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Im 24 years old and thinking about going back to college. I took a couple classes at a community college 5 years ago but dropped out to become an Operating Engineer. I have since became a journeyman and have graduated from an apprenticeship, but the line of work doesn't make me happy anymore and my passions have changed. I recently set up an appointment with a guidance counselor to talk about class options but I'm feeling a bit of shame for myself to go back at this age and it's why I'm still up at 3am making this post. If anyone has advice or a good story I'd love to hear about it.

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.

So today marks the first day of finals week. I’m a graduating senior so I’ve been very stressed. Recently I have been attempting to lose weight (eating in a calorie deficit) but overall eating healthy. Today I took exams/studied up until around 3pm until I went home to have my first meal. Since I’ve been stressed, I ended up eating way too much. At first I felt ok just full but by the time I got to work around 5:30 pm I was in major discomfort. I ended up staying only 4 hours as I was in major discomfort and my stomach was alarmingly distended. I went home and proceeded to vomit for about an hour. This has never happened before and I’m honestly worried I’ve ventured into some dangerous territory. I feel a lot better that I’ve purged not because of calories lost but just for the sheer discomfort I was feeling. It was unbearable. Should I seek medical advice for this or was it a one-off instance? Thanks :)

Hello, I am currently a third year nursing student that is most likely going to receive news tomorrow that I failed out of the program. I recently took my MedSurg final and I needed a 78 to pass the class, however, after taking the exam I feel confident that I did not get the grade I needed.
I have been thinking a lot and feeling anxious over what my future will be. To be honest, when applying for colleges I did not have a specific passion and did nursing because of my family's culture (heavy on nursing lol), my interest in the healthcare/stem field, and because it is in demand and I would be able to help my family with money.
In my program, you only have one withdraw and one fail. If you fail a class, retake it, then fail it again you're out. If you withdraw a class, retake it, and fail, you fail. Unfortunately, I have already used my fail chance for another class. Right now I am thinking that I should have withdrawn, but I genuinely thought I would be able to pass. Now, I feel stupid for being overconfident or stubborn. I feel like a dishonor to my family and a complete failure. I've been thinking back to the class I wasted my fail on as well. I'm sad that I made the wrong decision and now my whole life, family, and personal relationships will be negatively affected because of me.
I don't really know what to do, and I'm just looking for a place to vent for the time being. I told myself that if I fail this class, I should not go to school again to be a nurse. However, I am unsure what else I would major in/what majors would help me out well financially after graduating, and I feel defeated because I spent 3 years for my major only for it to be a waste. My professor said they will release the results later today. I am going to try appealing to the department to see if I can use my withdraw somehow to keep me in the program, since they did something similar for a few students last semester, but I do not have high hopes that it would work for me.

CW: description of poop and pain and vomit and mild thoughts of self harm
So technically its not ibs but its very adjacent and I do have ibs too and I really need a place to complain and maybe get advice!
About a month ago I suddenly got what we though was food poisoning and would pass in a few days, but as you can probably guess it didnt... 3 trips to the ER over the course of a month and no answers! A month of barely eating, constant nausea, constant diarrhea, weeks of a UTI, and abdominal pain! I'm past my limit! They did give me antibiotics on April 17th during my ER trip for the UTI but that's it! Said to wait it out! At my last trip to the ER a day ago (may 12) they had to prescribe me a sedative cause I'm just crying and hysterical constantly! I had to run to the toilet 14 times that day! With visits averaging an hour on the toilet each time!
They also gave me 2 "hardcore" antibiotics on my recent trip since there's been no answers from all the tests besides the fact I still had a UTI! Blood tests each time i went, a CT scan, and a poop sample, and yet no answers!!
And now the antibiotics are wrecking my stomach even worse! I do hope they help and I know I have to take them but after sitting on the toilet, legs bruised from the seat, leaking bright orange mucous poop out my butt and having been nauseous all damn day im just so tired of it! I had to put a folding tv tray table in the bathroom to lean on just to give my back a break and be able to put my head down!
I get no break! Its just constant! And the nausea means I'm eating soooo little! All I've had today was 5 chicken nuggets and half a sleeve of saltines! I know more food would probably help thicken up my poops and make them easier to deal with but I just can't! I'm barely able to get enough water in me at this point! Even my blood tests show im not eating enough. And on top of that I have to take the 3 pills from the hospital Plus 4 more pills that I take daily. Pills are like half of my food intake right now and as you can imagine its upsetting my stomach even more and slowing absorption of the meds and just generally leaving me with terrible acid reflux on top of the nausea!
And I'm barely getting sleep! I was up 26 hours on the 12th (the ER visit day) only got 7 hours of sleep after that and now I've been up 15 hours since then and it doesn't look like I'll be getting any rest any time soon since the symptoms are only getting worse with the antibiotics! I used my tried and true Immodium and it only gave me maybe 3 hours of not pooping, but still with the pain and cramps and nausea.
I'm just beyond my limit, like sobbing on the toilet clutching the small trashcan (for vomit) and clinging to my poor girlfriend begging for anything that could help even though I know nothing we have will.
I do have an appointment with a mental health care person tomorrow (well technically today cause its 3am) and I have people who can make sure I'm ok luckily but its been so rough. I dont have the best mental health on normal days let alone after a month of starvation and torture! I was practically begging them to admit me to the hospital but they just won't since they're "mild" symptoms.
Any advice or stories of your own bad times or anything to distract me is so appreciated!

