to touch their vagina and tell me how wet it is I get icked out, it feels very disturbing and I start to go with it. I really don’t like the feeling, so I felt quite repulsed during fingering and oral. I ended up gagging through it the First time :/.
When I touched boobs it felt like touching skin without feeling. Like I sucked nipples and nothing? No arousal. It was very going through motions and I ended up feeling depressed and regretting after.. every single time my brain screamed I never want to feel that wetness/ fingering feeling again.
I don’t know if it is plain obvious that I am probaly not Into women then

Seriously, don't even attempt to trivialize it. It's not about waking you up at 3:00 am for mundane reasons like running out of milk or needing your Wi-Fi password. This entity, whatever it may be, operates outside our reality's bounds, and its motives are far from benign. I learned this the hard way recently, which is why I'm cautioning you all against making light of it. But before delving into specifics, let me offer some context, as sleep paralysis is a recent phenomenon for me.
One of my earliest memories of sleep disruption traces back to my grade school days. With my mother on an early shift unable to drive me to school for its 8:00 am start, she would drop me off at my aunt's house. Here, she ensured I was fed, dressed, and ready for school. Most mornings, I had just about an hour left to sleep before needing to rise. Often, I'd find myself in a half-asleep state from the moment my mom roused me until she tucked me into my aunt's spare bedroom.
On one of those mornings, as I lay down, teetering between wakefulness and sleep, I experienced a peculiar sensation. It felt as though my body began to rise, hovering about two feet above the bed, before swiftly plummeting back down. Startled awake, I assumed my mother had thrown me back onto the bed, only to find the room empty upon opening my eyes.
I hadn't encountered any other experiences quite like that, but it was during this time that I distinctly recall a notable surge in the frequency of the nightmares I was experiencing. The nightmares were generally the same, some cloaked being hiding in the recesses of my vision, always there, always watching. I felt as though each passing night terror that it got closer and closer to me, but always just out of reach. At times, I found myself trapped in a dark room, enveloped by an overwhelming sense of malevolence that seemed to saturate the air—and a fear entirely foreign to my waking experiences.
Then I experienced sleep paralysis for the first time.
It occurred at my mother's house, marking the initial instance where I experienced the sensation of my body being effectively immobilized while my mind remained active. I recall attempting to move my eyes and then my body, but all efforts were futile. As I struggled to regain autonomy, it sounded as though a gathering had convened in my kitchen, voices carrying in muted tones. None of the which resembled those of my parents; I even detected snickering and laughter at one point. The conversation seemed to be aimed at me, as my name was uttered several times, yet the other words remained indecipherable. The episode concluded with me returning to sleep without any further disturbances.
As the instances of sleep paralysis became more frequent, they culminated in another peculiar experience. Shortly after moving into my first apartment, still in the midst of unpacking and assembling furniture, the second incident occurred. I lay on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by unassembled bedframe pieces, when I awoke to find myself imprisoned within my own body once more. In the darkness, I heard a faint sound—a presence moving softly over each piece of furniture. Panic gripped me as I strained to turn my head towards the noise, but every effort proved futile. With each passing moment, the unseen entity drew closer until it reached the bedside. Helpless, I closed my eyes, bracing myself for whatever awaited.
Meow?
Relief washed over me as I realized it was just my generously proportioned feline friend making his way around the room. I could hear him moving about, stepping on more furniture and emitting a few disgruntled meows, presumably chastising my laziness for not assembling it yet. As I began to drift back to sleep, I was abruptly startled awake by a chilling sound.
Snnn-orrrff
A primal, guttural snarl pierced the silence, its menacing resonance echoing through the room like a thunderous roar. I struggled desperately to move my limbs, silently screaming in my mind, yet only managing a feeble whimper as I sensed the beast drawing near. Despite my efforts, my body only twitched, while in my imagination, I leapt up and fled. As a mischievous chuckle erupted, I felt hot, pungent breath on the back of my neck. I suddenly awoke, screaming, kicking and punching. I jerked my head to the side and was met only with darkness. I jumped up and turned the light on, a quick scan of the room revealed there was nothing there. Exhausted and recognizing my inability to function effectively, I reluctantly resigned myself to lying back down with the light on until morning. I called into work, knowing that in my current state, I wouldn't be of much use to anyone.
Days passed and soon, it was that time of the month again for my regular check-in from mom. I hesitantly answered the call. After a few minutes of conversation, we eventually broached the topic of my sleep paralysis.
"Honey, it's probably all the stress." she reasoned.
My job had me grinding away tirelessly, but despite my efforts, all I got was a tiny bump in pay. To add to the mix, my landlord decided it was the perfect time to raise the rent. It's safe to say, the stress was really getting to me. "I don't know, it's been happening my whole life, Dad ever had any issues with sleep?"
There was a noticeable pause as she contemplated her reply. "He's definitely had his share of nightmares, he'd wake me up a lot of the times, poor thing would be in tears."
"Jeez, I never knew, but Mom I gotta…" I endeavored to conclude the conversation, as my allotted chat time was expiring, however my mother promptly interrupted me.
"Sweetie, why won't you join us at church? It might help?"
I released a sigh. I staunchly opposed the notion of going to church; I'd rather watch a documentary on the history of paperclips. "Thanks, but I'm not feeling that right now."
"Please, just do it for me?" She pleaded.
Eager to bring the call to a close. "I'll think about, but, alright I'm going to go ahead a hop off here."
"Alright, I miss you, call me later okay?"
"I will, love you, bye."
I concluded the call with a sigh of relief, grateful for its conclusion.
For a stretch, life seemed to fall into place: My job noticed the disparity between my increased workload and pay and offered me a new position that significantly improved my financial situation. Thanks to this new position, I crossed paths with my wife, and we swiftly eloped. She was one of the top account managers, earning a substantial income, which enabled us to afford a nice house together. During this period, the night terrors and bouts of sleep paralysis took a hiatus, granting me a reprieve. Yet amidst the tranquility, a gnawing sense of foreboding lingered, as if a tempest loomed on the horizon, urging me to savor the calm while it lasted.
During this period, my wife and I had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of our first child. We were overjoyed as she reached the sixth month of her pregnancy, carrying our long-awaited daughter. However, my suspicions proved tragically correct. I'll never forget the heart-wrenching phone call from my wife, her voice choked with tears, informing me of the terrifying sight of blood. Hastening to the emergency room, we raced against time, but our efforts proved futile. We lost our precious daughter that day. The journey back home was a blur, engulfed in a suffocating sense of loss that seemed to consume us both. It felt as though a part of me had died alongside our daughter, and the profound grief only served to widen the chasm between us as time passed, transforming our once intimate bond into a hollow semblance of what it once was.
Sleep paralysis and nightmares began to resurface, as if some malevolent force was exploiting my already troubled state, and my ability to sleep dwindled. Additionally, minor habits and disparities in the early stages of our marriage, once insignificant, began escalating into cataclysmic arguments. By now, I'm certain even my breathing would agitate my wife. Despite experimenting with various medications, none proved effective. Even vigorous physical exercise failed to exhaust me enough for uninterrupted sleep. The situation escalated to the point where my wife banished me from the bedroom due to my incessant tossing and turning, disrupting her rest. Consequently, I found myself relegated to the couch. Resorting to alcohol became a regular occurrence, partly to numb the discomfort of the couch but also as a means of coping with my grief.
We barely conversed, even though she mentioned marriage counseling, I rebuffed the idea, convinced it wouldn't benefit us. Frequently, I'd discover her in tears, cradling the sonogram of our daughter, yet I would quietly withdraw, allowing her solitary moments of sorrow. She had her unique methods of grieving, just as I had mine.
"I can't keep doing this, we're drowning in debt, and you're just pushing us further into it with every bottle." She pointed to the glass in my hand.
"Oh, come on! I work hard for us, I deserve to unwind a bit!" In a moment of animated expression, I inadvertently spilled some of my beverage onto the floor.
"Unwind? You call draining our savings and neglecting our future 'unwinding'!?"
"Look, just let me sleep in my own bed tonight."
She crossed her arms, and for a moment, silence enveloped us before she finally spoke.
"I just—I feel like I'm living with a stranger." Her eyes begin to shimmer with emotion.
"I'm here, aren't I? What more do you want from me?!" My voice rising in volume.
She attempted to delicately take my drink away, her touch then shifting to gently grasp my hand. "I want us to be a team again, not just two people sharing a bed."
But the moment I felt her touch, I instinctively shoved her hands away from me. "We haven't been a 'team' since we lost—" My voice quivered, then exploded into rage. "You pushed me out! You did this! You don't talk to me about anything anymore! Just get the hell out!" I pointed to the door.
I stood in the open doorway, watching her car pull out of the driveway. With a final sip, I closed the door behind me. Met with silence, I sensed the weight of tension hanging heavy in the air. Deciding one more bourbon was in order, I made my way to the kitchen, intent on pouring myself one last drink. In a bid to ensure a restful night, I opted to accompany my indulgence in alcohol with a hefty dosage of sleeping pills. A reckless choice, I'm aware, but perhaps death was in fact the ultimate form of slumber. I settled onto the couch, flicking through channels until my libation was drained. Feeling sufficiently relaxed, I decided it was time for bed. Ascending the stairs, I stumbled and collapsed onto the master bedroom's mattress. Sleep enveloped me swiftly that night, yet trouble was never far behind.
I recall waking during the night and noticing that the hallway light remained illuminated. It struck me as odd since I distinctly remember switching it off before retiring to bed. However, given my inebriated state from the copious amounts of alcohol I had consumed, I surmised that I must have simply forgotten. I'd just get up and switch it off, but a wave of unease washed over me. Despite my intentions, I found myself paralyzed, trapped within my own body once again. I found myself transfixed on the door, illuminated by the soft glow seeping in from the hallway. In that moment, I discerned a shadowy figure lurking behind the door.
I hoped it was my wife, but a gut feeling told me otherwise; this time felt different, suffocated by an eerie malevolence. The doorknob rattled violently, as if something were struggling to open it. Yet, amidst the noise I caught a sinister snicker. The relentless jiggling of the doorknob reached a fever pitch, threatening to wrench it free from its socket at any instant. Then, as abruptly as it began, the tumult ceased, leaving an ominous silence hanging in the air. The door then creaked open with a slow, foreboding motion.
A sinister, shapeless presence loomed in the doorway, defying gravity as it hovered above the ground, its shadowy form exaggerated by the eerie glow seeping in from the hallway. I whimpered, struggling to stir my limbs in a futile attempt to awaken my body, but they responded only with slight twitches. My gaze remained fixed on the form before me, immobilized by fear. Suddenly, a sinuous appendage extended from the specter's face, resembling a long, black tentacle. It elongated and snaked toward me, prompting me to instinctively shut my eyes. Sensing its proximity, I remained frozen, an icy chill grazed my forehead, jolting me awake in an instant. Sleep eluded me for the rest of the night, so I opted for an early morning, brewing a pot of coffee to chase away the lingering unease.
For the following weeks, my routine remained monotonous: work, microwave dinner, then numbness induced by sleeping pills and bourbon until I could no longer keep my eyes open. I received a text from my mother-in-law stating that my wife wanted to reconcile, but insisted on therapy and my attendance at AA meetings. I refused, firmly convinced that all I desired was to reclaim my bed, and that her reaction was excessive. I contended that the alcohol provided comfort, a gesture I hadn't received from her in quite some time. My mother-in-law and wife were both displeased with my response; it became apparent that divorce was now the inevitable solution.
