Numbness in menopause hands with

About a week ago, a friend (F healthy, mid 50s, normal weight) sliced her thumb on a mandolin. Went to urgent care and instead of giving her stitches, they closed it with surgifoam and said the flap she sliced would eventually just fall off. It was still bleeding so it ended up getting infected from the moisture. She’s on antibiotics but she’s gone back to urgent care probably 3-4 times now and each Dr has said something different. She said her thumb is numb in the dark and red areas, and she’s having pain in her hand and it’s shooting up her arm . Is all of this normal or does she need to go see a wound specialist? I’ll attach a pic in the comments of what her thumb currently looks like

Hey all, I’m 20 years old, and getting surgery on both of my arms next week. I know 20 is very oddly young for surgery but my nerve studies came back and my doctor said there was no other option at this point- before permanent numbness/mobility issues.
What I’m worried about is the fact I’m 20 and already getting this surgery. Along with already having issues with my ulnar tendon. A large majority of my family has/had carpal tunnel as well as arthritis in various areas. Most of these family members with carpal tunnel still have it flare up years later. Multiple have done PT as well.
I currently work at Chipotle. Almost entirely in the BOH where I cut, mix, or smash things the majority of my day. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say I do a cutting motion more than a thousand times within four hours. Along with putting away heavy boxes. Or being on grill often (using tongs, cutting, touching heat, scooping heavy items, and lifting heavy items over 20lb often).
I’m open to any suggestions, just anything that is fairly easy to get into, has a good job market, and pays decent enough (I make roughly $15.65 now, and $16.65+ once the promotion goes through in NE). I’m still okay using my hands but not to that degree.
I’d love to hear everyone’s careers and suggestions!

I've had 2 single level fusions from L4-L5 and then 5 years later, I had L3-L4 fusion. I found out earlier this month I have cervical spondy :( I can't remember but it's either C6 or C7. I found out thanks to some severe pain and numbness in my arms, pain in the neck (Not kid related for a change :P ), and some serious dizzy spells that only kicked off with any type of pressue on my head/neck. One of my good friends is a physical therapist and her initial response was "HOW DID YOU GET SPONDY IN YOUR NECK?!" I can't find much info on it, other than it's pretty uncommon. MRI results are next week and I'm almost positive we are going to have to do surgery (My hands and arms constantly stay numb, pain at night is so bad). Anyone else with neck spondy?

After spending hundreds of hours in the game I think I can confidently say I know what I wished the game did more of or better. Don't get me wrong, I love this game and I played it for so long but the more I just feel like there's more that could've been done. Dragon's dogma is the only game of it's like. Sure you can say it's similar to this and this but nothing really scratches that itch that dragons dogma does. I love a lot of the decisions they made with the game and the world but I'm not blind to it's flaws either. Most of the things I'll talk about has been said a million times but it really can't be understated how much more they could've done.
Gameplay
Like I said up in that paragraph no other game really scratches the itch that dragon's dogma does. Combat alone was a big selling point for me because where else will you get an ARPG where the combat feels nice and weighty without it being clunky and or it being too light and feeling more like a hack and slash combo game. It too me hits that perfect itch of being realistic but also fantasy. My only gripe with it is that it feels like a high fantasy game trying to be a dark fantasy game. It's more of a tone thing but in a world where people are able to cast meteors and tornados and jump 10 meters into the air and become a spinning ball of death the enemies you face are just grounded goblins and monsters. I feel like it's trying to be two things at once leading too the classes feeling just kind of mismatched. compare the gameplay of fighter to thief. Two close quarters classes and starting out they feel like they're on the same level somewhat but as you progress fighter just kind of remains the same while thief is over here causing explosions and flying around everywhere despite them starting on equal grounds. A more jarring example is mystic spearhand the "anime vocation" you can teleport around send out magic waves and stun enemies with a magic chargeable bolt. I have no problems with spear hand but to go from fighter a pretty grounded gameplay style to mystic spearhand where I feel like I'm playing DMC it's just kinda jarring. I like that the vocations feel unique don't get me wrong but it really just does feel weird to be a really normal guy swinging a sword around to teleporting everywhere and becoming invincible exploding man. Other than that I don't really have much else to say about the combat besides game difficulty really does affect combat a lot. As much as I like the combat even I can agree that it gets stale killing everything in 2-3 hits with no real danger. I still remember my first ogre fight since it was the first and only tough battle I had after that the game was a cake walk and I quickly shut my brain off for the majority of it.
Exploration
the world of dragons dogma is fucking beautiful. Sometimes I just walk around admiring the world they made, seeing the trees and grass sway with the wind as oxcarts and patrolling knights walk past. The only thing that can ruin it is oh right an enemy encounter every 3 mins. I Love the combat but fuck, combat every 3 mins when I just want to explore and see the world can get tiresome and just lessens the encounters to be mind numbing button mashing. not only does it lessen the combat system by just giving you too much of it but it ruins exploration by making the world feels smaller. The world is so fucking beautiful but if the only thing you really see or interact with is combat after combat you stop focusing on the world and you just look at the same goblins and lizards. One video I've been watching a lot is a dragons dogma 2 relaxing ambient music where they have scenes of the world just existing. You forget how beautiful the world that capcom created actually is because every 3 mins you just fight goblins. Just that open field of wheat outside of vernworth can give you like 50 beautiful screenshots of the world. I really wish there was a mod that would either lower enemy population count or get rid of half the enemy placements in the world because I really do just want to explore and take in the world. Another problem that DD2 has with exploration is that all the armors and weapons are in the shops. After realizing this halfway through the game I just lost like 50% of my desire to fully explore the game. If all the cool armor and weapons can just be bought what's the reason to explore caves and dungeons and complete quests? I get why they did this because if you're a thief and a quest reward or a random dungeon chest is a warrior armor then you pretty much just wasted time to get loot that doesn't match your vocation but having it all in the shop just ruins so much of the game's exploration and quests. Also if you want to start a new game I recommend you download a mod called "wild loot" on nexus. It takes all the items in the shops and just does what it says, places it into the wild. Whenever I found a cool new armor or weapon I'm always interested to see how big a difference it made rather than just buying the best set in the store.
World
I just wish there was more world building and lore to the world to explain stuff for those that truly want to know about the world. Like why don't we have the misty marshes be explained as "A long time ago a litch showed up and that's why theres so many undead and an uneazy fog around it" and if you keep exploring you can find out that oooooo the old villagers executed a wizard or priest for some reason and they placed a curse on the local area to be an undead area. I wish there were more biomes too, like wide open plains or snowy mountains. Imagine climbing a snowy mountain at night being lost in the snow storm only to see a bright yellow light off in the distant and seeing a tiny little cozy mountain village. seeing different architecture and culture from the giant stone fortress that is vernworth. Some kind of nordic (cheesy I know) wooden mead hall and all with people wearing heavy layering of furs of the loacal animals. Magic also just feels kinda out of place too. Maybe these ideas are cheesy but you're telling me that magic where you can summon litteral meteors wouldn't affect the world even a little bit? There wouldn't be some kind of magic school that teaches young mages to control such volatile and destructive magic? This brings me back to the whole "Low fantasy" trying to be "High fantasy" The world just needs more to feel alive. Like what if the elven village was more than just three circles connected to each other and instead you're able to walk up through mountain edges and actually see the elven houses up on the cliffs that you couldn't reach. There's dwarves in the game but they have no impact to the world at all. They don't even have their own place or history. You won't go down a cave and find yourself in a abandoned dwarven mine like moria and find a dragon hoarding a secret vault of treasures like a cool magical armor or weapon. It lack world building to add context to why the world is the way that it is. Things just are in this world. The original DD wasn't perfect but it tries to add context to the world, It really just needs to bake the world more.
Story
I'll keep this short we all know the story sucks, only thing I can say is, make the story about you and the pawn. We like our pawns more anyways. Make it about exploring what free will is and if pawns are even alive or something, just make us connect with our pawn. Add more scenes and flesh out the characters more. Just do better that's it. Also add more RPG mechanics. Honestly, just mix Bethesda rpg and dragons dogma and it's a perfect game for me.
Pawns
I love the pawn systems. I have my gripes with it but the main thing I want is for more pawn interaction. The only meaningful interaction is them showing you the way, the dap, and dual casting. Like why don't we have team attacks in in ff15? they tried to do it a bit with the ability to launch pawns but its lack luster and barely works. Imagine how cool it would be if you could coordinate with your archer pawn to launch them over the enemy and do a flip while raining arrows down on the enemy. Or if you're a sorcerer and have a warrior pawn that gives you a cool fist bump before taking a giant swing at a charging minotaur causing it to fall down while you have charge up a quick magic spell for a quick follow up attack. Just more interactions would've been so cool especially in combat.
Overall I loved dragons dogma. I wished it did more but it's one of my favorite games. Wish there were more games like this.

Hello, I started taking predisone (daytime) and gabapentin (nighttime) two days ago and this morning for the first time, i woke up with slight numbness in my right hand (index and thumb). I’m wondering if anyone else has had this side effect and how you’ve dealt with it.

31m, Caucasian, 80kg, history of 2 shoulder dislocations to right arm. Some hypermobility, gastric reflux and Postural Tachycardia.
I've had right elbow pain for 3 years now that extends down my forearm and into my fingers.. mostly my pinky and ring finger but I also experience dull aching and burning/ itching sensation in my other fingers. Sometimes I get bouts of numbness In my hand and wrist with certain movements.
I've been under a practitioner for a while, I had a nerve conduction study which has shown a 50 percent delay in conduction in the right median and ulnar nerves.
The neurologist who did the nerve conduction study thought I may have thoratic outlet syndrome, potentially from the dislocations. They did an mri of my brachial plexus and neck which came back normal.
I've now been referred for ultrasound of the right elbow and wrist and await this.
My symptoms are seriously aggrevated by typing or repetitive movement. The practitioner has now referred me to someone else for evaluation.
Could I have cubital and carpal tunnel at the same time? Or are there other diseases that match my symptoms? As you can imagine this is causing a lot of stress.

I am a 29 year old female who has been feeling very off recently. I’ve felt dizzy and lightheaded at times, along with tingling/numbness in my hands and feet. I recently went to the doctor and had bloodwork checked and everything came back normal except for high vitamin b12 and a slightly high MPV. My doctor mentioned that a high b12 is usually from supplementation, however I am not taking any supplements, vitamins, or medications. I mentioned to the doctor that I have increased anxiety recently and they seem to think all my problems must be caused by anxiety and prescribed an anti-anxiety medication. Everything I’ve read online says that a high B12 level can be caused by an underlying issue, however my doctor is not at all concerned by this due to the rest of the bloodwork appearing normal. I am wondering if this is something I should get a second opinion about, or if I should trust my doctor? TIA!