I recently graduated from a polytechnic with a cGPA of 3.37 with a diploma in psychology. However, I'm uncertain about continuing in this field and am considering pursuing a degree in business instead.
Unfortunately, I didn't receive offers from local universities for a business degree, which has led me to explore options abroad, particularly in Australia (such as University of Melbourne or Monash University) for a quality education and diverse experience.
However, my parents are hesitant about this plan. They are concerned about the financial burden of studying abroad and prefer I stay in Singapore for my education. My dad, who studied in Australia himself, was initially supportive, but my mom, who doesnt't prioritise education much in her own life and obtained a private diploma, is more resistant to the idea.
This has left me in a dilemma. While I had hoped to study abroad for better experiences, it seems my only viable option now is to pursue a private degree locally, such as at SIM (which is the direction my parents are pushing me in; in their words, "business is just a general degree, so study in Singapore instead, and go for an exchange programme provided by SIM so you can have your overseas experience like you wanted").
I'm feeling torn and unsure about how to proceed, especially since my parents have dismissed the idea of studying abroad without even considering the details. Any advice or insights would be greatly appreciated.

I have a first round phone interview for a supply chain position at HEB. My resume includes my main jobs since graduating college (2020) and my degree in business management along with volunteer work at Mt local food bank. I'm asking this question because before I went back to school for this degree I worked for UPS as a package handler roughly 9-10 years ago. This job should I get hired will be in a warehouse so there is experience of a sort. However it's from years ago and with the way resumes are and all I didn't think about the job until now. Would it be worth mentioning my experience at UPS in the interview or in a future interview should I progress (this position had 3 rounds and this is the 1st round and I also answered questions on hirevue)?