At this juncture, I experienced sleep paralysis on a daily basis, even in the absence of the entity. Each night, I would awaken multiple times, unable to move, only freeing myself to find dread awaiting the next episode upon returning to sleep. There was one rare night when I slept soundly, only to be abruptly awakened by a late-night call from an old friend. We had a bond stretching back to our middle school days, and were inseparable back then. However, this call wasn't one of nostalgia; it was about money. He needed a bailout for his mortgage, promising a swift repayment.
I moved to the edge of my bed, frustration mounting as I started to rub my forehead. "I can't, I just can't right now, I need to get back to sleep good—"
He interrupted me. "Please, I don't want to lose the house."
I found myself raising my voice in frustration as irritation crept in. It appeared he was wholly incapable of learning from his mistakes. "Look, it isn't my responsibility to bail you out every time you're in trouble!"
"I know, I know, please, at least do it for Eli, Chelsea left me all alone and it's been hard man." His voice starting to crack.
My voice raising to a near scream; "He isn't my responsibility either! You should have been careful! I told you she wasn't good for you and you didn't listen! Sort your own shit out from now on!"
I ended the call and slammed the phone onto my nightstand. So much for a good night's rest, thanks a lot, friend.
As my life spiraled further into chaos, I realized I needed to explore solutions beyond relying on alcohol and sleeping pills to combat sleep paralysis. Perhaps a spiritual approach was necessary. While I knew my mother would be pleased with this consideration, I'm certain what I had in mind would be vehemently discouraged. My mother firmly believed in the existence of demons, warning against interacting with them outside of 'God's protection'. Perhaps she was right, but I grew desperate for a solution. At this stage, I was willing to do anything for peace of mind, regardless of the consequences. So, I concocted a masterful plan:
I'd simply ask it what it would take to make it stop.
Each morning was fraught with dread, pondering whether the entity would manifest itself. I ensured to kickstart my day with a potent drink, maintaining a steady buzz throughout, perhaps to stave off any wavering doubts about my decision. My patience bore fruit one fateful night as I found myself immobilized once more.
This marked the initial instance when the entity directly addressed me, and its words seared into my memory with chilling permanence. It uttered abhorrent, repulsive, unfathomable insults about me, branding me a failure, devoid of worth, as insignificant as a microbe. It dissected my existence, critiquing my choices, appearance, and demeanor with a cruelty I had never encountered. It seemed to possess an uncanny ability to strike at the core of my being, as if it wielded a weapon honed to annihilate my spirit. And then, its merciless laughter echoed relentlessly.
In that moment, I recognized it as my opportunity to retort. However, the barrage of insults stoked a fire within me, igniting a fury that overpowered my intentions. What did this entity presume to know about me? It was entirely mistaken, and that infuriated me. Against my better judgment, fueled by indignation, I deviated from my plan and impulsively blurted out: "What's so damn funny?!"
As the words echoed in my mind, the laughter abruptly ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence. Relief flooded through me as I dared to hope that I had put an end to the ordeal. Yet, my premature celebration was cut short when an indescribable dread enveloped me. A black ichor oozed onto the floor beside my bed, signaling the beginning of a hellish spectacle. From the viscous sludge, a dark figure emerged, coated in sticky tar, yet defying gravity as it ascended, hovering above the ground.
Above me, it loomed, its weighty presence palpable as thick sludge cascaded onto the bed, it halted directly over me. Its head inclined, scrutinizing me with unseen gaze. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and unrestrained, as I braced for the inevitable embrace of death. The figure gradually descended, its feet pressing into my chest with an icy chill coursing through me. As its waist aligned with my sternum, a frigid sensation enveloped me. With a swift motion, it plunged its hand into my chest, seizing my heart, and darkness consumed my senses.
I felt a terrifying pull downward, as if gravity itself had gone haywire. My stomach churned with a sickening weightlessness, reminiscent of a plummeting elevator. As my descent abruptly halted, the sound of wind rushing in my ears gave way to a sudden explosion—a resounding burst, resembling the opening of a parachute. That's when I sensed something coiling around my waist, though invisible to my eyes. Desperate to break free, I reached out, only to recoil in horror as my fingers brushed against scaly, rough skin.
Simultaneously, the air filled with the echoing beat of what seemed like enormous wings, while I experienced the unsettling sensation of being lifted and dropped. Though I had a suspicion about what gripped me, disbelief held me back from fully acknowledging it. So, resigned, I surrendered to my captor's will, allowing them to transport me to an unknown destination. As the darkness yielded, a faint glow emerged beneath us—a jagged line emanating an eerie orange-red light. The creature descended, revealing a sight that churned my stomach: bubbling lava. Its faint glow barely illuminated what seemed to be a cavern.
As I descended further into the cavern's depths, the beast veered close enough for me to sense the searing warmth of the lava beneath my feet. Gradually, our descent stabilized, and my gaze shifted forward, revealing a massive door-like structure. Its design echoed the grandeur of ancient Gothic architecture, adorned with pointed arches and intricate buttresses. The edifice appeared crafted from a peculiar variety of marble, possessing a beauty tinged with an unsettling aura. Its construction defied convention, evoking a sense of unease; never before had anything been wrought in such a manner.
As the creature descended once more, carrying me firmly, we passed through the doorway, revealing the true scale of the chamber. Beyond the threshold, a vast expanse unfolded, illuminated by a solitary spherical light source, casting an unsettlingly dim glow upon a colossal, otherworldly mechanism. It resembled a colossal pillar, stretching upward into the darkness of the cavern, its details obscured by the dim light. Within its intricate workings, gears, wheels, and chains rotated at a languid pace. Amidst this mechanical labyrinth, my attention was drawn to a swirling mass of gray at the base of the mechanism, slowly undulating. The beast appeared to be steering us directly toward it.
As we drew nearer, we sailed past what appeared to be a platform, upon which perched a colossal beast. Its form resembled that of a massive reptilian creature, akin to what one might envision as a dinosaur. Yet, it stood upright on two legs, its powerful limbs chained firmly to the platform. With each short, sharp inhalation, it unleashed a deafening roar that reverberated through every fiber of my being. I couldn't help but notice the protrusion of its jugular vein, roughly the size of my upper thigh, expanding with each thunderous cry. As we approached the swirling mass of gray, a sudden wave of horror washed over me as I comprehended its true nature.
A sea of people.
I observed that they were all bound together by chains, encircling their arms, legs, and necks. These chains converged at the towering pillar, linking each individual to the mechanism. The mass of people moved in a circular motion, driving the turning of the cogs. Their pallid complexion suggested an absence of life, as if all vitality had been drained from them. Their agonized screams pierced the air, mouths devoid of tongues. I witnessed an individual collapse to their knees, only to be forcefully yanked upright by some unseen power, rest was an elusive notion in this place. To my horror, amidst the throng of young adults and the elderly, I saw children swept along by the relentless current of the crowd.
As the creature positioned me amidst the multitude, I pleaded desperately, but it was futile; the chains had already ensnared me. With each movement of the mass of people, I felt the tug on my own chain, pressed in on all sides without an inch of space to spare. The towering figures around me obscured any view beyond their heads, leaving me engulfed in a sea of bodies.
My voice pierced the chaotic symphony of screams, rising in a desperate plea for escape.
"Please! I don't belong here! I just wanted to sleep, this is a mistake!"
As I cried out, the orb of light began to shift, seemingly in response to my desperate appeals. As it drew closer and closer, a sense of dread gripped me. Hovering ominously above, it revealed itself as a grotesque monstrosity, casting a sickly glow that chilled me to the bone. I fought the overwhelming urge to collapse, my knees weakening with each passing moment. What loomed overhead defied any attempt at human description; it resembled a cluster of intertwining tubes, swirling and spiraling in a mesmerizing dance that transcended the bounds of reality. Bathed in a sickly blue light that pulsed like molten lava beneath its tendrils.
The light wrought a profound transformation within me, granting a clarity of self-awareness unlike anything I had ever known. In its piercing illumination, I was confronted with the raw truth of my being, stripped of illusion or denial. It was a sobering revelation, an awakening to the most authentic understanding of myself I had ever experienced.
I belonged here.
I had systematically driven away my friends, neglecting their presence and refusing to open up to them. Even my own mother's attempts at connection felt burdensome, our conversations reduced to mere obligations. But perhaps the greatest tragedy lay in the chasm that had formed between my wife and me—a divide entirely of my own making. I was the architect of my own downfall, responsible for the ruin of my life, with no one else to blame but myself. Every word the entity had uttered about me held a painful truth.
From this vantage point, my life appeared almost sweet in retrospect, bathed in the stark light of self-awareness. Yet, any semblance of hope quickly dissolved, for in this desolate realm, hope found no foothold, no sanctuary to thrive.
With my head bowed low, I trudged forward, the weight of my chain pulling me inexorably onward. In a moment of unprecedented vulnerability, I found myself offering a prayer. Despite my awareness that it would likely go unanswered, I embraced the grim reality of my fate, accepting it with a heavy heart.
God, have mercy on me…
Suddenly the sound of chains breaking shattered the air as I was yanked upward with astonishing velocity. In a sudden blur, the scene below shrank rapidly beneath me. The rush of wind buffeted me, and I sensed another presence, an arm wrapped around my waist. Clutching onto it tightly, I braced myself as the cavern's light faded into absolute darkness, squeezing my eyes shut against the unknown.
With a jolt, my rapid ascent came to an abrupt halt, my back colliding with something soft. Gradually, I realized I was back in the familiarity of my own bed. At the foot of the bed stood a figure, its features obscured by a radiant glow emanating from its form, resembling molten glass. The brilliance bathed the entire room in an ethereal light. For a fleeting moment, we locked gazes, suspended in a silent exchange. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the figure began to ascend, leaving my room cloaked once more in shadows.
I sat in silence for a while, grappling with the enormity of my experience. To dismiss it as a mere nightmare or hallucination would be a gross understatement; whatever transpired felt hauntingly more vivid and tangible than my current reality. It would take me months of introspection and contemplation to begin to make sense of it all, to reconcile the surreal with the mundane, and to find a semblance of peace within myself.
Although the experience didn't trigger an immediate transformation, its impact lingered, nudging me towards a path of change. Despite my ongoing struggle with alcohol addiction, I made a conscious decision to seek help. I began prioritizing regular hangouts with my best friend and even accompanied my mom to a few church visits. While I remained uncertain about my own connection to religion, witnessing her joy brought a sense of fulfillment that warmed my heart. In making her happy, I found a newfound source of happiness within myself.
As time passed, a sense of progress gradually infused my life. Achieving a year of sobriety marked a significant milestone on my journey, celebrated amidst the supportive community of AA. Even my wife took notice of my efforts towards self-improvement, leading us to embark on marriage counseling together. Before long, her return to our home signaled a hopeful new chapter in our relationship.
Not a trace of sleep paralysis had haunted me since that fateful night when I was guided from the depths of despair. I'm not entirely sure if it was an angel, or God, but whatever it was, it spared me, and for that, I'm grateful. And now, the most joyous news of all: my wife and I are expecting our first child next week. The doctors assure us of her perfect health, filling us with anticipation and gratitude. As for her name, I already have the perfect one in mind:
Grace