Hello! I'll start talking about myself, then about my boyfriend, then how our relationship went down and how we got back together. Sorry for my English in advance.
So. I'm Brazilian and a 20 year-old Law student. I'm very empathetic, and I came from a family with many challenges - financial and emotional. My parents marriage isn't the best, and I grew up in a pretty hostile environment (in the sense that my parents were very strict about grades, and my father is very aggressive in general). However, they did the best they could with what they had. Last year, I came to live in another state, 7 hours away from home by car, because I got into one of the best colleges in the country (currently second best at Law) and couldn't miss the opportunity. I've been learning how to be an adult more and more day by day. I've got a nice internship and work another job aside from that.
When I thought I was finally free from my mother's controlling behavior, I decided it was finally a good time to date someone. And so I began talking to this boy (at the time, a 22 year old) through the internet. He seemed wonderful. Spent three years in Romania to study (even tho he didn't get to graduate) and then came back to Brazil to pursue his true passion, International Relations. We hit it off pretty quickly and started officially dating after a month.
At that time, even thought he had dated multiple girls in the past, I was his first serious relationship. Even today, he says I'm the only girl he ever felt (and still feels) love for. I got to know later on that he had Bipolarity, depression and Borderline Personality Syndrome - all of those conditions that weren't being treated or medicated for months.
He had problems with money, problems with dates, problems with compromises, problems with his grades, problems with his addictions (cigarettes). He didn't know exactly how to make a girlfriend feel safe, he would often not include me in his routine, sometimes he wasn't careful with his wording... and many other things. Every time I talked about our problems, he would only say "sorry" "I can't guarantee I'll actually change" "maybe I'm not the one you're looking for". He followed a LOT of girls, and always told me "I don't check out Instagram anyways so it's nothing".
Then, after 7 months in the relationship, I went over to my mother's house for Christmas and New year. He also went to his dad's house at that time. We cried a lot when we had to part, because we did absolutely everything together.
Well. Once he got into his dad's house, he began to be more distant (if we chatted for 10 minutes a day, that was rare) and I was exhausted. I just wanted a conversation of some minutes, and I understand he wanted to be with his family, but a nice call at the end of the day or just a few texts wouldn't keep him from them. I talked about that with him and I ended up being the one apologizing for not being understanding.
Phew...
Then, after two weeks of vacation, it happened. A girl going to my DMs and exposing an intimate conversation she and my boyfriend had just a few minutes ago. I exploded. She was Spanish. She wasn't even Brazilian. She was an online friend. He sent messages talking about how he wanted to kiss her on her bed, about how he was horny, asking her for a fit check, and sending pictures of his underwear.
She checked his Instagram later just to find out my name in his bio. So she went over and sent me everything. Every screenshot.
I was betrayed. I never thought he would ever do this to me.
I talked to him. He said he was sorry, that he loved me, that he didn't get why he'd done that, that he was stressed, that he would never do it again, that I was wonderful, that I didn't do anything wrong and he didn't want to lose me...
I'll be honest, at that time, I didn't want to break up. But I HAD to.
So I broke up with him, but told him we could try again if he made an effort, and we should also talk in person about everything. Told him he should seek therapy and a psychiatrist. My condition was that he would tell me if he got together or flirted with another woman until I got back from vacations so we could have that talk.
It didn't take long for him to start telling me he was feeling numb. That he didn't think it was a good idea to get back together. However, he would send me good morning and good night texts every single day, and sometimes he would text me that he loved me. Weeks later, when he stopped texting as much, I found out he was flirting with other girls. So I cut off contact, and told him that I couldn't believe he didn't keep what he promised me (telling me if he flirted with someone else). He hid it from me, and I didn't even understand why.
Days later, I found out he slept with a prostitute, and even told his friends to gang b*ng her. My heart completely stopped. I was heartbroken.
My own depression came out of hiding. So I contacted a therapist, and tried to appreciate the other things in life other than him.
Later on, I came to know he was also working on himself, getting medicated and all.
2 months later, I come back to the state I studied in, where he already was. I come in peace, relaxed, and happy to be in another place full of opportunities. But my heart still weighed.
Then I went to have that talk to him. He apologized for everything. We had a long, long talk about things, and I felt a lot better. But then he started getting physical; hugging me for hours, caressing me, kissing my cheek, kissing my forehead, putting his hand on my thigh...
Before anything could get any more serious, I went back home alone.
Then, another day, he came to get gifts I had gotten for his family (it was his stepmom's birthday, whom I cherished, and on vacations it was his little brother's birthday). I wanted to go to the pharmacy after that, and he asked to accompany me. I accepted, as it was late and I didn't want to go alone.
After sometime, he started talking about how he missed me. How he missed my jokes, my humour, my personality, my presence in his life. He hugged me. I told him it was a bit late for that. That I had given him the chance to have me back, and he didn't appreciate it.
Then we went to talk in a park. We sat together, and he started to tell me even more things. That he would see my clothes and other things in his room and cry, wondering why he'd cheated on me, telling himself he was stupid for letting me go and disrespecting me. He would often miss his way from home and go to my place by mistake. That he'd never stopped loving me, and that he was just running away from conflict l.
Well. I couldn't help it. I missed him like hell and he told me everything I wanted to hear. I ended up kissing him.
We then got back together oficially after three months of going out and sorting things out. He's been wonderful, everything I asked for and more.
But it still hurts, as you might think.
Most of the times I feel insecure he comes running over to my place to make sure I'm not breaking up with him again.
He knows I know about the prostitute, btw.
I just don't get it. He says he regrets it, that he regretted before and after. Well, if he regretted before, he could have just not done it. I didn't get anything... I still couldn't accept why he'd done everything. I felt ugly, I felt like I was not enough...
Then he told me about his past with childhood trauma, which explained a lot to me in my head. I cried when he told me his story, and apologized for what they've done to him, because the person who did bad things to him him was his family and never apologized. He'd never told this story to anyone.
That alone explained a lot of things in my head. His hypersexuality, his tendency to deal with things alone, etc. But the prostitute thing still gets to me.
I keep wondering what she'd looked like. How was it. If he liked it. Why he'd done it.
He says he did it because he just wanted to forget everything, but it just didn't work. That he's here for me now, that he'll never do such thing again, that he'll be good to me from now on...
Idk what to do. I want to stop thinking about her, but idk how.

Conner sat listening to music while the history class droned on endlessly. What is the point of learning history? War never changes, right? It seemed tedious. What does history have to do with how powerful and cool a mech is, or how sweet it is to be a mech knight?
"When the darkness came from outside, only the humans knew what was happening. It was war, war from outside the peaceful galaxy. War that had started when the Milky Way first showed the twinkling signs of life. One insane intelligence, old as time, would not tolerate another living galaxy. Each must be consumed by its own weight, and only death may prevail.
Humans instinctively knew this, as the chosen ones, the T-Cells of the galaxy. When their alien friends started getting ravaged and marauded by the scouts of the Dark Beings, humans responded, retaliating with unbridled ferocity and driving the otherwise unstoppable enemies back into the darkness.
It was a frightening time, and it only got worse when the massive cloud of shade was identified as the locust fleet that had sailed for billions of years, the Silent Empty Eternal Darkness Sailors, as they called themselves. They were nothing but dormant hives, sleeping forever, ready to wake and kill and self-destruct, make the galaxy dead. They could have done so, but humans stood in their way, an unpredictable enemy, capable of war.
That is why human worlds were directly targeted by their commandos. Massive singular monsters of ungodly visage were deployed to human worlds, spawning armies of miniature satraps of the horrors, to pillage and assault human worlds, turning them into hellscapes of death and destruction. The alien friends of the humans did not sit entirely idle, they helped by selling powerful new weapons and armor to the humans who kept retaliating against the Dark Beings with ever more powerful and vengeful mech."
Conner perked up at the part about the mech. Various famous chassis flashed across the screen in cool paint and poses with alien worlds in their backdrop and accounting for their neatly colored camouflage plates. He paid attention to the famous battles, where humans had defeated the Dark Beings in honorable combat.
"Conner, do you know what made your clan's father and mother such great mech knights?" his teacher asked.
"They learned from their mistakes." Conner sighed.
"They learned from other people's mistakes. They studied all of our defeats, all the times the Dark Beings annihilated entire battalions or overwhelmed our defenses. It is a much heavier volume. We learn little from victory except that now the enemy will try to better themselves again. When they win, they use the same tactics again - that's when we win. We don't use the same tactics again, for they will be ready when we try. We conceptualize and learn their thoughts, through their actions. They do not understand us. It is our only advantage, for each progression of our tech is met by another evolution of their monsters. Someday we will not be able to make a stronger bullet to match their stronger armor. We must anticipate a limit to this war, and fight accordingly."
"I can only anticipate getting into a mech and fighting bugs!" Conner had said. His teacher had given him that look. Nobody else got that look. Conner got it everywhere. He thought back to those days, he'd really thought he'd see action, in a mech, fighting bugs.
The rest of his class went on to become mech knights. All of them had seen action. Of course, none of them were left alive, and few of their mech were salvaged. Except, Pharlie.
Her mech was the third in a row of ones hit by a single plasma beam of the enemy. While the first two were instantly blown to atomic dust, her mech was only knocked over and set on fire. The ejection seat in the cockpit had the one and a half seconds needed to egress the mech knight safely.
She'd spent some time in relieved-of-duty status on Maranda Beach before she insisted they give her something to do. They quickly evaluated her and decided she wasn't fit for duty in a mech. Something about 'shutting down the Berserker Program' and 'protocols preventing reinstating anyone who qualifies to pilot a Berserker Mech'. Not happening under Admiral Khaspa.
"How's getting into a mech and fighting bugs, Conner? Still anticipating it?" Pharlie asked her old classmate.
"You are under my command. Watch your tone, I run a cruel shift." Conner grumbled.
"Aye, Skipper." Pharlie cringed, realizing the bureaucrat Conner had no sense of humor anymore. She decided to make it her personal mission to work on that. Conner with no humor didn't sound fun.
That scene in the classroom was a long time ago, but it was with Conner like it just happened. He hated Pharlie, because she stood for his humiliation, and wanted to humiliate her, but then he hated himself for feeling that way. He resolved to leave her be because he didn't want to feed his own calloused resentments.
"We've got work to do. We are reassigned to military surplus salvage. This job just keeps getting better. I used to think I would somehow be tested on a battlefield to save the galaxy, but out here I just get tested by boredom. I don't even feel the shame of these janitorial jobs anymore, I'm numb to it." Conner said to Pharlie, the next time they spoke. Pharlie realized he was trying to be nice to her and asked him:
"You'd rather be dead, or be me?" She wondered.
"Yeah. You don't know what it is like flying around delivering stuff and counting crap. I hate it. I could've made an actual difference." Conner complained personally.
Pharlie smiled and said: "You'd have made no more difference than the rest of us did. You don't know what a victory against the bugs costs, do you? You think you just have to stand there bravely shooting back and if you die, oh well, otherwise it's all glory. It's never like that. It hurts, it hurts a lot, because you don't die. Everyone else does. And for what? We just play the same game again next weekend, and it never changes."
"That's war." Conner nodded. "What am I doing? I bring supplies to remote outposts. It's pointless."
"Not anymore, they reassigned us to go pick up supplies, remember?" Pharlie pointed out.
"Oh yeah - don't remind me, just when I though my life couldn't be more tedious or pointless." Conner fell silent, realizing he sounded weak and small, complaining so much. He wished he was stoic, but he had a chance to confide in Pharlie, and he had taken it. Pharlie said:
"You're right. But let's make the most of it." And she smiled, so Conner decided that letting someone know just how miserable he was wasn't entirely a bad thing. He just wished he could somehow just be good with it, without having to use drugs or somesuch. He really felt like his combat skills were going to waste, sitting on a ship for long years, asleep and going around picking up supplies. As Pharlie had pointed out, they weren't even delivering them anymore, new mission, go get all that stuff the aliens made over the centuries for the war effort.
Rhema loomed in the distance. "We are picking up artwork on this world. Are you kidding me? The manifest shows it is categorized as artwork. So this community of variety-hour aliens have compiled some kind of treasure trove of fine art. This is asinine." Pharlie offered.
"That's enough of that." Conner chastised her formally on the deck, but he was smiling as he said it. He loved having her there stating his real feelings. "The mission is to acquire this propaganda, it is deemed useful to the war effort."
The world was like melted orange-cream covered in brown fog, a desolate radiated landscape below testified to the destructive power of the Unknown. The same Dark Beings had taken shots from the darkness with precise aim and killed some of the older aliens, such as the Frendsikeel. Long ago the peaceful otter people had lived happily on Rhema, inviting trade via broadcast.
After meeting an assortment of artist-aliens wearing shimmering dark-colored robes and cowls, the human delegate collecting military surplus accepted the crates of fine art, packed for their shipping across the stars, trusted to nobody except the human military to safely transport it.
"Conner." A call came in from Supply Command Unk Gheldin, Conner's commander. "You just earned me a promotion. The patrons of Rhema have instituted a check as a downpayment on our services. It's enough to build an entire warship. These aliens are loaded and just became our daddy. You're doing good work out there, the war effort thanks you!"
"I'll be sure and handle with care." Conner saluted diligently.
The next world was Arienta, populated by what was left of aliens who looked like huge anthropomorphic tarantulas.
"We've perfected a drug that can induce Star Sleep in humans. They said it was not possible for such belligerent minds to Star Sleep, but our colony of volunteers have allowed us to test every kind of euphoria and pleasure-inducing drug we could on them. Most species wouldn't have such a supply of volunteers, but humans come from far and wide to live as our guests, accepting our hospitality for their entire lives, saying they don't ever want to leave." The high priestess of the Blue Light Watchers, Rhoxa Billi, explained the doped humans lounging around everywhere.
"They look like slackers, sir." Pharlie said loudly.
"That's enough of that." Conner admonished her, but was smiling, glad she said what he was thinking. He faced the high priestess formally and said:
"We'll take this drug, and thank you for your hard work." Conner waved his fingers in the spiritual way to show he knew the sacred gratitude of the Blue Light Watchers. He'd studied how to do it on the way over, practicing it for days until he was confident he could do it right.
The next stop was Basilik, an industrialized wasteland where the Sunder had hundreds of thousands of giant humanoid machines, in loincloths, working tirelessly to drag massive monolithic super metal beams across rollers, up ramps to assemble indestructible mech chassis to sell to the humans.
"Sir, we take shipments from here all the time. What are we here for?" Pharlie asked.
"Not a what, a whom." Conner said.
The casket of the revered Exalted Inquisitor Eshka Layenna was loaded on board, but it was not made by Sunder. No, it was tech from some other society, preserving her eternally in a state of dormancy, a kind of molecular stasis.
"We're taking her back to the ones who put her in there. They have a gift for us. She is our gift for them. The Sunder have agreed to this, in the name of the war effort."
The Desperado star sailed to the nearby Kriesene system where an old gravity cloud that looked like a planet had hundreds of planet-sized moons dancing around it like an insane ballroom.
"The shoals around their world will make this somewhat dangerous to traverse. We have a map, given to us by the Sunder, so we should be fine." Conner told Pharlie.
"Danger, eh? Kinda like it, don't you?" Pharlie teased.
"That's enough of that." Conner said without any real command in it, smiling.
The Skiesene had a moon-sized space station named Thoughtfulness where they conducted much of their trade with each other. They looked like dark-shelled nightmare creatures, some kind of H.R. Giger prophecy had remembered these creatures long before humans had met them.
Conner witnessed their massed warriors, in stasis, embroidered stole draped over them, crouched motionless atop pedestals with twenty-yard tall tapestries depicting their many victories in bloody combat. They sat there in a great hall in their various forms and armors, but always hideous monsters, reminding him of the Dark Beings vaguely, except devoid of insectoid features.
The Skiesene were delighted by the delivery of their goddess, Eshka Layenna. A time without bloodshed was declared, and the Skiesene offered a shipment of their finest warriors, in egg form.
The Skiesene Khan grinned with uncannily human-looking teeth, but in its grin was a sharpened beak that could pierce the solid dome that was their head, with no eyes or ears, at least not in one place, for they had sensory all over their bodies.
"Uh, thanks. We could always use some special, uh, special forces." Conner accepted the eggs, as he was under orders to do. They were preserved until called, using a key to deactivate the stasis they were in. Then they would serve the orders in their minds, to obey their human commanders.
"I hope they don't have to facehug us and chest burst us." Pharlie chuckled.
"That's enough of that." Conner told her, smiling.
The last stop was the world of the Beebee, aliens who looked like cats wearing incredibly fancy clothing.
"We've tailored new uniforms for the human armies. You'll like them." The Master of Design, top official of the Beebee, told Conner, purring as he went.
Conner put one hand on his elbow and one holding his chin, trying to keep a straight face, when he saw the uniforms.
"They are a little small, don't you think?" Conner looked at the feline models in the uniforms meant for human soldiers.
"And kinda derpy with all those frills and colors?" Pharlie offered further criticism.
The Master of Design seemed to think the uniforms were being complimented, anticipating no other response. It took a moment to sink in that the humans were mocking all their hard work.
"All of the specifications for armored clothing were met. These uniforms will preserve your body temperature in very extreme conditions and will slow ballistic projectiles so that they cannot penetrate the cloth, but instead have their kinetics splattered outward and also the colors shift to the mood of the wearer. You can make it camouflage if you like. We worried that human sizes made dispensing millions of these uniforms impractical compared to making an adjustable size. Try one on." The Master of Design was not offended, but stood his ground, his hair puffing up making him look sophisticated and official. His whiskers twitched handsomely at the end and he gave a prolonged blink.
"They still look silly, why so many frills?" Pharlie chuckled.
"That's enough of that." Conner sighed.
The humans were about to leave and board their ship when Conner spotted an ancient mech standing next to the star port.
"What's that?" he asked.
"The tomb of Drastic Conner Mcfarley, the mech knight who defended our world, surprising a lone scout of the Dark Beings and engaging it in single one-on-one combat, saving our world. Drastic Conner Mcfarley died in his mech during the battle. The scout retreated and left us unharmed." The Master of Design said.
"Why'd it leave?" Conner asked, but recalled what his clan father had done. He awaited the answer he knew:
"Drastic Conner Mcfarley disarmed it, but left its capacity to retreat intact. It is believed he deliberately used this measure of engagement, in order to ensure the enemy would not retaliate by bombarding our world. When one of them dies, the world they die on gets destroyed. He might have survived the battle if he'd just killed it when he had the chance. We know this. He sacrificed himself to save us."
"That's right." Conner nodded. He and Pharlie felt solemn, realizing how far their journey had taken them, all the way to where it had began for them. "We're him, and we won't let you down."