Hi! I'm a male, 46 yo, 1.68 meters tall, 65 kg. In 2000, while preparing for a corneal transplant due to rapidly declining vision acuity caused by keratoconus I was feeling bad (pulsating pain in left arm, headaches, numb small finger on left arm). Going through different doctors, I was diagnosed with diabetes (marked as "probably MODY"), and put on a diet. Each time I ate too much, I started feeling bad again, but my blood sugar remained normal. In 2003 I was hospitalized again in the endocrinology ward, and again discharged on diet with 'diabetes', despite normal sugars; also was sent to geneticists, but they found nothing.
In 2010, while studying at courses (preparation for an institute), I went off the diet and ate more, because I was feeling tired; basically it was not overeating in normal person's terms; my blood sugars were okay. This overeating caused a kind of stressed stuporous state, but I persisted; I started having weird sensations in my left arm again.
After some days I had a "stroke-like episode" with dizziness and a kind of numbness in the left half of the lips, left arm, left foot. I was afraid and went back to my strict diet, took some cardio aspirin, resumed taking an ACE inhibitor, despite normal pressure. This was when I first had an MRI scan of the brain, and it revealed only an unrelated tumor of the trigeminal nerve (1 by 2 cm, invading a bit into the left orbital cavity), described as "probably a schwannoma" - this tumor has not grown a bit ever since, it has the same size on all scans since 2010. Except this tumor, located in the left cavernous sinus, nothing was found.
After this stroke-like episode, I could not properly read texts - upon reading, I was having attacks of dizziness and sudden strong ear blockage, a kind of 'airplane ear', and sensations of heaviness in my left arm. The same happened upon starting each meal. I was afraid of subsequent episodes, so I went on a really strict diet.
I then had myself hospitalized in the same endocrinology ward and asked the docs there to finally discover what this so-called "diabetes" was, with neurological symptoms and with normal blood sugars. They instead decided to put me on insulin therapy, on tiny doses, only 3 units of ultra-fast Apidra insulin per meal, with no long-acting insulin. Their reasoning was that I was having "anorexia nervosa" and that the insulin would "make me eat more". No amount of describing my neurological symptoms would dissuade them.
I signed an informed refusal to start on insulin, and they discharged me with a diagnosis of "diabetes, probably MODY" again. I then nearly starved myself, being afraid of overeating and having a new stroke-like episode. I could not read, so I spent time listening to audiobooks. Then, half-starved, I had myself voluntarily hospitalized there again and consented to start on this microdosing insulin treatment in November 2011.
Surprizingly, on this microdosing insulin regimen my strange left-sided sensations gradually diminished, over the course of the next 6 months, and I could read again without sudden attacks of "airplane ear" and dizziness and feelings of "my left arm is weirdly heavy/stiff all of a sudden". By the end of 2012, I was working as a translator, studying for a university again, jogging and bicycling.
On 20 April 2018 I had an attack of lower back pain after a bicycle ride in the cold; had some etorixocib prescribed for it; the pain went away in mere days, and bouts of severe fatigue set in. After each bicycle ride, however light, I was having 2 to 3 days of not being able to do anything. I could not translate, I was mentally too slow. My total urinary 24h cortisol was constantly at about 150% of the upper range and my blood potassium was slightly elevated. Doctors found nothing, I went to the psychiatry hospital and they found "sub-depression" (their tests showed that I was 1 point short of being in "light depression). We decided to try out escitalopram, and it worked - my cortisol normalized, I could work again.
In November 2020 I started having bouts of heavy feeling in my left flank some 1 hour after each meal, accompanied with extreme fatigue which lasted for many hours, until the food went completely through the GI tract. I could not work again: slow thinking, tiredness. In the summer 2023 I was hospitalized in the gastro ward of the same hospital, but they found nothing.
While in the gastro ward, I was asked to undergo a planned hospitalization for my diabetes, since they noticed that I had no such hospitalization ever since 2011. I said that I would only consent to that if during my stay I would be re-tested for the presence of diabetes, because I was highly suspicious on whether I actually had it. They agreed, and during my stay in the endo ward, I had a glucose tolerance test accompanied with two measurements of C-peptide. This revealed that my pancreas was producing insulin and I had no diabetes.
I still had several days to remain in the endo ward, so the doc and me decided that I would eat a lot of carb-rich food, and track my blood sugars with the Bluetooth sensor they put on my upper arm. I treated myself to cookies and honey and stuff, and my sugars were just fine - but I suddenly had the same neurological feelings that had vanished in 2012 upon starting on the microdose insulin regimen.
So I was discharged from that unit for the fifth time since 2000, only this time with "no diabetes" in my discharge paper instead of "diabetes, probably MODY" -- but I go on injecting micro-doses of insulin before meals, because otherwise the 'airplane ear' and 'heavy left arm' and 'numb left part of lips/external fingers on left foot/hand' reemerge. Stopping insulin increases these sensations, restarting insulin brings them gradually down.
I was sent to the geneticists again, and as a condition for seeing me they had me take another MRI scan. This time, to my amazement, the radiologist's impression contained a mention of a "lesion in the right part of the corpora quadrigemina area, probably an area of gliosis". The geneticists did some dry blood spot testing and found nothing.
I went to my neurosurgeon and asked what this lesion in the tectum (corpora quadrigemina) could be. She took all the MRI scans dating back to 2015 which I had with me, and after perusing them for a long time said that the same spot is visible on all previous scans; and that she has no idea what it is, but the spot is of the same size, so she indends to pursue watchful waiting, with follow-up MRI scans every 2 years.
I went home and managed to find the rest of the MRI scans dating back to February 2010, shortly after my "stroke-like episode". I can see the lesion there.
I have these questions: 1) Why would radiologists not mention a midbrain lesion in their impression papers for years? Is it clinically insignificant? 2) Could a lesion there be somehow related to my odd sensations? 3) What could have caused the lesion to arise there in the first place, while I was only 32 years old, or even 22 years old (if it arose there in 2000)? 4) Why insulin treatment diminishes these sensations, while going off insulin and eating a lot of carbs makes them worse?
What can I do to research my condition further? I have little confidence in local doctors in Russia, having been treated for a non-existent diabetes for 23 years. Recently I had some stress at work (my attention is flagging, so I had to go from being a translator to being a food delivery person), and my left arm is feeling heavy sometimes, despite the insulin, and I have weird sensations of being a little clumsy, despite not being clumsy in reality.
I'm ready to provide additional information. I'm currently taking 150 mg venlafaxine, 75 mcg thyroxine, 5 mg rosuvastatin, and 1600 to 2000 mcg methylfolate daily. I visit a psychiatrist for a follow up and to renew drug prescriptions. I'm trying to save for a psychotherapist, but my salary is peanuts, so I haven't been able thus far.
I have MRI scans from 2010, 2012, 2013, 2015, 2016, 2018, 2022 and 2024 - the lesion is visible on each of them, but is described only on the radiologist's impression from the spring of 2024. I can upload the scans somewhere if necessary. The lesion is described as "a T2-enhancing area, 6 by 6 by 8 mm in size, with no mass effect".