So I’m currently pregnant and my man child husband has been making my pregnancy not so easy. It’s a verryyyyyy long post.
Hi, I’m (F 27) married to my husband (M 26)….since becoming pregnant, it’s been nothing but problems with him. I had to stop working due to complications with my pregnancy, which is also a reason why I have had the chance to actually enjoy my pregnancy. First off, my husband and I lived with my family (he lives with his mother now, which is another story in itself which I will explain here). I found out about my pregnancy in September of last year and after telling him about the pregnancy, he hasn’t been happy. Like I said, we lived together at my family’s, together, at one point because last year we had some issues with a landlord so we had to move out and my family has been kind enough to let us stay with them until we found a place of our own.
But that didn’t happen because well, I’m pregnant.
Fast forward to a couple of months into my pregnancy, I’m having back to back complications that have me going to the hospital constantly. It came to a point where my OB said due to these complications, it would be best if I stopped working for the time being. My husband is aware of this, as I have proof. In January, he finished his CDL license and had problems finding work after finish the course. He was forcing me to try and get a job because he was starting to stress out about paying both our bills. Mind you, my OB put me on a strict bed rest, meaning I can’t do anything! I can’t bend down, I can’t lift anything, I can’t even drive for God’s sake….and she especially told me that I can’t work because of the complications I was having. I reminded him of all of this and he got so upset that he raised his voice at me and threw his phone at the bed and didn’t talk to me for the remainder of the night.
I didn’t mention that he’s a gamer. On his days off, he would be playing games from the minute he woke up, which was pretty early in the AM, to literally the next day (2 or 3 am). The days when came home from work, he would play the minute he came home till the next day (2 or 3 am). Mind you, we’re living at my parents place at this time. He has a gaming computer which takes up ALOT of power….so you can imagine how my parents electricity bill was looking. My mother told me one day that their bill is so high and she knew it was from him playing on his computer for numerous hours, because before we moved in, they never paid over $100 for their electricity. Their bill was close to $300 every month after we moved in. After here that news, I spoke to my husband about limiting his computer usage and he got upset. It got to a point where he wouldn’t talk to me because of how mad he was. Idk why he would get mad at me when I’m just the messenger. The silent treatment went on for a day or so. I remember one day he came home and I asked him if living with his mother would be best for him because he could play his games nonstop without her complaining. He got more upset about me asking him that and the silent treatment continued.
He has a problem where when he’s upset, he would ignore me and also ignore our baby. Wouldn’t ask how I’m doing or check up to see if baby was kicking or not.
Fast forward to March, we got into another argument because I didn’t agree with his mother’s opinion. My baby shower was in April and I thought it was cute if my family and his family wore the same color so that we can all take pictures at the baby shower. I told him to ask his family if they had a specific color, many of them didn’t, but they said they would buy. His mother on the other hand said that it’s not fair that I am requesting for people to wear a certain color for the baby shower and requested that she wear another color. I got upset because she was the only one making this a big issue. My husband didn’t understand why I was upset about what his mom said and we got into a huge argument about it. It got to a point where he was so mad, his hands were in fists and he was opening and closing them like he wanted to hit something.
Not too long after that argument, I decided it was time for him to leave and stay at his mother’s until we seeked couples therapy because we were doing nothing but arguing. We didn’t talk for days after he moved in with his mom.
A couple of days go by and we finally decided to talk again, there, he told me that he likes living with his mom and he’s enjoying his freedom from me. He said he’s enjoying not hearing me nag him about everything, like cleaning up after himself for example….because he has a very bad habit of picking up after himself when he lived with me at my parents. He also said he’s free to walk around without sandals in her house….my issue was if you’re walking around the house without sandals and under your feet are darker than midnight, take a shower! Why come to bed with dirty feet? It’s disgusting! I’ve told him this numerous of times but he always got mad at me. After he said he’s enjoying his freedom from me, I won’t lie, that hurt. He got upset because of the way I reacted to that comment. He thought what he said wasn’t a big deal.
Once again, that caused an argument. Once again, whenever he would get upset, he would ignore me and the baby. Knowing I had complications and was still going to the hospital.
After some time, I became numb to him. I hate talking to him. I don’t tell him anything regarding my pregnancy anymore, i’m not even going to tell him when I’m in the hospital giving birth. He’d be lucky enough to have someone tell him I’m in labor because my family and friends won’t either. I’ve rekindled my friendship with a guy friend that my husband didn’t like in the past. Let’s call him X.
The couple of weeks X and I have been talking, he’s been more of a husband than my own husband. He checks up on me and my baby everyday…..it feels nice. I’ve told him about how insecure I’ve been during pregnancy because pregnancy changes you. I’ve been told by my family and friends that pregnancy looks good on me and that I’m beautiful, but I never felt like it. I remember telling my husband that and he ignored me. He never called me beautiful or complimented me during pregnancy. I told X this and he basically told me that I am beautiful and that I shouldn’t feel insecure. My body is changing because I’m growing a human and that is beautiful itself. For the first time since I’ve been pregnant, I’ve felt beautiful only because a man who isn’t my husband told me that.
I told my husband that I rekindled my friendship with X and ever since then he’s been acting different towards me. He’s been calling and texting more, asking about how the baby is doing, and even took me out for Mother’s Day. I will be honest with you, it was awkward. We didn’t talk much and the time we did talk, he of course had to say something stupid. He told me that he thought about getting a vasectomy because this pregnancy traumatized him. He said I’ve changed during pregnancy and he doesn’t like the change. I didn’t even react, I just ignored that comment. Since then, I haven’t really spoken to him.
I’m honestly over him and his immature ways. Idk how my pregnancy has traumatized him when I’m the one dealing with complications, my body is going through something EVERYDAY! But he’s the traumatized one?
Idek if there is a point in having a couples therapist anymore. I’m numb and have already lost all feelings for my husband.
I’m over it.