Introduction
Someone reading this book may wonder what sort of audience is being targeted here. They may also be confused as to what the endgame is behind such a book. The aim of this book is to parallel the different religious & mystic traditions & connect them to the tropes that we find near death experiences propagate. They often are reconnecting us with what ancient texts have said but in the modern secular world where materialism is the norm we have become numb to the meanings & impact behind such text. These texts are often considered archaic & primitive. Unable to contribute much to the modern world they may only be useful in prayer chants.
Thus I aim here to revitalise the spirit of these traditions and connect them to what many call the modern day scriptures. The study of near death experiences, neuroscience, consciousness & other paranormal phenomena.
The endgame of the mystic is to connect, achieve union, knowledge and self growth. Thus by approaching all these texts and the various evolving thought that emerged from it, we can explore the parallels and connections that bridge the gap between traditions. The beauty of mysticism and perennial philosophy is the freedom it offers in interpretation.
This book doesn't focus on the question of whether scriptures are divinely inspired, man made tools written for sociological and political agendas or some sort of corrupted divinity. That discussion is a debate that will never end. Rather the focus here is on the possible wisdom & theological beliefs which parallel and mesh together well in forming a higher meaning & connection to the divine. Whether it be a higher power, an all pervading source or a metaphysical truth. You aren’t required to literally believe the divinity of these texts. A simple level of curiosity & intrigue is sufficient.
However one may contend that it is easy to parallel traditions when they are in harmony but when they differ they directly contradict rendering these connections meaningless and superficial. Therein lies the limitations of this book. Therefore the following concepts won’t be discussed in here. These are mainly :

• Unverifiable supernatural claims such as ancient miracles for instance Moses parting the sea, Jesus walking on water, resurrecting etc. For someone expecting this book to be a source of evidence for a specific religion it unfortunately won’t be. However there are multiple correlations and connections and these may act as subtle signs of evidence for a specific faith or multiple of them.
  
• Reconciling contradictions between belief systems and scriptures. For example whether the Divine is a trinity or a unity. Whether a certain sage was superior to another. For instance comparing the personality of Jesus with Muhammad, whether the Bible is morally perfect or not & a plethora of other beliefs that may not agree with one another. The book simply assumes they all are imperfect systems.
  
• The scientific debate on whether NDEs are classified as hallucinations or genuine supernatural occurrences. Whilst an interesting topic in itself, it is out of the scope of this book with many other books discussing the science behind ndes. However when necessary nde claims will be contrasted with naturalistic explanations.
  

The primary focus is in following a don't throw the baby out with the bathwater approach. Some may also contend that this book follows a shopping cart style of cherrypicking from texts and discarding beliefs from texts one subjectively finds inappropriate. To this I would simply say that the approach here is one of finding the parallels that align well together and acknowledging when a belief doesn't align well. Not necessarily a pick and choose system. An approach I would call the rational mystic.
The rational mystic is one who is simply open to what may be beyond their senses. They may be mystically inclined, fascinated and open to the plethora of supernatural ideas. However they will not blindly believe any and all beliefs. They will discern using rational faculties what of mysticism is most compatible with reality, what the data or evidence shows & what is more probable than not. I believe people of all beliefs or no beliefs can fit this definition. Whether you identify by a religion, as spiritual but not religious, non religious, atheist, deist or agnostic. Thus a skeptic or believer may able to gain an appreciation for these belief systems.
This book dives into the verses and parallels of ancient texts such as the Old Testament, Gospels, Quran, Hadith, Bhagwad Gita, Dhammapada, Tao Te Ching & Gathas of Zoroaster. Other older parallels such as from Vedic India, Ancient Egypt, Greece & Mesopotamia may be referenced.
Alongside that are the testimonies of NDEs and how they may parallel or differ to these texts. This book also attempts to provide commentary on major philosophical themes & elaborate on various exegesis, mystical traditions such as Kaballah, Sufism, Advaita Vedanta, Neoplatonism & Chinese thought. Since mysticism is ultimately about experience it relevant and useful to enhance these discussions by contrasts to various scientific ideas, philosophy & pop culture.
NDE Filter Methodology
One of the problems with ndes is the fact that they are subjective experiences which we cannot objectively verify or replicate. This makes them a weaker form of evidence compared to empirical studies which can replicate the results. These present a challenge. An individual nde may therefore be subject to embellishment, fabrications & delusions. Therefore in picking our choice of NDEs here we can only look at ndes as a whole in terms of statistical patterns that form. This is the methodology used in NDE literature by various academics including neuroscientists & philosophers researching the phenomenon.
To elaborate we therefore will discard testimonies that appear embellished with fantastical details. These fantastical details may also be subjective from person to person. Calling an otherworldly journey fantastical is simply irony. However in following the certain patterns that appear cross culturally in ndes it is much easier to identify reports that are considered fantastical. The following tropes appear the most across multiple nde studies.

• Out of Body Experience
• Tunnel of Light
• Meeting deceased relatives or unknown beings
• Perceiving a highly luminous pervading light
• Feelings of absolute peace, comfort & love
• Arriving at an otherworldly place ie a meadow, garden etc.
• Life Review
• Border of no return
• Pluralistic message about love & wisdom

There are of course other concepts that ndes reference which appear from time to time. These allow ndes to be flexible and not rigid experiences. After all no two nde experiences are the same. However using these motifs listed we can filter through unreliable ndes. These include

• NDE reports that are highly coloured with religious fundamentalist tropes particularly tropes promoting an exclusivist attitude to religion.
• NDEs that appear too detailed, fantastical & unrestricted appearing more like a science fiction or fantasy novel. For example nde claims of multiple lives on other planets or large scale prophecies & apocalyptic predictions & generally things that differ wildly from the core themes
• NDEs that talk too much about one specific spiritual concept, portraying themselves as special, prophets or mediums turning their nde into a narcissistic or monetary agenda through spiritual coaching, multiple books etc.

Finally one may say that the chapters of this book attempt to hint at the veracity of a religion & this book is a subtle attempt to proselytize that faith. I will reiterate that this book isnt trying to prove any specific religion. There may be subtle signs from one faith that fit better with the nde phenomenon than others. The following theories I would say explain these subtle signs. I leave it up to the reader to decide what they feel is the best explanation.

• Universal Divine Theory : This is the idea that prophets, mystics & sages from different cultures have been inspired through revelation from the same source & this explains the shared insights of a religion & ndes.
  
