Meth brain pictures

Tilt-Shift Photography/Photo manipulation

2011.05.06 12:42 Tilt-Shift Photography/Photo manipulation

Mostly selective focus photo manipulation Some Tilt-Shift Photography
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2020.01.16 12:35 gaop Meth Lab Explostions: The phenomenon that's sweeping the nation

A place for news articles, discussions, pictures, questions and answers regarding exploding meth labs.
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2012.11.13 19:05 alexbrain title

We're now private indefinitely due to Reddit Incorporated's poor management and decisions related to third party platforms and content management. For more (and updated) information see /ModCoord. https://www.reddit.com/ModCoord/comments/1476fkn/reddit_blackout_2023_save_3rd_party_apps/
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2024.05.19 06:02 Direct-Caterpillar77 His mistress made him a better husband. I feel nauseous. (New Update)

I am not The OOP, OOP is u/Wide-Area-6779
His mistress made him a better husband. I feel nauseous.
Ongoing
Originally posted to TrueOffMyChest
Thanks to u/queenlegolas for suggesting this BoRU
TRIGGER WARNING: emotional infidelity, physical assault, verbal abuse, manipulation
Original Post Nov 22, 2023
This is a throwaway. I’m just nauseous and want to vent please let me do it here?
Everything changed about 3 years ago and my husband became my dream man. Before that, we suffered a lot in our marriage. After 2 hard pregnancies and PPD my libido was diminished and we fought all the time. After 4 years of dead bedroom we started therapy. I thought that was where the improvement came from.
My husband started paying attention to me. In the beginning I was panicking because whenever he paid me attention before he expected sex but now it felt like he was seeing me as a human being for the first time. He was attentive and caring. Emphatic. He touched and cuddled and kissed me out of the blue, without wanting sex in return. He started helping around the house, bringing me flowers, take out dinners when I work late, planning date nights. Anniversaries, birthdays and holidays are planned perfectly and I started getting the most beautiful and thoughtful gifts. When we fought, he would come the next day and admitted his wrongs and very accurately (if he was the one in the wrong) something he never did before. He would apologize too when back in the days him apologizing would be a blow to his ego. He said he was happy all the time and lucky to have us as his family. Everything was better and I even got my libido back if not as high as I hoped.
I found their conversation about 5 days ago and I have probably spent over 50 hours reading them. 3 years worth of conversation. He would tell her his woes and she would listen. 99 out of 100 times she sided with me. She taught him about intimacy and how important it is in marriages. The tragically funny part is that he never got angry or offended by her telling him off. Calling him silly, stubborn or at times man baby. Her honesty was brutal and yet he agreed with her. She was the one suggesting all the changes and he would ask her for advice about gifts, traveling and all the beautiful things he did for our family.
He thanks her all the time for helping him turn his miserable home life around, making it tolerable. With all these texts there were the texts between them that are about them like nobody else existed around them. The flirting, sextalk and pictures. The longing to see each other.
He says she is the love of his life every day and that he wishes their circumstances were different. She says the same. They both agree that divorce would ruin their families and that they couldn’t be that selfish. how admirable!
I feel nauseous. My happiness for the past three years was fake. I don’t know what to do. I want to hurt them. I want to expose them and I want to ruin whatever they think is perfect happiness
Hi!
I’m getting chat requests about my comments not being visible. Is this normal? I’m trying to answer you guys. Sorry
Hi again
Since I can’t comment and I can’t answer all the chats I will answer here
I am 35. My husband is 39 we have two children 9&7
She is 40 and she has one child 14. She is in a dead bedroom with her husband too and for 14 years.
The affair is physical too yes but they meet maybe once every month or every other month. She tells my husband that what they feel is probably limerence but that they don’t know it yet because they meet so little. She lives in another city
Update - My husband left me after I told his mistress’s husband about their affair. March 19, 2024
I was here some weeks ago, with my original post. I finally decided that I really should reach out to the husband of my husband’s mistress. I found him easily and I contacted him. He didn’t believe me at first and was rude about it and told me to go f myself. I hesitated to contact him again to be honest but after a few days I realized that I would too not believe a stranger just popping in my dms accusing my SO of cheating so I recorded my husband’s phone with my phone. Especially the messages where she’s sent explicit photos and stuff. I also went to the contact to show the number. He didn’t answer me the first day then he called me the c-word and blocked me. I thought well then, I have done my part and it’s on him if he believed me or not. Then after a week my husband came home angry and he yelled at me for exposing them. He asked me why I didn’t confront him instead, my problem was with him. I have never seen him yell like this then he packed a bag and left for about a week. I think he’s traveled to her.
When he got home he said that it was over. He said that he has been trying to make me happy for years and he’s done everything a good husband would do but still, nothing was good enough for me. I’ve made him miserable for years and instead of taking it out on him, I chose to hurt a woman and her child. He moved to his parents house and now he’s renting an apartment I have heard that he travels the weeks he doesn’t have the children to be with her and that she’s moving here soon when she gets full custody of her child.
I have not been feeling well at all. He has never spoken to me directly since he left and I haven’t seen him. He adamantly refuses to talk to me. Like I never existed in his life. I don’t know what I have done to deserve this treatment. I hate that they won.
RELEVANT COMMENTS
So basically your cheating ex is trying to blame you for him cheating. The delusion of cheaters.
You only informed the mistress's husband that she couldn't keep her legs closed to a cold breeze.
He had a right to know. Onwards and upwards.
UpdateMe
OOP
He didn’t blame me for anything. He doesn’t care that he cheated. He was only angry that her husband hurt her and her child.
Maybe my post was this convoluted that everyone here is thinking he is trying to put the blame in me? He doesn’t care at all. He just thought that I should have confronted him instead because he was the one who cheated on me.
I told everyone around us what he done and he doesn’t even care
~
List-and-dumbfound
The last 3 years of your marriage were a lie. You know that now. Who he is the person he treated you before his affair partner had to convince him to be good to you. He is not a good person.
Do they even really know each other? Like how it is to be around each other on a daily basis. They are genuinely dumb to think the list will stay with 3 kids around plus handling chores and day to day things of life. They have 2 custody battles ahead of them and divorced on top of it.
If he’s angry with you the next time you have to see him, ask him why? He got what he wanted. He wanted to be with her and now he is. So why is he angry that you gave him what you wanted.
It’s probably shame that he’s painted to be a cheater. Not he can’t manipulate the narrative and paint you as the bad person.
If what they won is each other? Let them have each other. They are both awful people so they deserve each other
OOP
He is not angry about the divorce. He is angry I told the husband instead of him because the husband hurt her and her kid
DrNefariousMcFarious
He’s not angry bc of that, he always assumed that if you found out he could gaslight you into thinking that it was somehow your fault or not happening, but by you telling the other husband, there was no getting around it.
OOP
No he is angry about me putting his AP in danger.. he gives zero fucks about staying in our marriage or not. He only was with me to help raise the children and probably wait for her to get rid of her husband. I am not trying to he dramatic here but the soon I realize the truth the better is is for me to move on I think
I want full custody of my children after he went and beat up his mistress’s husband within an inch of his life and ended up in jail. Mar 22, 2024
This morning I got a call from my mother in law that my husband has been in jail for the past couple of days and only got out this morning but the charges weren’t dropped. Apparently his mistress and her husband had another altercation last weekend and she ended up hurt again.
Now I want full custody of my children. He is out but charges are not dropped so it will probably lead to some punishment. I don’t know if family court would count this in case I want full custody and supervised visits. My mother in law was hostile when I told her this and she’s one of the people who have supported me so I am expecting some push back. I don’t care.
RELEVANT COMMENTS
inquiryreport
You probably should not have let your MIL in on this idea. Her first reaction is going to be that it will threaten her ability to see the grand kids and her son’s ability to be a father. Even if you think she is on your team have to assume she isn’t.
OOP
Yeah it was a big mistake

NEW UPDATE

He celebrated Mother’s Day with his mistress and her son May 12, 2024
Thank you so much for staying in touch and I am so sorry that I cannot answer your dms. I haven’t been active on Reddit and I have received tens of dms every day since my posts. I have been trying to adjust to life as a single mother. It is hard and especially the weeks I don’t have my children. Unfortunately, I could not convince court to give me sole custody even with my husband’s pending legal issues due to him not having any priors. He however succeeded to limit my family’s access citing parental alienation. I am not allowed my children around my family without supervision (MIL). All of this actions are temporary however until we get a court date. He is refusing to meet or talk to me for any reason besides texting about the children.
He is not in jail (for those who are asking) he has no priors so he is out. He will probably not be getting any jail time either but rather parole. Anyway, his mistress has secretly recorded some of the abuse she was getting from her husband and she has sole custody of their child now. She has moved to our city and she and her child are living with my MIL. Yes, MIL and from what I have gathered, she lives with my husband on the days I have the children.
Today I was out with my children and my friend and her children to have mother’s day brunch. I was the happiest I been for months because I got a bouquet of flowers and chocolate that is signed from my children (worlds best mom) and I knew that it was from my husband. Anyway when we arrived to the restaurant, there he was with his mistress and her child. They were celebrating mother’s day too. Her son was sitting between them and she had gift papers and flowers all around her on the table. I froze and wanted to leave but he came and apologized and said that he didn’t mean for this. She was crying and hugging her son. I wanted to faint because my children were so excited to see him and wanted to go inside and eat brunch with their dad. He told our children that it was mommy’s day then he asked me if I wanted her to leave so the children can have lunch with both of us. I just left with the children and took them to McDonald’s instead. He sent me a long text saying how sorry he was and how he wished that he loved me as much as I deserved and that he wished me to find love soon. He doesn’t regret our marriage and hope I don’t either because we got our beautiful children out of it that we need to raise and to not punish them because of what he did. Please let us not let our resentment of each other to spill out on our children. Let us promise to keep them happy and loved. Let us not use them as pawns. I asked him what I lacked that she has. A question that have been living rent free inside my head He said to stop this. This is futile. I insisted and I called him and he answered for the first time in months. I told him I wanted to know. No matter how harsh the truth was I can’t live without knowing. He said Mothing. I lacked nothing and she is not better in any way. He just loves her and loves himself when he is with her. He feels real and genuine happiness with her that he never felt in his entire life. I hang up and he texted I am sorry. This is the truth you asked for. You are not less than. You lack nothing. Please let us give our children the good life they deserve. Don’t hurt them to hurt me
I don’t know what I have done in my previous life to deserve this. The way he was with her. He never looked at me that way not even when we first met. I don’t know how to stop thinking about them. It is in my brain all day. I want full custody of my children and I will fight for it as much as I can. She will never be their step mother. Her custody is not finalized either and hopefully she will have to move back to her city so her husband can have visitation rights and she is out of my life. If my husband wants to move to be with her. My children stay with me.
RELEVANT COMMENTS
OOP told to be careful around the husband, and asked what his mother thinks
Well I am not stupid and he can record me all he wants because I was very calm and I genuinely agree that the children come first. Even her child tbh. But I know that she only had emergency custody of hers because of the assault but I know the rules here and she will probably need to move back soon because her husband has right to meet his son. In that case my husband can move away but he can’t have custody because I want a stable home for them. I don’t know why I am getting hate in my dms calling me vindictive.
I am very grateful to you and others who are mentioning that she is coaching him to say things. Of course! How stupid was I not to figure this out. From not talking to me for a second to being all nice and begging me to forgive him and to keep it amicable? Of course it is her. Even mother’s day flowers was probably from her.
MIL is very devastated about what happened and she visits me every day even when the children aren’t home. She said that she had to take her in until she gets her own place. No she is not allowed to meet the children and it is already decided and MIL is making sure this is not the case. I understand that MIL chooses her son but she hasn’t given up on me.
I have talked a lot with mom about what happened and no she doesn’t feel guilty. She said that it was different (of course it is🙄) hers was real love and dad’s ex was very abusive. I don’t know, I don’t believe in karma or anything but she said that she at least understands now how dad’s ex felt. I feel anger because some people win and some lose and I still love him very much. I regret exposing what happened. At least I could have had 4 more years together. And the children would have been a bit older. I regret so much things that I have done in a moment of grief and anger
OOP When told to be careful what she puts in text messages and once again be weary of the mistress
Thanks. I have been very careful about texting because as I am keeping all the evidence, I am counting on him doing that too. About his mistress, it is less “evil” than that because I was wrong about her recording the abuse. She stole the surveillance her husband had installed around their house to spy on her. MIL told me this today. She is probably hoping for full custody but I know the rules here and he will have right to see his son no matter so the c-word will have to move back sooner or later.
Only them I will be asking for full custody if my husband moves with her to her city because I don’t want a part time father to my children who shows up whenever he pleases. I want stability. He is either a father or not
THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT THE OOP
DO NOT CONTACT THE OOP's OR COMMENT ON LINKED POSTS, REMEMBER - RULE 7
submitted by Direct-Caterpillar77 to BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 05:48 PistachioHotsauce Five years of abuse, i want to heal

I first discovered and tried benzedrex back in 2019 at 15. I was searching ways to get high and legal highs. I wanted to feel any type of buzz i could get.
The first time I did this substance, it was amazing, it was like legal meth. It was my first stimulant i had ever done.
I started buying benzedrex every time i would go to the store with my family.
I didn't think of the potential harm it would cause me, as i kept abusing and binging the drug.
Soon I discovered stim-fapping. Masturbating to porn while on benzedrex was the best feeling i had ever felt. This new found discovery of its sexual effects, caused me to use the drug more often.
I've been abusing the drug now for five years, and have attempted to quit so many times, my longest being 9 months in 2021. How ever when i relapsed then my addiction just grew more and more.
I am hardly doing this drug for the high anymore, i do it for the sexual enhancements it brings with it.
I am doing up to two inhalers each time I relapse and use.
I have damaged my heart, sexual health, and my brain.
The routine of going to walmart, and the stores to buy benzedrex is so ingrained into my mind, that no matter how hard i try to quit this substance, its like i lose all my willpower, and go into full animal mode. I can't help myself, and always relapse and end up buying benzedrex, repeating the cycle of self hatred and damage to my body.
Today when I relapsed i become extremely depressed and fed up with what i am doing to my body, i need to end this addiction and heal, to live a normal life.
I have to keep trying, and will often post on here my progress and updates on how I am doing. And to vent.
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2024.05.19 05:00 nach0fr13d Is it normal to feel grief this heavy?

We had to let our baby girl go this morning. We rescued her as a pup and she lived a long, beautiful life with us. I have no doubt it was her time, and I have no regrets. She went so peacefully with us right by her side. Is it normal to feel grief this heavy from the loss of a dog? I feel like my heart is shattered into a million pieces. It seems like my brain keeps forgetting that she’s gone, and every time I remember it hits me all over again. I have lost family and pets in the past, but this is such a deep, almost indescribable pain. My girl was my childhood dog and we grew up together. I really don’t know life without her. This house doesn’t feel like a home without her. I can’t believe I was holding and kissing her hours ago and now she’s gone. This doesn’t feel real. I am so heartbroken. I so desperately want today to be over, but at the same time I wish it would last forever- because it’s the last day of my life that my girl was a part of. It seems like a lot of people don’t validate pet loss the same as human loss. But this is so devastating. I’m absolutely crushed. I don’t know how to live without my best friend. I love her so much. I miss her so much already. I feel so empty. I never believed in an afterlife, but after losing my baby this morning I can’t help but picture her running around in doggie heaven. I’m not sure what I believe in, but I hope if there is a heaven that she is having a blast and that she’ll be waiting for me when I get there. I am planning on putting together a photo album and putting something in the place where her food bowls were to honor her.. not sure what yet. She loved to run, so I am going to run in memory of her from now on. Are there any other things I can do in remembrance of my pup? Any suggestions on how to cope? I wasn’t expecting to experience such an unbelievably gutting grief.
submitted by nach0fr13d to Petloss [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 04:09 Tutenfarten time to vent

I haven't been the strong healthy happy picture of recovery. I've drank more than once or twice. I like being sober ok. It's not great. It's not as bad as active addiction. I'm neutral towards it with periods of wishing I could drown my brain in booze again.
My DUI has really messed me up mentally. I'm a fucking criminal. I haven't felt true relief at all during this whole process. 8 months of anxiety, guilt, shame, depression. I know it's not the same as wasting 8 months drinking but it feels like wasted time anyway. Because I've been ok sometimes but still so miserable. And this is while I can still drive! I'm fucked when my license gets suspended.
My mental issues make it nearly impossible to focus on the positive. I know it could be so much worse. I know I need to count my blessings. But GOD DAMN this sucks and I'm so scared. It's not going to be over for at least a better part of the year. I'm dealing with it on my own too, no one in my life can really help me out or emphasize. (before anyone says anything. no to AA. I am not doing cult-adjacent things while being vulnerable. I just rewatched Midsommar I know what's up)
submitted by Tutenfarten to dryalcoholics [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 03:14 Advanced-Pickle2663 Advice

Advice
Hi ya’ll I my first unit investment! Trying to get a home set up for fun little things.
brought one of these exposure units off Facebook marketplace but having trouble ironing out the kinks… the vacuum is playing up which could be a big issue.
Just can’t get it to expose right - gone from 120 seconds, to 180, 300 up to 510 exposure time but only noticing micro differences in the stencils. Screen pic is from 510 secs.
Does anyone have experience with these cheap units? I’m using QX-1 and single coating the screens. Seems to work fine in the past…
I’ve attached pictures and details of the unit - if anyone can see any obvious details I’m missing. Brain is fried thinking about it!
submitted by Advanced-Pickle2663 to SCREENPRINTING [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 02:53 ThrowRAessue My hasband (45m) is calling me (38f) an alcoholic for wanting to enjoy a drink with my brother on his birthday. How would you handle this?