After I found out I was pregnant, I discovered my fiancé watching porn. Before then, he always told me no and he had never lied to me before then so I really trusted him. This was really early on in my pregnancy I must’ve been around 6 ish weeks or so. I broke down, called my mom and was sobbing. Anyways, my fiancé told me he didn’t have a problem and that he would stop watching it. He only did it because he was hurting in our relationship when I went home to visit for a week and was lonely. We also had other issues at that time where he claimed he was hurting and needed to watch it.
Since then I have caught him multiple times watching porn while he keeps telling me he will stop. I’ve voiced it interferes with our intimacy, our relationship, it causes insecurities in me because I will never look like those women (especially during a time where my body is taking the biggest transformation ever). He’s promised to stop then he continues to lie about it.
Tonight, we are on a walk.. The night before our anniversary. He tells me that he can’t stop watching porn. He’s had an addiction to sex since he was 15. He’s been with hundreds and hundreds of women. I’m not even kidding, more than 500. (I’ve known the body count since the beginning - so that wasn’t news) I’m not here to judge, but he has never voiced to me that he’s had an addiction to porn or sex until now and I feel like it’s unfair.
I asked him tonight why he continues to do it when it hurts me, I’ve told you multiple times how I feel about you watching porn. I feel cheated on etc. I made compromises with him that whenever he wants to relieve himself, I’ll take care of him which I had been sometimes it even being 3x a day. And then to me saying I’ll make more home videos with him so he can watch me instead which in return makes me feel more secure in our relationship that he isn’t lusting after other women. I told him I can’t control him and he can do whatever he wants, but for him to just know that our relationship and sex life will suffer, and there will be consequences as far as our relationship struggling more.
His answer to that was… “It’s hard..” as in it’s hard to stop watching.
I don’t really know what to say. Other than that, our relationship is so down in the dumps lately with the stress of the baby, financial stress, we argue all the time and I feel like I’m getting yelled at constantly and taken advantage of but now since he’s being vulnerable with his addiction I’m supposed to pat his back and tell him it’s going to be okay?! When he won’t stop initiating the hurt on me or even try?!
I just don’t know what to do . I feel so lost and so numb because I wasn’t surprised when he told me he watches it when I’m busy working or running errands - my instincts literally were already aware. But on top of that, we spent a month apart during part of my pregnancy because of our arguments and one night I had broken up with him because I was tired of the arguing he tells me tonight that he attempted to sleep with someone else because he was lonely and needed someone.
I’m in weekly therapy for my own emotional trauma and my past, he says he goes but it’s not consistent and maybe once/twice a month.
My bestfriend is telling me to leave him, and I don’t see this getting better by the time our daughter is here. I need more emotional support and less hurt than what my partner is giving me right now. Being alone is more peaceful which is scary bc i want to be with him and I love him but holy sh*t.

hello! sharing my story because it was *super* encouraging reading other positive stories during my recovery. firstly, I am 21F. i had my tonsils removed because they were very large after I had covid in the summer of '23. sometimes they caused me pain and sometimes they didn't. they were always uncomfortable, just got used to it. i was def questioning whether or not I needed the surgery because my situation wasn't exactly dire. now that I'm 25 days post op, I'm relieved I got the surgery done sooner rather than later.
day 1 (surgery day) - I had my surgery in the morning, so I'm counting it as day 1. this was the worst day for me. surgery was a breeze. , got adenoids out too. was given liquid hydrocodone at the surgery center. was prescribed oxy and tylenol for the pain. i absolutely could not handle the oxy. i felt too nauseous to eat anything. threw up twice, slept, woke up for a drinking alarm at midnight and pretty much instantly threw up two more times. this def freaked me out, a lot. i had a moment of regret during these hours. my stomach is typically pretty strong. before this surgery the last time I had thrown up was in 2021. so I think that says something. i was worried that throwing up would cause for hemoraging- my biggest fear throughout the healing process.
i stopped taking oxy after day 1. took tylenol only and drank ice water CONSTANTLY. i had an alarm *every* hour throughout the night to remind myself to drink water. the most physical activity I did each day (day 3-6) was a ten minute walk outside.
days 2-6 - i started trying to talk on day 3 because i heard the sooner the better. it hurt to talk a lot. but i did it whenever i could. i was eating barely anything because most things were uncomfortable and a hassle. cold things were preferred here. smoothies with peanut butter, banana & plain yogurt were good for a bit, til bananas started to suddenly burn my throat terribly. could not handle applesauce at all. a lot of popsicles. scrambled eggs were uncomfortable but worth it because they actually made me somewhat full. ramen the same.
day 7 was when things started to look up. i remember i kept trying to make certain things to eat because i was so hungry, but i would try and it would fail over and over again. tried making tofu... i was able to eat it, but it made me burp a lot so i had to stop. tried making ramen, again, kept bothering my throat. oatmeal, which was good before, was now awful. i was losing hope on a meal, until i had the sudden glimmer of hope in a pasta side (those cheap half premade sodium filled things). That pasta side was the best thing. Ever. i was somehow able to eat ALL OF IT. and boy did i. i continued to opt for pasta sides and pasta dishes for the rest of recovery.
day 8-10 was taking 30 min walks each day. talking more but it was def still uncomfortable/sometimes painful. hurt to laugh, tried to not laugh as much as i could. definitely did laugh at times. extremely concerned about hemmoraging. i never looked at my mouth to see the scabs, hurt too much to open my mouth and i was also afraid i would make matters worse by doing so. i never felt any scabs come off. they must've dissolved. i continued to drink insane amounts of ice water and barely sleep throughout the nights because i was so worried. thankfully my dad was taking care of me throughout recovery so i didn't really have to worry about being tired throughout the day, because, well, there was nothing for me to do except rest.
day 10- post op appointment. dr looked at my scabs and told me they look normal and my uvula is still swollen, which i had no idea about. seriously felt no discomfort there.
day 12- went out into the world for a concert. Yep. i had already bought my ticket months ago and decided it was worth going to because of how easy of a concert experience it was. it was an outdoor venue, sat on the lawn with two of my friends, we saw the opening act (the only one we wanted to see, i know, strange) and then left. we were probably there for an hour and a half total. i did accidentally shout once, but to my surprise it didn't cause any pain. i was certainly more tired than i expected to be from the whole experience. like, really tired.
day 15- went out into the world again. got my hair done. felt SUPER dehydrated after not constantly drinking water for two hours.
day 16- i would say i was 75% normal now. i went to a friends house to prepare for the next FOUR DAY music festival. slept through the night with no alarms for the first time since surgery, it was amazing.
day 17- music festival all day (we camped too). i danced and jumped around for probably 6 hours straight. i had alcohol- just one twisted tea, which was all i needed. was able to talk completely normally with no pain. was able to sing as well. was able to shout, laugh, ate a beautiful peanut butter sandwich (first time having bread since surgery).
day 18- i was super tired throughout the day because of lack of sleep from previous night. danced a bit too hard and started to suddenly feel nauseous/overheated. was super worried i was going to have a sudden hemmorage, felt really silly for not exactly taking it easy. i did not have any alcohol. considered going home, but i found ice and chomped it down and slept early instead.
day 21- went back to work. i work 13 hour days where I'm on my feet constantly, so I'm glad i took time before going back.
yes this was a super long recovery story, but these are the posts that allowed me to sleep while i was on day 7-12. so i'm hoping this will help someone else out there in need for a good story!
random notes:
i had no problem brushing my teeth (i read that others had issues)
the weird smell from my scabs was gone by day 7. never really bothered me too much either.
yes it was painful when i would wake up from my alarm to drink water, but after a couple gulps the pain would go away. i think because of how cold the water was, it almost had a numbing affect.
i stopped taking tylenol completely by day 10.
tongue was numb until day 12 or 14.
was able to speak full sentences beginning day 5 or 6.
for me, the pain was honestly never that bad. i don't think anything ever came close to the discomfort/miserableness i felt on day 1 after throwing up so much.
pancakes were AMAZING. had pancakes on day 6 and they probably changed my life because of how good and easy to eat they were. dipping the pancakes in honey was perfect. i ate pancakes every single day from day 6-12. Not kidding.
i lost 6 pounds from recovery lol.... prob all back now tbh
right after the surgery I stopped snoring, stopped sleeping w my mouth open. also, i frequently have sleep paralysis episodes. before surgery it would be especially scary because i always felt like i couldn't breathe during these episodes. but now, since surgery, i had sleep paralysis recently and i could breathe just fine throughout it. a lot less scary when you can breathe.
pasta was also super easy to eat, surprisingly.
welp that's all i got. ketchup still burns my throat lol. let me know if you have any questions at all.