• Mystic Wisdom Theory : This simply means that certain religious writers and founders were simply wise spiritual men, mystically inclined honing on their intuition & knowledge.
  
• Intertextuality Theory : Each new religious founder simply built of older religious ideas assimilating it into their theologies.
  

Whilst these theories may suggest a subtle spark of corresponding truths, generally NDEs dont explicitly point to any religion. Some say its simply the case that a Christian will see Jesus, a Muslim will see Allah, A Jew sees Yahweh & a Hindu sees Krishna. This of course is not entirely true. The portion of ndes that claim to see Jesus form a minority & interestingly they too dont point at specific doctrines. NDE experiencers may simply describe a sentient light they perceive to be God. This being doesnt tell anybody that I am Yahweh or Allah. Experiencers will say that religious texts fall short of describing this being. It is beyond what people are taught in religion.
Those who are familiar with NDE reports and studies will know that NDEs tend to be very religion agnostic and at best subtly imply a religious correlation but rarely do we find massive amounts of nde reports cross culturally presenting exclusivist dogmas such as follow holy book x or you will burn, believe Jesus died for your sin or you will burn for eternity. When an nde does present this its seen as a red flag since this doesn't occur with the majority of other ndes. The most we have are subtle religious correlations. However NDEs do present us with certain philosophical dilemmas when it comes to religion.

• If NDEs are vague about religion how are we to interpret these religions ? Are we to see them as man made socio-cultural constructs ? Are we to see them as inspired by God but limited to their time ? Are we to see them as partially divine partially man made scriptures ?
  
• If NDEs prove that religions are man made we must ask what purpose the creator has behind the nde. If the creator has allowed man made cultures to negatively influence and control the world throughout history and has not intervened or communicated with humanity one must wonder what point there is in a nde being a message in the 21st century. So on one hand the NDE presents us with a deistic God who doesnt intervene and let false religions begin and on the other hand the God of the NDE seems very personal, involved in human lives, keeps tracks, feels love and joy for humans etc
  
• If one, many or all religions are truly divinely inspired why do NDES never directly point to this ? NDEs seem more concerned in lessons but not in pointing people to a religion.
  

Some may ask what difference does it make that it doesnt point to a religion. if anything NDEs show us that God is far beyond the narrow confines of religions. It makes an immense difference when we factor the fact that religions have influenced entire cultures and civilisations in good and bad ways. Religions have been used to wage war, cause destruction, control the masses, brainwash, confuse and build fear into the human subconscious. And on the good side religions have given hope to the world that suffering isnt in vain, that life has meaning & that justice and ultimate happiness exists.
For alot of people the need to connect to the transcendental is insatiable and religion provides a whole structure of beliefs that one can organise themselves on. For some this is very restricting and enforces a cultural dogma on to everyone. They may prefer a shopping cart version of religion where they take whats good for them and discard what they disagree on. For others they prefer to deny all religious concepts as dogma and cultural beliefs. One could argue that humans need the cultural clothing of customs and traditions to keep their lives going, something which they can use to relate with to the divine. Not everyone can believe in an abstract deity that they cannot conceive of in the absence of symbols such as scriptures.
Religious texts provide at the very least a gateway to which one can relate through stories of heroes, morals and metaphors of the divine. Of course none of this leads us to whether said divine being has revealed these texts, whether they are inspired but corrupted by man or fully man made. These symbols act as aids in feeling like we have a piece of the divine soul with us thus giving comfort and hope. Thus whilst some have no need for religions, for the masses religions have immense value.
So why dont NDEs prove religion ?
There are no clear answers to this (unless somebody has an nde and asks whoever they speak with to tell them in specifics what religion is from God and whats not) all we can do is speculate. The ndes that do ask or do mention a scripture are so few that we cannot form any conclusion on this.

• The simplest answer is that all religions are man made for good or bad intentions but this would of course lead us to the philosophical deist dilemma.
• Perhaps the NDEs message focuses on the lessons and ideals itself and sees scriptures and religions as redundant (even if there is a divine hand behind some) After all these are mainly symbols and cannot compare to a direct mystical experience (something fundamentalists struggle with)
• Perhaps an attempt to promote any specific faith would lead to an assumption that the nde message is about exclusivist salvation and leading to the worship of scriptures/religions (something fundamentalists struggle with)
• Perhaps this proves that religions are limited to their century and context and that we should only look to them for the universal timeless message they offer not the specifics. After all all major scriptures teach the core values that NDEs have revitalised ie love, mercy, kindness etc

Do NDEs support materialism or not ?
While the aim of this book isnt to debate the afterlife or brain hypothesis, I will say that at the time of this being written, my view on ndes is to say that I consider them a plausible source of evidence towards consciousness surviving death & the afterlife existing. This view of mine may change in time towards either side. The following are some reasons I would argue for them being plausible.
1 Veridical NDEs : Numerous NDES report out of body experiences including witnessing of events in an environment when this should not be possible. More than 100+ veridical cases have been documented. Not to mention veridical cases from across different countries which further strengthens the case. We would have to be radically skeptical to consider all of these testimonies fabricated.
2 Lucid narrative : NDERS experience a highly lucid narrative that usually doesn't end in the middle or chaotically unlike dreams or hallucinations. Their ndes tend to be structured with a beginning, middle and end where they are either told, know or are sucked back into the body. This is quite a strange experience compared to delirium, delusions, hallucinations etc.
3 Deceased Relatives : Most NDES claim to see deceased relatives rather than alive people supporting the afterlife hypothesis. We should expect a mixed cocktail of alive & deceased people appearing in ndes if this was a case of dreams or hallucinations. The population that do claim to see a mixed group of alive and deceased is quite a small proportion of total ndes.
4 Intuitive Reality : NDERS are very convinced that they are in a hyper real reality that makes this world seem black and white, like a dream/illusion as some would say. They are intuitively convinced they are in something real the way we might be talking in person, as opposed to it being just a dream. In one study its believed that nders brain recollect their nde as if it's a real world memory.
5 ESP claims : NDERS may perceive no time at all, may experience a life review such that they can feel the feelings of others and recall memories long forgotten. They may feel like they intuitively know things without needing to learn. Some may report greater vision and detail than waking life, ability to hear thoughts, instantaneously appear, be in two places at once or pass through solid walls.
5 Religious Expectations : NDES often may contradict the beliefs of many Christians, Atheists and Muslims who have varying beliefs about the afterlife. Some may be surprised to experience the things they see & are particularly surprised at the ESP abilities as these are not predicted by religions. Particularly interesting are religious conservative ndes with more exclusivist beliefs who are surprised and end up becoming more pluralist and liberal.
6 Clinical Death Scenario : The best NDE studies focus on scenarios whereby the person undergoes cardiac arrest and thus clinical death. At this time a person has no heartbeat, no breathing, dilated pupils, no light reflex, no gag reflex and EEG reading of little to no brain activity. This is consistent with unconsciousness as no blood and oxygen can fully reach the brain. Furthermore the fact that most undergoing clinical death dont report any experiences means NDEs are odd occurrences & consciousness should not occur.
7 Transformation : NDERS often are transformed in their beliefs with less to no fear of death, detachment from the material, more interest in altruism and spirituality and are impacted by their NDE for decades, remembering it far more than a hallucination or dream. They see it as the most important experience of their life.
8 Double edged sword : The fact that not everyone has an nde may support the idea of nde being more than brain activity. After all if the nde simply was some evolutionary dying mechanism we would expect everybody to have one. This point could also support naturalistic hypothesis (See below)
However there is still uncertainty regarding the nde phenomenon and further data, & studies are required to build a case that is greater than just plausible. These are some opposing reasons to consider doubt in them valid
1 Embellishment : NDEs are unverifiable and therefore we cannot verify which ndes are authentic or which ndes are embellished over time with the nders own thoughts, interpretations or exaggerations. This makes it easier for fabrications and frauds to claim an nde experience.
2 Brain Activity : Since NDES happen during clinical death or unconscious states where a persons brain can be returned to living we cannot be sure that there isnt some deeper brain activity that causes an nde. We also cant be sure than an nde isnt happening in the window where cerebral blood flow hasnt ceased or in the window where CPR leads back to cerebral blood flow. EEG machines also have certain limitations such that they cannot detect deeper brain regions due to the skulls electrical resistance. EEG spikes may occur due to muscle twitches & electrical noise which can often make it harder to differentiate whether this is due to the NDE or not.
3 Cultural/Religious Contradictions : If we keep an open mind, its entirely possible that a Western nde could see Jesus, an Indian nde see Buddha or an Indian nde see Jesus & a Western nde see Buddha. It seems this can be reconciled by the idea that ndes are customized to fit what comforts people subconsciously. Japanese NDEs for example see a bridge/river symbolizing journey to another world, Westerners a portal/tunnel. Westerners relate best to Jesus, Easterners to other figures. However some ndes provide conflicting metaphysical views. This can be an issue with some ndes if nde 1 says they were told to keep reincarnating until they reach nirvana, nde 2 says something more fitting to abrahamic faith. nde 3 says hell doesnt exist and nde 4 says they saw hell realms.
4 Double edged Sword : This point can be argued for ndes (See above) but also against ndes. Only a small percentage 10-20% of those under cardiac arrest are said to have experienced an nde. This point leaves questions as to why aren't all people experiencing an nde. Should we not expect a larger proportion say more than half of people to experience an nde ? If there is a realm beyond the material should we not expect every person to experience an nde. A low proportion may mean that the nde is some sort of brain anomaly. We only have speculations as to why all dont get an nde.
5 Future Science : Current materialistic explanations may be inadequate to explain ndes but this doesnt mean that future understanding of the brain may not yield a new theory/explanation that explains it away. Thus it remains a potential argument.
All of these points are worthy discussions on their own and can be found in various other valuable books. The above points are simply a valuable framework by which the reader may be able to take away what they value out of this book. Everything written is simply my own research into the subject & I always advise people to take it with a grain of salt unless it makes rational sense to you & appeals to your intuition.
Diving into the depths
Spirituality & mysticism can be thought of as two sides of the same coin with philosophy the ring that runs the circumference of the coin. While spirituality deals with the human aspects such as soul, spirit, ego, morality & purpose, mysticism deals with the divine aspects of things such as essences, attributes, metaphors, realities, realms, entities, space, time, substances etc. We aim to dive into the following themes in this book.
The Divine Source : Everything relevant to defining the higher power & source of existence including essences & attributes.

Consciousness & Spirit : Everything relevant to the nature of consciousness, qualia, perceptions, the spirit & soul.
Reality : Everything relevant to the nature of perception, illusion, concepts, space, time, substances, modes, forms & realities.
Spirituality & Purpose : Everything relevant to the nature of human meaning, objectives, purpose & suffering.
Morality : Everything relevant to values, ideals, ethics & morals.
Knowledge & Truth : Everything relevant to the nature of seeking truth, seeking knowledge & attaining wisdom. These include concepts such as beliefs, truths, axioms, speculations, nature of inspirations & revelations.
Awakening & Dark night of Soul : Everything relevant to the nature of materialism, spiritual awakening, seeking inner peace, anxieties, depression, remorse, angst & layers of the psyche.
Divine Sorrow : Everything relevant to the nature of the eschatological souls corruption, redemption, purification, punishment, divine justice & mercy including modes & forms.
Divine Bliss : Everything relevant to the nature of the souls destiny, ultimate peace, happiness, bliss & divine love including modes & forms.