My husband and I quit drinking. Here’s the thing, we’ve been together 15 years and I drank socially when I met him and always handled my alcohol well. He on the other hand does not. We’ve had some pretty huge issues in our relationship surrounding alcohol consumption: one time he nearly lost his mind yelling at me all night, he has almost jumped into a car with children after a day of drinking (someone took his keys and hid them not allowing him to drive and making him stay the night). when he’s drunk he cannot control his emotions, he goes through all of them. I have pictures of him sitting in a pool of his own vomit… I have videos of him yelling his head off, calling me names etc. the list goes on. The last incident when he almost jumped into a car with the kids was rock bottom (I though getting arrested and beaten up on vacation would be the rock bottom but it wasn’t).
The incident when he almost drove was the last time he really drank (he tried to bring home beer on 2-3 separate occasions after that but I got pretty upset and gave him a hard time, he made the decision to completely keep away from it).
So in the 15 years we’ve been together there have been times when he’s quit temporarily (because he’s gotten really out of hand) but then slowly after some time he’ll bring home a beer for me, one for him (of course asking first and then I agree because I do enjoy a cold beer on a hot day), don’t get me wrong I know I should have said a hard ‘NO’ and I should have never drank again either because obviously it’s hard to have it in the house, or have someone else enjoy a beer around you when you can’t. But I always thought, one is not that big of a deal (next thing you know, he’s bringing home a few beers a few times a week).
So I was pregnant with my third baby when this driving incident almost took place, so I had already not been drinking for 9 months. Fast forward to Xmas when my baby was about 2 months old. I had a glass of wine at Christmas, he declined when my parents offered him one. It didn’t seem to bother him that I had a glass of wine, like I said I’ve never been out of hand like him.
So again, it’s been 1.5 years since I brought alcohol into the home and I don’t plan to. However, having a glass of wine on my brothers birthday doesn’t seem like it’s something that’s not allowed for me. I’m envited to my brothers birthday party and I’ll be driving so I would literally have one beer or one glass of wine in the span of hours… along with food consumption. I’m shocked that when I brought up the fact that I might enjoy a beer with my brother on his 40th birthday he began to call me an alcoholic? (Again, a glass of wine on Christmas and other then that no drinking for 1.5 years) we never talked about me not drinking, I never fucked up, alcohol doesn’t poison me and my brain like it does him. I was boiling inside when he started saying I have a problem, I told him I don’t and that I’ve been pregnant and my one glass of wine on Christmas ‘didn’t start anything’ because I didn’t start bringing alcohol into the house. I didn’t drink more after that one glass of wine. I feel like I would love to have a glass of wine a couple of times a year when a girlfriend comes to visit, or when it’s my brothers 40th bday! Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want him to start drinking again so I’ll stay away from it but I just don’t understand why he’s making a big deal about me having a beer on a big occasion when I’ve never been out of hand when drinking, or made stupid decisions like he has. I guess I was looking for him to say, ya you go ahead but I’m not having any… as opposed to starting a fight about how I have a problem? It just makes no sense to me unless he’s just projecting and maybe craving having a drink.
In the end I didn’t end up having a beer on my brothers birthday, but next year on my 40th I’d like to… I don’t want it to be an issue, and believe me if it means I can never drink again to keep him from ever drinking again I will, but I also feel like I can handle a drink 5 times out of the year without getting out of hand or starting bad habits. Thoughts?
submitted by ThrowRAessue to relationship_advice [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 02:30 Trash_Tia When signing up for acting classes, never and mean NEVER audition for The S Class.

In hindsight, I should have known something was wrong with The Caeles Academy of Acting.
Maybe the fact that it doesn't exist to the outside world.
This place prided itself on famous alumni it didn't actually name, and a once in a lifetime opportunity to work with the best in the business.
It's what I wanted.
More than anything.
After enduring four years of high school with barely a semblance of a drama club (we met every month, and our teacher was an alcoholic), and countless failed auditions, I was ready to take my acting career seriously. I had one year.
According to my parents, I had one year to make a living from my passion.
If it didn't work out, I would be on the first plane back to Connecticut.
It's not like they didn't trust me. I think they were just scared I wouldn't be able to financially support myself. So, I got a job right out of high school and slipped a year. Drama schools are expensive, and college’s are cut-throat on who they take on. I found Caeles Academy by accident–or, I guess it found me?
After researching cheap drama classes, auditions, academy’s, literally anything to progress my career, an ad popped up.
Not exactly flashy.
Just a date, a time, and a promise that they only take the best. I ignored it, but throughout the week, I started getting more ads. Just the words, “IMPRESS US - - JOIN CAELES ACADEMY NOW.”
Followed by, “BE WITH THE BEST, AND BE THE BEST. JOIN THE S CLASS NOW.”
When I googled the academy, nothing came up.
It didn't exist, at least on Google.
So, I gave up, clicking on the ad, which sent me straight to an application form.
I filled in my details as more of a joke. But I wasn't expecting to get an email back. Again, it was a time, a date, and that exact same tagline: “Impress us.”
However, Caeles Academy was different from what I imagined.
I was expecting a university building, or at least some modern structure.
Judging from their marketing and ads, I figured they could at least afford decent premises. Though I was mistaken. When I stepped out of the Uber, I found myself staring at what looked like an abandoned office tower, a red-brick monolith in the middle of nowhere.
Which was crazy, because I swore a girl wearing a bikini had strode through the doors, with nothing but her phone, and a coffee tucked under her elbow.
According to the text sent from the academy, the auditioning rooms were on the third floor.
Tipping my head back, the checkerboard of broken windows didn't exactly instil confidence.
Neither did the clunky set of automatic doors that took a while to open.
It was a summer's day, and the heat was already baking through my dress, sweat sticky on the back of my neck.
I wanted to make a good impression, but the heels were a little over the top.
Though I had also seen a girl casually walk in wearing a two piece bikini.
“Well?”
Freddie’s voice made me jump. I forgot I was on the phone to him.
After being excited the whole car-ride, already high on five coffees, I was silent.
If I perceived the ‘academy’ from an objective standpoint, it definitely looked like the perfect place to be brutally murdered. But my own personal opinion was it was.. okay.
“What's it like?”
I pretended not to see a rat scuttling under an old candy wrapper.
“It's… fine.”
“Just fine?”
I could hear the smirk in my friend’s tone. He couldn't wait to tell me it was a scam, and had been reminding me all week I was essentially willingly selling myself to the black market. I was stubborn, so, fine sounded better than my initial first impression.
Which was to turn around, walk away, and completely block the place from my memory.
Unfortunately, at that moment, I valued my pride over my awareness.
“It's… okay.” I said, trying to find positives. I was staring at a looming grey building with shattered windows and a resident rat living near the door.
I had a hard time figuring out how the girl from earlier had just casually strode inside, barefoot too. I glanced down at the ground, immediately regretting it.
Like there weren't bits of chewing gum and grime stuck to the concrete.
“Huh.” Freddie said, his tone creeping into teasing territory. “You're really selling it.”
“It just looks like a building,” I muttered, my gaze glued to the rat, who looked a little too comfortable.
Maybe it was a pet.
I was getting progressively more infuriated the more I stared down this place. Judging from the decades old writing ingrained into the door, it used to be a dentist surgery. “What do you want me to say?” I wasn't even trying to hide the scorn from my voice. “It's a building that looks like an academy.”
“Can you send a picture?” Freddie asked, “Ooh, wait, I'll face-time you.”
“That's, uh, that’s not really necessary–”
I was cut off, suddenly, when a guy threw himself through the automatic doors, palms first. He took two stumbled steps forwards, one back.
Lifting his head, half lidded eyes found the sky, before he dropped to his knees, heaving pinkish liquid.
I could see him trying to hold it in, slamming his hands over his mouth, only for it to splurge through his fingers, showering the ground in greyish pink froth.
Like he'd downed a bottle of Pepto Bismol.
Inching towards him, I realized it was Pepto Bismol.
The stink made my own stomach churn.
“Missy?”
I found my voice. “Uh, can I call you back later?”
Before my friend could answer, I ended the call, slipping my phone in my pocket.
The guy was still heaving, coughing up globules of pink.
“Are you okay?”
The sound of my heels click-clacking on concrete made me cringe. The guy noticed, flinching away. Closer, and I could see his scraggly blonde hair.
He was handsome.
Without the bile spewing down his chin.
Early twenties, wearing a fitted white shirt now covered in streaks of bright pink. Part of me wanted to make a half-hearted joke, but getting even closer, so close I could smell his pepto-breath, I noticed he was trembling, his hands clenched into fists.
When I attempted to awkwardly pat him on the shoulder, he twisted around, so fast my morning coffee slithered its way back up my throat.
His eyes were wide, almost feral, studying me like a wild animal.
I noticed the whites of his pupils were red, like he'd burst a blood vessel.
Theatre kids were intense, though I had never met THIS kind of intense.
“Are you… going in there?” The guy’s voice was a child-like whimper I wasn't expecting.
It looked like he was slowly regaining clarity, staring down at his filthy shirt, his hands stained bright pink.
I nodded, uncertainly, offering him my water. “Yeah. Did you audition?”
He shoved it away, slapping himself in the face. “I… I don't know.”
“You… don’t know?”
Suddenly, it was like something had contorted in his expression, a switch being pulled. I wasn't expecting him to twist around so fast. The guy slowly cocked his head, his lips breaking into a grin. His eyes, however, stayed the same.
“Of course I've auditioned.” He said, with a laugh.
“It was the best experience of my life!" His mouth formed an almost mocking frown.
“Unfortunately, I didn't make the cut. Which is a real shame. I'm sure Caeles would have benefited from my talents.”
What was weird, is that his mouth was moving, but he wasn't even looking at me, frenzied eyes caught in an oblivion I couldn't see.
When he did look at me, his expression crumpled all over again.
Pepto jumped to his feet, brushing himself down.
I couldn't take his over the top smile seriously, when his eyes were screaming, hollowed out caverns silently begging me to listen.
This guy was fucking crazy.
“Wait.” Pepto whispered, when I turned to walk away.
He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen before shoving it in my face.
I HAD SO MUCH FUN AT THE CAELES ACADEMY AUDITIONS :)
When I could only stare at him in confusion, Pepto’s gaze flicked to his phone, swiping bile from his lips.
His eyes went cartoon wide, like he couldn't believe what he himself was typing.
“That… that's not what I was trying to say!” He tried retyping it, but the guy was just writing strings of emoji hearts.
I didn't know what to say. I had dealt with rejection before, but I had never gone this far. Pepto was having a full on mental breakdown, his body shuddering, teeth chattering, blinking eyes and lips parting as if to speak, but choking on his words. When he started clawing out his hair, I took the opportunity to make a quick getaway.
Before I could make it to the doors, though, Pepto jumped in front of me, waving his phone directly in my face.
“Just…” he pointed at the screen. “It won't let me…” Growing frustrated with himself, he let out a wet sounding sob, clawing his fingers through his hair.
“Fuck, it won't let me…it won't let me type! It's not letting me type!”
By now, he had tufts of hair stuck between his fingernails. I don't know why his first reaction was to immediately try ripping his hair out.
A quick glance at my own phone reminded me of my audition that was in five minutes.
Meanwhile, I was dealing with what I was pretty sure was delusion, denial, or a mixture of both.
I was considering pushing past him, when Pepto’s phone screen hit me in the face. Again.
This time, though, there was coherent writing.
“FIND LUKE.”
“Luke?” I said. “Who's that?”
“Luke!” The guy was bouncing on the heels of his feet. “He's my…” Pepto drifted off, his eyes going vacant, as if I could physically see his brain being plucked from his skull. Pepto dropped his phone, and I grabbed it before it could hit the ground. His hands went to his curls, clawing, scratching, until he was drawing blood across his forehead.
“I… I don't know! I can't… I can't remember. Luke. He was my… he was my… I don't know, I can't… I can't–”
I stumbled back when he let out a shriek, scratching at his face.
“Fuck!” He whimpered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Pepto grabbed my shoulders, shaking me, his fingers digging into my skin.
“I don't know who he is.” He gritted out, pink froth pooling from his lips.
Pepto broke out into a sob. “I don't… I don't know who he is, but you can find him, right? You can… you can find…”
Again, he trailed off mid sentence, his hands going limp around my shoulders.
I managed to side step him, swallowing a cry.
“Yeah, I'll, um, I'll find him for you.”
Pepto backed away, suddenly, stumbling over himself.
His gaze found mine, vacant, like a baby deer.
“Find who?”
I didn't wait around to answer him, pushing through the doors and stepping inside.
The interior was unsurprisingly even worse than the exterior.
The elevator was broken, so I had to run up three flights of stairs.
I expected at least an attempt at an academy, even in the dregs of an old dentist surgery.
What I got, though, was a never ending staircase, obnoxious photos of teeth greeting me on every level.
The third floor was… less clinical.
I strode directly into a waiting room filled with college aged students, either sitting on plastic chairs, or standing around, rehearsing.
The room itself was cosy enough, a navy carpet and a TV playing a random Twitch stream.
Situated in the middle was a desk with a bored looking woman behind it.
Her smile was fake. I could understand her pain. She was stuck in a room with theatre kids all day.
“Sign here.” She prodded a sheet of paper.
I was convinced her voice was AI.
While I was scribbling my details, I took a moment to notice the stark difference from the kids entering the room, to the ones leaving. The kids entering wore wide, confident smiles and were social butterflies, chatting amongst themselves.
The kids leaving reminded me of pod people.
They left the room silent, in an orderly line with dazed smiles on their faces, like they weren't sure where they were.
I watched one guy walk directly into the wall instead of taking a left toward the exit, and a girl straight up just toppled down the stairs.
The kids waiting with me named them rejects.
I wasn't convinced until I glimpsed an empty bottle of Pepto Bismol sitting on the floor by the window.
Thinking back to Pepto, that made a lot of sense.
I was still dazedly staring at the bottle, when my name was called.
Jumping to my feet, I did my best to calm myself down, straightening my ponytail. Pepto had really screwed with my head. I could barely even remember the lines I had been rehearsing for a week straight.
I was muttering my lines to myself, when I stepped through the door.
The door that apparently turned you into a pod-person on the way out.
For a moment, I thought I was blinded by stage lights.
It was so bright.
The glow bathing me was clinical, stabbing into my eyes.
When I blinked, I found myself standing in front of three shadows sitting in front of me.
Their chairs were made of leather, far different from the plastic ones in the waiting room.
So, they did have filthy cash.
I was looking at one man, and two women.
They were… average?
I expected them to be more glitzier, but they were just regular people.
The man was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, a stiff looking brunette wearing a suit and tie, one leg crossed over the other. His eyes were narrowed slightly, lips curved into the start of a smile. Like I amused him.
The women were polar opposites.
One of them was my Mom’s age, grey hair and floral clothing. She took a sip of water, her gaze burning into me.
Google told me not to be intimidated by their stares, but it was impossible.
These people were carving holes into my skull.
Sitting next to her, a younger girl who seemed to own the color red.
Her hair simmered, blood red, while she herself was sculpted in a dress, perfect cherry lips spread in a wide smile.
With a little too many teeth.
They studied my face like I was already theirs, drinking in every inch of me.
Freddie said I had to find a weakness in their expression and use it to my advantage.
If I could find the prick of a genuine smile, I could become their favorite.
“Hi!” I said. My caffeine intake was starting to take effect.
I didn't realize I was bouncing up and down until I caught myself.
Red’s smile stretched wider.
Maybe they liked my eagerness.
“My name is Misa.” I introduced myself, staying casual, keeping my arms by my sides. “I'm twenty one years old–”
I choked on my next words when Red spoke up. “Impress us, Misa,” Her voice was a smooth, almost seductive rasp, and I felt myself fall into it, enveloped in sugar that was too sweet, and yet I couldn't stop myself. She folded her arms across her chest, her gaze challenging me to do something different. To make her want me.
“Show us something we have never seen before.” She stood up, cat-like eyes narrowing, “Show us how desperate you are to join this prestigious class.”
I nodded, and began.
I had planned a whole monologue, practised it over and over again, forcing Freddie to judge me with a none biassed opinion.
I was three lines in, when Red started laughing.
“Stop.”
I did, my cheeks heating up.
She clapped loudly. Obnoxiously.
“Sweetie, oh, stop, you're adorable!”
She leaned forward, like I was something that entertained her, jostling her heeled foot. “We don't take amateurs. I think you need to go back to school.”
This woman was definitely a psychopath.
Empty eyes sparkling with a gleam that definitely enjoyed humiliating candidates, and a twisted smile that was a little too wide. Red made me want to crawl into the ground.
She made me want to turn around, leave the room, and quit my dream. I was aware of my own fury, my embarrassment turning my cheeks crimson. I matched her.
Maybe that's what she wanted all along. To wear the color of her victims.
Taking a shaky step back, I started to nod, started to agree, my mouth choking with the words, “You're right. I'm sorry for wasting your time."
I had never received proper constructive criticism from a professional standpoint.
Which meant I really did suck.
But I didn't move. I didn't want to move, and Red continued laughing, her companions sitting in silence.
The man rolled his eyes with a loud, exaggerated sigh.
Like I was boring.
The older woman pulled out her phone.
“Misa, you are…cute.” Red said. “But you're not quite what we are looking for.”
I wasn't sure I could admit it right there, but she made me feel things.
Like I was ignited.
Like I was going to prove this crazy bitch wrong.
I found my voice, strong and confident, despite my hammering heart.
“Give me another chance.”
Red’s lips curled. “So cute, Misa. Oh, sugar bear, It would be better if you left the room. Unless you want to embarrass yourself further! In that case, be my guest!”
She turned her attention to her nails, nudging the guy.
“Dinner?” She hummed. “I'm thinking of Italian. You are quite the wine connoisseur, Nicholas. Why don't you introduce me to your favorite?”
“Hey.” I blurted.
They ignored me, getting a little too close.
I don't know why I continued, reading my lines, screaming them, so I would be heard. I read them perfectly, and tweaked the genre from drama to romance, and then to horror. I became three different characters, a high school girl struggling with cancer, a final girl, and a woman going through a divorce.
I was fucking perfect.
But they weren't listening to me, caught up in their own conversation.
I tried again.
And again.
And again.
By now, I was on my knees, my fingers ripping into my hair. I was seeing red.
“We want originality, Misa,” Red said, sucking her teeth.
Her voice crawling into my skull was enough.
She still wanted me.
The thought polluted the back of my mind, taking a strangling hold. She still wanted me. When I lifted my head, Red wasn't looking at me, her gaze on the table grains. “Show us something new.”
I got to my feet, panting, my breath in my throat.
I became a screaming, strangled mess, a woman who lost her baby.
Red’s interest was piqued. Only slightly. Through my fraying vision, she slowly turned in her chair. “Again.” She clapped her hands, “Come on, Misa! We want new! We want never been fucking done before! Are you deaf?”
I couldn't stop the sobs escaping my mouth.
They lost interest again, right in the middle of my reading.
“Why can't you look at me?” I found myself spluttering.
When the man pulled out a bottle of water, I yanked off my heel and lobbed it at his face.
“Look at me!”
He did. Slowly. His gaze found me, for perhaps the first time.
Not as an amateur, but as a potential candidate.
Around the twentieth attempt, I started to laugh. Never been done before? I could feel my fingernails already in my scalp, clawing chunks of my hair out.
Reality contorted, and I felt myself drop to my knees. I was still laughing, spluttering, sobbing. I could still hear her in my head. Never Been Done Before. I started slowly, dragging my fingernails down my face until I felt the harsh sting.
“Again.” Red said, and her voice led me to stare down at my hands, at pinkish flesh glued to my bones, fleshy mounds that I had never realized was so thin.
So easy to tear. I didn't even feel it.
Only the sudden, unbridled euphoria of biting into my own skin, locking in my jaw, and ripping into myself.
When I tore it from the bone, warmth filled my mouth, and I was choking, guzzling down my own flesh, mulling it in my mouth and swallowing.
I can't remember how I got so deep, and why I didn't stop.
Why I didn't fucking scream.
But it didn't matter.
Red was standing up. She was clapping, her lips spread into a grin.
Her applause filled me with stars.
So, I ripped my hair from my scalp, a hysterical giggle escaping my lips.
She loved me.
I could see her jumping up and down, clapping.
Louder, and louder.
Her applause controlled me, twisting and contorting me into hers.
I didn't even think. I wanted to impress her, and doing this was doing just that.
My fingers were delving into my right eye socket, clawing my eye out. It didn't even hurt. Not with her thundering applause that was deafening, beautiful, an orchestra in my ears.
When I was semi conscious, my eye was crushed in my hand, but my vision was still mine, almost too clear. I could see streaks of red blurred between my lashes. My hair was caught between my fingers. But I wanted to do more.
When I stumbled to my feet, Red’s smile was so beautiful.
The man, however, looked horrified.
“Someone grab one of the successes,” Red’s voice was a shrill giggle, “Bring him in!” she clapped her hands together, and I spat out a fleshy thing. “I want to see them together! I want to see the future in front of us!”
Footsteps coming towards me in slow, shuddery thumps. I looked up, and a shadow was dancing around me.
When I slowly rose to my feet, I half realized I’d bitten my toe off. The shadow had a face, a boy who was younger than me. I think he used to have hair, but half of it was gone, half of it was still stuck between his fists. When I found his eyes, I found twin caverns instead.
Eyes that were still physically there, and yet there was no life.
No spark.
I was staring at a dead body, a flesh puppet who had lost his strings.
When he grabbed my hands, pulling me into a waltz, I caught a smear of scarlet trickling down the back of his neck. When I followed it upwards, his head was covered, slick, dripping with red.
Like me, he matched her too.
And he was beautiful, she told me, her push, her thunderous applause, guiding me into a waltz.
His feet moved, perfecting every step, and my foggy mind couldn't understand why. He matched my every move, the two of us floating across the floor.
My feet knew the steps before my mind.
How could he dance? I thought, dizzily.
How could he dance, when smeared scarlet followed his twisting, and turning and pirouetting feet?
Because underneath that swimming clinical light, the back of the boy’s head had been carved away, a perfectly sculpted cavern where his brain should have been. I could see the severed stem, where it had cleanly plucked out.
His fingers cradled in mine were wet. Swimming in blood.
His own blood.
Spinning round and around, I imagined myself as a princess.
I saw an 18th century ballroom lit up around us. Glittering smiles and glasses of champagne, long, flowing ball gowns.
I blinked, and my head was tipped back, gliding in blood once again.
When he pulled me to his chest, I stumbled, and a name came to light.
Luke.
I had found him.
Our finishing spin left me hard to breathe.
My body was broken, ripped into, and yet somehow not.
By the time we were finished, the two of us bowing, my mind was full of fog.
Cotton candy.
“Congratulations!” Red’s smile was inhuman, stretching right off of her face.
“You're in the S class!”
I was led through a door that wasn't the one I entered from. Inside the room were a dozen or so students, kneeling on the floor. They were missing parts of themselves, like unfinished puzzle pieces.
I dropped onto my knees next to a girl without a head. I could only see her torso, but I knew she was smiling.
Looming over us, was the goddess Athena drenched in blood that was still wet.
Dripping, pooling from every crevice of her dress.
Looking closer, this statue was moving.
Something sickly crept into my mouth.
Her right eye was human, a twitching eyeball sandwiched inside the stone.
It didn't match her. It was wrong, horrifying, like a painting, a real human eye struggling to focus on us.
And then, my own gaze found the statues head, where a real human brain had been forced inside perfect white, pink, greyish mush dripping down the sculpted, slender neck.
I could see where it had been pushed, pulverised through the stone.
The statue’s singular eye found me.
Its dancing pupil jumped up and down.
Before it blinked.
Next to me, Luke was on his knees, as if in prayer.
I can't remember leaving the room.
I just remember running.
Back down the stairs, stumbling, staggering over myself.
I was screaming by the time I reached the doors.
They opened, as usual.
But I couldn't get through. I tried, but I was slamming into something I couldn't see.
Pepto was still waiting outside. The sky was dark.
When he saw me, he stumbled over, slamming his hands into the glass.
I couldn't even understand myself. I was just fucking screaming.
Pepto held up his phone.
“DID YOU FIND HIM?”
I shook my head.
“No.” I lied.
I can't tell him the truth. I don't even know what it is.
“I can't get out!”
Pepto nodded slowly, typing something and showing me his phone.
I'm getting you both out of there. I think I know how I can get inside.
It's been 3 days, and Pepto is yet to return.
I’ve tried multiple times to cry out for the H word. But it won't let me type it.
Please H me. I need to get out of this place.
Fuck. Get me OUT OF HERE.
Classes start tomorrow.
submitted by Trash_Tia to nosleep [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 02:21 ThetaRealityShifting Welcome