This one's been nagging at me for about 2 months, I dont know why I feel it so intensely or why I'm still feeling it 2-3 months on and I wish I could just get over it.
From the beginning of my pregnancy I was desperate to breastfeed and I was so excited as well, it just filled my heart with warmth at the thought of that special bond and knowing that even outside the womb were still connected in a physical way if that makes sense? I just felt like bottles felt impersonal. Looking back now I realise how dumb that last part is yet I still struggle there as well. My baby was born and he almost immediately latched well then the second day we were home we struggles, he had to have a bottle because he wouldn't latch and I was so emotionally devastated it was unreal but he eventually went back on after giving him 10ml I'm a bottle to soothe him then swapping it for the breast, after that it was 8-9 weeks of smooth sailing. I'll add here that his midwife thought he had a tongue tie but left it because "they usually stretch out on their own" I don't know how true that is.
His family nurse was off for a while and when a new one came he had dropped 7oz in weight, he'd been latching well so I didn't understand and we thought it was my supply, nope when I pumped I'd get 5oz each side so we ruled that out but until we figured it out I had to triple feed. That went on for 4 weeks. His original family nurse came back and from everything I was showing her and the small climbing weight gain we deducted he maybe he had a tongue tie so off to the clinic! Yep tongue so they clipped it but it was too late, by that point I was mentally destroyed in the throes of PPD/A, having massive emotional reactions to just anything, being eaten by self doubt and my self esteem was scraping the ground and baby had developed a bottle preference due to weeks of triple feeding so he was rejecting the breast altogether.
I decided "fine I'll combo feed" but just pumping absolutely tanked my supply and by this point I was so burnt out I just stopped, it wasn't sustainable to feed, pump, clean pump parts and on and on. It was so incredibly hard for me to give up because I felt like I was hanging on to it by a thread, I felt guilty because of social media mums vilifying formula and the constant barrage of "breast is best" from every parenting account, medical professional and parents that think they know better.
It's almost 3 months later and I still feel this guilt and disconnect during babies feeding times but we've thrived everywhere else, I tried seeing a mental health nurse abojt the ppd/a and my family nurse backed me and insisted on it, practically harassed my doctors to see me because she was so worried for my mental state and after 6 weeks of trying I got a 20 minute phone call and "try not to be so anxious what's the worst that could happen?"
I'm not sure why I'm writing this, I'd love to breastfeed my next baby when the time comes but there's a part of my brain saying no due to all the above and I can't get over all the feelings so what am I looking for? Everyone has told me it's okay I stopped, I was doing what was best for both of us so why can't it just sink in despite me logically knowing that what I done was right? I'll probably delete this in a while it was a 2am rant because I'm still having a hard time with it I guess.

Anyone else have one during pregnancy? This is my third pregnancy and first time in my life experiencing one (granted I have gotten migraines in the past but not this!) I ended up in the ER Friday afternoon for stroke like symptoms (headache, weakness/numbness on one side of body, trouble remembering what I was going to say, and some slurring of words). The headache started Thursday night, by Friday afternoon my entire right side went numb and got weak. I still barely have any feeling in my arm and hand. I’m just curious if this is common for them to pop up in pregnancy because I didn’t even know this was a thing? It was/is the scariest thing I have ever experienced!

SpoileCW: Mentions of possible infant loss and brief mention of past abuse. This graduation has a very happy ending, but it's been a long three weeks and nothing went quite as expected. I hope everyone is strapped in and ready for a novel.
Please, anyone who reads this, consider my PSA at the end. I never, ever want another mother to experience what I've gone through. What my husband and family has gone through due to sheer ignorance on my part.
My induction was scheduled at 39+6 for 4/20/2024. Har har. We came to the hospital bright and early, 5:00am. Got hooked up and took first dose of cytotec around 7:00am. Started the various laboring positions, epidural was given around 9:00am and second dose of cytotec was given some time after that. Foley balloon went in, felt none of it. Soooo much better than my first induction experience where I felt everything. I opted for no pain management the first time around... with pitocin. I chose differently this time. 😂
I'd say about three hours after starting that pitocin drip the contractions started up in earnest. I felt none of it for a while, then the epidural ran out. Whew boy when I tell you those contractions hit HARD they friggin did. My OB had placed a sensor inside my cervix to measure the strength of my contractions at that point. They were literally off the charts, and I was very calmly, yet urgently requesting my epidural to be refilled and flushed lol. Husband was holding my hand and guiding me through each contraction, he was incredible. Finally got that refill and ahhhhh.... sweet relief. Although my legs (particularly the left one) was absolute dead weight, I had zero problems pushing. I felt no pain, just pressure, and watched our baby girl enter this world via mirror. The experience was amazing and such a stark difference from my first birth. It was so beautiful I started weeping while she was crowning. My doctor and nurses all asked if I was alright, if I felt any pain, and all I could say was "I'm just so happy!" They all laughed and smiled, encouraged me to keep pushing and out she came. Maybe twenty minutes of pushing at most. Wasn't as hard to do with the epidural as I anticipated, I think because I knew how to push being a STM.
Baby girl was 7lbs, 7oz and 20" exactly. Perfect all around. Born with a full head of hair.
Sadly, this is where the experience gets intense. I had what I believed to be an ingrown hair or boil on the outside of my right labia. My OB had seen it earlier that week during my 39 week check up, offered to biopsy but was also under the impression it was just a weird haicyst type thing. During labor, they paint you down with prep (betadine I think?)so she was able to see it more clearly without my pubic hair obscuring it. It concerned her enough she asked to take a biopsy, I agreed as I was numb and trust her entirely. A few days later the pathology came back and it was awful news. Positive for HSV.
By some bizarre twist of fate, we were stuck in the hospital due to a round of testing on me for strange symptoms I developed my second night in the hospital including facial numbness. We had to wait nearly 18 hours for an MRI after they ruled out stroke and a bunch of other terrifying things. This wait kept us in the hospital and according to the neonatalist, may have saved our baby's life. As we were moments from being discharged, a nurse hurried into the room and shared my results with me. My OB had been frantically trying to get the info in to the L&D team and neonatalist, who called me moments later and delivered news that shattered me to my core. He was returning to the hospital immediately, told us we couldn't leave as if our baby tested positive for HSV an infection could result in a 60-70% mortality rate.
My heart sank into the ground. I began sobbing. My husband was in shock and I completely lost my mind. I was so horrified and repulsed by myself I couldn't even touch my own baby. Nurses came in and comforted me, they immediately took our baby to NICU to start testing and I was utterly devastated. I thought I had unwittingly killed our baby. The neonatalist came in the room, the nurses surrounded me and explained that this happens frequently, shockingly. Many people have no idea they carry HSV and breakouts don't always happen consistently. I can count what I now know as breakouts as maybe nine incidents, which occurred over the course of thirteen years. Sadly, I know exactly where the HSV came from as I was abused as a young teen/preteen. The rage and sick I felt was unparalleled to anything I've ever felt before. The doctor assured me that everything was going to be alright, that thankfully we caught this before going home and the baby was showing no signs of infection yet. He needed to perform several tests including skin, blood and spinal which sent me over the edge again. I couldn't bear the thought of our three day old baby being subjected to such things. He told us if all results were negative, it was a ten day NICU stay with antiviral drip for her then she'd be released. Worst case scenario it was in her spinal fluid which would be a 21 day stay and hoping she never presented symptoms.
Waiting for those results was the longest three days of my entire life. I was a zombie. My husband and I went home, I pumped milk like mad and visited our baby often. As did he. Having to explain to family and our daughter what happened was like twisting the knife every. Single. Time. I barely ate or slept. My husband was so very supportive, never held an ounce of anger or accusation against me. He knew where this came from too and only held anger for the shithead who harmed me as a child.
The guilt was so very strong, and in spite of so many nurses, doctors and family members telling me there was no need to feel that way, I couldn't help it. If only I hadn't been so ignorant, if only I had asked for a closer look the week before giving birth, if only if only. Thankfully my support network rallied and kept me from truly diving into the deep end. I focused on pumping for our baby and kept talking about every feeling I was experiencing. By Thursday of that week we finally got our results, all negative.
I cried with joy. I felt as if we experienced a miracle. I cannot speak of the NICU team highly enough. They were literal angels, and the doctor was a godsend.
My birth experience that was so beautifully perfect had been tainted, stolen and dark for me. Now I could let that go and rejoice in the fact we'd be bringing our baby girl home.
We brought her home on May 3rd. She was born April 20th, 7:58pm. One day before becoming two weeks old. She took to nursing like she had been doing it the whole time. She's gaining weight and perfectly healthy. She turned three weeks yesterday and just started smiling in response to ours. I feel so utterly blessed and fortunate that everything is going to be alright.
Please, if you suspect at all you may have a lesion or strange rash while pregnant, get tested for HSV. HSV is herpes. The common one that causes cold sores is just as deadly to infants as genital herpes. I had no idea and felt so stupid for not knowing what was happening to my own body. That I carried this for years without knowing. My breakouts were isolated to one lesion at a time, spaced between years. At least one year between incidents. Everyone's experience with the virus can be different and many are asymptomatic, which makes conventional testing a challenge. C-section can keep your baby safe versus vaginal delivery. There are ways to prevent what happened to me and you can absolutely have a healthy pregnancy with the virus. So long as you receive preventative care.
PSA over, lol.
Now I'm off to enjoy the wee one and cherish my little family. Happy Mother's Day, thanks for reading this far. I wish you all perfect health and deliveries. ❤️