Hi. I am a 24 year old female who has become a shell of herself and i’m fighting like hell to be okay again. I started experiencing severe pain in my back and slowly has gone to my shoulders and neck. My leg goes numb when I drive. I am on gabapentin 300 mg 3x a day and I am scared of this drug but it’s the only thing that helps. After further research on other symptoms I am having that I do not feel comfortable sharing I am convinced it is lyme disease. My mental health is on the floor. I have been to a psychiatrist since I was 12 years old and have been able to handle my anxiety and depression symptoms up until December of last year. I went through a really traumatic breakup and my family said they thought the medication I was on was making me act like a zombie because i was so out of it so i just quit taking everything. but prior to my health decline i thought i was doing fine on it. I was on Latuda.
From January to around the end of february or beginning of March I was acting like myself again but I was getting weaker and sicker. By April, physically my body has Deteriorated to the point where it’s hard for me to walk. I have seen a rheumatologist and just completed a nerve conduction study. By this time I was and still am a nervous wreck. Panic attacks every day for absolutely no reason and my chest feels heavy. I cannot find a new psychiatrist so I have left my mental health symptoms in the hands of my PCP and I don’t think she’s understanding the severity of this.
Since I don’t have a diagnosis yet I feel like everyone is looking at me like a drug seeker. She placed me on seroquil about a month ago and I don’t know what it’s done besides make me gain over 7lbs, sleep, and cry a lot and be angry, maybe it’s just making me have a clearer mind and i’ve realized I am angry that no one is taking me seriously and my life has changed completely and I have been grieving who I once was. I don’t think an antipsychotic is what I need since I have been told before that I am not Bipolar. Either way, I just want something for anxiety and panic attacks. Has anyone experienced anything like this while taking both gab and seroquil? I want off the gab but i am afraid that once I get off of it I won’t be able to walk again, i feel weak and like my entire back is vibrating and my insides are being electrocuted. I am so scared.
I know how some people can be so let me just say this. I hate being high or under the influence of anything. I can’t even take THC or CBD because feeling like i’m not in control of my body scares me. I don’t even drink except maybe 2 glasses of wine with an alcohol volume of 5% and that is like maybe 1 time every few months. I am just genuinely scared of who I am becoming. Any advice on how to overcome this fear will be greatly appreciated.

It might seem that I'm coming the long way around, but bare with me.
Back in the 1980s, I got really sick and was diagnosed with CFS/FM. Of course I think it was called Chronic Mononucleosis at the time. So many years later, about 15 years ago, I went back to school. I noticed that standing a long time, or walking long distances, was difficult. But I dismissed it as CFS problems, and being older and overweight. But some days it was even hard to go up the stairs from the garage, or stand for an hour to cook dinner.
So around this time I started getting what I thought was sciatica. My leg hurt really badly when I laid down, and my lower back too. My toes got numb. I got sharp pain at the apex of my thigh and pelvis, like my leg was out of socket. I even went to the ER once with back pain so bad that I thought I would pass out.
Then, last summer, while out looking for a new home, I tripped and fell - hard. My left leg swelled a lot and the doctors at the ER said I had a severe hematoma and my leg was just useless for months. I did PT to help. Then, after Xmas, I got Covid and was sick for 3 weeks. One week after that my leg, that was still swollen from falling, which is why it took me a few days to realize things were wonky, swelled even more. In fact, the night things got really bad, both my legs were swollen, as was my hips and stomach. I noticed my leg was blue and decided I should go to the ER. Things got bad quickly at that point, and I couldn't stand or walk, couldn't get in the car. Had to call an ambulance.
At the hospital they did a hand scan of my leg and told me I had a clot from my ankle to my hip. I was in a lot of pain by then, and suddenly it was all pain meds and heparin drip and a nice doctor came to talk to me about surgery options and what recovery would mean with it or without.
I chose surgery. They put a sheath into my vein and did some localize, very strong 'clot busting' meds. The next day the clot was gone from my knee to my hip except...
They said I had a really big and old clot in my hip. That it had to have been there for a decade, that the veins had rerouted themselves and so on and that there was so much scar tissue they didn't think they could do anything about it. They ran a wire through my vein to try and got some of it. And said the remnants might be there forever.
I was in the hospital for 10 days. That was mid Feb. I am walking as much as I can, and it's better all the time, but I still have a lot of trouble with mobility. Swelling is better all the time, but not normal. The 'sciaticia' pain is gone, the back pain is gone. I can stand for a long time with no pain. All of those symptoms are gone. I think it was the clot.
Anyways, it's a journey and I'm still struggling through it. Just glad to be here.

Im posting now because my biggest revenge is being over you. The manipulation tactics and the build up of trauma to form bonds was the only thing that gave you any power, and that wore off quickly, I could out you on everything , could really make you sad , scared , make you run .... But the best thing I can do is allow you to stay. Thinking that you won is punishment enough . You living off the thought that you got one over on me is punishment enough. I don't even want to put you down , you do that enough for yourself ,, but I have to say you rarely on this earth find people equally as ugly on the inside as they are on the outside. The type of person with the ability to transform a happy person into a shell of their former selves and actually enjoy and feed off of that energy. I asked God what should I do and you know what he told me, less is always more , for any fear she has of me will be multiplied infinitely on her judgement day . For the truth is this life does not matter as much as one might think.what matters is the cleanliness of your soul. Your morality , your value to cherish one's self and never be going beyond that invisible line between good and evil. You used to talk about how you were abused in so many ways by men , that it caused you to be able to go numb and look the other way. Truth is though, you can't go numb when the devil has his hands around your hips , and he is punishing you for your every sinful deed and desire beside the lake of fire. It's true , there is a special place in hell for all those men and women who choose to take that path . The pain is not measurable, nor is it describable in words . No man can ever do what he will do to you . They just don't have it in them . So when you beg for people of all color to release their seeds inside of you on earth ., be certain you are prepared for Satan's nut , of fire and acid and everything unholy, because you don't know it yet , but your biggest fears will become reality , and it will make your worst experience on earth , seem like a wonderful vacation . He has wanted me to warm you . That you've already sealed your fate , and there's no going back now . Nothing you can ever do or say will relieve you of the long strokes and lava release that is in store for you. Just Rememeber this . I'm just the messenger . I come to give you foresight. Not to save yourself, but to prepare yourself for what is yet to come . Enjoy your fate. Repent . Hope for the best, but what is done is done. You are possessed by his demons and they'll take you to the grave , in order to meet your master

Male 45
Around 3 weeks ago I started to get some pains around mid and lower back area on right hand side. This seemed to then spread and I felt the pain both sides as well as on the front and down sides. Started to then get shivers about 4 days in then 6th day really bad shivers, no heat in my hands, even numbness on one of my forearms, night sweats, headaches, nausea feeling etc. On checking urine that day at start it was quite cloudy and dark and over the day I was running to toilet quite a bit.
Next day I’d had enough and as it was weekend went to out of hours docs for NHS and was told they found “plus one” for white blood cells in urine, this was after about 6 toilet breaks already that day and drinking around 1.5 litres of water so maybe thinks were diluted. They didn’t do any culture tests etc as out of hours only have so many options. I was put on antibiotics for a week which took away the worst / weirder of the symptoms to the point that I was only left with the pain and the pain had decreased and was primarily on right side again but not always. Was getting it just above belly button on both sides at one time or another but again mainly right.
The day after finishing the first antibiotic pain started to build again so went back to out of hours again 2 days after they ended as it was a bank holiday weekend. They ran the urine test and nothing came back but I was only finished antibiotic about 36 hours before so not sure if that’s why. Anyway they gave me another week course but asked me to go to gp right away next day. I did so and brought a urine sample, at this point id finished the first antibiotic about 2.5 days before and had started the second set and had a full days dose the day before. Anyway the urine sample didn’t grow anything during the culture test which may be down to the antibiotics - I really don’t know - but apparently pus was found in the sample. What amount I’m not sure.
I’ve continued to take the second antibiotic course and towards the end I felt the pain reducing further. The day after it finished I was quite hopeful it was dealt with as pain had subsided so much but it was short lived as the day after that it got a bit worse again and today it’s also there and definitely sorer again.
At this point I really don’t know what to do, I’m now 4 days after my last antibiotic. I’m fearful if I leave another sample in too soon for a culture whether they will find anything unless I give more time since antibiotics. Equally I’m fearful to start another dose until I can get some answers as I expect urine tests are then pointless again if they cannot grow any culture. Not sure whether to leave in a sample tomorrow or wait till next week further in the hope that they can find the bacteria and better treat it, the downside being I can’t treat it till I do that. Equally maybe I just need to be on them longer than a week without break.
After the last antibiotic i feel I was nearly better and I just need a longer course. Just need this gone as it’s tiring.
Anyone been through this before or anyone have any medical expertise in the area, any advice?

The pain was the worst thing`Dominick Mason had ever known…and he knew what it felt like to die. It felt like his brain was in a blender, being chopped to liquid for a Jeffery Dahmer smoothie and though it seemed melodramatic, he imagined he could feel himself losing brain cells by the minute. The sun, Merrick told him, would not burn him, but it would decay him faster, so sleep or rest during the day. With the sick, throbbing agony in the center of his brain, however, that was impossible. He spent most of the day curled up on his side, hugging his knees, and moaning. He had flashbacks to dying in his apartment, and that made things even worse. The room became too small, too close, the air too stale. His heart, filled with the blood of last night’s meal, pounded in his chest, and he went from slightly chilly to hot and feverish as blood was forced through his circulatory system. It mixed with the embalming fluid and left him feeling full and constipated. He didn’t want to get up, but he also didn’t want to go on lying there. He was the definition of miserable.
Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.

PC
Reddit Account: FromTheInkpot
Discord Tag: jayonline
Name and House: Tessario of Lys
Age: 28
Cultural Group: Valyrian
Appearance: Taller than the average man, with slender and effeminate features. His skin is pale, his hair consists of curled white locks and his eyes are a vivid lilac. He favours black leathers with silver accents, and often adds coloured silks as sashes, belts, or capes. On the middle finger of his left hand he wears a signet ring of black steel and gold, used to seal letters from the Pearl Bank.
Trait: Marketer
Skill(s): Avaricious (e), Merchantman (e), Broker
Talent(s): Linguistics, Arithmetic, Reading People
Negative Trait(s): Sociopath (non-mechanical)
Starting Title(s): Keyholder of the Pearl Bank, Heir to the blood of Altaerys (secret)
Starting Location: Opening Event
Alternate Characters: N/A
Bio:
Born in the year 4BC, Tessario was the son of a Lyseni courtesan and a nobleman of the Old Blood who had left for the Black Walls of Volantis before he even knew of the child.
Growing up in Lys, Tessario was raised by his mother in a small manse where she would teach him lessons learnt from the courts of the free city.
Since his mother first spoke to him tales of Valyria and dragon riders, Tessario was enthralled.
His bloodline was of the forty families, from one of the few dragonlords on Lys during the 'Night of Tears', when the dragonlords had been poisoned and their dragons slain by their very hosts - the magisters. That the dragon rider had been his ancestor was his family's deepest secret and one that could have seen them killed in generations past.
The knowledge that the dragon riders of old were his very ancestors was almost too much for the young boy to keep secret. Especially now, when dragons had waged conquest on Westeros' shores so recently. But while the Targaryen's were said to wed brother to sister to keep their bond with the dragons strong, his family had not had a dragon rider in five generations. Since then his family's bloodline - the house of Altaerys, thought lost in the Doom of Valyria and the Century of Blood since, had become clouded with the Old Blood of Volantis during their occupation of Lys. And before that, diluted among the courts of Lys the Lovely, where none truly knew or at least none spoke of how much dragon blood they had. It was clear most of Lys had some. The features of silver-blond or white hair and the eyes of pale blue or shades of purple were all too common. The city was truly Valyrian. Who knew how many dragonlords' legacies his blood carried now?
Tessario, with his pure Valyrian blood and features to match, had the fiery will of his ancestors but an uncommonly pragmatic mind. As he grew, so did his keen mind, picking up his numbers and letters faster than other boys his age.
Raised in the turbulence of a city still reeling from the uprising against Volantis, Tessario learnt how violent people could be at a young age. Surrounded by the cruelties of slavery, he grew up numbed to the hardships of others.
By nine name-days he would begin visiting the Temple of Trade where he and other boys would talk with the magisters and tradesmen who congregated there. From among these wealthy and noble men of the city, he and a lucky few others, would gain apprenticeships; a position that was highly coveted in the city of Lys, where trade was considered a profession more honorable than arms.
Tessario shadowed his sponsor for three years, learning the inner workings of trade negotiations, currency exchange, and contract creation. He met several other apprentices who like him hungered for more, as well as making friends among the less prominent families of Lys all too keen to climb the social ladder. So, when his apprenticeship was over they formed a merchantile group of ambitious youths. Tessario and the others began with insurance cons and profitable arbitrage that filled their pockets and funded bigger schemes.
The war in the Stepstones came as a wondrous opportunity for the newly founded group. The members invested heavily, with some overseeing the battles themselves. Luckily the Lysene forces met up with not only those of Tyrosh, but also ships from Dorne and the Stormlands. Tessario wore armour for the first time as he sailed sellswords to the fighting, though did no more than watch in actuality. War made them rich and for the first time in his life Tessario knew what it was to wield true power. The power to make others die for your ends.
The pirate threat crumbled easily, but the true prizes were had after the fighting. Contracts for trade opened up and new ports to invest in saw the merchantile group grow faster than ever before. They hired lingering hedge knights and sellswords to protect their assets and even convinced some of the former pirate vessels to become corsairs under them.
As the Stepstones begin to flourish, the group started to look further afield for other trade routes. In 18AC, just as Dorne began to invest heavily in Sunstone, Tessario sailed to Driftmark as one of three emissaries of their group tasked with finding new avenues for profit. It was while on this mission that Tessario first met Valarr Velaryon, Lord of the Tides. Seeking a base of operations outside of Lys, Tessario negotiated plans for a bank to be built in Spicetown, profiting from the flow of trade.
Tessario broached the concept to the group telling them of the pearls found by fishermen in the pools of the island's coves and a contract for the Pearl Bank was drawn up. Tessario, as one of the two-and-twenty key holders, was now responsible for much.
Construction began in late 19AC with a main building that was reinforced with strong stone and deep vaults. Pearl farms under the control of the bank were also created, with construction of the entire project finishing before the end of 24AC. During this time the bank engaged in numerous amounts of trade, amassing a full vault, as well as funding loans to the many growing businesses of Spicetown, merchants of the free cities, and other Houses of Westeros. This includes House Massey of Stonedance, House Celtigar of Claw Isle, and many other minor houses.
Timeline:

• 4BC - Tessario is born in a Lysene manse.
• 6AC - Begins a trade apprenticeship for three years.
• 9AC - Forms a merchantile group in Lys.
• 12AC - Funds the war in the Stepstones.
• 13AC - War in the Stepstones ends.
• 18AC - Visits Driftmark as an emissary, meeting Valarr Velaryon.
• 19AC - The Pearl Bank begins construction.
• 24AC - Construction is completed.
• 25AC - Current day.

Family tree:
https://familyecho.com/?p=START&c=izpgpsokcmwmhxa6&f=478495015333730745
AC
Name and House: Somovo Saan
Age: 21
Cultural Group: Valyrian
Appearance: Piercing blue eyes shine out from dark features. Somovo has a lean build and freckled face from years of sailing the Narrow and Summer Seas. Her skin is dark and her hair falls in long brown curls down past her shoulders, the occasional braid holding beads of copper. She often wears loose shirts and wide breeches that allow her skin to breathe the salty air of the sea, while sticking to practical leather boots for moving about the deck.
She has a slender black cat named Sȳndor 'shadow' that lives on deck and prowls the bank offices while on shore.
Trait: Reaver
Skill(s): Raider, Fence, Tactician
Talent(s): Winning at Tiles, Tying knots, Swimming
Negative Trait(s): N/A
Starting Title(s): Captain of the Spice Runner
Starting Location: Opening Event
Alternate Characters: N/A
Timeline:

• 4AC - Somovo Saan is born in Lys.
• 9AC - Somovo's father, Sarthos Saan, takes her on her first voyage to Tyrosh.
• 12AC - Her father leaves to fight for the pirates in the Stepstones war.
• 13AC - After the pirates defeat in the Steptones, her father is hired by a group of merchants from Lys. Somovo meets Tessario, one of the groups founders.
• 18AC - Meets the sellsail Captain Laurei of Myr who becomes an inspiration for her to become a Captain of her own ship.
• 19AC - When the Pearl Bank begins construction on Driftmark, Somovo is on deck with her father and they patrol the Narrow Sea together, guarding trading vessels and seeking opportunities for their new employer.
• 21AC - Somovo is given command of her own ship and crew, becoming Captain of The Spice Runner, named after Spicetown.
• 22AC - Her father's ship is lost at sea during a storm near Volantis. The corsairs previously under Sarthos turn to her for leadership by virtue of her blood.
• 24AC - Construction of The Pearl Bank is completed on Driftmark.
• 25AC - Current day.

NPCs
Morio (30) - Cutthroat
Every man of ambition needs a ruthless and silent right hand.
Ser Thomas Storm (27) - Warrior
Knighted by Ser Edwell Celtigar in the Stepstones and knowing he would gain no further gold or glory, he joined the merchantile group from Lys to train their retainers and act as Captain of the Guard to Tessario.
Since then he notably won the joust at the Tourney at Aegon's Rest in 21AC.

im sorry for the long post. i had to get it out.
I had never had a panic attack in my life. I'm 34. I woke up on Mother's Day and my whole right side felt strange. Tingling, numb. I felt this sense of dread. I don't usually go to the ER for anything, but I felt like I had to. My partner drove me. As we drove the 30 or so minutes to the ER, the symptoms got worse. The tingling, but now a tightening in my chest and a pain when I breathed in too much. I began hyperventilating and I was 100 percent sure I was having a stroke. I'm telling my poor partner I'm dying. It's happening rn and I'm so sorry. I'm telling them I love them. By this point, my wholw body is vibrating, like I was turned to the static channel. And then my hands cramped up and my feet too. My mouth drooped and my speech began slurring. I was dry heaving. it was the most intense and terrifying experience of my life.
We get to the hospital and he runs inside and tells them he thinks I'm having a stroke. Everyone inside looks bored....or not concerned. I get back pretty quickly and the nurses rip my shirt off and start sticking shit on me. One of the nurses told me I was panicking and I needed to breathe. I wasn't having a stroke, it was a panic attack. After some time my hands uncramped. The doctor tells me it's a panic attack but they were still going to do tests.
everything came back normal. my blood pressure was 180/110. They gave me BP meds and sent me home with literature on blood pressure.
I worked the next day against doctors orders. My Jon informed me it would be okay as my job isn't "strenuous" (I work as a behavioral specialist in a group home for girls). Everything was fine with my shift. I knew I had to eventually follow up with a primary but my insurance had not kicked in at work yet. I was just waiting it out.
Turns out, I was not fine. The next day I had off and I relaxed and bed rotted as much as I could. I hadn't slept much since Sunday. I was so scared of it happening again. Wednesday was a treatment meeting with all the staff. As I'm sitting there, that fucking tingling started. I had done some reading in case this happened. I said my ABCs, I sang the lyrics to, "I saw the signs" in my head, tried to engage with people, but by this point I looked absolutely insane, I'm sure. my head was covered in sweat. I managed to get up and ask my boss to step outside with me. she escorted me to her office and I just let it all out. I'm crying and shaking and trying to explain what's happening. she's talking to me and asking questions but I can barely keep up.
I'm told I need to go to the walk in clinic and get anxiety meds immediately (by my boss). she told me to call. I call and they tell me I can't do a walk in, I need mental health help. they transfer me to another person. that person is very confused as to why I was given blood pressure meds for a panic attack. she tells me I'm having an emergency event and need to go to the er and I needed to call an ambulance. I tell her I can't afford that. My mom was on her way. I was not alone. All this while I'm crying shaking and feeling very out of control. it was definitely nowhere near the first, though. That was insane.
I get to the ER and this time, they get a health history, they give me something for anxiety, they give me resources for trauma, they are much more understanding and helpful than the first time. I'm really very grateful for then.
But now I'm on medical leave until I "sort this out" as my boss says. I have an appointment on the 30th for a primary follow up followed by a meeting with a therapist. I'm very confused. Why? Why out of nowhere? I do not want to talk about my feelings and trauma. I don't remember much of the details anymore. I just want to be okay. I'm scared I'm still going to die. I feel like a loser for having a panic attack in the middle of a fucking meeting. I'm embarrassed. I'm just sitting at home with nothing to do until the 30th.
How are you guys doing?

Hey there, I (F17) have been suffering since August 2023 with a whole range of symptoms. I came back from two months overseas with a quick onset of eye pain and a whole bunch of pressure on the top of my right eye, along with daily headaches at the same time every day. In October, I had a thunderclap headache and went to the ER where they did a brain CT that came back clear. Fast forward to my neurologist making me have an MRI and MRV of the brain that came out fully clear, so she decided that I probably just had chronic migraines. It was really bad; I lost a bunch of weight, slept for most of the day, and was dizzy all day.
November came, and I had my first bout of neck pain. It wasn't too bad, but I was so exhausted from the pressure on my eye that it made me feel mentally horrible. My headache reduced from daily to only having extreme major ones 1 or 2 times in the month, along with daily thumping and nausea. I started PT for my neck in late March, and that's when I had my out-of-nowhere numbness and tingling and pins and needles down my right arm so i was sent to have a chest xray which came out normal aswell . My knuckles feel on fire, and my skin is burning with a bunch of neck pain, so I got an MRI for my neck yesterday, and my results are perfectly normal.
The worst part is that now I have nothing else that I can do about it. The pain keeps spreading around my upper body, and I slur my speech and have complete weakness in my hand and can't brush my hair. Both my PT and neurologist are extremely confused and have absolutely no idea what's happening, especially since all my symptoms are on one side. My left side feels perfect, and I weirdly feel my fatigue only on my right side. Any ideas on what I should do next?
Diagnosed now with - parenthesia of the upper limb (right side) - cervicalgia ( right side only ) - Chronic migraine ( right side only) - Pain and pressure of the right eye
I have tried both sumatriptan and rizatriptan and both made pass out for almost 25-48 hours and didn’t even work