What is Reality Shifting?

Reality shifting refers to the phenomenon where your consciousness becomes aware of and transitions into another reality. Picture falling asleep and awakening in a completely different world; it's basically you moving your consciousness from one reality to another. Just as you experience this reality, another version of you exists in a different one. By "tuning the antenna" through intention and possibly specific methods, you can become aware of that other existence. Though the concept of reality shifting gained popularity on TikTok in late 2020, it has existed under various names for much longer, including mind surfing, interdimensional traveling, Theta journeying, the Gateway process, and dimensional jumping, etc..
At its essence, reality shifting ties closely to the Multiverse theory, the idea that infinite realities branch out from every decision we make. Reality shifting posits that we can consciously transfer our awareness to any desired part of the multiverse.

The Gateway Project

A notable document in the shifting community is the CIA's "Analysis and Assessment of Gateway Process," created on June 9, 1983, and declassified on September 9, 2003. This document explores theoretical topics framed in physical science terms, including biofeedback, transcendental meditation, and hypnosis—all techniques related to reality shifting. Biofeedback, in particular, involves visualizing a desired outcome through affirmation and repetition, mirroring practices used by shifters.

Things That People Believe to Be True but Are Not

It's important to clarify what reality shifting is not. Reality shifting is not the same as lucid dreaming, maladaptive daydreaming, astral projection, hallucinations, etc. These phenomena are distinct and should not be confused with the concept of shifting realities.

Terminology’s Used

In the shifting community, certain terms are used to describe key concepts. The most common are CR (Current Reality) and DR (Desired Reality). CR is the reality we currently inhabit, while DR is the reality shifters aim to move to. Desired Realities can vary widely, from fantastical worlds where one can fly, to alternate versions of our own world, or even settings inspired by favorite movies or shows.

Methods

Shifters use various methods to facilitate their transition to a Desired Reality. Here are a few: the Fallen method, the Pillow method, the Raven method, the Tea Party method, the Hug method, etc. However, you don’t necessarily need a specific method to shift your reality; you just need a clear intention and one affirmation.
There are both 'awake' and 'sleeping' methods for shifting. Awake methods often involve meditation, while sleeping methods utilize the period when you are asleep. Although some compare reality shifting to lucid dreaming or astral projection, it remains distinct; these states can be used as tools to facilitate shifting, but they are not the same thing.

Theta Reality Shifting

The Theta Method involves reaching a deep meditative state known as the theta state, where brain waves slow down, making the mind more receptive to exploring other realities.

"Clones" & Stand-Ins

The terms "clone" and "stand-in" refer to different concepts within reality shifting. A clone is simply another version of yourself that continues your daily life while you are in another reality. They are not separate entities but alternate versions of you and are unaware of the shift. In contrast, a stand-in is a different soul or person who can occupy your body if given permission. This typically occurs when someone no longer wants to inhabit their body and allows another soul to take over.

You Can Shift Anywhere

Fictional Realities and Characters

You can shift to any reality you desire. Every concept and place comes from somewhere, whether it was subconsciously intercepted from another world and placed in your mind or inspired by real experiences. The settings we see in movies or read about in books often have roots in actual places that actors, directors, or writers have visited, and if they haven’t visit these places, it was intercepted from another world. If these places didn’t exist in some form, shifting to them wouldn’t be possible. The very fact that people can shift there suggests their existence in the multiverse.
Shifting allows you to access any reality, including those deemed fictional. These fictional settings and characters often have counterparts in other realities. For instance, J.K. Rowling mentioned that she dreamt the entire Harry Potter universe, but some believe she might have actually visited that reality. Even if through a dream, it suggests that people can experience different realities unconsciously, albeit with less awareness and immersion. Fictional characters, therefore, exist somewhere in the multiverse, and while they might appear different, if they do in our current reality, they are just as real as any other being.

Do Fictional Characters Exist in Our Current Reality?

Fictional characters, especially those from TV shows or movies, do exist in our reality as the actors who portray them. If you create a fictional character yourself, it might be that the character was subconsciously intercepted from another world and you unconsciously picked it up, even though you believe you invented them. These characters exist but may not look the same or be the same person in our reality. Fictional characters can shift between realities and exist in various forms. Though we label them as fictional, they are as real as we are. We are conditioned to think of them as fictional because they originate from our imagination, books, or TV shows.

Duration of Stay in a Shifted Reality

You can remain in a shifted reality for as long as you desire, whether that's a brief visit or an indefinite stay.

Shifting, Permashifting, & Respawning

Permashifting refers to shifting to a new reality and choosing never to return to your current reality. Respawning is the deliberate act of permanently cutting ties with your current reality to inhabit a new one.
submitted by ThetaRealityShifting to ThetarealityShifting [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 02:15 M4710 We need memes for this game.

We need memes for this game.
Everybody If we want global domination we need to be big brain, btw heres an funny picture of Ookami best grill :⁠-⁠)
submitted by M4710 to Isekai_Slow_Life [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 02:02 SkyrimIsLife420 I may have met a serial killer 2

Hey all! So I wanted to give a part two since I'm not high now lol, and also I wanted to clear up some things and add in some other details I left out that I just remembered. If you haven't seen the first part of this post then I suggest going to that, otherwise you'll be very confused. Also, I forgot to add this in my first post but DON'T READ if triggered by certain topics like r*ape, SA, murder, abuse, etc. Another thing is, this post is going to be a lot darker and aside from talking about what happened, I'm also looking for advice on my mental state and how to cope. So please read with caution because I'm going to be talking about what happened with B, but also about my past before him and how what happened is affecting my past trauma.
So, I'm not going to retell the whole story but I am going to be bringing up a lot of parts from it and things I didn't realize until after the incident happened. And some of the things I didn't think of until my friend brought it up. So in my first post, I was talking about how B (26M) was REALLY into Jeffrey Dahmer. Well, in the show we watched with Evan Peters, I noticed a lot of things Jeffrey did as well as already knowing a lot about him before watching it. I noticed that B was doing a lot of things similar to him. Now, I forgot to add in this part last time, but B was really 'straight phobic.' Now I'm a bi transman but I don't hate cis / straight people. In fact, a lot of my friends are cis and in straight relationships. For some reason though, he did, to a weird extent. And even though he was being respectful in the beginning, I'm starting to get a feeling he wasn't actually gay or cared about trans people. Because it seems as though ALL of his former partners were transmen. Which isn't that weird I guess, and he did tell me he tried dating a cis man before but it didn't work. After I met him in person he was telling me that he really liked his trans partners to still have sex vaginally and he liked tits. So, I was kind of confused at that. I think what was really going on was that he isn't gay but wanted to be so he could be like Jeffrey Dahmer. I know it's a bit of a stretch, but you'll see why later. So another thing is, Jeffrey would always ask his potential victims to go back to his place for drinks and to take photos, particularly sexual ones. Jeffrey would then lace the drinks and go on to do weird things to his victims while taking their pictures. And while I was trapped at his place, B kept pushing alcohol on me, A LOT. So much so, that when I kept refusing he started getting angry. However, once I pretended to take a sip it was like his whole attitude changed. He also kept joking it was laced, like EVERYTIME he offered me some. Even though I didn't actually drink any, like I said in the first post, I still got a few drops on my lips and in my mouth. After that I started to get a headache and was a bit dizzy. Also, he had told me before that he liked to take pictures of his partners in sexual poses while they held his guns. Aside from the guns, that's EXACTLY WHAT JEFFREY WOULD DO. For some reason, I didn't piece any of this together until afterwards. I guess I was too shaken up to think clearly. I said this before as well, but when I first entered his house, it was pitch black and he had black out curtains on EVERY WINDOW in his house. His bedroom, living room, kitchen, I mean his whole house made it seem like it was night outside. Another thing that is eerily similar to Jeffrey, is that B told me before I met him in person he always liked dating someone younger. I, at the time, was nineteen and he was twenty five, about to turn twenty six. I honestly don't know what was wrong with me so have not seen the BIG RED FLAGS in the beginning, but he played it off so well I didn't even notice them until after everything happened. And it isn't like me to go for older guys, I usually try to go for someone two years older or younger than me, as I don't like have a huge age gap between me and my partner. Anyway though, Jeffrey always went for younger guys, as well as sometimes KIDS. So, that's another thing similar between them, as well as the fact that B told me he was into little brother play. Where he makes his partners act like a younger brother during sex, etc. He also told me he liked for his partners to SUCK ON BINKIES. BRUHHHH, no thanks bro, I'm good. See, if it was just one of these things that he liked / was into, then I guess it would be normal. Just a guy into a weird ass kink, but all these things combined just did not sit right with me as well as how he was acting. Now, I said in my other post that basically the ENTIRE TIME I was with him, he had a weird ass expression on his face that made me uncomfortable. I wish I could explain better, but it was like constipated / confused look, like Edward from Twilight when he does those weird facial expressions. His brows were always furrowed and he looked like he was uncomfortable / anxious the whole time. He was being super sketchy. His body language was just really off-putting and made me feel weird. And the thing he kept ranting about the most was how Jeffrey Dahmer was misunderstood and just needed someone to be there for him, and then maybe he wouldn't have killed people. The thing that scared me the most was how he said he felt the same way, that he wished he could just have someone not leave him and how he had trust issues after his former partners. Especially the one I mentioned in the last post, about how his ex partner before me snuck out in the middle of the night and got his family to come get him. His family lived across the country, so it had to have been pretty bad for his ex to call his parents and tell them to come get him. Because they drove across multiple different states to come pick him up in the middle of the night so he could sneak away. I have a major feeling that B left out a lot of their fight and why his ex actually left. Not to mention while I was with him, he watched every move I made and wouldn't let me get on my phone without him seeing what I was doing / texting to people. I have a feeling if he thought I was trying to leave him he would've done something bad. Just like Jeffrey. Jeffrey wouldn't always hurt his victims (Not at first anyway) it was always when they said they had to leave that he would get angry and force them to stay. So, idk man, I could've been killed or worse. Also, I know I said I could've been killed or worse, and some of you are probably thinking what's worse than being killed? Well, to me, a lot of things he could've done would have been worse. Especially if he was trying to be like Dahmer, then I could've gotten acid injected into my brain or been r*aped. Which is exactly what I think he was trying to do, with how much alcohol he was trying to push on me. He also kept 'petting' me and touching my thighs while he told me all the ways he'd kill me 'if he was a serial killer.' I genuinely think that something bad would've happened if I didn't have one HELL of an excuse to leave. Because honestly, my mom couldn't have given a better excuse for me to go that also sounded real and not like a lie. Because, like I said before, I had told him before I met him that my mother had health issues and was always in and out of the hospital, so it was perfect that she used that as an excuse. He got really cold and wasn't speaking to me when he heard my phone call and that I had to leave, but I think if I would've tried to leave without that excuse or by giving him an obvious lie, then I might not be here. I'm also super grateful to my best friends who let me come to their place and stay late instead of going home. Me and my best friend, basically my sister, have talked about this a lot since it happened and every time we do, we try to rationalize why someone would act like that, other than being an actual serial killer / r*pist. But we can never think of a reason besides the fact that he simply is what he seems like. A really unhinged person who could've hurt me badly. Also, this was my FIRST TRUE experience in online dating and I honestly think I'm never going to try that again. I've run into so many creeps trying to date online, AND in real life. Most people who aren't trans probably don't realize or know this, but there are a lot of men that want to do really weird and fucked up things to trans people because I guess they think we are some mutant or something, or 'the best of both worlds.' I've run into them a lot, and when I met B, I thought that was over. I thought I had met an actual good person who was educated on trans topics and was respectful of my boundaries and my body. Nope. Now I'm starting to think dating, at least where I live now, is almost impossible and I think I'm going to be alone for awhile. :') Not to mention, I'm now traumatized after what happened with B, and I already had trouble trusting men, and just people in general. Before meeting him I have already been SAed before, multiple times. I guess I'm simply asking for advice on how to move on from something like this. I was trying, and doing kind of ok, moving on from things that had happened before I met B, but now after what happened with him I feel like I'm back sliding and it's making me relive all my past traumas. I basically trust no one, when it comes to sexual things, besides my two best friends I've known since childhood. I tend to over sexualize everything, even things that aren't sexual at all, and get scared around ANYONE, even family members, who I know deep down don't see me like that. I was also abused as a kid and wasn't able to get out of it until I was eighteen, and I've only just turned twenty now, so it wasn't even until two years ago I was still being abused. I feel I've fallen into the dark again and my panic attacks have gotten worse again. I feel depressed and I didn't realize until recently that I'm suicidal again. I didn't realize it until recently, because when I was younger and suicidal, I knew I was. I've tried unaliving myself before so I didn't think about it because I don't feel that way now. It's different this time. Instead of my thoughts directly wanting me to pull out a gun and, ya know, this time it's more subtle and more of a subconscious action. Like closing my eyes for a few seconds while driving. Or intrusive thoughts about ramming head first into the car in the other lane. Or going hiking and thinking of what it would feel like to step off the cliff. I'm honestly just tired. I feel like every person I meet has some kind of ulterior motive, whatever it is. I'm working at a really nice job but it seems like every time I save up money and am doing good for my future, I have to use it on something unexpected that pops into my life. I'm living with my grandparents for now because they said they weren't going to charge me rent, and I'm super grateful for that, but even still I can't keep money and I kind of just don't see my future anymore. Both my parents were drug addicts, my mother to pain pills then xans after that, my father was mainly an alcoholic but also did meth, pills, and other things. It doesn't help because when I was younger, around my early teen years (13-16) I started smoking cigs when I was 12, then I started smoking weed, which I still do, but then it got worse and I've tried xans, snorting pills I didn't even know what they were, drinking, and I've even done shrooms and LSD. I've also had some really bad trips on LSD that made my severe panic disorder worse and after that I now disassociate a lot too and have trouble knowing if I'm in reality while having a panic attack. And after what happened with B, his house and the smell (Cigs and booze) just reminded me what it was like living with my parents in that crack house looking trailer. It's like my brain won't let me let go of the past and move on. It's like I'm constantly stuck there still. And aside from dating, it's also super hard to meet people as friends where I live. I love my two best friends, one of which has been with me since we were basically fetuses and her parents and mine were friends, so her parents were also abusive drug addicts. It's nice to have someone so close and how we can relate to what we went through. We joke that we were traumatized by our parents, but also by each other's parents as well lol. Even though I'm grateful for them, you never know what's going to happen in the future and I don't want to be solely dependent on them and be able to make new friends, but I just can't. I feel so alone, and my friend I grew up with has been moved out a lot longer than me and has had time to heal, and I don't wanna keep dumping my mental problems on her because it's unfair to her. I feel like I'm just bringing her back to our past with me. When I moved out, I completely cut ties with my father, I don't even like calling him that, as he was the first person to SA me and he is, in general, and evil person. I try to think that evil people don't exist, but then I think of him and I realize they do. My mom though, is a good person when she isn't on anything. Recently though, I blocked her and haven't talked to her in over a month because she OD again on xans and amphetamines. I kind of realized recently that she is almost as bad as my father, even though I never wanted to admit that to myself. Because when I was younger, I admitted to her that he had SAed me and she kept pressuring me to tell her what happened, like, IN DETAIL. I told her no because I didn't want to relive it and think about it, even now I have a lot of repressed memories. And because I wouldn't tell her EXACTLY what happened, she doesn't believe. I think she does, deep down, but she doesn't want it to be real. And after her OD last month, she tried telling me she didn't and that it was just her BLOOD PRESSURE. LIKE OH MY GOD BITCH, WHY DO YOU LIE? She must think I'm stupid or something. Before I blocked her, I cussed her out over text and said something like "Who do you think was the first person at the hospital? Not grandma, not your husband, ME. I've always been there for you first. Who do you think told me you had OD? The doctors when I first got there!" And she still denies it, even though when me and my friend got the hospital she was lying there naked (they had to cut her clothes off to save her) with a breathing tube stuck down her throat. I've tried helping her my whole life but apparently she doesn't want help. So now I've gotten tired of her BS and I blocked her and now my grandma is pressuring me to talking to her, luckily though, my grandpa went through something similar as a kid and understands how it is so he isn't guilt tripping me into talking with her. I'm just tired of having to put into traumatic situations. My mental health just keeps getting worse. Somehow, trauma always finds me and nowadays, it seems my only friends are my demons. It used to not be like this, but now even when I'm with my two closest friends, I still feel lonely. Like they are reminding me that when I leave my friends, I'm alone again. Anyway, I know this probably isn't the right subreddit for this, but I kind of just started ranting, sorry for that.
Also, to clear some things up, no I don't use drugs, not anymore. I've never really been an addict at all in my life, somehow. I just did drugs because I wanted to escape when I was younger, and thankfully I never got addicted to any of them. Not like you can get addicted to LSD or shrooms anyway. The only thing I've got addicted to was cigarettes, which rn, is the least of my concerns. And as for weed, I used to be a major stoner but it started making my panic attacks worse so I stopped for a few years, cold turkey, and only recently started smoking it again. So, I'm not worried about weed and if anything, it's been helping now. Especially since I don't smoke it nearly as much as I used to. So, for those worried about me being or getting on drugs, don't worry I'm fine. I have made a clear boundary for myself to never do anything besides smoking my cigs and weed. Cause I've seen how drugs affect my parents and others I've known and I've sworn to myself that I won't become them. It also sucks though because I see psychedelics as something that can help a lot of people with trauma, and the first shrooms trip I ever did changed my life for the better. Now though, after my bad LSD trip, I don't know if I can every do them again. Maybe one day, but not for the foreseeable furture. Again, sorry for going on a rant. I'll probably post this to another subreddit and see if anyone can help. I'm not looking for therapy as I don't have the money or health insurance. Just looking for someone who can relate that has been able to move past similar things and find happiness. If you've read this far, thank you. Like seriously, from the bottom of my heart. It means a lot to me that someone would read about another person's problems and life experience. I hope whoever is reading this is having a great day / night wherever you are, and are living your best life. And for those reading that are going through a similar situation right now and can't get out, I promise you aren't alone. I haven't really gotten better, so I can't say things get better, but I can say it DOES get easier. All I can say is, you aren't alone in it. There are others, like me, who know your pain. Keep living, it'll be worth it. Even though I'm not doing my best and my mental problems are still with me, that doesn't mean it's all been bad. I've made a lot of amazing memories after I moved out. Keep going.
submitted by SkyrimIsLife420 to Stalking [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 01:46 Ambitious-Fox-5666 Need help!