Was discussing the recent change to med beds with friends on Discord and a concern of balance was brought up which got me thinking about what if they limited player data per bed tier (the amount of players that can be assigned to a bed) and gave the beds a resource for respawning? This would only apply to med beds outside of hospitals.
Lets say you have a tier 2 bed. Set a player data limit of 6. This means only 6 players can be assigned to this bed. Then give it a resource dependancy of 8, limititing the amount of times it can revive any of the 6. So in practice, only 6 players can be assigned to the bed that can only respawn 8 times total before needing replenishment. If it completely uses up its resources then then players have to respawn at a hospital. The numbers are just examples but you should get the idea. A tier 3 would be able hold more data and have higher resources.

I'll be moving from OC to SF as a graduate-level student this summer. What are some things to know about SF as a newcomer to the Bay?
Some things I do know: - it's expensive - car ownership may not be practical - Steph Curry needs help
Looking forward to moving. Thanks!

Hello so supper new here don’t know how reddit works. For context I just turned 22 and I am looking for a job that pays well because my family is struggling financially. I graduated last year in September and it was also around the time my mother got pregnant which was a high risk pregnancy so couldn’t right way go for a job then my brother was born in November and i have been the extra helping hand also my brother is really not like other kids he never cries or makes fuss but still takes up significant amount of my day i was supposed to finish cma last January but couldn’t now my exam in the june but i haven’t been quite prepared and now i think it is better for me to support my family financially cause my father is getting old too i know the job market isn’t great in india i did interview with a few companies but in one i got rejected after 5 rounds saying i didn’t have good business communication skills as because they asked me if i can work overtime and i said certainly when it is compensated. Also a little background during my first year of college i had started a petition to close my college because they were harassing students to pay fees during the lockdown I did paid but few of my friends couldn’t so always been like that a little mouthy but i guess i am willing to compromise now but i do want a good paying job I am not smart by any means but I learn really quickly and I have never been not responsible being the eldest and a daughter it kinda comes as the job description. So here to maybe ask for anyone who knows of good jobs also have attached my resume so if anybody has any advice on what to do or how to improve I would be a lifesaver.

Two years back, I met this INTJ guy in grad school, and we hit it off right away. We practically lived in each other's pockets, being dorm neighbors and all. Our friendship got so tight that our pals started calling us a "package deal," and I considered him my bestie. As an ENFP I enjoyed his company a lot.
But after about a year, we hit a snag and had a messy fallout because we sucked at communicating during a big argument. We drifted apart for a long time, but thanks to some mutual friends, we started hanging out again (but there was this awkwardness between us because we still havent talked about what happened).
Fast forward to a recent hangout in my room with some buddies, he surprised me by singing my favorite song and playing on his guitar. I looked at him surprised and he was already looking at me raising his eyebrows repeatedly. Then after that song he played the next song which was also my favorite. After that i clapped and when i was about to say something, he cut me off and told me to shutup then dragged me outside my room to have a smoke lol. He never said sorry but I guess that was his way of saying it?
These days he still sucks at communicating but he does similar stuff like give me coffee or help me clean my room after hangouts and when Im about to say something he always just tells me to shut up and I just laugh and tap his back or pat his head.

Back in 2021, My mom was eligible for claiming disability check. She has epileptic seizures whenever she got exhausted or not having taken her meds. My siblings went to office to ask for the requirements. Aside from paperworks, it turns out she need to get checked up on hospital to get recent diagnosis for her disability. The procedure went fine and we succeed in claiming the disability money that would get release twice per month and it will be used for my mom's maintenance pills.
1 and a half years later, which was just last year ago. The disability claim is gonna expire. It turns out that it will be for limited time only. We don't know if we can claim money again so my older sister went to office to ask for it. They said that we need to repeat the procedures again which means that we will need to get those paperworks and have my mom go to hospital for check up again for the requirements. Its kinda hard to do it this time because I already graduated from school and had a job so all of us siblings have little time to attend with our mom. In the end we still made it work and finished every requirements, I even had a fight with my older sister on who is gonna get the diagnosis papers from the hospital because she want me to stop by there after my night shift.
My sister went to the office with those requirements. It turns out that we cannot claim for the disability money anymore.
She was really mad at the same clerk who told us that we need to get those requirements that would take too much effort and money which would turn out useless because we cannot claim for the money anymore. The diagnosis for my mom's check up is pretty much the same so it meant that she is still classified as disabled. Meaning that we cannot claim money in the first place because we already did back then.
I can't wrap my head around on why the office clerk didn't just told us "Oh, you cannot claim it anymore because you already did back then" back when we asked questions about it, instead of making us go through effort and spend money for those requirements that is not gonna be of use.
They said that it was a "protocol" but what kind of protocol does make people waste time, money, and effort for nothing?
It was last year ago but I was still pretty mad about it