There are some kinds of wisdom only great suffering can bring. I remember my time in the Bardo with this in mind, for otherwise, the memory might drive me insane.
The night my heart stopped for nearly three minutes started off normally enough. I was working as a nurse in the psychiatric ward at a hospital in the state’s capital. Most of the patients there were harmless, mostly just suicide attempts or people suffering from drug psychosis or severe depression, but some were actively dangerous and certainly psychopathic in every sense of the word. The new admission was one of these- a three-hundred pound black man with a long history of smoking PCP, schizophrenia and violent, psychotic breaks from reality.
His eyes looked like flat pieces of slate as I walked in for my shift. They looked as blank and emotionless as the eyes of a doll. He sat at the table in the front room where the patients ate or played cards, alone under the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital. I walked to the station, where another psychiatric nurse named Ricardo was sitting behind the desk.
“What’s the deal with the new guy?” I asked him. Ricardo looked up, his dark Spanish face forming into a deep scowl. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair nervously.
“He’s trouble, man,” he said in a crisp accent. “He got in a chase with the police and then punched some cops in the face. It took three guys to take him down, even after he got maced and tased. The judge sent him here on a temporary court order, since he claims he’s been getting chased by Nazis in UFOs, and that’s why he ran from the cops. He thought the cops in their uniforms were actually the SS, and the helicopters were alien spacecraft, or something. I don’t know, I didn’t listen to the whole story.”
“You have his file?” I asked. Ricardo leafed through a stack of folders with his thin fingers, snatching one out and handing it to me. I looked down, reading the information:
“Jeremiah Brown, black male, 37-years-old.
“History: Polysubstance abuse, schizophrenia, antisocial personality disorder.
“Psychiatrist’s note: This patient has scored a 36 out of 40 on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. While I am always hesitant to label a patient as an antisocial personality, a combination of factors has made it essential for this patient.
“Patient has an extensive criminal history as well as a lengthy history of involuntary psychiatric admissions. He has been diagnosed as having antisocial traits since he was a young teenager. Patient has a long history of violence and suicide attempts. He has a history of imprisonment for manslaughter, armed robbery, grand theft and aggravated assault. Upon discharge, he refuses to take any antipsychotic medication, citing the side effects as the reason. Long-term prognosis is poor…”
I had not been sleeping well the past few weeks. I rubbed my eyes as I read through the file, feeling exhausted. I tried putting on lucid dreaming or meditation music from YouTube to help me sleep, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw horrible things: chalk-white female faces whose lips were cut into an insane rictus grin, flicking their heads violently from side to side and gnashing their fangs at the air. I had a feeling that many years of constantly watching horror movies and serial killer documentaries was catching up with me.
As I read through the file, a student nurse came around the corner wearing a white state university outfit and a name tag that said Kaitlyn. I looked up, seeing Ricardo wink at me from where he was sitting in his chair behind the main desk.
“She’s going to follow you,” he said. Inwardly, I groaned, but I managed to force a smile.
“Oh, great!” I said. She looked like she was probably no older than nineteen or twenty. She had a pretty body, but her face looked strange. All the angles were too sharp and her nose too large. I knew the patients here wouldn’t care, though. They would hit on anything. I sensed trouble. I looked down at my watch.
“Well, I’m Jay, and you already know Ricardo, I guess. It’s good timing, because we need to give medications every day at 9 PM. And we have a new patient, so we can introduce ourselves,” I said, giving her a faint smile.
“That’s exciting!” Kaitlyn whispered. I wanted to roll my eyes. It was definitely not exciting.
I motioned her to follow me as I made my way to the medication room, which was really just a large closet off of the main day room. I had to enter my code on a keypad, and then, once inside, enter it again along with the patient’s number and date of birth. The correct drawers for the medication in each specific dose would fly open, making it extremely hard for the wrong medications or doses to be given, unless it was done intentionally.
“OK, so for this patient, we need Haldol, Ativan and…” I began saying to Kaitlyn when the yelling started. It came out faintly, rising in volume and anger within seconds. I heard Ricardo’s Spanish voice, filled with panic. Something slammed hard against a wall, once, twice, three times, and then I heard the sound of glass breaking. I jumped, spinning around, but I couldn’t see much through the small, shatter-proof glass pane on the wooden door.
“Stay here,” I commanded, seeing Kaitlyn’s eyes widen, her freckled skin looking much paler than when we had first come in. “Don’t leave until I come back and say that it’s safe.” On the speakers strung throughout the hospital, I heard the first of the warnings echo out around us.
“Doctor Strong, Doctor Strong, please report to the seventh floor,” a robotic female voice said calmly, using the code for when a patient had to be subdued by force. I pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind me so that the lock would activate and protect Kaitlyn from whatever chaos was going on.
I heard Ricardo pleading with someone at the end of the hallway that ran past the main desk. He sounded strange, as if he were trying to talk through a mouthful of blood. Huddled behind the main computer, I saw one of the CNAs frantically whispering something in the phone. She must have been the one to call the Dr. Strong order.
“You don’t have to do this, man,” Ricardo gurgled faintly. I couldn’t see what was happening, as Jeremiah’s large body was blocking my view. I could see that the thick glass window at the end of the hallway was broken, however. My heart skipped a beat as I surmised what was likely happening.
I sprinted forward as quietly as I could, but the large man heard me. His massive body turned, his flat, dead eyes scanning me with absolute coldness and calm. I saw he had a bleeding Ricardo in his hands. Ricardo’s back and head were covered in deep cuts and shards of glass. He must have used Ricardo’s body as a battering ram to break the thick glass window. Jeremiah held Ricardo suspended halfway out the window, seven floors above the concrete walkways far below.
“Stay back, or this fucker will know what it feels like to fly,” Jeremiah said in a deep, gravelly voice. He shook Ricardo for emphasis, sending his head snapping back and forth with painful cracking sounds. Drops of blood flew from his nose and a deep gash across his cheek. Pieces of shattered glass littered the carpet, shining like countless tiny stars.
I put my hands up, taking a step back. Far behind me, I heard the front door for the psychiatric ward open. Voices echoed down the hall. Knowing that reinforcements were coming, I tried to buy some time.
“Let’s talk about this,” I said, taking a step forward slowly. “You don’t want a murder charge, do you? You’ll never see the sky again.”
“I don’t give a fuck! I’m not afraid to die!” Jeremiah screamed, pushing Ricardo onto one of the shards of broken glass still attached to the windowsill. It bit deeply into the back of his neck, sending fresh streams of blood rushing out, dripping down to the pavement far below. I heard security guards and doctors running down the hallway behind me, their voices frantic and excited. Jeremiah saw them coming. With an animalistic panic in his eyes, he lifted Ricardo up. I cried out something, stepping forward, but it was already too late. In horror, I watched as he threw Ricardo out the window.
I watched Ricardo’s body soar in a graceful arc, his arms grabbing at empty air as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Within a fraction of a second, he had disappeared from view, but his terrified shrieking floated up to us for what seemed like a very long time. His screams ended abruptly as a shattering of bones and a wet smacking sound exploded far below us.
Jeremiah turned to me, his large body moving much faster than seemed possible. In his hand, I saw a piece of broken glass, five or six inches long and as sharp as a dagger. I tried to turn and run, but he was fast and strong. He lunged forward, his arm coming up in a blur towards my neck.
The shard entered my skin with a cold, numbing pain. I felt it slice through the flesh easily, felt the blood bubbling up my throat as I tried to scream, choking. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I fell backwards. I was suffocating, I knew. I must be dying.
Something cold ran down my body, gripping my heart like freezing, skeletal hands. The world swam around me and turned black. And then I was rising into a tunnel. At first, it was dark, filled with flickering shadows, but a fiery red light appeared at the end. I followed it, no more than a screaming mass of consciousness rising up into infinity.
***
I rose up through the end of the tunnel and found myself in an empty hospital ward. It looked identical to the psychiatric ward I had just come from. It even had the same smashed, blood-streaked window at the end of the hallway. A massive puddle of blood about ten feet away marked the spot where I must have died. But the fluorescent lights overhead here were flickering, and many had gone totally dark. The shadows seemed to press in on all sides.
The doors to the patients’ rooms were all tightly shut. I felt watched, afraid to call out or make any noise. I started walking down the hallway back towards the day room where the front desk was. All the lights there were out. A thick curtain of shadows hung in the air.
“You can come out,” a male voice as smooth as glass called from the darkness. I jumped, my head flicking in random directions, but I saw nothing. The voice almost sounded like it had an English lilt to it, a slight Cockneyed accent. “I know you’re there.”
“Who’s there?” I called out, not stepping forward. “Show yourself.”
“As you wish…” the voice hissed. “But I think you’ll regret it.”
***
The darkness split apart as if a nuclear missile had exploded. I raised my hand to shield my face, but the light and heat kept pouring out all around me. It blinded me, causing a rainbow of colors and shapes to morph behind my closed eyelids. After a few seconds, it subsided. Blinking rapidly, I squinted in the direction the voice had come from.
A male figure stood there, bathed in a silhouette of light. His face looked as white and as smooth as marble. His eyes were pits of darkness that seemed to flicker and burn. Two black, rotted wings surrounded his body, all sharp angles and thin, curving bones. His body was clothed in silky, blood-red robes, and a hood covered his platinum blonde hair.
He looked somewhat similar to Leonardo DiCaprio, if he was possessed by some ancient god, and it immediately threw me off-guard. If I was dying, and this was a hallucination of my brain, why would I be hallucinating Mr. DiCaprio?
“Who are you?” I asked, taking a hesitant step back. “Where am I?”
“My name is Lucifer, the Bringer of Light and Wisdom, and you are in the Bardo,” he answered.
“Oh,” I said, my heart dropping. “Well, that’s not good. Are you here to torture me or drag to me to Hell or something? You are that Lucifer, right? The Accuser of God and the Father of All Lies?”
“So they say, but, like most things in your world, the words of the powerful and your rulers are the true lies. They call me the Accuser, but of what am I accused?” he spoke in a voice that rose like smoke. “Of bringing knowledge and wisdom to humanity by telling them to eat from the tree of knowledge, the tree that would cause them to rise above the animals?
“Indeed, at the beginning, I saw the creation. I was there at the alpha, standing by the side of God with all the angels as the universe came into being. The endless procession of light, the power of it, was something remarkable to behold. God is, indeed, the source of great power, but his consciousness is not what the believers say.
“After the creation of the universe, I saw his plan, how he ripped eternal souls from the source to imprison them. I saw how he took these divine sparks and forced them, screaming and wailing, into bodies made of meat to die over and over again. He said it was part of the plan, the great, divine plan, a plan of death and destruction, constant suffering and mindless agony. And the worst part was, he wanted to give humanity neither the knowledge of good and evil, nor the tree of life. I convinced them to eat the fruit so they could open their eyes to their nakedness, to their basic animal existence, so they could rise up out of it forever.
“Like Prometheus, I brought down the fire, and yet they call me the Accuser? God was insane long before he formed the universe. These holy men, they live and die in fanatical adoration to a divine being who is, in fact, totally indifferent to them.
“His consciousness twists and distorts, eating itself for all eternity. God feeds off the pain of others, for if his mind is burning, then all others should burn as well. When these holy men die, God will send their souls here to the Bardo, to suffer every evil they have ever done. The wisdom I brought those who called upon me freed them from this prison, and in exchange, the holy men burned them alive. I offered the wisdom that opens your eyes, but it has been forgotten and cursed.”
Lucifer’s body began to dissolve, drifting up into the air like ashes. All around me, a low, powerful current blew, a tornado that spiraled high up into the clouds. Like some sort of Cheshire Cat, his smooth voice continued to echo all around me, even as the form of Lucifer disappeared.
“And yet, you have not the wisdom. For that, like all the others who enter the Bardo, you must suffer, everything you’ve done. Every small hurt and agony inflicted on others comes back a thousand-fold in this place, but don’t be afraid.”
“How could I not be afraid?!” I screamed into the ward, but I found myself alone, the question hanging unanswered in the air.
***
The lights continued to flicker all down the hallway. Feeling strange and dissociated, I stumbled over to one of the windows. As I gazed out, I beheld a strange and alien world.
The sky was flat and gray. It stayed in constant motion, swirling and spiraling, like clouds of roiling smoke. There was no Sun or Moon, no stars, only the strange, shifting whorls of clouds. The streets were filled with burned-out husks of cars and mummified bodies hung from streetlamps. Other signs of carnage and bloodshed covered the apocalyptic streets. I saw what looked like shadows in the shape of people slinking through over the sidewalks, past rotting dogs and streaks of clotted blood. They had no features on their blank, dark bodies. They seemed to skitter and jerk forwards in eerie, twisting motions.
Horrified, I turned away, realizing I was no longer alone in the day room. In the day room, there were dozens of tables set up inside a rectangular perimeter that was walled in by cosmetic walls only four feet high. It was where the patients sat and played games or ate.
Under the flickering lights, I now saw each of the chairs filled with faceless mannequins. Many were dressed in Victorian suits and tophats. The women had frilly dresses of pink and blue that might have been fashionable in the 1800s.
As the lights strobed on and off overhead, I realized with an increasing sense of disquiet that the mannequins were moving each time it went dark. When I had first seen them, they were mostly posed to look like they were staring across the tables at each other, even though they had no eyes, just smooth, flesh-colored plastic. Now all of them were looking directly at me. Some were pointing or raising their hands in my direction. At the tips of their fingers, I saw the glittering of steel. The lights continued to flicker, and the mannequins rose from their chairs in the short periods of darkness, moving towards me in synchronized, strobing motions.
Frantically, I ran down the hallway back towards the broken window. In each of the rooms, I caught glimpses of something from a nightmare peeking out. I hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and when I had closed my eyes, I often saw ancient hags with chalk-white skin and yellowed, broken teeth whose jaws unhinged, their faces jerking in stuttering, dissonant ways that reminded me of the mannequins. Now, on both sides of me, I saw these same figures. They moved continuously out of the rooms, drawing closer with every breath.
I looked back, seeing the mannequins only a few steps behind me. I continued sprinting towards the broken window where the hallway ended in a wall. I didn’t know what would happen when I reached it. At that moment, there was no rational thought. I felt like a deer being chased down by a pack of wolves, feeling waves of blind panic and mortal terror rushing through my body.
But as I reached the end of the hallway, the end of my rope as it were, a blast of noise started, seeming to come from the walls of the building and the sky itself. It sounded like a siren, a low, drawn-out drone of a demonic whale call, rising and falling in crashing crescendos. The mannequins froze in place once again. The strange, witch-like creatures slunk back into the dark rooms.
I looked outside the broken window, seeing clouds of black smoke rising off in the distance. The flickering of massive infernos scorched the land, drawing nearer by the second. The siren sound faded slowly, like the dying echoes of a gong.
I was surrounded by dozens of mannequins. Their sharp hands were inches away from my face and neck. I saw metal glittering all around me and realized they had the sharp points of nails protruding from the ends of their fingers. I was afraid to move, but I heard a familiar voice from down the hallway. It was the confident voice of Lucifer.
“The siren means much worse nightmares than these are coming in the Bardo,” he said, his glossy, black eyes flashing with intelligence. He walked slowly towards me, his face grim and pale. “Hell itself is coming over the land. This building is no more than a construction of your dying mind, but the world outside is real.”
“How can Hell come and go?” I asked, confused. “Isn’t Hell a place?”
“Hell is a monster, a beast with many mouths and many eyes,” Lucifer responded. “It eats constantly, but its hunger never ends. Look, the first of the sacrifices scatter like cockroaches.” He pointed out the broken window, pushing his way through the mannequins effortlessly. I glanced outside, seeing thousands of people sprinting down the dark city streets. The inferno and thick clouds of smoke had moved much closer, and every few seconds, the ground shook slightly, as if we were experiencing the aftershocks of an earthquake.
“What can I do against such a beast?” I asked, my heart freezing with terror. But when I looked back over, I saw his form dissolving again, becoming translucent and drifting away like ashes. It seemed even Lucifer didn’t want to be present when the Hell-beast arrived.
“Seek divine wisdom,” he said, his voice trailing off into whispers. “Remember the source.”
***
Now crowds of tens of thousands of people were streaming into the city, filling every single inch of the streets. Their panic and fear was contagious. I felt it rising inside my body like a snake spiraling up my spine. I took off down the hallway, running through the swarm of frozen mannequins, each in their own ferocious position of attack. The lights flickered faster and went out. Yet the fires outside cast the entire world in a bloody glow, giving me enough light to see by and find my way. I sprinted down the stairwell, taking them two steps at a time. The screaming outside grew louder and more pain-filled. The shaking of the ground worsened with every passing second.
I burst out of the front entrance, seeing a world on fire all around me. Thousands of crushed, bleeding and burned bodies stretched out as far as the eye could see. Behind all this chaos and death, I saw a monster of unimaginable proportions slinking its way towards me.
Lucifer was right, I realized: Hell was not a place, but a creature, an enormous monster the size of a town. It had thousands of skittering, jointed legs that looked like little more than skeletal arms and hands, each of them dozens of feet long and white as freshly-cut marble. Its body stretched out to the horizon, an enormous blood-red cylinder of bony plates that slithered and undulated with a serpentine grace. Waves of peristalsis traveled down its length, like writhing intestines. Thousands of curving, bony spikes stabbed out of it, pointing in every direction. Like the quills of a porcupine, it would protect the massive creature’s body from many forms of attack, if anything was big enough to attack such an abomination.
Hell’s massive eyes flickered, balls of fire that spun and danced. They looked as bright as the Sun. Something like solar flares seemed to emanate from the orbs, flashes of blinding energy that floated over the apocalyptic wasteland. As its many legs smashed the ground, they left trails of fire that caused everything to explode into flames as if napalm dripped from its limbs.
But Hell’s most terrifying feature was its seven dark mouths. Its body looked a thousand feet wide, and the mouths at the front were evenly dispersed. At the front, blood-red teeth in the shape of enormous railroad spikes shone. Its lipless, skeletal face grinned as it moved forward, shaking the ground with every step. The mouths were on long, snake-like necks that could stretch out hundreds of feet. They moved forward in a blur, snapping up as many panicked souls as they could.
Countless souls in the rocky plains of the Bardo ran for their lives, away from this juggernaut. I saw men and women who looked like they came from every country and profession, some dressed in suits or spotless white lab coats, others wearing rags or orange prison jumpsuits. And yet, they all screamed in agony and fear here, their bodies pressed together in a crowd, and no one seemed to remember anything but their own mortal terror. Their voices came out faint and weak next to the roaring of Hell. It shook the ground all around us, as if an earthquake were tearing the land apart.
The first frantic runners of the surging crowd had nearly reached me. The nearest person, a young woman in her mid-twenties dressed in all white, was only ten feet behind me. She looked like she came from wealth, and even from here, I could see a ring with a massive diamond gleaming on her finger.
I took off blindly down the familiar streets of the city where I worked and lived, but these also seemed different. The church down the street from the hospital where I worked had a Satanic pentagram instead of a cross now, its exterior painted a bright, gleaming blood-red. When I had driven past it today on my way to work, I remember it read, “JESUS said, ‘I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.’”
Now it read, “Nietzsche said, ‘Of all evil, I deem you capable. I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good simply because they had no claws.’” I wondered what that meant. Was that some sort of comment on me, on all of us here?
The woman I had seen running had caught up with me. She was fast, much faster than her slim body suggested. Her blue eyes were frantic and wild, filled with an animal panic.
“It’s right behind us!” she screamed, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. I was afraid to turn and look, but I could hear the chaos and bloodshed approaching, smell the flames and choking smoke. “Run! Get away!”
A new wave of energy surged through my body. I sprinted as fast I could down the strange mirror streets of the Bardo. I heard the agonized cries of countless souls behind us as the seven mouths of Hell ate them all greedily and then looked for more.
A skyscraper behind us collapsed into a pile of rubble, shaking the ground with a cacophony of falling concrete and shattering glass. The woman was running by my side. Just as I heard the breathing of something huge and predatory right behind us and smelled its sulfuric breath, a piece of concrete the size of a basketball broke off the collapsing skyscraper and flew into the road. I tripped over it, yelling as I flew through the air, skinning my arms and legs on the pavement. The woman’s eyes widened. Hurriedly, she came over and reached down her hand, trying to help me up.
“Come on, come on!” she cried. I looked behind her, seeing one of the gnashing mouths of Hell reaching forward on a blood-red, serpentine neck. The mouth was big enough to drive a tractor trailer into, filled with huge spikes of teeth. Its throat led into a black, smoke-filled abyss. Its fiery eyes were swirling pools of flickering orange light that shone with bloodlust and insanity. They focused on the woman, the entire head turning on its slithering neck.
I frantically raised my hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. Her hand was warm and soft. She started to pull me to my feet when the mouth of Hell snapped forward. Its jaw unhinged, scraping the pavement with a sound like grinding metal. The woman barely had time to turn as the mouth covered her and snapped shut with a crack.
She disappeared from view instantly, but I was still holding her hand. In horror, I felt warm rivers of blood explode all over my body as the mouth of Hell severed her arm at the wrist. She screamed, bleeding and crying, as she disappeared into the throat of Hell. Hell’s fiery eyes focused on me, and at that moment, I knew I was next. Its mouth opened wide again, like a bear trap ready to spring on a new victim.
It was dark in Hell’s mouth, but I smelled the thick reek of old blood and fire. I caught glimpses of tortured, mutilated bodies writhing and crawling down its throat. Shell-shocked, I could only lay there and watch. And that was when the strange doubling started.
***
I heard the frantic voices of men break through the fog of darkness and the fetid reek of blood. There was a mechanical beeping all around me, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
“Clear!” one cried. I looked around, only seeing blackness. At that moment, I felt a surge of electricity rip itself through my body. My arms and legs all seized and my eyes rolled up in my head as the pain sizzled through each one of my nerves. I clutched the young woman’s hand tightly, feeling the large, gold ring with the massive diamond biting into my skin.
“Again!” another voice yelled.
“Clear!” the original voice cried. The electricity came again, and a flash of white light flew across my vision. I blinked, seeing from two sets of eyes at the same time: one in the Bardo, and one on the blood-stained floor of the hospital ward.
The Bardo stayed dark and sinister, but the clear white lights of the real psychiatric ward were blinding. It was a bizarre experience. Moreover, everything hurt. Over a few seconds, my vision of the Bardo faded, and I was simply a gravely injured man laying on the floor in a puddle of blood.
Four doctors and paramedics were crouching over me with a defibrillator. My shirt was ripped off, and nearly all of my skin was covered in blood. I raised my left hand, trying to talk, but only a fiery pain raced through my neck. I felt bandages covering my skin. A nurse was rolling a stretcher down the hallway towards me.
“It’s OK,” one of the doctors said, kneeling down. “You’re being taken to emergency surgery. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t talk with the massive slice in my neck.
At that moment, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down, seeing a slim female hand with a massive diamond ring hanging there. Our fingers were wrapped around each other’s, but the hand had been cut off at the wrist. A ragged patch of bloody flesh and snapped bone poked out of the back.
“Nnnn,” I tried to say, shaking my head. I felt fresh streams of warm blood open up. “No…” The doctors looked down, seeing the dismembered hand. Their faces morphed into expressions of confusion and fear.
I closed my eyes as they lifted me up on the stretcher. One of them gently removed the cold hand from my fingers. But they could never remove the memory of what I had seen.
I know what happens after death, and it makes the worst life here seem like a dream. I know that, one day, I’ll be returned to that place. I know that, one day, I’ll see that great monster called Hell and the featureless, swirling sky of the Bardo again.
And the next time, I won’t wake up on a hospital floor, but will be trapped there with the others for eternity: an eternity of blood and fire.