** I know that no one on here is medical professionals but I have tried that route with no answers so looking to see if I can find someone who has experienced these or is educated on any of this**
I was wondering, I’ve been dealing with being emotionally numb for about 5 months now, but I also have a problem with not being able to recall memories or visualize anything in my mind.. I have no pictures flowing in my head or anything colorful. This all started after a very bad panic attack from trying a Xanax for the first time because I have a huge fear of medication. I have had panic attacks & anxiety for about 6 months before this happened. Then I tried the half of a Xanax before bed and had a terrible panic attack and woke up the next day feeling numb. Like I felt I wanted to panic but I couldn’t do anything physically, I just had the fears mentally but no physical response to the panic or anxiety (still to this day).. I wanted to cry but couldn’t no matter how hard I tried (I can cry now but not like I could before all this) then a couple of weeks later I woke up and my mind was “blank” I couldn’t recall the happy times, good memories etc. not able to visualize nothing in my mind. Before I went numb I had all of this and to a great level always have been able to do so I felt I remembered everything & every little detail! I’m now freaked out and convinced that I have brain damage and I’ll never get my sweet precious memories or visualizations back. I feel even more hopeless because I can’t find anyone else with these issues nor does any of the therapist or medical professionals I have visited even understand what I’m talking about I get looked at like I have 6 heads. If someone could please help me find answers as to if this is DPDR or dissociation and what I may be able to do in order to get my life back? Cause feeling this empty has me feeling as though I’m losing my mind or going to snap and lose control! :( I’m a mom so this is really hard to deal with for me because I feel like I am ruining my kids lives not being the mom they have known :’(
submitted by Ambitious-Fox-5666 to dpdrhelp [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 01:15 Skyrim_Jizz Do you like being autistic? Why?

This is just the reason why i hate my diagnosis and nothing important to read if you don't want to: Personally I hate it.. I was 28 when I got my diagnosis "high functioning autism" and getting the diagnosis was one of the best things ever happening to me but having to live with it is for me the worst thing that ever could have happened because my autism is the biggest reason why the love of my life and mother of my daughter left me. She was actually the one helping me get and understand the diagnosis so she didn't left me because I had autism, she had to leave me because of my obsession and what I did because I had autism. I'm definitely not blaming any diagnosis for my actions but one problem I have because of my diagnosis is that I can't trust people to 100% and especially not girlfriends so she had to live with almost daily false accusations that she had been cheating on me, just because that was what my mind both was telling me and "showing" me (can someone else relate to your brain "showing" you "pictures" of worst case scenarios?)... That is not the only reason why I hate my diagnosis but it's one good example...
submitted by Skyrim_Jizz to autism [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 01:13 Gildedfilth My experience with a Calyceal Diverticulum

I am in recovery from my ureteroscopy on a calyceal diverticulum, and while I found some journal articles and a few stray posts on here about them, I want to paint a bigger picture about my actual experience and what I felt.
This is a very long post because I wanted to err on the side of more information so that other may feel much less alone than I have felt. I have included subheadings so you can read only what is useful to you.
To start, I am a 31-year-old female with endometriosis (I explain the implications of that in one of my subsections.). I live in New York City and was operated on by a surgeon at Smith Institute for Urology at Lenox Hill Hospital, which specializes in “complex anatomy” and kidney stones.
TL;DR Calyceal diverticula are pockets on the kidneys affecting 0.5% of the population. Stones can form and get trapped due to their narrow opening (infundibulum). As a result, their pain pattern is different and diagnosis can be delayed. To resolve the problem, you will need a surgeon to remove stones and expand the opening and/or ablate the lining of the diverticulum via ureteroscopy or percutaneous nephrolithotomy.
What is a calyceal diverticulum?
For a good scientific review of what calyceal (kay-luh-SEE-uhl) diverticula are, there is a review study from 2014 with primary author Nikhil Waingankar. In short, these are pockets within the kidneys that have much narrower entry points (“infundibula”) than a normal calyx, and they are theorized to only occur in 0.5% of the human population, with an estimated 96% of those who have them forming stones inside them.
They are often found incidentally on imaging because many people remain asymptomatic. In my case, we saw “a cyst requiring further imaging to rule out neoplasm” (cancer) when I was having my appendectomy in 2022 and had a CT scan in the ER.
They will look like cysts until you either get a radiologist who knows what to look for and sees a stone inside, or until you do a CT urogram, which is a more involved CT scan where you can see if the urinary system communicates with the “cyst.” Simple cysts and neoplasms will not show urine entering the mass; a calyceal diverticulum will, because it has an entrance.
Important stipulation in my experience: endometriosis and its surgeries
My story is complicated by the fact that I have endometriosis, which is a disease wherein cells resembling uterine cells occur outside the uterus. This is an extraordinarily painful condition that causes widespread inflammation due to the uterus-like cells’ having “menstrual periods” outside the uterus. It that can occur anywhere in the body; while most people’s disease presents primarily in the ovaries, uterus, and Fallopian tubes, the disease has been found in every organ in the body. In my case, my disease was confirmed to be extrapelvic as soon as my appendix pathology report revealed that my appendix had endometriosis on it; the cells existed beyond the typical pelvic organs.
I have already had two laparoscopies for endometriosis, and while these were immensely helpful in restoring my quality of life, every abdominal surgery comes with the risk of adhesions. Adhesions are bands of tissue that the body forms when it experiences inflammation or trauma. Endometriosis forms adhesions by itself, and surgery to remove it risks further adhesions. In 2020, when I had my radical excision surgery, my surgeon had to perform ureterolysis to cut my ureters free: whether from previous surgery in 2016 or the disease, my ureters were stuck to my uterus due to adhesions.
I share this because having endometriosis and its surgeries in my history affected my path to diagnosis and probably my pain pattern. (Endometriosis forms its own nerve endings, too!) But for the record, the kidney stones and the kidney surgery in my case were more painful than endometriosis…probably because they freaked out any remaining endometriosis.
(Sorry for no source on this endometriosis information. I am unfortunately very well-read on the disease! If you want to learn more, I recommend The Center for Endometriosis Care website and the book Beating Endo.)
What did the calyceal diverticulum feel like at first?
On a Tuesday in January 2024, I was trialing prazosin, an alpha blocker related to Flomax (tamsulosin) due to PTSD nightmares.
One day after taking this drug, I woke up with 8/10 pain muscle spasms in my “iliac crest,” which is the top edge of my pelvis, on the right side. I thought I had “slept funny” and the pain subsided after about 3 hours. I tried to roll around on a lacrosse ball, thinking it was a muscle spasm.
I took the prazosin for two more days. By that Thursday, the pain lasted more like 6 hours and did not go away; I had the muscle spasms as well as a feeling that there was “trapped gas” right at my waist, right on the side of my body. Because the pain stayed at 8/10, nothing would calm it down, and I couldn’t focus on work, I went to the ER. We did a CT scan and saw nothing different from my last CT for my appendectomy. They decided it was probably a kidney infection with strange presentation due to my endometriosis and sent me home with cefpodoxime, an antibiotic.
I finished the course of the antibiotic over 7 days and felt better.
But then the “trapped gas” feeling returned and lasted 18 hours. I went back to the ER, mostly concerned that I had failed antibiotics and the “infection” was getting worse. I made a urologist appointment while I was waiting in the ER because I suspected this might be beyond their mandate of ruling out anything life-threatening. We did another CT, and this time I really carefully read the results: inside what we had identified as a calyceal diverticulum in 2022 during my appendectomy CT scan were two kidney stones, each about 0.2mm. Because there was not much change from my last ER visit, the doctor at the ER did not think this explained how I was feeling. He did not want to send me home with antibiotics because he thought his colleagues were too cavalier with testing, but he did send for a urine culture and sent me home at least assured there was no emergency.
The culture came back, and I did test positive for E. Faecalis, which is a rarer bacteria to have, so the doctor at the ER urged me to get on Levaquin, an antibiotic, as soon as possible. (My endourologist later theorized this bacterium was an incidental finding; he thinks I just happened to be colonized with it and it was not causing symptoms. Regardless, it was not present in my culture before surgery.)
Again, I took almost the full course of the antibiotic and was feeling better and safer. I also saw a urologist, and she was skeptical it was an infection but told me to continue the course. She was pretty sure it was endometriosis-related but saw that I had seen my gynecologist, who has been treating me for 5 years, days prior who was pretty sure this was NOT consistent with what she had seen when we operated in 2020. The urologist said she felt this might be beyond her skills and referred me to one of her medical school colleagues who is a specialist in “complex anatomy” like calyceal diverticula as an endourologist professor at Lenox Hill in NYC.
But before I could see the endourologist, only one week after my last ER visit, I was in 9/10 pain for 7 hours overnight. I really did not want to go to the ER again, but I was vomiting, sweating, using the bathroom (both ways) constantly. After 7 hours not being able to get it to calm down, I went back to the ER.
The first thing they did was test me for sepsis, because I was being treated for an infection. They also did a CT scan again and then we saw it: one of the kidney stones had left the calyceal diverticulum and was stuck in the ureterovesicular junction (“UVJ”). By the time I was diagnosed, I was in 9/10 pain for 18 hours, so what we now know to be the renal colic phase lasted for 18 hours. They admitted me overnight to the hospital to observe and had me on ketorolac (Toradol) and oxycodone/acetaminophen (Percocet) every 6 hours alternating. The pain subsided the next morning.
Confirmation and surgery
Luckily, I had the endourologist appointment on the books already, and I got all of my images from the ER to bring to this doctor, letting him know I was confirmed to have passed the stone.
What he was able to do for me I will never forget: he showed me exactly why I was in enough pain for the ER each of the three weeks I went. Unlike a normal stone situation, a stone in a calyceal diverticulum has far more opportunities to get stuck. Also unlike a normal stone, you can feel the stone passing before it reaches the ureter because it has to leave via the narrow opening of the diverticulum. This means the pain can feel different and, due to its location within the kidney is more prone to being referred pain (pain you feel in a place other than where it originates). This is why I did not feel the pain in the classic place and why it felt much more like trapped gas. Furthermore, most radiologists do not have the same training as he did to identify where in the opening the stone was, which explained why they believed the stone was in the same place each time.
We wanted to take a “wait and see” approach on the second stone, but my body did not want to wait. As I was falling asleep one night in early March 2024, I felt that familiar “trapped gas” feeling, way too far right to be my intestines. This is 6/10 pain, so I could go to work for an important meeting, but I called to get an ultrasound and appointment right away. (We have since found that for my specific diverticulum, ultrasounds are not useful. I will need a CT urogram any time we want to visualize the kidney post-op.)
My doctor said that he wanted to attempt ureteroscopy before percutaneous nephrolithotomy because it is a less-invasive modality and we were worried about impacting any endometriosis. He had me sign paperwork consenting to either method, and it was a “game time” decision based on what he saw with the camera.
In the two-and-half week wait til surgery, his hypothesis gained traction: I would have days “on” with the pain and “off,” suggesting the stone was able to enter the diverticular opening and then flow back into the diverticulum. When I was in pain this time, I would also feel a lot of fatigue and brain fog that made it hard to work. This could be consistent with a kidney blockage, but it is hard to say for sure with an area so small.
The surgery, the stent, and the pain after the stent
The surgery itself went pretty well and only lasted 1.5 hours. The surgeon let me know that it was not easy to get into the diverticulum because the opening was not straight, as expected. He was, however, able to complete the surgery with only ureteroscopy. He removed a 0.2mm stone and observed that the stone was exactly the width of the opening, meaning it could absolutely flow into and out of it and get stuck for days. He widened the opening with laser to be “wider than a normal calyx” to allow for scarring, and, at my request to avoid further operations, ablated as much of the lining of the diverticulum as he could, encouraging it to close up.
While the surgery was uneventful, I am one of the unlucky ones who cannot tolerate a stent. This is probably due to my endometriosis, which leaves me in a heightened baseline of inflammation and nerve arousal, as well as the fact that, for me, the stent had to go into the diverticulum, which had been lasered and burned, in order for it to heal. I spent four hours in the recovery room while we tried to get my pain down to my goal of 7, which meant we needed to dose me, as we did in the ER, with ketorolac (Toradol) and oxycodone every 6 hours with no gaps in between.
I only had the stent in for 3 full days, and unfortunately, due to my specific circumstances, that was the worst pain I have ever been in. I was agnostic about 10/10 pain until this time, in which I felt like I was passing a stone and experiencing my worst endometriosis cramps at the same time. I was in 8-10/10 pain despite the painkiller regimen, and since we found that dilaudid does not work for me, this was good as they could do for me.
Thankfully, my surgeon listened to my experience and agreed to take the stent out as soon as was responsible: 72 hours later. The actual removal was uncomfortable but not painful beyond a “scrape” sensation in the urethra, and as soon as it was out, my husband noticed I could move as normal and was talking more like myself.
However, 1 out of 4 people will experience pain after the stent is removed, and risk factors include female anatomy, being “younger” (I am 31.) and having a stent in for less than or equal to 7 days.
The day of the removal I had some muscle spasms but was mostly so relieved that I slept all day.
34 hours after the removal, I experienced a feeling like I was passing a kidney stone. I was in 9/10 pain for 6 hours, feeling like I needed to move my bowels (which was not easy after opioids!) and having unrelenting spasms above my right iliac crest (top of pelvis). I was on ketorolac (Toradol) during this and knew what it was, but I otherwise may have gone back to the ER. I refused to take more opioids because my bowel was upset as well.
Today, I have had one episode of the iliac crest muscle spasms lasting an hour. I have found that crouching on the floor, against a wall, and/or going into “reclined butterfly pose” may help. It may just make me feel like I have more control over the situation.
I will update this post if I feel more pain in the coming days.
What’s next?
My endourologist/surgeon thinks it is very unlikely that I am “a stone-former” because the stones were only in the diverticulum and likely formed due to the urine reflux of that structure.
We will follow up in 3 weeks to see if the sensation I felt in March of the “trapped gas” recurs. If it does, only then would we do a CT urogram to see if the diverticular opening closer up to anywhere near its former width of 0.2mm.
This is unlikely because the surgeon lasered the opening very wide, “wider than a normal calyx,” to allow for scarring to take place. The ablation of the lining of the diverticulum should also take care of its tendency to collect urine.
I am not expected to have further stones or need for surgery, but he has seen cases of recurrence, so we need to manage my expectations.
Despite the extreme pain of the stent, I am content with my decision and hope that I do not have to go through this again. The one blessing in my case is, if this surgery succeeds, I should not have any further kidney stones.
submitted by Gildedfilth to KidneyStones [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 01:08 idigclams Jack London - How I Became a Socialist