I had my first abortion in 2009. I was 27 and just shy of 8 weeks pregnant. I was using the Nuvaring as my method of birth control and it failed. I chose a surgical abortion, I paid to have it done privately in a clinic after the clinic closed for the day. It was a truly horrible experience. I was told I would have twilight sedation but the nurse missed my vein and the medication created a bubble on my arm, slowly seeping into my system. I felt everything. I asked the nurse to stop the doctor because I was in terrible pain but was told, “he is almost done.” I remember crying out and my legs shaking violently, it is something I’ll never forget.
Four months after the procedure, I was showering and suddenly overcome with the most intense pain I’ve ever felt. I fell to my knees and eventually lost consciousness. My husband heard the commotion and called 911. I had developed Asherman’s Syndrome from the abortion and my cervical opening was completely blocked with scar tissue, the pain was from my period unable to flow out from my uterus. I underwent surgery within hours.
Fast forward to 2020. I took a pregnancy test because my “periods” were just random spotting here and there. I took my birth control the same time every day, this time the mini-pill due to my age. The test was positive. I booked an appointment at a small, local clinic because they had the earliest appointment the following week. Much to everyone’s surprise, I was not showing at all but 29 weeks pregnant. I was 38 years old. The women at the clinic happily walked me through their baby room filled to the brim with clothes, car seats, baby supplies, telling me how wonderful it was that I was pregnant at such a advanced age. I left with a gift bag and prenatal vitamins, knowing I didn’t want to keep the baby.
Since I was 29 weeks pregnant, the only option in my state was adoption. The pregnancy was horrible, I lost over 30 pounds due to stress and suffered with high blood pressure. I was hospitalized several times due to suspected preeclampsia. At 30 weeks, the baby was diagnosed with a heart defect, an atrial septal defect. My husband and I picked adoption agency and picked a family in a neighboring state but that is when things took a strange turn. The state we are from has strict, enforceable post adoption contact laws and the family asked that I travel to give birth in their state. We backed out.
We restarted the search and found a family seeking a private adoption. They felt like a perfect fit. Similar beliefs, in their 40s, infertile, waiting 10-12 years to adopt.
I was induced at 38 weeks. I was high risk with blood pressure issues, the induction process was a nightmare. I had a reaction to the medication they used to ripen my cervix. The reaction caused precipitous natural labor without the use of pitocin, the medical team struggled to slow down my labor and keep my uterus from rupturing. After just a few hours, I gave birth to a six pound boy.
At some point during my chaotic labor, my IV severed a nerve in my arm. I had lost use of my arm from the elbow down, my hand was completely numb and motionless. I cried in pain and begged for the IV to be removed, I was told the IV was to stay in place until I was discharged. Still to this day, I know I was treated unfairly due to my birth plan stating the baby was being placed for adoption. I’ll never forget those nurses being so cruel to me. A year of therapy and a lawsuit later, I started to feel like myself.
Fast forwarding again, April 2024, I’ve found myself pregnant again at 42 years old, birth control failed again, this time a copper IUD. I’m at a loss (and after this very long post) looking for support from you all. I’ve scheduled an abortion for this Tuesday, I believe I’m currently 6-7 weeks pregnant. I’ve chosen the surgical route because I want it done before I leave the clinic. I’m struggling with fear of the pain I experienced during the first abortion, the complication I suffered after the first abortion, along with extreme white coat anxiety due to the cruelty I experienced at the hospital during my labor and delivery. I’m terrified of the IV they will use for sedation, I’m just… scared.
Advice? Encouraging words? Any ideas on reducing my anxiety?

Hey so a couple months ago I went to my dentist and we did an x ray and she mentioned that all 4 are growing horizontally and I’d have to get surgery soon to remove them. I don’t think my school insurance will work at the moment so me and my dad said to leave it for September when I return back to school. But the past couple days I been feeling jaw ache and left jaw pain a bit (very mild) but it is annoying. It sometimes feels weird to my ear. Anyways, could they be hitting my teeth already? When I roll my tongue upwards to the top left of my gum I can feel something slightly pointy like beneath the surface of my gum. Can that be causing this aching? I’m just confused because I feel the ache at the bottom jaw but the pointy part I feel it at the top side…
My dentist also says she does not use anesthesia so I will be awake during the procedure just will be numb used. I’m sooo scared!! I can’t imagine staying awake and having to keep my mouth open for that long. I think she said anesthesia and stuff will be expensive.

TW also for self harm and I guess existential thoughts, depression.
So this culminated to a point for me last year during my birthday in the fall(won't specify, not sure if she uses reddit). I'll give a simple current event summary and then relay past events leading up(me is me, CS(31f): crap sister, LS(26) little sister, ES(36): eldest sister(only here sometimes, as she moved out shortly after her 18th, and then back and forth after tha), Mom(58): mom. SO(same age): ex-partner from junior year HS till age 24. I am trans male, but due to happening after most of these events, that doesn't really have any merit to this story, other than small details, like clothing)
I(28m) decided after not hearing anything on my birthday, and nothing before that since helping her get money for moving state after a divorce(an investing app offered her 1000 if so many people used her link to invest a free 5 dollar gift), to stop all contact and remove my sister from my social media accounts.
When we were kids, CS was the worst. Ever since I could remember, she showed a huge dislike for me. I don't haveamy good memories of her, and the ones I do, are followed, or closely accompanied by a bad memory. I don't have a lot of examples, since the good wasn't really that significant anyway(think, gifting me a stuffed animal when I was in the he hospital for abdominal pains at 8 or 9 years of age, then, after finding that it was a relatively minor issue that happened to cause a huge discomfort. I was told to drink plenty of water, and for my mom to give me a kids Tylenol if needed. She then snatched it back the next day and while I don't remember the exact words, made it clear that I only deserved it if I was really injured, and had wasted time). This was kind of a small(but very impactful) issue that still sticks with me today. I have to convince myself to go to he doctor to have certain issues checked. I recently only went because the numbness in my hands was getting worse, and I was told I had clear symptoms of carpal tunnel(I work in a kitchen, heavy lifting and fine hand movements are often). I also have a ganglean cyst, that has spawned a secondary cyst, in my left wrist, but that's another story.
She always put me down any time I did anything. Even looking at her the wrong way was infuriating to her(I didn't know what she was talking about until just a few years back, but I am diagnosed ADHD and suspected on the autism spectrum. I live on my own and have had a relatively independent life since I could physically and legally do so, just small aspects need extra attention). I'd ask her what she meant, and she'd yell at me. I wasn't rude either. CS:stop looking like that! Me trying to make my face more..plain?: like what? I'm sorry CS: stop it!, you know what you're doing! And you're doing it on purpose. Me: I'm sorry! I really don't know how I'm looking at you, I don't know what you want(I'm crying at this point) CS, getting up to hit me, like always: you KNOW what You're doing, Now stop it!
At that point, my mom had come in and yelled at my sister to calm down(I don't remember what all was said, I was maybe 6 or 7 and don't have the best time remembering the days with her) and that if she didn't like that way I looked, she could go.
Note about my mom, she had left my abusive father and moved several states when I was less than 4, my baby sister not even a year. He tried getting the legal system to bring her back, as the state they had lived in had always done. They told him that it didn't work that way, and they were legally separated. He was told to pay child support(guess how that went) and go to monitored visitation with us. That only happened a few times, and I only remember 2 of them. One visit, there was a person, I don't even recall the face, across the table, coloring and just doing art stuff. The second memory I have is us(me, CS, and LS. ES had a different dad who was not in the picture, and did not want to be. She stayed home). We played with toys in the waiting room for what seemed like forever, the sky was dark when we left. We never went to those meetings again(my dad apparently had told the caseworkers that if my mom wasn't required to meet with him as well, he wasn't interested in the he meetings). Since then, she has been a single mother, working as much as she could while still trying to balance raising us. I don't blame her for not being there, but I am a little disappointed that she never really admonished them, but merely, to this day, says that they may have been horrible then in the circumstances, but they still loved me.
Cue to elementary school, CS used to terrorize me, steal things I owned, destroyed things of mine. She was pretty stuck up and snobby to all of us, but it seemed to be targeted at me(her and ES did fight, instigation from both sides, and eventually made up some years later, but ES could and did fight back. When she could and was home. She worked too, and had a life later in high school, so that was understandable on her part, kind of) I, being younger, and, I guess, a little blind to some social and reactive cues at the time(I discovered I stare blankly while I listen to people. Facial reactions were too hard to focus on without losing attention to what was being said, if that makes sense). Any friends I had soon heard about the way she treated me, and the things she would accuse me of(not bathing, stealing, or just over embellishing embarrassing things about me to make people dislike me. Calling me fat, stupid, weird, etc). One of the only friends I had was a homeschooled girl. But I only got to see her on the weekends. Because my mom worked and ES had extracurriculars and later work(she is about 7.5 years older than me) we were watched by CS, and she didn't want to do the slightest bit of work doing so, which, flipped if it worked in or out of my favor often. Sometimes she'd be non-caring, allowing us to go to a neighborhood friend, so she wouldn't have to watch us. After having to come get us a few times, that stopped. One of the more traumatic times was when she decided to rig our doorknob(so that instead of a lock you flipped, it was a push knob, you push the knob into the door, turn the knob, and release. It's a non key locking system. I'm not sure if they are normally sold that way or if something happened, but it was installed backwards, so that you could lock someone inside of the room. Can you guess what happened? I was locked inside of my own bedroom, no food, no water, not even a bathroom break, during almost the entire 9 hours(mom worked 8 and commute) on a Saturday. I can't remember if LS was in there with me, but it's possible she was young enough to not even know what was going on, if she was in there. She's about 2 years younger than me, and this was when I was around 6/7. I was absolutely terrified. I cried, I screamed, I banged on the door. I begged to be let out for at least the restroom, which she refused, likely because I'd try to run and hide(the smart thing, duh). So there I was, freaking out that I had been locked in a room and cut off from all necessities. I don't stop crying until my mom came home, who, upon hearing the screaming, tore into CS about how wrong it was and what if we needed the bathroom or water, or even food. I don't remember her response(I probably don't want to) but my mom just glared angrily at CS as she left downstairs to her room. Mom made sure I got water, food, and restroom. I didn't mess up my room, that itself also created issues that I'll lay out later.
There are so many(too many) horrific memories from that time. It was hard all the time. I was insulted, isolated from my other siblings, and eve. Physically hurt. I'm not sure if the physical pain was worse though. I tended to forgive people very easily, and constantly, even into my early adulthood, tried my best to make her think better of me. She would steal clothes from me(cut them up to "fit her better". I was chunky, more medical than anything else, so with alterations, yes, they'd fit her. Like they'd fit an escort. Yes it's mean, but she's literally cut the pant legs off of jeans so that it was literally a jean thong. I only realized how terrible that was later on my teen years when fashion set in more within your social groups. And when they eventually didn't fit her(hah) she'd just throw them out and say they were a waste and wouldn't look good on me anyway. My mom told CS at the thrift store that she had to find outfits for me before finding herself some, and she would often try to just grab the first thing(usually ugly and wrong size) she could and the try to shop for herself(she was greedy with money. If CS found out a gift or piece of clothing one of us got cost more, she'd throw a fit and destroy our things. My mom once bought herself a vintage star Trek the original series collection, and because she didn't spend her tax return on CDs for CS, CS scratched up a bunch of the discs. My mom never even got to watch them before that. Some still played, but it felt like a loss). Mom didn't like that and said she had to help me find suitable clothes I liked. CS didn't like it, but obliged.
One of the larger things she did, when a 12/13 year old(I was 10) is she broke into an abandoned foreclosed house with a grown man, and stayed there for several days, or maybe a week or 2 . She ran from home often, blaming our mom for her issues was the norm for her. Everything was moms fault. Might've been her fault, though, was what happened next. My mom didn't want to call the cops on my sister, but knew confronting her alone and with an unknown man would be dangerous. So, probably against her better judgement, she handed me the phone(she worked at a cellular call center, in the early stages(2000's) of cell phones. She got them from the company for free, periodically). I called 911, per our mom's wishes. Explained my sister had broken into a house with a man and had been staying there. Once they heard that she was a minor, they didn't take long to get there. We sat up the road, in the car, watching it happen. Mom cried the entire time, but would not move from that spot until she saw that the cops had successfully taken her into custody. I just stared while it happened.
I know I shouldn't have had to make that call, but, due to being left alone all the time to my own devices, I had become quiet and usually kept my words and feelings to myself, and therefore seemed the most "emotionally stable" to handle it. Being put into that kind of spot was already happening with other issues, but they aren't relevant.
Over the years, more things happened that made me just want to be alone. LS even stopped being a target and was the precious baby sister (no issue with that in itself, but CS further alienated me from LS and I would once again be left alone. Being told I wasnt worth the time and that no one likes me, and if they did, it was because they pitied me, was an often occurance. My mom tried to stop it where she could but she had been met by the wrath of my sister(and before that, my father) for so long, she didn't want my sister to cause an issue that got us taken away from her. (We had been taken for some months due to some CPS workers believing my fathers lies about her being unstable and immoral. Given back due to no evidence, but with a struggle.) She didn't want to risk that again, so instead tried to keep the peace where she could. She had no family help, and was raising us all by herself. CS got physical, with even my mom, and it scared her. Out house was broken into numerous times by her ex boyfriends, ex friends, and people from..."groups" she used to hang out with. ES was also to the point of just not talking to CS or coming around that much anymore(after she moved out at 17. She also couldn't stand to be around CS)
An emergency later on with ES got her and CS bonding and acting like siblings that had a spat, and around that time is when LS was starting to get CS's attention. (I don't blame LS at all. It's not really her fault we never got to bond like siblings and even now don't know how to talk to one another freely). I still received the brunt of CS's wrath. She'd be nice, like offering some soda she bought, or some snacks, and then be a total b itch, sometimes going off and accusing me of stealing something.
CS: my chapstick is missing! Where is it? Me(roughly 8/9): why would I know? CS: don't talk back to me, I KNOW you stole it. now, where is it. Me, mumbling because I know what's going to happen:I don't know... CS: WHAT Me, wanting her to leave me alone: I DONT KNOW. CS: shut up, yes you do, I know you took it, now where is it??
At this point, I am crying and she has already hit me in he head and face a few times. After my refusing to answer, she just screamed and left me there, confused and wondering if I did take it.
She found it later. Never said a word or offered apology. This was a regular accurance all the way up until she moved out for the first time at 14. I learned to not use the phrase " I don't know" as often as I could because to her, it meant I wanted to hide something, because I obviously should know, and was choosing not to tell her and lie. It still happened, and yes, I got beat for it. We even moved school districts when I was 11(not related to the incidents) and I didn't want to make friends because I hated that they would eventually know her. It was rough to say the least.
A few years later, after CS moving in and out of home with boyfriend after boyfriend after boyfriend, starting at 14, I only had to deal with her while she was home, either between moving stints, or whenever she wanted to drop by and take things, like food or stuff she left with us. Sometimes she just took things. Mom was happy to see her come at all, so we dealt with it. While I heavily disliked the way she had treated me until then, I still wanted her to like me. So when she was home, I tried. When she lived with us for a few months at the age of 16/17, ES, now in her early 20s, living on her own, bought me and LS a laptop. It wasn't the best, but it was a laptop. Well, as you can guess, CS wanted to be able to use it too. Mom said we should because it was the nice thing to do and it would calm things down. So I made her a profile of her own. Not good enough. She wanted access to the main account, the one me and LS used. Now I wasnt into anything nefarious at the time, like p**n or anything, but I just don't want to give in to her being crazy and hovering. She looked for anything to yell at me for. She never once asked or yelled at LS for the password, even though LS knew it. It was my fault.
Next time I got the laptop back, the charger cord had some extra pieces stuck to it that I later found to be part of the internal charger port. She had literally ruined not only the charger, but the charging port in the laptop itself. Rendering it absolutely useless. Replacing that small part required the whole charger port to be replaced, and connections to be restored inside the laptop itself. So, it was a loss. No one seemed to ever be as mad as I was that this kept happening. Call me petty, but I held those memories as the deepest grudge, I still do. I kept pushing it down whenever she wanted to be nice to me, which in hindsight ended up being her needing something from me, sometimes even my company, because she couldn't keep authentic friends around. She got me stoned for the first time when I was 8 or 9 at one of her boyfriend's houses, and then gave me my first drink around the same age. Both with my mom not present. I was a child so when she told me not to tell in exchange for snacks and such, I obliged. I just wanted her to like me.
2 moments really stick out in the high school days before she left for several years to play wife to yet another guy. 1.The first was when we were actually hanging out in the kitchen of the family apartment, CS and ES were drinking and just catching up, while I was just by the kitchen drinking water. CS got pretty tipsy and, while walking into the kitchen, slipped and fell. She wasn't hurt or anything, it was just a small thing, and she ended up gigging and everyone laughed, like it was one of those fun family moments, y'know. Like in the shows. Well she looks and sees me laughing too, like literally everyone else. This is particular makes her mad and she gets right up and strides towards me. My mom yelled her name but before anything could happen, CS punched me right in the jaw. Only this time, I didn't fall, much less move more than an inch or 2. I already knew it was coming the moment she locked eyes with me. I stood my ground and just stared at her. I couldn't believe it. Even though I prepared for it, I still couldn't believe it. Everyone else has started laughing first. She had been gone for years. She herself thought it was funny. But seeing me, have fun at her expense, no matter how minuscule? No. Not happening. My mom asked her why she did it. She only looked at me, my face not even sad, just flat, like I felt nothing and hadn't been hit. But I didn't feel "nothing". I felt rage. Rage that, even at 14 and 15, even if others had joined, I was her target. She scoffed when family questioned her and stormed off. Nothing changed.