Asking for my dad who is almost sixty never finished school just got a certification in some kind of machinery relating to ACs he has been getting jobs mainly based off work experience (he works with machinery putting large machine together to be shipped off currently) he is thinking of either charging career paths or branching put into something else by going back to school for something my community College has the free tuition thing and I have had good experience there so he is thinking of apply if he can just pick something to do.
He needs a career that he is able to sit occasionally as he has bad knees. He has experience working with machinery and first aid medical knowledge and skills (he has considered going for some kind of nursing which my school has a extensive program for). He considered pharmacy technician but I was just told by my advisor that he wouldn't really be able to sit and its very fast pass.
So I'm now turning to the internet to help find him a career path. Pay needs to be decent as he would be the sole financial provider once I move out in two to three years when I graduate and my mom is disabled and can't work.

Nalay-off ako recently sa trabaho ko last April. I have 12 years BPO experience at 8 years non is with financial accounts. 51k na package (salary + allowance) na kinikita ko monthly agent level.
Sobrang lungkot ko nung makita ko name ko sa lists ng malalayoff pero I told myself, “Ah, di bale na. Shit happens. I am a BPO veteran, madali ako makakahanap ng panibagong work. Maganda ang work history ko and my skills as an agent are above industry standard na. Recruiters will always want me.”
ABSOLUTE WRONG.
Yes, recruiters want me. But thing is, sobrang hirap maghanap ng company na magaaccomodate ng salary that will match my last employer’s salary pay sakin. Kaya ako narereject kasi daw I was “demanding an outrageous amount for an agent-role.” Hanggang ngayon wala parin akong mahanap. The most I was offered was 43k (37k plus 6k allowance). Sinabi pa nung recruiter na un na daw talaga ang max agent level standard kahit san ako magpunta. This was my pay 3-4 years ago. I worked so hard para maachive ang 51k na package ko ngayon. Sobrang nakakalungkot. Kahit pa may separation pay ako, I am scared for my life for the long term. Like pano na ung 4 na insurance na binabayaran ko? Pano na ung lupang hinihulugan ko, ung bills ko sa bahay, mga basic necessities para mabuhay? I am so scared for my life na I could no longer afford to pay my credit card bills in full and most importantly, I am scared for my life na I could no longer afford to give myself and my little family a comfortable life. :(
So looks like I’m back to being paid the basic agent level salary na sabi nila.
Ang point ng post ko is hindi para sabihin na “pucha oo ang malas ko, ganda sana ng swelduhan mo kaso minalas ako.” Ang point ko is if you’re earning more than 40k monthly salary as an first level agent, magisip isip ka na at magstrive magpapromote to TL, Coach, QA, SME, whatever basta magpapromote ka na. Minindset ko na magccalls ako at ok nako don, logout at uwi ako agad after, walang additional work. As long as bayad ako, may HMO ako at ng pamilya ko, may pangkain at panghospital kami, di ko kailangan ng promotion ok na ko. Sakit lang sa ulo un pulitika pa minsan. Maling mindset pala to. Sa BPO, hindi ka welcome sa mataas na pay pag agent level hanap mo. So magpapromote ka para if ever comes a time na magresign ka or malayoff ka gaya ko, may leadership history ka sa resume mo.
Un lang. sana wag mangyari senyo nangyare sakin.

Hey y’all, I’ve been living in NZ with a working holiday for a few months now, but I’ve only been in Auckland for about 4 days as I have been living in the south. Tomorrow is my last night (Wed. 15/05) before flying back to the motherland on Thursday and all my friends have already gone. As a good send-off, are there any good bars/ clubs that are mostly frequented by college students? I see that a lot of people are graduating this week and, as a recent graduate myself, I figured the vibes would be immaculate. I’m also open to other ideas, feel free to PM me too! Thanks!