Jack London - How I Became a Socialist
It is quite fair to say that I became a Socialist in a fashion somewhat similar to the way in which the Teutonic pagans became Christians–it was hammered into me. Not only was I not looking for Socialism at the time of my conversion, but I was fighting it. I was very young and callow, did not know much of anything, and though I had never even heard of a school called “Individualism,” I sang the paean of the strong with all my heart. This was because I was strong myself. By strong I mean that I had good health and hard muscles, both of which possessions are easily accounted for. I had lived my childhood on California ranches, my boyhood hustling newspapers on the streets of a healthy Western city, and my youth on the ozone-laden waters of San Francisco Bay and the Pacific Ocean. I loved life in the open, and I toiled in the open, at the hardest kinds of work. Learning no trade, but drifting along from job to job, I looked on the world and called it good, every bit of it. Let me repeat, this optimism was because I was healthy and strong, bothered with neither aches nor weaknesses, never turned down by the boss because I did not look fit, able always to get a job at shovelling coal, sailorizing, or manual labor of some sort.
And because of all this, exulting in my young life, able to hold my own at work or fight, I was a rampant individualist. It was very natural. I was a winner. Wherefore I called the game, as I saw it played, or thought I saw it played, a very proper game for MEN. To be a MAN was to write man in large capitals on my heart. To adventure like a man, and fight like a man, and do a man’s work (even for a boy’s pay)–these were things that reached right in and gripped hold of me as no other thing could. And I looked ahead into long vistas of a hazy and interminable future, into which, playing what I conceived to be MAN’S game, I should continue to travel with unfailing health, without accidents, and with muscles ever vigorous. As I say, this future was interminable. I could see myself only raging through life without end like one of Nietzsche’s blond-beasts, lustfully roving and conquering by sheer superiority and strength.
As for the unfortunates, the sick, and ailing, and old, and maimed, I must confess I hardly thought of them at all, save that I vaguely felt that they, barring accidents, could be as good as I if they wanted to real hard, and could work just as well. Accidents? Well, they represented FATE, also spelled out in capitals, and there was no getting around FATE. Napoleon had had an accident at Waterloo, but that did not dampen my desire to be another and later Napoleon. Further, the optimism bred of a stomach which could digest scrap iron and a body which flourished on hardships did not permit me to consider accidents as even remotely related to my glorious personality.
I hope I have made it clear that I was proud to be one of Nature’s strong-armed noblemen. The dignity of labor was to me the most impressive thing in the world. Without having read Carlyle, or Kipling, I formulated a gospel of work which put theirs in the shade. Work was everything. It was sanctification and salvation. The pride I took in a hard day’s work well done would be inconceivable to you. It is almost inconceivable to me as I look back upon it. I was as faithful a wage slave as ever capitalist exploited. To shirk or malinger on the man who paid me my wages was a sin, first, against myself, and second, against him. I considered it a crime second only to treason and just about as bad.
In short, my joyous individualism was dominated by the orthodox bourgeois ethics. I read the bourgeois papers, listened to the bourgeois preachers, and shouted at the sonorous platitudes of the bourgeois politicians. And I doubt not, if other events had not changed my career, that I should have evolved into a professional strike-breaker, (one of President Eliot’s American heroes), and had my head and my earning power irrevocably smashed by a club in the hands of some militant trades-unionist.
Just about this time, returning from a seven months’ voyage before the mast, and just turned eighteen, I took it into my head to go tramping. On rods and blind baggages I fought my way from the open West where men bucked big and the job hunted the man, to the congested labor centres of the East, where men were small potatoes and hunted the job for all they were worth. And on this new blond-beast adventure I found myself looking upon life from a new and totally different angle. I had dropped down from the proletariat into what sociologists love to call the “submerged tenth,” and I was startled to discover the way in which that submerged tenth was recruited.
I found there all sorts of men, many of whom had once been as good as myself and just as blond-beast; sailor-men, soldier-men, labor-men, all wrenched and distorted and twisted out of shape by toil and hardship and accident, and cast adrift by their masters like so many old horses. I battered on the drag and slammed back gates with them, or shivered with them in box cars and city parks, listening the while to life-histories which began under auspices as fair as mine, with digestions and bodies equal to and better than mine, and which ended there before my eyes in the shambles at the bottom of the Social Pit.
And as I listened my brain began to work. The woman of the streets and the man of the gutter drew very close to me. I saw the picture of the Social Pit as vividly as though it were a concrete thing, and at the bottom of the Pit I saw them, myself above them, not far, and hanging on to the slippery wall by main strength and sweat. And I confess a terror seized me. What when my strength failed? when I should be unable to work shoulder to shoulder with the strong men who were as yet babes unborn? And there and then I swore a great oath. It ran something like this: All my days I have worked hard with my body, and according to the number of days I have worked, by just that much am I nearer the bottom of the Pit. I shall climb out of the Pit, but not by the muscles of my body shall I climb out. I shall do no more hard work, and may God strike me dead if I do another day’s hard work with my body more than I absolutely have to do. And I have been busy ever since running away from hard work.
Incidentally, while tramping some ten thousand miles through the United States and Canada, I strayed into Niagara Falls, was nabbed by a fee-hunting constable, denied the right to plead guilty or not guilty, sentenced out of hand to thirty days’ imprisonment for having no fixed abode and no visible means of support, handcuffed and chained to a bunch of men similarly circumstanced, carted down country to Buffalo, registered at the Erie County Penitentiary, had my head clipped and my budding mustache shaved, was dressed in convict stripes, compulsorily vaccinated by a medical student who practised on such as we, made to march the lock-step, and put to work under the eyes of guards armed with Winchester rifles–all for adventuring in blond-beastly fashion. Concerning further details deponent sayeth not, though he may hint that some of his plethoric national patriotism simmered down and leaked out of the bottom of his soul somewhere–at least, since that experience he finds that he cares more for men and women and little children than for imaginary geographical lines.
 * * * * * * * 
To return to my conversion. I think it is apparent that my rampant individualism was pretty effectively hammered out of me, and something else as effectively hammered in. But, just as I had been an individualist without knowing it, I was now a Socialist without knowing it, withal, an unscientific one. I had been reborn, but not renamed, and I was running around to find out what manner of thing I was. I ran back to California and opened the books. I do not remember which ones I opened first. It is an unimportant detail anyway. I was already It, whatever It was, and by aid of the books I discovered that It was a Socialist. Since that day I have opened many books, but no economic argument, no lucid demonstration of the logic and inevitableness of Socialism affects me as profoundly and convincingly as I was affected on the day when I first saw the walls of the Social Pit rise around me and felt myself slipping down, down, into the shambles at the bottom.
1905
submitted by idigclams to socialism [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 00:59 GoAheadMMDay UPDATE 3: Torment Techniques Used by Canadian and US Militaries