1. After that, I had issues with friends, yet again, because she was home. I, 16 at the time, tried to stay the night at a friend's house, but instead of getting input from my mom, I got CS. She demanded that I clean my "pig-sty" of a room. I shared a room with LS, and a lot of the things complained of, weren't mine. And even if I cleaned, the ADHD made it messy as I easily lost things and would flip my room in a panic. Regardless, I asked if I could talk to mom. Mom hesitated, but as well said no, likely because CS was there and my mom is, admittedly a pushover and a bit naive when it comes to them. CS was screaming at me on the phone, and my friend's mom heard it, and took the phone and asked for them(my mother, NOT my sister) to talk. After this, I told them my sister had issues and was a bad person(info with extra details omitted, but it's legal issues), and to not pay attention to the insults. Well friend's mom thought she should talk it over with my mom and I told her it's fine just discuss staying over, I'm not keen on going home.

My mom came after some minutes(we lived down the street), with, ugh, CS with her. I asked why she was there and her response was to make sure I "wasn't spreading sh it about her to gain sympathy". My mom went inside to talk to friend's mom and the big hit came. -Some background. I was depressed. Of course, with a sibling destroying any chance of normal social interaction and losing material items and even money, I wondered, from an early age, why. I didn't try to take my life up to that point, and anything I did was cuts, scratching, and punching. I did anything to control what I was feeling. I felt so many emotions, and some that I didnt know how to explain, some of which had followed me since childhood, that I couldn't get a hold of. So I turned to pain, something I could thoroughly control. It had been going on since I was around 12 in middle school, found out by my mom at 14/15, and I was actively in therapy(after arguing with ES and my mom that I needed therapy, and being told i was selfish). I was still 15 at the time. -Back to it. While my mother and my friend's mom were chatting, CS and I were arguing. I just wanted her to leave me alone, and told her so. The apartment walls werent the best, so CS overheard the things I had said about CS. None were lies, I just wanted someone to know. Deep down I still wanted her affection, but I wanted SOMEONE to hold her accountable at least. But it didn't end there. In the hallway, after hearing the main convo between the mothers, and hearing mine tell friend's mom that I fluffed up the issue because we dont get along, sibling rivalry(the usual excuse):
CS:I don't know why you have to blab so much, no one needs to know. Me: it's the truth. CS it doesn't matter. You don't even want to be here. If you're going to cut yourself, at least do it the right way.
I stopped talking and looked down after that. She smiled and continued waiting for our mom, while on her phone, probably the 4th one that year(she broke them often). It hurt. But hearing it didn't hurt as realizing that I felt it all the time. A grief from early childhood, that I didn't know the origin of, came back. I grieved myself. I still didn't know it then, I was just sad and numb. I thought death was the easy way out. Surely I didn't deserve the easy way. I continues the injuries, hiding them better and refusing to tell my therapist after a separate incident with my mom. Mom even stopped coming to the group therapy, and they told me it was specifically to help parents support their troubled kids, and if my mom wasn't showing up, I could no longer attend the group sessions. We would still have 1 on 1. But it made me feel even worse. Everyone in that group probably knew why I wanted there after 2 times with my mom absent. But I digress. After hearing my sister say that, I guess I became more serious about leaving everything and hoping for a better shot next time, if there was one.
Some months later, still 15 and in school I decided to try what I had heard: alcohol with a high number of any kind of pain pill. I took about 14-16(I don't quite remember, I just kept taking 2 at a time and quit counting at 12, just kept taking) of extra strength Tylenol. Took a shot or 2(or 4, I just did what I thought might be enough while not giving myself away) from ES bottle(she had moved home due to her living situation falling through), and went to school, hoping for the best(worst) I did get a little scared when I suddenly felt a spike in my heart rate, sweat, and a cold sweep through my body. This lasted several minutes, and I happened to be sitting at my desk in class, already having finished the assignment, so laying down on the desk looked normal. I waited and waited. The feeling got worse and worse, and painful, in my stomach and my chest. After a few grueling minutes of hoping it would happen, it didn't. While some residual pain remained in my abdomen, the other symptoms had calmed down. To say i was disappointed was a huge understatement. I went through the classes, saying nothing about having almost released myself from the harsh grip of empty reality. There wouldn't have been a point. I'd have been yelled at by my family for being selfish and wanting attention, just like when they had discovered my injuries and when I had asked for therapy. I was already threatened with being put into a mental ward for teens. Saying something and failing warranted worse consequences than not telling and succeding. So I kept silent and suffered. I decided that putting myself out wouldn't happen, and I would just deal.
I moved in with someone I was dating and their family just a few months after my 18th birthday(9 mo together). I hadn't even graduated yet, just finished credits early. CS had already moved out before that, but I just didn't want to be there any longer. I felt unsupported and pushed aside. Not to get into details, because it's not my story, but when LS was going through something(after I moved out), they dropped it all to help her and take her to therapy. Again, I don't blame LS. I may not like the way she handled her situation afterwards, but it happened nonetheless, and she was pampered by that demon and cared for by everyone else as the baby, so I've never had huge issues with her, but my family's reaction to her vs me was starkly different. Especially after being told several times by CS, ES and hinted at by my mom that I was always a little difficult, but not in a purposeful kind of way. Yet while I was "difficult" I was still thought to be relatively low maintenance due to the fact that I shyed away and prefered to do my own thing, alone. I mean, wouldn't you if you felt, no, if you knew, that certain family members just hated you, and others regarded you as difficult? When you just wanted love? I know that I wasn't normal like other kids, in that I didn't show clear emotion, or didn't know how to convey my feelings or needs. But I never tried to be an issue. But that's what I had always been told. That I was doing it at my own will, to make CS angry. I'm not even sure what about me always put CS off, but it weighed down for a while.
As an adult(18-20), it was better. Communication, but with less physical meetings, proved to at least be better for us. CS eventually started talking to me and my at-the-time SO, inviting us out. I think she needed company, because the man she chose to marry had all but cut out all male people from her life(don't feel bad, she did the same with his female friends)and her female friends were not always good friends, and maybe she knew that, deep down, I still wanted her approval. And boy was she right. We(me and SO, Same age) were always accepting her invitation. My SO had the train of thought that CS was at least trying, and that counted for something. At the time I agreed.
Around age 20, we were heading to Christmas with my family after SO's family celebration(we lived with them at the time, in hindsight a bad idea, totally separate issue). It was snowing and the car I was driving had belonged to SO's parents, so, respectfully, I requested to my SO that we pick up CS and take her to moms apartment(she hadn't moved since we left home, expenses and all). Well, SO was a momma's kid, and while we were getting ready to leave, SO told the parents about the extra trip and asked if that was ok. (At the time I don't think anything, but later on I realized that the mother was a huge control freak with attachment issues and the SO would always back her up in the end, even if there was a good chance we'd win an argument). Looking back, they definitely had an issue with my relationship with my family(mother mainly. Narcissist), but this was CS, and I already had reservations about her anyway. SO's parents said no, sorry. Unfortunately, SO was really dense(yes, I know, shut up) so I couldn't ask them to lie to their mother. I let CS know and was explaining that it wasn't my car and wasn't my idea to "get permission" from the owner(although, as mean on their part as it was, that had to be the case. I had only been given permission to use it for work of whenever me and SO went somewhere together. Yes, very controlling, but not the point). CS wouldn't listen. Instead, went on a tirade of how I was ungrateful and useless and all other insults that just echoed all of the childhood issues.
Story short, she ballooned the story to say that I told her I didn't want to take her and was being rude about it. ES texted me and told me not to come by at all(ES was paying a part of the bills and was an adult on the lease). No one would listen that this was just SO being dumb and, although yes I could've tried harder, it was not my fault. Myother called me that night and I cried, asking why my sister hated me. Why CS hated me. She could only say that sometimes people are angry and it's not our fault. While I appreciated her words, it didn't help. The gift I had for CS went unsent,(robe with her favorite design, Mary Jane) sat in my closet.
I mourned for a while but went on with my life, and that very next summer, I moved me and SO into an apartment. Made a deal with paying the car insurance and the basic gas/oil and regular maintenance costs, in exchange for just being able to drive the vehicle freely, and also I had my license for a year at that point(couldn't get it till 19, with my own cash and borrowing a car at the time), so they felt safer letting me use their car. Fair enough. moving on.
Some time goes by, and CS and ES end up falling out of touch again due to a made up issue(literally a dream where we made fun of her life and loss during her pregnancy. A dream. Mind you, she was also on substances this entire time, literally from the time she was like 11 or 12.) ES started talking to me again, claiming that she knew CS blew it out of proportion and just went along with it. Things go ok.1-2 years later Mom and ES move state. More things happen(kind of irrelevant since CS still isn't involved). Now LS and ES aren't speaking with me and CS comes in saying how she understands. I figured, it's was family, and I needed it. Right? And I was so confused on who to defend and back, my bio family or my SO, that seeing her, even with her sketchy SO, be able to have someone support her when she was put out, even if she was in the wrong and did the putting out, hit the family spot. Against everything, I started hanging out with CS. Up to this point , she hadn't apologized for anything really, but had given gifts, sent invites for holidays, and eve invited me, and sometimes SO over just to hang out(420 is legal in all the states I've lived in, so we had that in common at least). Start to not see CS in such a bright light since she has by that time(I'm 22 at the time) admitted to me that she cheats on her husband, they do hardcore drugs, and he avoids taxes, more stuff but I mainly ignore it cuz, hey, not my life, not my problem. Things go ok.
I leave my ex in 2019 and move out of my state in 2020 and in with family. Yay job closures. Now, this move was probably one of the worst, betraying, infuriating, heartbreaking things that I did as it showed some things about family that I really ignored since I hadn't created an irreversible issue until I lived back with them, as well as bring other heart wrenching events, but that's not important here.
CS now hasn't really sent anything unless it's to ask for help with something, which I do and she pays back, as always. That's not really the bad part. First was about 2 years after I had moved states to be with family. I had been paying ES money for rent, from unemployment(COVID), And had a surgery scheduled for just 3 weeks after the unemployment cut off(I had been looking for jobs but very little luck aside from some MLMs) and ES went ballistic, saying how i was putting them in financial strain(our mom had recently gotten a large tax return from COVID credits, as did she. I did not since I worked during 2019 and 2020. I also got no extra unemployment since it started after the main event. ES ranted to CS that I was a bum and was mooching and spent over a year not paying anything,( even though I had offered ES proof since ES had yelled at me before CS called me). She even posted personal information to insult me online to people I don't know, which is when ES told CS that, while she was mad at the situation, that was crossing a major line. I refused to call CS first, so after a few days, she called me. I laid into her what had been really happening by that point, that I had been paying and I have been doing door dash and donating plasma to continue to pay rent, which I Had talked about to ES. CS was silent during this, and I finally asked why any of the things in childhood happened.
Me: I just want to know why you always bullied me, and beat me up? The things you said?
CS: Well, I want to apologize, but I don't remember a lot of the stuff I did. I was usually high on something. Me: ...Not even telling me to off myself? CS:......-username-, I was a terrible person, and I was on a lot of stuff. I'm sorry that I don't remember.
I don't go farther cuz it's just me explaining everything and that I can't stand that Im always attacked. We hang up with CS telling me that she hopes the best.
Well, things kind of blow up, rent gets unpaid, money is wasted, and I decide to no longer pay and move to my own place. I don't talk to ES. CS chats sometimes, but not too much. After a while of not much texting, around middle of 2022, CS texts. Not exact, but I'll summarize it.
CS: hey, I'm divorcing my husband(I knew, mom told me earlier, didn't say anything) and I'm gonna move to Texas with this guy I've been talking to while married. I'm short on money to move into a place, so could you and mom maybe do this investing app and help out? Me: does it require anything like my credit?(Issues happened prior to this with another person) CS: no you just need to invest their free 5 dollars and keep the account open(I think for either 2 weeks or a month). Me: ok I'll get it started. CS: thank you so much! So how's the new Italian place? Me: it's good, it's called "blah blah blah" CS: ok cool, I'll look it up. Me: Okie dokie. So how's the move coming along
She never responded after that. I ignored it and put it on that she needed to move and focus on packing. I then went to our mom(I took her and her cat with me cuz I'm not monster) and told her the situation. She wanted to ask CS about what to do cuz I had to work in the morning and it was late. Convo:
Me: when you ask CS, ask "hey, -username- said you needed something, I have the app up, what do I do next?" Because this would explain that I told Mom and make CS answer what she wants.
Nope. She just sent "oh did you need any thing for moving, like money or anything?"
CS: hmm? Oh no, we're going to stay with his parents, but thank you for the offer! We'll be ok!
I got upset cuz I feel like I knew something was up. Asking me to help with money for moving to an apartment(she has a car large enough to pack her belongings and she didn't plan to bring furniture). I let it go and deleted the investment account, which continues to try charging me so I had to change banks. Very nice.
Now to this last fall(2023). I moved after that and there was very little interaction. I had been thinking about the relationships in my life and realized that being around CS in particular, or even being mindful of her, was causing mass amounts of resentment and anger in me, making my mental health dive. The lack of remorse and just consistent blaming of substances instead of the choice to do those substances. Claiming she's was a terrible person, but not saying anything about the issues it caused.
I decided that if CS did not even contact me on my birthday(she had skipped it before which isn't too bad, but one year even sent a message 2 months late and when I called her out, she blew it off and just said "oops, I was drunk, my bad".
So this last fall I wait. And nothing, till the end of the day. Honestly I didn't want to wait for excuses or anything. I just felt all of the anger of trying to get her attention and her love, and the desperation that I felt trying to understand why I never deserved it. So I removed her. Not blocked. If there are any emergencies where she would need to contact me(not likely), then it's there. I have a new number, so social media messaging was sufficient. I had done the same with ES.
The very next morning, I had a huge message about how she noticed that I had removed her(this site doesn't notify if someone leaves your friend circle) and about how she felt bad about what happened as kids but that she felt horrible for blocking people out for so long. Then another message telling me that she didn't want to be without her siblings again. Telling me that now, she was going to have a kid in several months, and how it's amazing and she's excited to finally be a mom and I'll be an uncle again(LS has 2 young kids of her own). I opened it and ignored it. She then said she tried reaching out and I left her on read and she hopes I have a good life.
Mentally, I may not be where I want myself to be, and sometimes I feel like I haven't moved forward from being that kid, that just wants to know why. But one step at a time, especially with therapy.
I wanna say I don't feel like the AH, or if I am, that is justified. But I guess there's always going to be a small part of me that wants to have the bonds that I never knew, even if it's too late by now.
So, am I the AH for just stopping contact and connection to someone I feel I just don't have a connection with?
P.s., sorry there's a lot, I honestly didn't mean for it to be this long. Please don't hate my late night grammar

Trigger warning - anxiety, mental health, panic attacks
I’ve been going back and forth whether I want to use an epidural during birth (this is my first pregnancy, I’m 5 months along). I guess I’m not too scared of the pain (I have very bad periods/cramps - endometriosis - so I know what pain is), but I’m afraid of how my body will react to the pain. For some background- I had an anxiety attack last year, it felt like I was dying - but I wasn’t. I’m afraid my nervous system will react to labor thinking I’m dying - kicking me into an anxiety attack while also trying to go through birth… I’m on anti-anxiety meds and for the most part they work very well. I’m just afraid that when labor kicks in - my meds won’t be enough to tell my nervous system to calm tf down. So my idea is, get the epidural to numb the pain and use laughing gas as well to keep my mind calm. Part of me is afraid of the epidural because I’ve heard women complain of back pain for years after getting one… but I also never want to experience an anxiety attack again. Has anyone been in a similar situation? You have bad anxiety and got or didn’t get the epidural? Thanks, sorry for the long post.

This took place back in the 90’s, I was part of the wedding party of a good friend, having the role of an usher for the groom’s side. I was in my mid 20’s and had been very good friends with the groom since we met at sixth form college aged 16.

The Groom was from a small town of just over 3,000 people, in a very rural area in the south of England, the kind of place where everyone knows each other, and it is rare for them to mix with any outsiders. He had been a hard partying wild man, whose main interests were Football, music, and beer. When I was away at university, he saw the light, put his old ways behind him and became born again. Gave up his job and became a missionary. Whilst away doing missionary work, joined by the youngest son of his Baptist minister, the groom met the bride. I nice young girl from the north of England who was also very religious.

After six months of dating, they got engaged, he had moved up to be close to her, got a job and they got a house, although she stayed living with her parents until the wedding.

The stag do was uneventful, the Groom came back down for a weekend for it, and the best man follow the instructions he had been given. A round of golf, the out for a meal then to the Grooms old local pub for the evening. The best man and me where the only ones who where not religious, when I noticed that the where 13 of us for the meal my last supper joke did not go down well. Even the Grooms mother joined us in the pub after the meal. Not the wild night of decadence I would have through his stag do would have been only a few years before.

That’s the boring bit over, now to the Wedding…….

The day before the Wedding my job was to pick up the youngest son of the local Baptist minister first thing in the morning, he was the other usher on the groom’s side, and drive him the length of England to the North of England near the Scottish boarder. The groom had been stressing out as we are both nice easy-going blokes, but we do both have a well and truly earned reputation for being a bit flaky. I’m due to pick him up at 9am, I wake up at 9:40am. Panic, get showered and dressed and run to my car. I get five minutes down the road and then turn around and return to my home to get my wedding suit. I get to the Baptist ministers’ home at 10:40am, I am knocking and ringing the doorbell until I wake the other usher at 11am. He showers and gets dressed whilst I wait in the kitchen for him, his father the minister comes home and me and him chat, he says that he would have loved to have gone to the wedding, but unfortunately, he is performing a wedding ceremony the next day for another couple we all know. Other usher comes down and says that he will make sandwiches for the journey, so we don’t have to stop. We finally get on the road at mid-day three hours late. We drive past my home soon after and I realise that I could have picked up my suit on the way.

The journey was uneventful apart from multiple texts from the best man asking when we would arrive, as the groom has an important job for us to do when we get there. Me and other usher had known each other for years and get on well so we chat and have a good laugh, this is when I found out the news that the wedding his father is doing the next day for the lad and his girlfriend, we all know, it had the same guest list as the groom’s side of the wedding we are going to. The guests had the choice of going to a wedding that most of them could walk to, and the rest would have a five-to-ten-minute drive, or one which would need them to take a day off work and a whole weekend to go to. The groom’s side for this wedding was just, his family, us two ushers, and five people the bride and groom had been missionaries with. When we start to get hungry the other usher looks for the sandwiches he made, only to discover that he has left them on the kitchen counter back at his parents’ house. This is the last time we screw up.