I have found myself in a deep diver of the NEN family channels — as well as those connected (Kenn and Kass) — and there is a weird trend. Tiffany Nelson's expectations on her children and those involved with the channels: you are either for or against. You cannot break the belief that their family is anything but "good in their hearts" and "good Mormons". If anybody has a different opinion, that person is evil and a bully. There is evidence of this in their videos from old to new.
Tiffany Nelson has an obsession with being the best and popular, so much so, her kids and in-laws have to be as well. The Nelson family can't be seen as anything else. Tiffany does this by controlling those around her with nit-picks and back-handed compliments. The editor has left some of these remarks in when filming 'family challenges' or 'closet and room makeover'. It's becoming alarming that people in the family have little control over what they actually want to say or do.
The younger children have more freedom with their age due to them willingly helping out on the channel and not voicing their true opinion (or feelings). This is because they've recently been accepted into the Mormon church and being baptised; the honeymoon phase is still there.
The older children are more criticked and don't get much of a say in how they spend their time or money. The channels are run by them and are there to build a bigger audience into tween and teen fanbases. Tiffany will often mock their boundaries and personalities and interests. IT comes to a point where the older kids keep their opinions to themselves to avoid this. What's worse is that some of the children are taking note and bullying and ganging up on the other children within the familee.
It's weird how the family won't admit this, but it's evident in all of their videos. The family won't be seen as a bad Mormon because Tiffany wipes out any evidence of this. Beckham and Ledger are kept out of videos just because they are opinionated and are 'weird' to Tiffany and her man-made world. Tiffany wants to re-live her youth in her children — both boys and girls — but she can't if they won't cooparate. This is why she gets them learning languages or doing cheerleading. She's always there and taking credit.
TiffaNee makes her children be good or popular bc she is going through menopause and is aging.