UPDATE 3: Torment Techniques Used by Canadian and US Militaries
Update #3 appears at the bottom.
Due to numerous disparaging comments by multiple individuals, I have reposted my article.
Heckling does not change what occurred. People need to know these truths, especially those who have experienced the same. They need to know they are sane, that such things are indeed being perpetrated, and the perpetrators use shame to silence them and protect their activities.
I write to encourage them not to listen to disparaging people who speak without knowledge.
February 10, 2024
I am Joseph Cafariello, a Canadian citizen and ex-member of the Canadian military. Of sound mind, not on medication, not a drug user, not a marijuana smoker, not an alcohol drinker, with no mental disorders.
I recently posted to this Liberty subreddit experiences of harassment by Vancouver's police and fire departments (Vancouver, BC, Canada). I’m the fellow who was repeatedly ordered by police to stay out of Vancouver’s Stanley Park, and was continually harassed whenever I visited the park (which I do every second day on my early morning walks).
Immediately following that post, they changed some of the techniques they use in my case. They were either informed of my post or found it themselves, seeing as my internet activity, and phone activity for that matter, are under continuous surveillance (plenty of proof which I will not include here to avoid running off-topic).
In this post, I would like to shed some light on other harassment which is still ongoing, since it occurs in private, away from potential observers. It involves the Canadian and US militaries.
Havana Syndrome
In 2016, numerous employees of the Canadian and US embassies in Havana, Cuba, started experiencing head injuries ranging from mild headaches to concussions. It happened in their sleep, and came to be called Havana Syndrome.
Wikipedia explains (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Havana\_syndrome):
“Havana syndrome is a cluster of idiopathic symptoms experienced mostly abroad by U.S. government officials and military personnel. The symptoms range in severity from pain and ringing in the ears to cognitive dysfunction and were first reported in 2016 by U.S. and Canadian embassy staff in Havana, Cuba. Beginning in 2017, more people, including U.S. intelligence and military personnel and their families, reported having these symptoms in other places, such as China, India, Europe, and Washington, D.C. The U.S. Department of State, Department of Defense, and other federal entities have called the events "Anomalous Health Incidents" (AHI). Of over a thousand purported cases, the majority of US investigative bodies found only a few dozen cases to be suspicious.”
Ladies and gentlemen, I can tell you exactly what happens, because I have been experiencing this since I first joined the Canadian military back in 2002, and am still experiencing these “torments” (as I call them) to this day, already 3 years after leaving the military.
I go to bed. In about 15 minutes, just as I am on the cusp of falling asleep, a hear and feel a heavy thud reverberate and ultimately strike my skull. My body releases a sharp burst of adrenalin, my heart starts racing, and my blood’s circulation speeds up significantly. Depending on the severity of the blow, it can take me anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour to fall asleep again. Though there have been times I could not return to sleep for more than 2 hours.
A strong headache is felt immediately, and lasts for hours. There have been times when my heart felt like it was going to burst, having been startled as such.
The pulse to the head sometimes reverberates through the wall and my bed’s headboard. I distinctly feel as though I have been hit on the top of my skull. At other times, it feels as though the pulse has come through the air, striking the side of my skull.
This is not a sleep disorder, for it does not occur regularly. At times, my sleep is disturbed in this manner 3 or 4 days in a row. At other times, there is no disturbance for up to a week. But they never let me go more than a week without such interruptions to my sleep.
Neither is it sleep apnea, as I do not awaken gasping for breath. The pounding headaches, sudden release of adrenaline, and heart palpitations I experience are caused by external impacts of sound waves or air bursts.
Sonic Weapons
How these pulses are produced is not easy to identify. As Wikipedia explains:
“Once the story became public, various U.S. government representatives attributed the incidents to attacks by unidentified foreign actors, and various U.S. officials blamed the reported symptoms on a variety of unidentified and unknown technologies, including ultrasound and microwave weapons.”
Sonic weapons have been in use for many years by militaries, and by police in crowd control. As Wikipedia explains (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonic\_weapon):
“Some sonic weapons make a focused beam of sound or of ultrasound; others produce an area field of sound. As of 2023 military and police forces make some limited use of sonic weapons.”
(Do not believe the 2023 timeline. The Canadian military has been using these weapons since the early 2000’s at the latest.)
Wikipedia continues:
“Extremely high-power sound waves can disrupt or destroy the eardrums of a target and cause severe pain or disorientation. This is usually sufficient to incapacitate a person. Less powerful sound waves can cause humans to experience nausea or discomfort.”
The users of these technologies must also be using thermal detection equipment to monitor the target’s sleep. As I mentioned, I most often feel these blows the moment I am falling asleep. Body temperature drops when we sleep, and brain activity slows. Heat-detection equipment is likely being used to identify the point at which the target is falling asleep.
Why they prefer to strike at the start of someone’s sleep as opposed to the middle of their sleep, I do not know. Perhaps their intent is to deprive the body of early sleep, limiting the amount of deep sleep available to the person before their alarm rings in the morning.
Ordinary Hammers
Not all such “torments” (as I call them) are caused by high-tech equipment. I have heard and felt distinct hammer strikes running along the 2x4 beams inside my walls. These strikes can be a single hard strike, or several strikes in a row. It is definitely caused by a person with a hammer because the intervals between strikes are equidistant in time; that is, the time spacing between strikes is not random and does not change from strike to strike, but is constant between strikes, exactly as when someone is hammering. And no, it is not someone hanging pictures at 1:30 am, multiple times a week, for years.
On one occasion, when I was standing at my kitchen sink, I felt the floor-board directly under my feet pulse so sharply it felt like a brick had struck the soles of my feet. In this case, my military neighbour likely used a hammer to strike the floorboard on his side of the wall. It is the only plausible explanation.
Surveillance
This leads to surveillance of one’s activities at home. I have plenty of proofs of that. They seem insignificant on an individual basis. But when you put them all together, they present a clear picture of home surveillance.
My laptop computer’s lid cracked one night, at the bottom left corner of the screen. The next day at work, I heard my military supervisor relate to another co-worker that the night before, his laptop computer’s lid cracked at the bottom left corner. I swear to the Lord in Heaven, I am being truthful.
I tested my suspicion of being surveilled. At home one night, I blurted out-loud, “VW Passat. What an ugly sounding word, ‘Passat’”, I said. A few days later, my military colleagues at work started playing a card game at lunch, invented by one of them. The name he gave his game was “Passat”, and when he spoke it, he looked at me for a reaction. If you ever contact the Halifax military base, ask for the Claims Department and ask them if they are still playing Passat.
On another occasion, at a time when I frequented the gym every second day for a few years, I suspected my van had been fitted with a listening device. I suspected so because a number of things I had spoken with people about on my phone while in my van (nothing illegal) were repeated by people at the gym in conversations among themselves. Too many times, parts of other people's conversations matched parts of conversations I had had with others while I was in my van.
I already knew my phone was being tapped, but I also suspected my van was bugged. So one evening while driving in my van, I blurted out-loud a number of things I said I hated. "I hate (this or that)"; "I hate it when...". One of them was, "I hate when people chew gum with their mouths open." I then vocalized an exaggerated gnawing sound, "Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw."
The very next time I went to the gym, 2 days later, while I was at an exercise, a fellow sat at an exercise directly behind me. And sure enough, he started chewing with his mouth open, vocalizing that gnawing sound, "Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw." I didn't look behind at him, because I knew what was going on, and I wanted to avoid playing into his hand. So he repeated himself again and again until I was done and moved to a different station. Now, honestly, who chews gum at the gym? You can't. Or you run the risk of choking for the heavy breathing, not to mention when laying down on benches. And with precisely the same exaggerated vocalized gnawing sound I had made in my van just 2 days prior.
Their whole intent is to let you know you are being surveilled. They want you to know, as both a warning and a provocation. They want you to say something, to launch accusations, which they would readily deny, making you look paranoid. If you react too strongly, they could even have you diagnosed with some kind of disorder, and put you on medication, which further plays into their hand. (More regarding medications in the last section of this post.)
This is why, as I mentioned in my previous post, they would park their cars shining their high beams on me as I walked past them during my morning walk. And why on some occasions, a group of 3 or 4 would exit their cars and stand on my path just as I approached, forcing me to go around them. They would then remain standing on the path until my return trip through, and after I had passed by the second time, then would then return to their cars - making it absolutely clear I was their interest.
Their intent is not only to make me aware, but also to present themselves in close proximity to me, within easy reach, in the hope I would confront them, resulting in an altercation that could land me in a lot of hot water - 4 witnesses against me, all pleading innocence.
Again, it is all designed to make you look bad, and to warrant some kind of legal measure against you - preferably a medical diagnosis, discrediting you in everything you say about them. If they can't refute your claims, their only remaining option is to discredit you. That's what all of these tricks are designed to accomplish. Who would believe anything you say, once you have been diagnosed with a disorder?
There are plenty more examples. But who would really believe them? I’ll save them for the future.
Home Invasion
Both during and after my military service, I have had my apartments entered without any signs of break-ins. How? Lock-picking and duplicate keys. Indications? Missing objects; ie: money, phone adaptor, etc. Nothing major. Just something to make us understand we are being watched, and to make us understand what they can do.
But it is always something small, something for which you would be ridiculed for divulging.
Two more examples: I found my razor, which I always lay-down razor-end to the wall, turned around, razor-end toward me. Also, in one of my house slippers I found a small shoe sticker on the up-side of the heel. I had those slipper for years, and never had any shoe stickers on them. Yet there it was, clearly visible on the top surface of my slipper, not the bottom. Could I have stepped on a shoe sticker when barefoot in my apartment, only to have the sticker transfer itself to my slipper when I wore it? How many shoe stickers do you have laying around your apartment that you can accidentally step onto?
If I had stepped onto a sticker in my apartment and had it stick to my heel, that means the sticky side was up against my skin. This means the sticker would have had to flip upside down such that the sticky side would then be down, allowing the sticker to stick to the slipper. Do you really think that happened? That sticker was not there when I left my apartment, but it was there when I returned. And it was the wrong sticker, wrong brand, wrong size.
Again, what is their intent? To make someone look ridiculous so no one will believe them should they speak of other more sensitive things.
Staged Incidents
The above incidents clearly point to coordinated and staged events (at my work, my home, on my walks, etc). This is so frequently met with incredulity. "But that would require coordination on the part of so many people," the public dismisses. "They wouldn't do that."
Oh yes they would, and they have, as explained in https://fightgangstalking.com/. Note the documented cases involving the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS, Canada's equivalent to the US' CIA) and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP, Canada's national police force) in the second quote, which were reported in national newspapers.
From https://fightgangstalking.com/:
“Disruption operations often involve tactics which are illegal, but difficult to prove. These tactics include – but are not limited to – overt surveillance (stalking), slander, blacklisting, “mobbing” (intense, organized harassment in the workplace), “black bag jobs” [home invasions], abusive phone calls, computer hacking, framing, threats, blackmail, vandalism, “street theater” (staged physical and verbal interactions with minions of the people who orchestrate the stalking), harassment by noises, and other forms of bullying. Many of these tactics were used by the FBI during its illegal COINTELPRO operations, as documented by stolen official documents and subsequent Congressional investigations.
"Although the general public is mostly unfamiliar with the practice, references to “disruption” operations – described as such – do occasionally appear in the news media, even though that fact would apparently be news to the editors of The New York Times. In May 2006, for example, an article in The Globe and Mail, a Canadian national newspaper, reported that the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS) and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) used “Diffuse and Disrupt” tactics against suspects for whom they lacked sufficient evidence to prosecute. A criminal defense attorney stated that many of her clients complained of harassment by authorities, although they were never arrested."
She can add me to that list too.
For the Benefit of Others
The experiences I have recounted here seem so trivial, so insignificant, they make you look ridiculous if you talk about them. But if we don’t talk about such things, no one will ever know about them. Other people have experienced the same, and are forced to endure such torments in silence. They need encouragement to talk about their own experiences, and so I write about mine in the hope they will talk about theirs, even if I do look ridiculous. The perpetrators are more ridiculous for doing them.
I remember a military colleague being hauled away by military police one morning, as she was struggling and having a violent fit. A fellow on her floor told me she was throwing chairs at her walls screaming, “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”. When he mentioned that, I knew exactly what they had done to her. She was considered unruly, and was being watched intently. They wanted her out, and that is how they accomplished it. Through wall tapping and sleep deprivation, they push you to the breaking point. And when you finally lose control and do something rash, they pounce on you, and you’re out. Now she has a criminal record, considered a criminal when in reality she was a victim. Welcome to the Canadian military, and other militaries besides, I am sure.
There are dozens upon dozens of experiences I could present. But who will really read them? Worse still, who will really believe them? I overheard my military supervisor in Halifax whisper to another, “Do you think he knows?”, after I had mentioned one of the many “coincidences” I experienced, but with a tone of my being aware it was not a mere coincidence. As I turned my face to my computer screen, I whispered under my breath, but still loud enough for him to hear, “Yes, (rank) (name), I know.” A few minutes later, as he walked past my desk, he leaned in by my ear and whispered, “We’re just trying to help you.” I should have pressed him for answers right then and there, but you just don’t know how much trouble you can get into when making such accusations in the military. So I let it go. But I will never forget.
Should anyone reading this ever decide to launch some kind of inquiry, I can mention names of over 100 people to contact, including military personnel, family members, neighbours, building managers, and others who have been contacted by military personnel with false narratives about me. They flash their ID’s and other credentials, and people believe anything they say. They turn family, friends, co-workers and neighbours against you, even recruiting their participation. Your acquaintances not only participate, but actually feel justified and emboldened playing tricks on you. It isn't their fault, though; they have been misled. I would reference them solely for corroboration.
As a final thought, here are explanations of two military programs in which certain persons (sometimes military, sometimes civilian) are kept under constant surveillance, and are in some cases subjected to conditioning in an attempt to turn them into what is called a “sleeper agent”. Almost all of the tactics presented below have been experience by me, including constant surveillance (ie: my previous post here regarding being harassed on my morning walks) and sleep deprivation (as per the top portion of this post, which other military members in Cuba and elsewhere around the world have also experienced).
Pentagon’s Signature Reduction Program
See Newsweek’s article: https://www.newsweek.com/exclusive-inside-militarys-secret-undercover-army-1591881
Some excerpts from that Newsweek article, plus more background information on the Pentagon’s Signature Reduction Program, can be found here: https://fightgangstalking.com/
“The largest undercover force the world has ever known is the one created by the Pentagon over the past decade. Some 60,000 people now belong to this secret army, many working under masked identities and in low profile, all part of a broad program called “signature reduction.” The force, more than ten times the size of the clandestine elements of the CIA, carries out domestic and foreign assignments, both in military uniforms and under civilian cover, in real life and online, sometimes hiding in private businesses and consultancies, some of them household name companies.
“…a little-known sector of the American military, but also a completely unregulated practice. No one knows the program’s total size, and the explosion of signature reduction has never been examined for its impact on military policies and culture. Congress has never held a hearing on the subject. And yet the military developing this gigantic clandestine force challenges U.S. laws, the Geneva Conventions, the code of military conduct and basic accountability.
“…The signature reduction effort engages some 130 private companies to administer the new clandestine world. Dozens of little known and secret government organizations support the program, doling out classified contracts and overseeing publicly unacknowledged operations.
"Federal spy agencies are using Americans to spy on their fellow citizens – the same approach to governance famously employed by communist East Germany."
How to Develop a Hypnotic Sleeper Agent
By Dantalion Jones / Masters of Mind Control
The following “was” on the web, but has been removed. Surprise, surprise. But I saved its web files to my computer years ago, knowing that sooner or later it would be removed. I made a jpeg image of the web page as it once appeared, attached here.
Note that I have experienced almost all of the tactics described below, including the stalking I mentioned in my previous post here (regular walks in the park), the sleep deprivation noted at the top of this post, and the surveillance and intrusions described here as well.
Quoting the now-removed webpage: “How to Develop a Hypnotic Sleeper Agent” (from here to end of post):
Amid all the conspiracy theories one of the most feared is that there exist "sleeper agents" in our society who are programmed to come into service when they are triggered by a phone call or key word.
These alleged sleeper agents don't even know they are programmed to become saboteurs, soldiers, suicide bomber, etc because of the thoroughness of their programming. They are the feared "Manchurian Candidate" that the movies portray.
The question is "Are they real?"
If they are true sleeper agents there is no way of telling until they are activated. One can however theorize exactly how they are made.
Indoctrination
Using indoctrination a person can be made to embrace a religious or philosophical belief that would make becoming a sleeper agent possible.
This would be a person so committed to an ideal they would be willing to wait patiently as a member of society until they are called into action. These people would know their mission and consciously hold it secret while interacting with the rest of society.
Conditioning
Conditioning is a repetitive process where the desired responses are enforced and rewarded and unwanted responses are punished. This can be done consciously as part of training drill and it can be done subconsciously using hypnosis or drugs to create amnesia.
Hypnosis
It has been demonstrated that hypnosis can create "amnesia walls" in which the subject has no conscious memory of what happened in the hypnosis session. It has further been demonstrated that hypnosis can give post hypnotic instruction to be carried out automatically in the waking state without the subject knowing it or questioning the behavior.
What follows is conjecture and theory based on testimonials of people who were alleged to be sleeper agents and soldiers.
Continuous Supervisions
Continuous supervision doesn't mean that the subject is cut off completely from society. It means that they are constantly overseen and every aspect of their lives are managed (without their knowledge or consent) to support their hypnotic programming.
This would include:
• Repeated reinforcement of all hypnotic conditioning.
• Handlers. Handlers are people who help maintain the subjects environment to maintain all the programming. They can play the role of family, friends, lovers, psychologists, coaches or any roll the subject perceives as supportive. The truth is the handlers are their to support the successful fulfillment of the programming and not the subject as a person.
• Minimal sleep so that the mind/brain does not process all the sleeper conditioning during sleep.
• Creating constant environmental challenges like unemployment or poverty. This gives the subject something other than their programming to focus on.
• Frequent hospitalization. This gives overt opportunity to sedate the subject for conditioning. If the subject has a history of hospitalizations for mental disturbances all the better. No one will take them seriously.
Joseph Cafariello
PS... Today is the second day after this post (February 12, 2024). A garbage truck just slammed into my parked car.
PPS... I finish writing this post because I am satisfied with its shape and content; not because of what happened to my car.
It is similar to when you are reaching for your coat, and someone tells you, "Take your coat." Since you have to take your coat, your brain tells you it's ok to obey them, and you comply. They just created an instance where they led you, and you followed them. And your brain accepted it.
It's a technique the military uses all the time. It trains you to accept instructions from that person or group. Done enough times, you become comfortable obeying them.
I just say, "I take my coat because I choose to, not because you tell me to." It's important to make that clear, to block the conditioning and affirm our self-governance; not just to them, but to ourselves as well. Now our brain realizes we took our coat by our own choice; we are still in command.
So too, I say regarding today's event. "Thanks for the warning, but I had already finished writing my post. I finished by my own choosing."
UPDATES 1 & 2: February 26 & March 07, 2024:
My apartment was once again entered while I was out. Either a key was used or the lock was picked. This may or may not have included assistance from building staff. Home invasions are included in the list of their techniques noted above, referred to as "black bag jobs".
All tenants on my floor received new fridges a couple of weeks ago. I removed the tape securing the bins inside my new fridge, and also removed all styrofoam pads from the corners of the glass shelves when I repositioned them.
The person(s) who have been invading my living space on a regular basis have struck again. As you can see in the photo below, the styrofoam pads on the corners of my fridge's shelves were restored when I was out of my apartment. I had removed all pads when I repositioned the shelves. Yet now they are back.
It is a tactic used to undermine our observational awareness in an attempt to make us second-guess and doubt ourselves. The aim is to cause people to feel less sure not only of the things we have done, but also feel less sure of the things others have done. They want us to question the accuracy of our observations and memory.
The idea is to train you to dismiss any anomalies you may observe as being your own misperception of things. Once they convince you not to trust your own judgement, they are free to do whatever they want to you, and you will simply accept it without questioning.
UPDATE 3: May 18, 2024:
Confrontations with individuals keep occurring, at times potentially violent. Following are just 3 such encounters as of late.
1 - Kick-boxer in the park:
As I parked my car in one of the parking lots in Vancouver's Stanley Park one night, another vehicle drove up behind me and parked several spots away. A tall man exited that vehicle, and walked hastily along the path I always walk, down some steps to the water's sea wall path. I took my time and followed my usual walk, also down the steps down to the sea wall. The man knew my routine, and was in a hurry to get ahead of me.
As I walked along the sea wall, I saw the same man sitting on a bench, playing a loud religious sermon in a foreign language on a device I did not clearly see. As I walked past him, he called out to me to stop and chat. I ignored him and continued walking past. He rose and started walking behind me.
I opened my umbrella, turned, and walked past him the other way, returning to the stairs back to the parking lot. He also turned and continued following me. I started running. He also started running. I ran up the steps, as did he.
Being taller than I am, his legs are longer than mine, and he quickly caught up to me on a grassy patch at the top of the steps. I turned to him and asked, "Why are you following me?" He did not reply, but stood profile to me, the same stance a kick-boxer uses when ready to kick someone. He was tall, thin, and in excellent physical shape as you would see in a kick-boxer.
He did not speak at all, but was just waiting for me to make a move. I turned, entered my vehicle and left. The encounter continued with a chase through the park in our cars. Yes, that is correct. He chased me out of the park in his car.
2 - Told to keep quiet:
The perpetrators need to operate with as little detection as possible, and they repeatedly warn their subjects to keep their mouths shut about their experiences.
On another of my recent nightly walks, a man stood on the sidewalk ahead of me about half a block away, looked at me, and shouted into the sky at nobody, giving the appearance of being a homeless person shouting for no reason. He then started walking in my direction. I continued walking straight. As he passed me, he leaned into my face and shouted into my ear, "Shut the f_ck up!" I continued walking in my direction, and he resumed walking in his.
The idea is to make it seem as though he is just a deranged man wandering the streets at night, shouting at nothing, so that when he shouts at me, any observer would simply dismiss his actions. But in reality, he was sent to send me a message to stop publishing posts like this, which I had done many times on many sites, and continue to. They don't like it when we reveal their methods. But the truth must be known.
3 - You'll be sorry:
On another occasion, while returning from grocery shopping one afternoon, I walked past a man sitting by a storefront. He was clean-cut, wearing clean clothes, without any carts or wagons or any belongings of any kind. As I passed him, he asked me for some spare change. I replied, "I'm sorry," and continued walking past. He replied, "You will be."
There are numerous other experiences, like two seemingly unassociated men standing on the sea wall about 100 meters away from each other, each of them spitting just as I walked past each one.
There are too many experiences to mention. Looking at each experience individually, one would easily dismiss them as being unrelated and simply coincidental. But put them all together and a picture starts to form, like putting together the pieces of a puzzle.
As I hand you each piece of the puzzle one by one, you dismiss each piece, saying, "This could be anything." And you discard it. You keep discarding each piece as I hand it to you. By the end of it, you look down at the table and say, "You have nothing." That's because you looked at each piece as a separate item and threw it away. But if you leave the pieces on the table as I hand them to you and do not hastily discard them, you will see they form a clear picture when put all together.
We must look at all these events as a whole. Individually, each one could be anything. But when all of these experiences are put together and considered as a whole, they form an undeniable picture. Do not be quick to dismiss each piece. Leave the pieces on the table and look at the whole. The picture I present is sound. Remember, I have all the pieces; you do not. I see the picture more clearly than you do.
https://preview.redd.it/we31ymcsm91d1.jpg?width=966&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3d56ac3dd3558a60d477ba9315104d1b66b139f8
submitted by GoAheadMMDay to Liberty [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 00:56 Ambitious-Fox-5666 Need help

I know that no one on here are medical professionals, but I have tried that route with no answers so looking to see if I can find someone who has experienced these or is educated on any of this
So I was wondering I’ve been dealing with being emotionally numb for about 5 months now, but I also have a problem with not being able to recall memories, or visualize anything in my mind.. I have no pictures flowing in my head or anything colorful! This all started after a very bad panic attack from trying a Xanax for the first time because I have a huge fear of medicine. I have had panic attacks & anxiety for about 6 months or so before this happened. Then I tried a half a Xanax before bed had a terrible panic attack and woke up the next day feeling numb.. like I wanted to panic but physically I couldn’t feel anything I was just mentally worried, I wanted to cry but couldn’t get tears to flow for nothing.. then a couple weeks later I woke up and my mind was like “blank” I couldn’t recall the happy times, good memories etc and not able to visualize anything in my mind. Before I went numb I had all of this and to a great level always have been able to do so! I’m now freaked out and convinced that I have brain damage and I’ll never get my sweet precious memories or visualizations back. I feel even more hopeless because I can’t find anyone else with these issues nor does any of the therapist or medical professionals I have visited even understand what I’m talking about I get looked at as if I have 6 heads. If someone could please help me find answers as to if this is DPDR or dissociation and what I may be able to do in order to get my life back? Cause feeling this empty has me feeling as though I’m not a person at all and is the hardest thing! I also deal with on my bad days feeling as though I’m losing my mind or going to snap or lose control! :( I’m a mom so this is really hard to deal with for me because I feel like I am ruining my kids lives not being the mom they have known :’(
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2024.05.19 00:23 ShortClawz Should I leave?

Am i the a$$hole?
I 17F am dating 34M yes, I know age difference anyways... 34M is a meth addict I had a pregnancy scare a few weeks ago and after telling him he turned around and said "get rid of it, I don't want it with you, not now, not ready for it" being a teenager still I expected some support through one of the hardest times in my life, but instead got a rude reply with little to no support from him, he stopped replying after that and wouldn't even answer my calls. I felt alone to say the least when we first met he was a sweet heart I have an FND (Functional neurological disorder) that causes involuntary movements and ticks (not Tourette's but a functional tick) he was very supportive of it, he was even there when I had my seizure like drop out caused by my brain over doing itself while ticking he was there through all of it even went to get me a tissue and I quote him saying "for her tears", for some reason that hit a soft spot and I grew attached to him quite fast. It sounds stupid but he really did make me happy at the start, he was with me most days always calling or messaging to check in then it all changed when we got together officially he stopped making time for me the first time I stayed at his house he yelled at me because his dog pissed on his bedroom floor while I was outside talking to his house mates and he went to quickly get something off a mate I didn't get any sleep that night and ended up with an excruciating migraine from no sleep and crying when I was about to get picked up I went out the back to say bye I didn't even get the chance to speak... before he asked what I was doing I said leaving he wouldn't give me a hug wouldn't say bye nothing so I just left. There's been countless occasions of him telling me to fuck off if I accidentally woke him or getting annoyed at me if he didn't hear what I had said doesn't take don't worry for an answer and generally feels like the only times he is sweet is when his sleeping with me. Am I crazy? or is this relationship toxic?
submitted by ShortClawz to Advice [link] [comments]


2024.05.18 23:25 ExpressionGeneral418 Why am I now a wreck when I wanted this all along?