We get to the bride and grooms’ home at 8pm, as we walk to the door it swings open and we are nearly knocked over as the mother of the groom, his two twin sisters, and two brothers storm out of the house. The best man then greets us with the hunted look of a Vietnam veteran with a 1,000-yard stare. The other usher asks where the other missionaries are, the best man says that they are upstairs and other usher quickly disappears to see them. I walk in, the groom is hugging the bride, I say hello, they do not acknowledge me. The best man hands me a cup of tea and we go to the living room and close the door. We can hear the bride howling in tears just the other side of the door as the groom tries to claim her. Me and the best man are both British males, we know full well what to do in this kind of situation, our grand parents lived through the blitz, we drew down into our guts and invoked the Dunkirk spirt, we kept our stiff upper lips like any true Englishman, completely ignored the situation and made small talk about football, sipping our tea. The bride took about 45 minutes to stop crying.

After the wedding I found out , what had gone on, this was the first time the bride was meeting the grooms family, first the groom had asked his two 19 year old sisters to bring their dresses for the wedding along so he could approve them, now I do not know much about women, but one of the few things I do know this that you do not tell your sisters what they can and can not wear, as they will openly and honestly tell you what you can do with that request. Then the mother of the groom gave the couple a lucky horseshoe for there wedding, they refused to accept the gift as they are strict Christians, and the lucky horseshoe is a pagan symbol. Then the father of the groom, who was divorce for the mother of the groom decided to spring a surprise on everyone, he announced that he was bringing his new girlfriend and her toddler to the wedding. This is when the excrement well and truly hit the fan. The new girlfriend the groom also knew well, during his wild times he had known her in the biblical sense on more than one occasion. She was a very friendly and giving young women, in fact most of our friend group had known her biblically as well, some of them knew her in the biblical way two at a time. Thankfully looking at the time line unless it was a two-and-a-half-year pregnancy the toddler was not the grooms. The groom’s mother had openly called the grooms fathers new girlfriend a wh**e, which I feel is unfair, she didn’t ever charge, she was not a professional, she was just a very keen amateur. Over the next few minutes of shouting, it was made clear to the groom’s father that his girlfriend would not be invited to the wedding and there would be trouble if her brought her.

After everything had calmed down, we then drove over to the brides’ parents’ home. Where we had been given the task of blowing up ballons to decorate village hall the reception was taking place in, I was confused at why the groom was so stressed at us being on time so we could do this job. Then when no one else was about the groom gave us our real roles and responsibilities for the next day. Basically, we had the job to be his fathers’ minders during the reception, his father, was a violent, aggressive, alcoholic, and our role was to try and keep him away from other guests, try to stop him from insulting anyone, and if he starts a fight then to get in the middle of it and break it up. Now, I grew up playing Rugby, the sport which American football evolved from, except the only protection we wore was a gumshield and a cup (Known as a cricket box in the UK). I may not be the tallest but at the time I had spent a year working as a builder’s labour (construction worker for the Americans) and had the body I still think in my mind I still have, until I see myself in the mirror when I get out of the shower and realise that I currently have a body that resembles a dropped lasagne. Other usher was sporty, but stick thin, and I doubt that he had ever taken a punch in his life, I knew which of the two of us would be getting in the middle to break up any fight.

The Wedding Day……….

We had stayed in the same budget hotel chain as the groom’s family, except his father. My first responsibility of the day is to drive the mother of the groom to the wedding, along with the youngest brother and other usher. Oldest brother and twin sisters are being driven by oldest brothers’ best mate who was not invited to the wedding but came anyway.

In the morning of the wedding, I am in the hotel’s carpark decorating my car with the traditional white ribbons for wedding cars. The mother of the groom leans out of her ground floor room window and calls me over to the window. I walk over and just as I get there I see over her shoulder and freeze in shock. Both the grooms twin sisters and in the background getting ready for the wedding, one has just a towel wrapped around her, the other is only wearing a thong. They both see me, freeze, then scream and run into the room’s bathroom. I am extremely embarrassed, the groom’s mother, who is very east London just shouts at them,
‘Don’t be so stupid girls, you ain't got nothing he ain't seen before’.
We then go over what time we should leave for the wedding.
Knowing both the groom, and his father are very protective over the twins, even though it was a total accent, this incident could have landed me trouble with them both.

I am so paranoid about being late to the church that we arrive so early that the church is still locked, over the next few hours people arrive. For some strange reason they had decided to go with the traditional bride’s side sitting on one side of the isle, and grooms side sitting on the other. This led to a few issues, on the groom’s side, there were on the first pew, six members of his family, on the second pew, the five missionaries plus me and other usher, and brother of the grooms best mate. On the brides’ side, there where all her friends and family, plus every member of her parents’ church. I suggested that we just filled the empty pews on the groom’s side with guests, but the two ushers on the brides’ side, the bride’s brothers wouldn’t even consider it. Me and other usher had no-one to usher to their seats, as it had started raining, we decided to grab a couple of umbrellas and meet and greet guests as they parked and shield them from the rain. We also started to set out extra seats for the bride’s side as all the pews on that side of the church had been filled, there was over 150 on her side, even though on the groom’s side only two pews had anyone sitting in them and only 14 people.

Then the final guests arrive, they are very elderly, from the church the parents of the bride belong to, they decided to park right in front of the door to the church, I asked them if they could move, they explained that they were not going to the reception and were leaving for a holiday right after the ceremony, so they wanted to leave quickly. I pointed out that they had parked in such a way that the bride would be forced to squeeze down a foot and a half gap between their mud-covered car and a brick wall whilst it was raining to get into her own wedding. They did not see anything wrong with that. There was some back and forth between us, but finally I found a parking spot which they could easily leave early from and was out of the way, they reluctantly moved their car to that spot. Just as the car carrying the bride and her father drove into the carpark.

The ceremony went off without any drama. After the ceremony it is the photos, as each set of photos are done the people leave to go to the reception. The last set to be done are the newly married couple and the groom’s mother. We get to my car, and we realise that no-one has told us where the reception is. There is one last car with wedding guests in leaving at the same time as us, the only other car is the best man’s car, and he is taking the bride and groom. I quickly follow the car that is leaving hoping that they are going to the reception. This is the 90’s, the only two people who have mobile phones are the best man, and me, him as his work supplied him with one, and I had got one as I did not want to be talking to my, at the time recently ex-girlfriend (I broke it off with her a week before and that is why other Usher got to share my hotel room with me as I had already booked and paid for two people for two nights, I had just changed the booking to a twin room) whilst in the same room as my parents on their landline. The best man calls my phone, asking if we know where the reception is, we don’t but we are following a car that might be going there. Groom and Bride do not drive and do not know the way to the reception. Other usher has my phone, he is describing landmarks to best man who is about two minutes behind us, so he can find his way. After 20 minutes of driving thankfully the car I am following is going to the reception and two minutes after we arrive the bride and groom arrive.

We go to our assigned tables for the meal, I am sitting next to the friend of the oldest brother of the groom, opposite him is the oldest brother of the groom, directly opposite me is the only wearing a towel sister of the groom, next to her is the other twin who I saw too much of earlier that day. And next to me is the boyfriend of the maid of honour. I try to make small talk with the boyfriend of the maid of honour, but he is staring daggers at the best man, who is sitting at the head table talking to and looking, like he is really hitting it off with the maid of honour. Boyfriend of maid of honour is not happy, he is in silence for most of the meal but at some points during the meal sounds like he is growling. I later found out that best man and maid of honour both had the same job and just talked shop the whole meal, the only other person best man had to talk to as he was on the head table was youngest brother of groom who was six years old, and as she was at the end of the head table there was no-one on the other side of her, the boyfriend of maid of honour made me feel about as welcome as a ginger haired step son.

The best man speech was interesting, as he had been given strict instructions on what he could say and what he could not say. The stories about the groom stopped at the age of 12, and then jumped to when he became born again. More than half his life had to be skipped over.

Due to the father of the groom, the decision was made to have a dry wedding, apart from a glass of sparkling wine each to toast the bride and groom. Somehow towel sister of the groom managed to get a few glasses of sparkling wine and started to get very flirty with me, as she was rubbing her foot up and down my leg under the table, I moved my leg away, I looked her in the eye and gave a firm shake of the head, thankfully she got the message. The other twin sister, who is very shy and studious, couldn’t even look me in the eye due to embarrassment from the morning.

On the lighter side, the bride who had been starving herself for months before the wedding, ate so much that she burst the zip at the back of her dress, she saw the funny side of it and her mother and sisters all used safety pins to pin it back up so she could then eat some more.

It then comes time for the first dance, this wedding was on a tiny budget, this was before we could burn CD’s at home, so the groom had made a mix tape for the dances, as they were half way into the first dance, the tape player ate the tape. No more music.

Me and other usher spent the rest of the time basically standing in front of father of the groom, who had brought his own bottle of whiskey. We knew that a guaranteed why to provoke violence was to try and take the bottle off him. We became the absorbers of his bile, we bit our tongues as we listened to his racist, anti-Semitic, anti-Islamic, sexist ranting, saying about how the world is against him and none of his problems are his fault. Each time one of his children or his ex-wife came within earshot her would try to provoke them, but they remained stoic.

It then came time for the bride and groom to leave for their honeymoon, I had supplied the oldest brother of the groom and his friend with a can of shaving foam to decorate the wedding car in the traditional manner, they did not disappoint.

Once the bride and groom had left, the rest of the guest all left, no music, no booze, no food there was nothing to stay around for, so the wedding was over by 7:30pm.

I drove the mother of the groom, Youngest brother of the groom and other usher back to the budget chain hotel we were staying in. after dropping them off I went and brough myself a lot of beer, went to oldest brother of the grooms room, as the England football team had been playing a world cup qualifier game that day and had set up a video recorder to record it and we watched the game. Half way through the best man turned up, again with a 1,000 yards stare.

Later I found out what had happened next. The best man had driven the newly married couple to the hotel where they were having their honeymoon. As he was driving back, he got a phone call on his mobile phone, asking hm if he had the keys to the married couples’ home, as the five missionaries are all staying there for the weekend. He does not have the keys, the only person who has the keys is the groom. The best man turns around and drives back to the hotel. There is no way that he is going to disturb the married couple on their wedding night, the very religious couple on their wedding night, the groom might not have saved himself for marriage during his wild years, but it had been made very clear to everyone that the bride had saved herself for marriage. The best man gets the front desk to ring up for him, no answer. In the end a manager goes up and knocks on their room and gets the keys.

The next day we all drive back south and try to get over the experience.

Over 25 years later:

The groom and bride and still together, and still very happy together, they have four children.

Towel sister of the groom is happily married with three children.

Embarrassed sister of the groom, went to University, became a teacher and is no longer extremely shy, she came back from Uni full of confidence. I bumped into her last year in our local supermarket when she introduced me to her two teenage daughters as the first guy who to got to enjoy her boobs. I was just as embarrassed as her daughters.

Oldest brother of the groom spent so much time in the job centre that he ended up getting a job there.

Youngest brother of the groom is a lovely lad with a great girlfriend, their wedding is next year.

Mother of the groom is still hoping that oldest brother of the groom will meet someone nice sometime and move out, no-one else thinks that is going to happen.

Father of the groom is currently living in a hostel for the homeless. None of his three sons will have anything to do with him, his two daughters take it in turns to do his washing and give him enough food for the week. They do not give him any money.

Me and best man are still very close. We helped each other move into our first homes and decorate them. He was my best man at my wedding, and I was best man at his. I am godfather to his son, he is the named trustee in my will. We supported each other through our divorces. We support each other with our elderly parents and their mad erratic decisions. The only reason we are not meeting up this weekend for a beer and a catch up, is because he is currently dealing with the family drama around his mother in her late 70’s deciding to elope with someone she has only known for two weeks.
I have been to many weddings over the years, this is still the only one I can remeber all of the details of.