First of all, I’d like to preface this story with a piece I wrote in my journal 2 months ago while still in my relationship.
Here it is:
I’m almost 30M, and wonder how you would deal with this situation?
Backstory: I didn’t have my first girlfriend or even sex until age 20. I was very sheltered when I was younger and shy. I also moved several times so never got the chance to meet girls from social circles. I had almost a 2 year long distance relationship from age 20-22 (seeing each other in person only a few times a year). Well that didn’t work out and it devastated me. I did truly love that girl and she was also my first so it took 3 years to get over.
In that time following the relationship, I slept with more than 10 people, gained experience, and eventually found another girlfriend in person at age 25. That ended at age 26, but was off and on until age 27. It ended for good reason, because it was a tumultuous relationship with a lot of fun, but also arguments. She was super attractive which made it hard to let her go even though I knew it had to be done.
Following that relationship, I yet again worked on myself, dated and slept around, and eventually met my current girlfriend midway through age 28. It was one of those situations where you start out just hanging out and eventually see each other every week… then the question of “what are we happens”… I went along with it even though my eyes were still peeled.
Well now, I’m almost 30, a few months away and I’m scared. A part of me feels like I missed a part of my youth and I’ll never find that stunner I’ve always looked for. Being sheltered all my life and not meeting anyone via social circle messes with me emotionally. I’ve dated beautiful woman, but it’s not like I can change time and go back to 25 again and date around 20 year olds… right?
I also moved to a completely different state and started a new life 2 years ago. But every day I think about my last relationship and the life I used to live in that state. “The good old days” I like to say. I have a new life now and good situation, but a part of me feels lost.
That’s what I wrote back in March. I knew I had a good situation, a very stable relationship and job, but I almost felt like I was still unfulfilled. Mostly because I never really experienced the kind of girls that truly interest me I guess? I hate to sound superficial, but if you read below it will make further sense. It wasn’t all about looks. While she was nice and sweet, she was rather boring and didn’t banter with me.
So fast forward the story to today, my recent ex broke up with me a few weeks ago. We had been dating about a year and a half.
I met her about a year and a half after that toxic relationship to a really manipulative, yet attractive girl I talked about above. This new relationship was the complete opposite, almost to the point of being cringey. She was really loving but it was almost overwhelming. She also was not as atractive as my last gf in terms of looks. Not unattractive by any means, but I certainly didn’t feel super proud walking around with her or introducing her to people. For much of the early part of meeting this new girl, I did still constantly think of the toxic ex and compare, but I was ready for something new and thought I was so far removed from the last relationship - I went along with it.
Anyway, Eventually she asked if I would be her bf at about the 3 month point after meeting. At first I was apprehensive of the idea because I wasn’t sure about committing and if I wanted to keep “searching.” I got to the point that I was done with hunting as I had tried tirelessly to find someone for over a year. She was a great girl but I wasn’t sold on a full on relationship. Instead of being excited to be official like I was in past relationships, with her I was hoping for more a fwb situation like it was the first 3 months. But I decided to go along with it. I told her I still wanted to be able to approach or work on social skills with other girls even if just plutonicly. I didn’t do that and did commit. Fast forward another several months and the I love you statement came up. I wasn’t entirely sure about how I felt but I again went along with it, even though I didn’t actually feel it at at the time.
This gf was a very loving, loyal, committed gf, and did anything for me. Unfortunately I didn’t really find her incredibly magnetizing. She was cute, but not crazy attractive in my eye. Like I mentioned above, I didn’t feel that proud feeling when going out.
I found that taking pictures with her also made me unsure. The first couple weeks of hanging out we never took pics. And then I took a picture with her and looked at it and was repulsed. When she would send me pictures of her with with her family, I didn’t like what she sent. Maybe she’s just not photogenic and actually good in person, but whenever she would send me a photo or FaceTime me I’d get turned off.
Also, the fact that she was so wholesome, it didn’t allow for much banter. Conversations were mostly plutonic, where I’m more of the sarcastic type.
She always wanted to pull out the calendar and schedule plans months in advance every week, even after telling her I prefered being spontaneous. She did all of these crazy google calendar overlays and I felt like I was always being sucked into things I didn’t want to do. She became more clingy than I had realized when I first met her. She asked me about 3 months ago, if we could spend not just weekends together, but also Wednesday nights. (We lived just over an hour apart). I suggested it could be every other week (the opposite)…I didn’t like going to her place because of the road noise where she lived and I would really only see her when she would visit me. I know, all of this sounds really one sided and like I’m an asshole. But I was very loving to her in person and she knows that, hence why it lasted so long.
Unfortunately a lot of things she did turned me off. She was too readily available, always trying to lock up my calendar, talk about marriage and kids in the next 3-5 years and I felt trapped. I was unsure.
We had great sex but it wasn’t crazy passionate, neither was our kissing. When alone, and was feeling aroused, I generally didn’t think of my ex. I constantly found myself checking out other girls places I went (but never talked to them). I felt like wow I wish that was the kind of girl I was with.
It wasn’t all bad though. The sex was phenomenal in terms of the movements. She made $100k plus which is phenomenal for someone at 24, but also had over $100k in student loans. With her wanting to get married within 5 years, I considered those loans as a big issue. She was super loving and would have been a great mother.
In the end she left me. She said we weren’t compatible. I have been a wreck and now I’m wishing I had her. Maybe not for the right reasons though?
I’m trying to figure out why if I wanted to end things myself and that I felt trapped for so long, how come all of a sudden I want her back? Is it just the void of not having someone loyal who’s there for me? The loss of a potential good wife and mother? Who can make plans and bake me things? The fear of not meeting someone as smart? She’s already talking to other guys and I’m just a wreck and need some advice. I can’t go an hour without thinking of her. I think I need to rewire the way I am thinking. I can’t stop thinking that maybe I made a mistake and should have put in more effort, but I feel like if I truly loved/had that spark for her I would have tried more all along. I would have been excited to make plans with her instead of going a week at a time seeing her. Now all I want to do is see her. Should I have stayed in it and worked harder? Are my standards too high? I feel like my first ex and my recent one were so polar opposite. One had the looks and I thought of her when thinking of sex but was toxic and the other was sweet but not as attractive. It even got to the point that to feel emotion, I had to finish inside her. Which did help.
At the time of the breakup, I tried very hard to tell her how I was looking forward to making a fun summer filled with plans together. Just 2 weeks prior she was about it. Now nothing. It’s been total silence on the other end for weeks. I know she loved me more than any guy.
Do you think this was a good thing this happened? How do I rewrire my brain? She was my only friend. This was a relationship that I went into going through the motions, and even a couple weeks before we broke up I wrote that journal entry / question that I shared above. What is going on?
submitted by ExpressionGeneral418 to BreakUps [link] [comments]


2024.05.18 23:00 xk_Silhouette First 2 Nights from Different Sections (Pro Tips and Observations)

Friends, I did the first two nights from different sections. I was second row in 207 the first night, and then second row of 307 the second night. (I'll be doing third night in the 100s for a floor comparison and can update this later with a third experience.)
Note: I turned on the spoiler tag because of the level of detail, but have tried to not give anything away other than as needed to report.
(Edited to add details.)
Yes, it's worth it. It is incredible. Bob sings Standing on the Moon but the Sphere makes you believe that you are. It is like getting an entire second show visually on top of the music. They have put something really special together. No reason to be on the fence: if you can make it, you should.
Section comparison. I don't think there is a bad seat in the Sphere, and everyone I talked to enjoyed it wherever they were (though I didn't talk to anyone with an obstructed view).
That said, there are some tradeoffs. Down on the floor seemed to be the die hard fans and best energy. Several people said they thought the overall view in the 300s was probably the best for taking everything in with the height and that little extra distance. I found the 300s a little bit less immersive and little more chill--a great night 2 seat for me. The 200s are a balance between the Sphere and the Band and best of both worlds. I definitely felt more "in it" in the 200s.
I do think that being towards a center section of the Sphere is more important than being down a level or a few rows closer. On the wings it seems like the visuals would be less immersive because you have a stronger sense of where the wall is in your vision field.
I didn't find the 200s to be steep, but the 300s were a bit as you're getting in and out. It took a few minutes to adjust, but I had no issues. This does seem to be a bigger concern in the 400s, so consider moving down if you don't care for heights and if that will impact your experience.
Compared to other venues (especially baseball stadiums) that are a bit cramped, I found the seats themselves comfortable and had plenty of space. The incline also makes it easy to see the band from anywhere.
I really liked seeing shows from different seats the last two nights and encourage that if it's an option for you. It's a different view and experience each time and keeps it fresh.
Visuals. I don't know who dreamed this up but it is surreal. It fills your vision, like wearing a VR headset with 15k other fans. It feels at times like you're in a space ship, or on a roller coaster. It's a ride-- Photos and video cannot capture it because of the sheer scale.
The opening visuals for the first song are chill, then they blow the doors off the place with the second song. Because of that, I think opening set songs will lean a little more warm up, and the second song in the first set will start the energy. The closing visuals appear to also be the same night to night.
In between, they do repeat many of the visuals night to night, but several of them are generic enough where they can be used for many different songs (and still fun to watch and impressive). Some of those are more "static" than the headline videos that are circulating, and that puts the emphasis back on the music for stretches.
There were some new visuals on Night 2, maybe 20% or so of them. We'll see in time as they continue to roll new ones out and mix and match what songs they play to what.
The visuals can be a little disorienting. Even when you know it's a screen, it is so big it tricks you. Night 1 I found myself needing to sit down for a minute. Two things that helped me: One, turn around and look back at the seating, especially where the screen ends at the top. That helped my brain remember where we were. Second, looking at it through my phone when I took a few videos also grounded me. Overall, this was minor for me, I bounced back in a minute or so, and I loved it.
Sound. I found it plenty loud, but saw some comments that it wasn't enough for some others liking. I think if you are acclimated to the outdoor tour amphitheater experience, that tends to be louder because they push volume out further outdoors. In the Sphere they don't need to do that. What you get in exchange is a more balanced sound. No complaints here.
They did seem to dial it in a bit and got more bass second night. I didn't notice it so much, but a few folks around me commented. Making some minor adjustments as they learn by playing the venue and getting fan feedback is to be expected, and I'm glad to see it.
Haptics. Night one there were a few songs where they turned on the seat haptics, but it did not feel sync'd to the music until D&S. Night 2 they were only used for drums and space, and somehow Mickey controls them or they are sync'd to certain of his kit. I thought it was very cool N2 and how I hope it goes. They are amazing for D&S and I highly recommend sitting for that and not treating it like a second intermission. The seats and the visuals make it a totally different experience.
Encore. They will do an encore-type song, but they don't leave the stage. Without spoiling, there is a short visual presentation (about a minute) after set 2 closer and then they play one more. This was consistent both nights.
Intermission. The bathroom lines really did get long. I guess that's always true at intermissions, but this felt longer than other venues, though they did keep it moving. This was the only minor complaint I had.
If the line on your floor is long, it moved faster and was less crowded on the lower levels. Sphere staff was excellent, and were telling fans they could go down a level for a shorter line.
Food and drinks at the Sphere. They have a bit of both, but a lot more barstands than food. I didn't eat there, but they had decent cocktails. There are bars on each level, and for beer and seltzers they had some wall coolers grab-and-go style. Other than intermission, the lines were never too bad. Stadium pricing hurts, but is to be expected.
Comfort. The best decision I made all weekend was to just wear my Brooks running shoes. It is a lot of walking even just around, to, and from The Venetian.
One difference I have not seen mentioned elsewhere is that I caught a bit of a draft in the 300s. I was fine, but consider bringing a layer if you're up higher.
Dead Experience at the Venetian. This was cool to see and is easy to check out while you're around. You can do it all in 30-60 minutes. It is on the lower level where Palazzo starts by the LOVE sign, near the restaurants and shopping. There are some fun photo ops, and staff to help take pictures.
Be sure to go upstairs: the photo collection exhibit and Mickey's artwork are up there and both neat. There was no line when I went. They do sell tour posters, but were already selling out morning of Day 2.
Merch. The merch at the Dead Experience at the Venetian during the day is different than what they have at the Sphere during shows. There is overlap, but there were some of the same styles in different colors. So far, none of it is available online.
Posters. Yes, there is a different poster each night. They also have weekend posters (with all three nights on them) and full tour posters. Tour posters had a limited run in foil, and then regular matte posters.
Security. They did not seem to be checking or care about vapes. It looked like every third person in line held theirs up in their hand with their phone as they walked through.
Getting in and out of the Venue. This overall ran really smoothly. I am not staying at the Venetian, so the first night I took a cab from the south end of the strip for about $20. Some traffic getting in, but once I was dropped off it was really quick getting into general entrance. Second night I got dinner at Venetian and took their sky bridge. That was a longer line, but still got through in about 15 minutes.
So if you're having dinner at the Venetian, I'd plan to walk over by about 645. It was about a fifteen minute walk, then a bit of line at security, but you'll get in with no stress and should have time to grab a drink. A 5pm reservation somewhere should give you plenty of time if you tell your server.
Shows get out around 11.30, and then it's either a walk back to Venetian or to the cab line. I was getting back to my hotel around midnight. If you started with dinner at 5 before the show, it's a long night.
Pace Yourself. Three days is a lot anywhere, but in Vegas you're on your feet during the day, it's hot, and the Sphere is an intense experience. It'll add up. Take it easy where you can.
Travel safe, and may the four winds blow you all safely home.
submitted by xk_Silhouette to deadandcompany [link] [comments]


2024.05.18 22:46 SamMorrisHorror Them Devils Part 2

Scott Masterson had first met Scarlett at a rooftop party in downtown Dallas. Their age and the time of year were both in late springtime, them in their mid twenties and the date in early May. He had on a sharp yet breezy blazer and she astonished in a thigh length sleeveless blue dress.
“Oh hey Scott I don’t believe you two have met…” his then happily married friend had remarked with a slow swinging open hand toward her.
“Scott Masterson…reluctant friend to this knucklehead” he said with a tight lipped grin, trying not to be so obvious with his instant rapture.
“Scarlett…a pleasure…”
Her hand was so delicate to Scott’s touch. They locked eyes. It was like looking back through centuries of connection, endless days of laying in the sun next to the Seine River, or rising to Hollywood fame in the 1940’s and only having each other who would understand the glory and the pain of it all, or generations of quiet, simple country love that would bear such beautiful, happy children that would go on to raise beautiful, happy children, all with their dark blue eyes. Yes, the memories of every love story since the beginning of time was swirling right there in Scarlett’s irises. Scott had to catch himself before he stared embarrassingly too long.
“Sorry Scottie here doesn’t get out often” his friend quipped, which Scott appreciated actually, it helped him snap back to professionalism.
“Well I don’t either…at least I prefer not to.” Scarlett’s words flowed through the air like a flock of rose petals.
“Hey, kindred spirits.” Scott was really sensing a rising energy out of her, they had barely broken eye contact.
“Well, I’ll let you two have at it, I got a wife around here somewhere. Hey…Scott and Scarlett…not bad, not bad.” His friend exited stage right with a sly chuckle.
“Nice guy…so…what are you drinking, Scarlett?” Scott looked around for the emptiest corner of the rooftop bar, hoping to find a nice place for them to be able to hear each other. This night had just become something.
“That depends, Scott…what do you like?”
Oh man.
Well, as you can expect, the evening blossomed into a beautiful, long winded conversation that etched a long list of similarities between the two. They both lived in the city, had never married, and had dreamed of stable, simpler lives far away from tall buildings and busy streets. The next morning Scott awoke in her arms, which warmed much deeper than just his skin. He could feel her soothing his very identity, his future, everything. Her arms were tailor made to fit his very soul, and he had never felt more safe and at home.
“Mmm…you can stay right here…” she whispered, eyes still closed.
“I will…I will”
They both fell back asleep, into a dream that wouldn’t end upon waking.
Two years passed and suddenly they lived that simple backwoods life, way out where acres of land far out-populated the few and far between people. They took a lovely home, which happily looked over a long backyard, right up to a lively yet mostly undisturbed river. Their only neighbor within a mile was an older ranch worker named Charles, who rarely made himself perceivable. Days were spent way on into town where they both had offices. They didn’t mind the commute. Nights were spent mostly like this night, cuddled outside near a lovely little fire, with a slowly shrinking amount of wine sitting between them. Enjoying their Kingdom. Tonight, however, would prove to be a special night, for many reasons, all unexpected.
“Honey, I’ve been thinking…” Scott began, sitting up and opening his hands to the warmth of the fire.
“Oh?” Scarlett also sat up, eyes widening.
“So look, Scarlett, the last two years have been the best of my life. An absolute dream…”
She held her breath, her focus darting between his eyes and mouth.
“Yeah?”
“We have everything we ever want out here. But…what if there’s more?”
“More?” She had envisioned this very conversation hundreds of times.
“Our dreams have come true, but what if we…made some new dreams?” Scott turned and embedded his eyes into hers. He burst into a big smile.
“Scott…I thought…”
“Nevermind what I said” he cut her off, which he always made a point to never do, but this was a good exception.
“I’m ready, Scarlett…let’s have a family.”
“Ohhhh Scott, oh Scott”
They hugged tight enough to where it hurt.
“Well, in that case, we may need to open another bottle.” She said playfully, bouncing her eyebrows twice.
“Excellent. I’ll be right up. I’ll put this fire out and then start yours up.”
“Oh stop!” She bounded away girlishly, up the snowy back steps and into the house.
Scott let out a big sigh that he could see in the cold air and sat back in his chair, taking in his decision. He really was ready. He had secretly been keeping a long list of names that he liked and that he thought would work in front of Masterson. Especially little girl names. He stared into the campfire flames, getting lost imagining the three of them sitting right here, a little girl resting securely in Scarlett’s arms, as Scott had found himself, and stayed within these past two years.
Suddenly his trance was broken when, from the road in front of their house, came the sound of a vehicle approaching at high speed. Scott snapped his head back toward the house to get a better listen. He could see, around the house and through the trees, a large truck barreling down the country road, its headlights racing and bouncing with intensity. In an instant, it had passed up the road and out of sight.
“Huh?”
Soon, after a moment of silence, another sound echoed into the night. This sound rattled Scott to the bone and tore all that was right in his world into pieces. A sharp, bellowing squeal. His eyes shot over to his neighbors house, which was about a tenth of a mile to his right but still had a couple dim lights on that he could see. The shriek seemed to come from there.
Then, more squeals. It was hellish. More than animal but not quite human. Scott stood up. He heard crashing and tearing and further destruction coming from Charles’ house.
“Scarlett!! Scarlett!” He yelled toward his house, where he looked and could see her silhouette behind the curtains at the kitchen window. She didn’t seem to hear him.
He turned back toward his neighbors. The chaos had gone quiet. Not a half a moment after, though, he heard something big barreling through the trees as fast as that truck had been sprinting. Running, running furiously between the two houses. Searching, hunting. Scott was taken aback so hard that his heel had caught the edge of the fire pit, throwing him down only inches away from severe burns. He had knocked his head in the whiplash, making him groan and take a moment to regain his bearings.
“SCARLETT!!!!”
He screamed out toward his home as he sat up, rubbing a quickly rising bump on the back of his head. He heard a loud breaching on the side of his house. The patio door. No. No. Then, all hell broke loose. Scarlett started wailing and crying and he could hear crashes of plates and glasses and deep guttural roars coming from the kitchen inside. Shadows danced in a frenzy from the curtained windows. Sounds of instinctual survival seemed to be thrown from Scarlett inside. Sounds of defeat. Sounds of agony. Sounds of insanity. Scott sprang to his feet, his equilibrium being more damaged than he realized after his fall. He had to catch his hand on a chair to stabilize himself. Scarlett’s symphony of pain had gone quiet. Soon after something burst back out the patio door again and off in the same direction as that truck before.
Scott struggled back up to the house, slowly climbing the wintered, crunching stairs that led to the patio. He no longer yelled for Scarlett. In fact, the only thing that came to his senses was the sound of his own heavy breathing. Everything else had been turned off, save for a heavy and sudden dread that he had prayed he would never feel. He came to the side of his house where indeed the patio door had been busted and forced open. It laid inside the kitchen, its hinges snapped like toothpicks. Scott, with eyes wide and twitching, slowly entered his home and looked into the kitchen.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t even change his breathing. He didn’t blink. He just got a good long look at what laid before him.
Everything was broken. The fridge was on its side, the door hanging open and food and drink scattered all over the floor. The table was upended, its legs to the ceiling. A chair was resting on the counter, possibly having been thrown in defense. And Scarlett. Oh Scarlett. She…was…everywhere. She was all over the floor. She was sprayed against the walls. She was stuck to the window. She was in the sink.
Scott gently walked through the carnal mess and sabotage of his world. Long ago he had known exactly what he would do if something anywhere near this bad were to happen to him. He politely stumbled through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bedroom. He opened his closet door and lowered a fire safe from the top rack. He unlocked it with a passcode. 511, after that warm May date when he had first met Scarlett. In the safe was a Sig Sauer P320 handgun. Scott took it out, along with a box of bullets, loaded one into the gun, put the safe back on its rack, and walked out of the closet, sitting on his bed. Their bed. Where they should’ve been laying right at this very moment, working toward a happy future. Where he would’ve kissed her forehead and put a hand on her growing midsection. Where they would have awoken on Christmas morning to the sound of children who were way too excited to remain asleep. Where they would’ve grown old. Where they would’ve smiled at each other through wrinkles, satisfied with all the love they shared and passed on to the next generations. Where they would’ve held each other in deep peace as they finally fell asleep to this world.
“I will…I will”
In one quick motion Scott pulled back the hammer and stuck the barrel of that pistol right up against his Governor and blew himself away, far away, right back into Scarlett’s loving arms.
Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett quickly yet stealthily made his way back to his Uncle’s house. He hugged the sides of the dark country road, keeping his eyes and ears wide open as to notice any sounds pertaining to the event that he had just witnessed there in the field next to the huge blaze. His only thought was Uncle Chuck. His house was right on the warpath of that horrible thing and Smallmouth had to go to him and make sure he was safe. He dared not go back to his truck, which would bring a lot of unwanted attention. No, Smallmouth walked and walked and finally saw the lights of his Uncle’s house. He carefully approached the front door from the shadowed driveway. Suddenly it occurred to Smallmouth that something was very wrong here. The door was busted in, having been plowed through by something very large and very strong.
“No…no…no”
Smallmouth slowly entered the house. The kitchen and living room were a disaster, chairs and tables and bottles strewn about and shattered. Bloody hoof-prints covered the floors, each of them the size of dinner plates. Smallmouth heard no noise. He felt himself well with tears, his nose a faucet that he began to sniff up as he worked his way through to his Uncle’s room, the door there also being broken in. A small whine growing in his throat, Smallmouth peaked into his uncles bedroom.
It was all in tatters. The bed had been attacked and shredded, the mattress being ripped up and thrown about as if it were made of cotton candy. More bloody hoof-prints were painted all over the brown carpet. Smallmouth trembled and put a hand up to his wet face. He didn’t see a way that his Uncle was anywhere near alive, knowing what he knew about the monster that had been in this house.
Smallmouth slowly walked to the living room, to the only little table that had been untouched in the attack. It was almost as if the bottle of whiskey teleported into his hand from the overturned cabinet, unopened. He fixed that real quick.
Soon he was several pulls deep of the only thing in the world that he knew would make him feel better, even if only for a few hours. He found his pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket and lit one up, although he was indoors. What did it matter? He sat in a chair that he had turned right side up and set the bottle on the table and looked out the back window into the pitch black. He cried for his Uncle and he cried for the world. He cried for himself. He cried for broken promises and his own weakness. He drank and drank until his vision shook from right to left everywhere he looked. At first he didn’t even notice the figures on the back porch. Then his vibrating focus did pick up on them, but by then it was too late. It was so dark out there but in their outlines he could see they wore long robes and hoods.
“HA!! COME AND GET ME! HAHA!! YOU COME AND YOU GET ME!!” Smallmouth boasted with a delusional amount of courage.
A creak escaped from the kitchen and he drunkenly slung his head over toward it. Three more figures stood there. Or was it just one? Smallmouth was none the wiser. All at once the hooded intruders from both inside and outside began to chant a strange, twisted rhyme in strikingly low and dissonant harmony:
“A sliver…of liver…goes down…with a shiver… …and gives…your gullet…to gall… …but drink…the Cider…that drowns…the Spider… …and you…will be free…of it all… …so tighten the grip…that loosens your lips… …O raise…the bottle…of brown… …and wake tomorrow…to find…in sorrow… …ANOTHER…SPIDER…TO…DROWN”
Smallmouth groaned at them in dissatisfaction and turned his bottle up again and began to chug the whiskey. As he did they repeated the chant except this time it was louder and closer. By the time Smallmouth had finished his bottle he was quickly losing consciousness. This wasn’t just whiskey. As he closed his eyes he felt hands grabbing him from all sides.
Smallmouth pulled open his sticky eyelids. His head felt like someone had bowled a strike into it. Wind froze his face. The smell of sickly, wet iron stung his nostrils. His vantage was higher than usual. Way higher. He was looking out into another field, but from easily ten feet up. He saw an old church, formerly painted white but now a flaky pale-beige. He heard the friction of a quick pull of rope below him, matched with a slight, tight pain at his feet. He looked down. A red-robed figure was fastening him against a wooden structure of some kind. His feet sat on a small flat platform perpendicular to a post that went from the ground up past smallmouths head. He couldn’t move his arms, so he quickly shot his eyes side to side. They were also tied to another horizontal post. A cross. He was being tied to a crude wooden cross. His shirt had been removed, exposing a hairy, overweight belly. Smallmouth tried to speak, but all that came out was a slow, unintelligible grumble. He was still drunk. No, this was more than that. He was under the influence of something strong and absolutely inhibitive. He wallowed again, and took in a deep breath. The smell of iron once again hit his nose. He looked down at himself. He was covered in a thick, red liquid. That wasn’t just the smell of iron. He had been splashed full body with blood.
“Now now, young servant…” the figure at his feet had finished his task and took a couple of steps out to admire his own handiwork.
“Ahh…perfect. The picture of martyrdom. Yes, you will always be remembered, Brother Bassett. You are to be the first Saint of The New Bible.” He opened his arms in his declaration.
Smallmouth looked up into the cold night sky. The moon shown down, giving everything a midnight spotlight. It was a gorgeous waxing gibbous, big and bright but not quite full. Yes, he was in a great big snowy field that housed an old worn down church. From the windows of the church he saw candles glowing, showing dark heads and shoulders looking out to him, also covered in loose hoods, hiding faces. He was hanging on a cross about one hundred feet from the old church. In front of the cross was a partially covered pit, a couple of two by fours supporting double armfuls of branches and dead leaves.
The figure at the base of the cross put his arms back to his side. He was still looking right at the drugged Smallmouth’s dumbstruck face. Even with a veiled mouth you could hear the twisted smile in his voice.
“Tonight you will help us finally defeat this legion, Smallmouth. You see, it may have the evil spirits within it, but at its core, it is still an owned animal. An animal that knows its Master very well. An animal that will remember the smell of its Master. You, my friend, are covered in its Master right now. And you are hanging on a cross, the symbol of this brute’s most hated enemy. But take heart, young Brother. Before you is our pit of spears. Yes you will attract the beast, but our Divine plan will intercept it and the beast will fall and be pierced. And then, oh dear brother, you will forever be immortalized. You will be purified in fire by the hands of your church brethren. Out of your screams and into the smoke the iniquities of all will be released. We will go on to preach your good example and your sainthood forever and ever.”
Smallmouth began to drool and hum pathetically. He could hear and understand the words of the robed man but he couldn’t fight back. His body was useless, limp inside its rope confines. All he could do now is think, and watch, and wait, and dread his fate.
The figure turned away from him, walking over near the pit and gathering up a bundle of brambles and throwing them over the last open area, covering it completely. He then crunched through the snow over to the front door of the old church, groaning open the door. He stood at the dark doorway for a few seconds in silence, and then began to make a noise. An over exaggerated pig squealing noise, high pitched and infuriating. Soon after other voices from inside the church began to do the same, their wailing echoing out of the building and all across the field, loudly signaling, calling out. It may as well have been a dinner bell. Not a half minute after they began the distress signal it was loudly answered by a distant squall. A furious squall.
This was it. Either way it happened Smallmouth was about to die. Experience terror, and then die, and not even have the ability to put up any kind of defense. It wasn’t fair. He just slowly lifted up his head and watched out far into the moonlit, white field. He then raised his heavy head further and took a good gander at the moon and stars for the last time.
“God,” he thought to himself, still having full inner monologue yet no outer motor function, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry for being what I am. I am so sorry for ending up in this place. It’s only my own fault. If it wasn’t for me being so stupid and messy and drunk and terrible then this wouldnt be happening to me.”
He began to shed tears that washed lines into the blood on his face.
“Please forgive me God. Please, please, please forgive me for all of my sins. This is it. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!!” He yelled inside his own mind, hoping and trying to send his silent words as far up into heaven as they could go.
He lowered his eyes back to the ground. He looked over at the church again. The windows were empty, the candles were extinguished. Those hooded cowards were hiding from their own handmade sacrificial service. All was quiet for a long pause until a much louder, closer bleating began at the edge of the forest not even three hundred feet away from Smallmouth’s glazed over eyes. It was time, and it was too late for a miracle.
Out of the woods, slowly and heavily, stomped the massive hog. As it marched closer and closer Smallmouth could see its white, boiled over eyes and black-burnt skin. Its jaws were flying open and snapping its sharp, pocket knife-sized teeth together in an intimidating “clack”. It was now less than a hundred feet away, the dark old church to its right shoulder. It stopped, its pale glowing eyes fixed right on Smallmouth on the crude cross. It truly was a monster. It stood as tall as a man and as long as a canoe. Around its murderous mouth were stains of red, the remnants of all that it had taken from the world on this unholy night. In its clanging jaws were bits of flesh. It snorted and scowled.
Then, in a fury, it wailed that horrible squeal and started off into a dead sprint. It galloped and galloped toward Smallmouth at a high, blistering speed. It kept yawping and howling as it cut the distance from the cross down to fifty feet, forty feet, thirty, twenty. All at once it passed over the covered pit and plunged in. In his doomed, dead eyed stupor Smallmouth could hear what sounded like paint being dumped from a rooftop onto concrete. Trails of black liquid squirted and splashed up from the pit, which had been uncovered in the fall of the beast. Unbelieving, Smallmouth saw dozens of steel spear tips standing up from the dug-in ground. Right in the middle of them the beast was stuck. The sheer weight of the animal had caused the spears to pierce through its tough skin, sticking out of its back, soaked in black blood. One spear had stabbed right under the hogs chin, passing up through its jaws and out its black snout. It made agonized sounds. It roared and roared and shook the spears inside it, beginning furiously, then growing weaker and weaker within seconds. Finally, it let out one last weak little squeal, before it went still and quiet.
Smallmouth was frozen both physically by drugs and constraints and mentally by shock. His mouth hung open toward the pit of spears, his vision blurry. He took in a deep, troubled breath and let out a moan of disbelief and relief. The old church doors sprang open, and the sound of jubilation within flowed out into the night. The red robed figures flocked out of the building toward the pit, arms raised in celebration. They surrounded the hole, getting a good look at their success and their enemies defeat. Some held additional spears and began further stabbing the dead animal, causing more black blood to be shed up at them. They all yelled loudly and triumphantly. Some danced around the pit. Some skipped over to Smallmouth on the cross and danced around him, slapping his legs and spinning in circles.
Smallmouth looked on at the raucous celebration, both in utter disbelief of their trap actually working and also in turmoil. How long now until they fully execute their plan.
A taller robed man, whose voice matched the same one who spoke to Smallmouth as he tied his feet, spoke up, sounding almost happily intoxicated.
“Ahh yes my Brothers!! It is done!! We have won!!!”
They all whooped and cheered.
“Brother Norman, go into the church and bring me the small tank of fuel. Let us send our dear Saint Bassett to the Holy lands, where he will be adored for all eternity!”
They all clapped and hollered. One figure began childishly skipping away from the pit and over toward the front door of the church.
Then, it happened.
From the pit all of a sudden a great blaze erupted instantly. It stood as tall as the cross, and it burned a furious red and blue. It raged and raged, blinding Smallmouth and making him clumsily turn his face away from the heat.
All of the figures panicked, screaming and scattering away toward the church. They didn’t get far. Up from the fiery pit, dozens of long, long, black arms, adorned with six hooking claws emerged and stretched out of the flames and latched on to the legs of those trying to escape. Smallmouth heard crying and wailing from the men as the black, razor clawed-hands of the legion grabbed them and began pulling them back, into the blazes. One by one the red robed people were dragged into the flames, their clothes catching instantly. Smallmouth could see violently shaking bodies in the evil furnace. Oh, the screams. Above the tortured howling, the sound of laughing broke out. Deep, menacing laughter, hundreds of voices, echoed up into the air from the burning hole. Then, in one extinguishing squeeze, the ground swallowed the entirety of the fiery pit, leaving it completely covered in dirt, still and quiet. Soon after, and just like the pit of spears, the old church building caught in an instant and raging fire, quickly toppling the walls and dropping the steeple into its ruins. The smoke towered high in the night sky, which had just began to hint at a pale morning blue. Smallmouth hung on his cross in utter horror and surprise.
As the late evening hours glowed into early morning the smoke eventually tapered off, as Smallmouth’s drugs finally began to wear off as well. The fires of the church did garner long distance attention, though. Just as Smallmouth was able to regain control of his muscles and voice he heard emergency sirens call out into the cold morning air. Not long after, two fire trucks, an ambulance and a sheriffs truck tore into the field and toward Smallmouth on the cross. Not long after Smallmouth could feel the tied ropes being cut loose by firemen, their uniforms easily the best red clothes he had seen all night.
“What on God’s green Earth happened here son?” A bearded man with a dark hat and brown shirt and pants asked Smallmouth once he had been lowered down from the cross and sat on the ground with a shock blanket around his shoulders. The Sheriff, no doubt.
“God’s green Earth. It really is God’s, isn’t it?” Smallmouth whispered, staring out across the cold field. Then, at the very place he was staring, an old, familiar truck came barreling out of the gravel road in the woods and through the field in the steadily growing morning light. It was Uncle Chuck’s truck. It hurried over toward the other emergency vehicles, parked, the driver’s side door burst open, and Uncle Chuck came bounding out over to Smallmouth, his eyes wide and his mouth a wonderfully shocked “O”.
“JEREMY! JEREMY!!!” He basically fell on Smallmouth in a tight, warm hug. Smallmouth was caught off guard by Chuck using his real name.
His Uncle held him for several seconds and then let up, but kept his hands on Smallmouth’s shoulders.
“I thought you were dead.” Both of them said at almost the exact same time.
“I came back and your house was a mess and there was blood everywhere. I thought you were dead.” Smallmouth weakly spat out.
“Well, I woke up and you were gone, son, so I walked to the ranch to get my truck. I was worried bout ya son. I came back home and the whole place had been turned upside down. Blood on the carpet. I just thought the worst. Then I tried my neighbors house. Buddy, they’re dead. Looks like some wacko murder-suicide if I ever saw one. Scott probably tried to come kill us too and wrecked the place when he found it empty. I don’t know. But what I DO know is that you are right here! You are okay Jeremy!! Ahhh Praise Jesus!!”
“It’s not that, Uncle. That isn’t what happened out here. It’s..it was a..a, uh…”
Smallmouth’s fried brain couldn’t even comprehend what he had witnessed over the past few hours. It was all a violent blur.
“Dont worry bout it son, you can tell me everything on the way to the hospital. We gotta go get you checked out and cleaned up. C’mon.” He helped Smallmouth up and they walked over to the ambulance, his Uncle’s arm thrown around his shoulder.
Smallmouth would be sent home later that afternoon. It would take him and his Uncle a long time to sort through the chaos of that deadly night and rebuild their lives. But life kept on. Smallmouth would remain living with his Uncle, and would begin a job working with him down at the ranch. Together they started to attend a local church. Smallmouth never touched a drink or a drug or even a cigarette ever again, and remained steadfast in his newly revitalized faith.
submitted by SamMorrisHorror to TheCrypticCompendium [link] [comments]


2024.05.18 22:34 Chaotic_Journey save me from my brain please (◉‿◉)

Hello guys so um, two years ago I kept reading about narcissism to the point I started doubting everyone including myself, so I stopped.
One week ago, I got to know a new friend and I loved her (turns out she's an INTJ) but I loved her (as a friend, like I felt that I will cherish her and will be one of my close friends) too quickly (literally 2 days talking to each other)
This reminded me of love bombing, and the "what if I'm a narcissist" thoughts attacked me, I tried to brush it off and started thinking about the idea of feelings and time and whether it's okay to feel and express strong feelings early if they're genuinely felt, or to disregard/supress the feelings just because they're too early (would love to hear your opinions)
However, the thoughts started haunting me again ​ and I've been in a rabbit hole the past week thinking "Could I be a narcissist? Why do people think I'm good? am I a bad person? could I be pretending to be good? what is bad and what is good? On what basis am I gonna judge? can I accurately assess myself without bias? If I can't accurately assess myself due to bias and people can't cuz they don't see the full picture then how can I know my reality? ​ who am I? what is reality in general?"
I end up exhausted and feel like shizz especially that I think about all of my mistakes and the guilt haunts me​ and I feel like a failure and I end up not sure of anything at all, not myself, nor my feelings, not psychology, not the people I know and just absolutely lost. And I feel like I'm unable to take a step forward in any direction like I have things to do, people to reply to but I'm too mentally exhausted to do anything
Do you creative wonderful brains know what I can do about this? Have any answers? Have you ever experienced something like this?
submitted by Chaotic_Journey to ENFP [link] [comments]


2024.05.18 22:24 chaoticghostie if you have time to read this please do. i need all the advice i can get.

hello everyone i don’t know if this is the right group to post this in but i’ll give it a try. i’m going to start off by saying this situation is genuinely so crazy & it’s dealing with a family member of mine that’s on heavy substances who is in possession of a child. if you have any experience with someone who’s in active addiction (mostly meth use) you know how they act. the conspiracy theories, thinking someone’s after them, seeing or hearing things that aren’t there, etc. it’s far more worse than that with a family member of mine.
she made a tiktok account to post her conspiracy theories. she believes she’s a clone, she thinks celebrities are mirroring her life, her dna and soul was taken, etc. as her view count went up on the videos she posted, more people kept commenting stuff like “did you forget to take your schizophrenia meds?” “i think this is the craziest thing i’ve seen in a long time” “you’re having a psychosis episode” and stuff like that. if total strangers can see that something is truly wrong with this picture, something definitely is wrong, especially since she’s in the possession of a child. she recently took her son off of his antidepressants for no reason. her son is only nine and has been hospitalized due to being su1c1dal. he isn’t in a good environment. he lives with his mother alone & when she has a “meth crash” he’s left to fend for himself.
not only that he’s missed countless days of school due to her not being able to get up when she has a “meth crash”. cps was supposedly keeping an eye on her last year because her therapist saw a meth pipe in her home. cps has done NOTHING. it was completely swept under the rug.
what you’re probably asking is “why haven’t you done anything? this child is obviously in danger” my family and i have called cps and done welfare checks multiple times. cps basically told us there’s nothing they can do and when the cops did the welfare checks they said they were completely fine. the system is completely broken. i’m furious and have no idea what to do. i haven’t even turned 20 yet and all that matters is that this child is in safe hands.
if anyone has any words of advice that would be greatly appreciated and if you have any questions i would be more than willing to answer them.
submitted by chaoticghostie to legaladvice [link] [comments]


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