dealing with a breakup the semi-correct way
3 months ago my bf decided to end the relationship with me after almost 5 years. I was half blindsided bc i know we both weren’t exactly happy for a while, i didn’t expect him to break the news to me peacefully on a weekday evening.
my relationship with him has been a bumpy ride. we’ve had a lot of issues that stemmed from miscommunication, just rolled to a point love isn’t enough and love faded away. he said we are incompatible, we have different hobbies, i abused him emotionally, etc. essentially it feels like i was the reason why this relationship didn’t work.
i was devastated and really sad for the past 3 months. full of guilt and shame. i wanted him back and recognized my fair share of issues, and i am willing to work on them. i begged, i cried, offered to be FWB, did everything i could but our interactions were just simply unpleasant.
eventually, i realized that the person i loved is gone. and the urge of talking to him also died. you can’t force someone who doesn’t love you to work with you. he thinks I’m crazy, emotionally unstable, controlling and manipulative. maybe some parts are true. he acts extremely cold and ruthless in front of me. he broke my heart again and again but i still want to find excuses for him. but at the same time, it’s so much for me to endure and i know it’s finally time to let go.
since the breakup happened, i started therapy and started reading psychology books. i tried to still workout regularly but gave myself a lot of graces when I’m just feeling so down. i reached out to all my friends who i am comfortable with sharing the breakup. i started talking to my parents whenever i can rather than weekly catchups. i would go on walks alone and listening to podcasts. i journal and do the worksheets my therapist gave me.
in the past, i always cope with breakups by jumping into another relationship. i can’t tolerate the heartbreak pain and also can’t stand to be alone. but I’m turning 27 soon, i think it’s time for me to stop running away from my problems.
do I feel lonely? absolutely. do i still think about my past relationship and occasionally stalk my ex? i do. i also sometimes go on dating apps to swipe to distract myself. i’m not doing everything perfectly, but at least working to cope in a healthtier way. healing is probably gonna be a long journey but everyday i notice a tiny bit of improvement. i am really proud of myself for doing everything in a better way that serves me.
life goes on, and ill probably still be sad tomorrow. but hopefully one day, i will wake up and realize i dont mind being by myself and i love myself so much.

3 months ago my bf decided to end the relationship with me after almost 5 years. I was half blindsided bc i know we both weren’t exactly happy for a while, i didn’t expect him to break the news to me peacefully on a weekday evening.
my relationship with him has been a bumpy ride. we’ve had a lot of issues that stemmed from miscommunication, just rolled to a point love isn’t enough and love faded away. he said we are incompatible, we have different hobbies, i abused him emotionally, etc. essentially it feels like i was the reason why this relationship didn’t work.
i was devastated and really sad for the past 3 months. full of guilt and shame. i wanted him back and recognized my fair share of issues, and i am willing to work on them. i begged, i cried, offered to be FWB, did everything i could but our interactions were just simply unpleasant.
eventually, i realized that the person i loved is gone. and the urge of talking to him also died. you can’t force someone who doesn’t love you to work with you. he thinks I’m crazy, emotionally unstable, controlling and manipulative. maybe some parts are true. he acts extremely cold and ruthless in front of me. he broke my heart again and again but i still want to find excuses for him. but at the same time, it’s so much for me to endure and i know it’s finally time to let go.
since the breakup happened, i started therapy and started reading psychology books. i tried to still workout regularly but gave myself a lot of graces when I’m just feeling so down. i reached out to all my friends who i am comfortable with sharing the breakup. i started talking to my parents whenever i can rather than weekly catchups. i would go on walks alone and listening to podcasts. i journal and do the worksheets my therapist gave me.
in the past, i always cope with breakups by jumping into another relationship. i can’t tolerate the heartbreak pain and also can’t stand to be alone. but I’m turning 27 soon, i think it’s time for me to stop running away from my problems.
do I feel lonely? absolutely. do i still think about my past relationship and occasionally stalk my ex? i do. i also sometimes go on dating apps to swipe to distract myself. i’m not doing everything perfectly, but at least working to cope in a healthtier way. healing is probably gonna be a long journey but everyday i notice a tiny bit of improvement. i am really proud of myself for doing everything in a better way that serves me.
life goes on, and ill probably still be sad tomorrow. but hopefully one day, i will wake up and realize i dont mind being by myself and i love myself so much.

This is really hard to write.
Over the last year, I've done zero cleaning outside of removing trash and there stuff EVERYWHERR and the place is filthy. The only vermin issue is clothing moths (RIP hand knit sweaters). The apartment is an efficiency student apartment with only a few small built in kitchen cabinets for storage. I have, on top of that two small single freestanding closets, an Ikea Enhet, and a small dresser. No, there isn't even built in bathroom storage. I have a tiny rack from ikea for cleaning supplies/shower supplies.
Over and over again I read the advice that "everything needs to go back in it's home" but NOTHING has a home. I have no idea how to make things a home when I have so little storage (I need to buy more when the apartment is clean - please don't say I have enough, and need to work with what I have, I couldn't buy any more when I moved in because of poverty). I can't visualize anything. I have no idea how to start. I have no idea what I actually need to keep. The only thing more anxiety inducing than looking at the clutter is trying to think my way through the clutter.
Are there any guides for this? Worksheets? I need something more concrete than Dana White. A lot of systems assume you have a house or at least another room where you can move stuff. I have neither of those things. I need to organize/declutter THEN clean (If you've seen Midwest Magic's ADHD cleaning video, I have the rage issue when my things are moved and I can't find them)
I have no executive function left and no one I trust to help with the organizing part. Even writing this is making my heart beat out of my chest. I just need help on how to THINK or pre-made worksheets where I can fill in the blanks for myself. Or something else.

This is really hard to write. So apologies if this doesn't make sense.
Over the last year, I've done zero cleaning outside of removing trash and there stuff EVERYWHERR and the place is filthy. The only vermin issue is clothing moths (RIP hand knit sweaters). The apartment is an efficiency student apartment with only a few small built in kitchen cabinets for storage. I have, on top of that two small single freestanding closets, an Ikea Enhet, and a small dresser. No, there isn't even built in bathroom storage. I have a tiny rack from ikea for cleaning supplies/shower supplies.
Over and over again I read the advice that "everything needs to go back in it's home" but NOTHING has a home. I have no idea how to make things a home when I have so little storage (I need to buy more when the apartment is clean - please don't say I have enough, and need to work with what I have, I couldn't buy any more when I moved in because of poverty). I can't visualize anything. I have no idea how to start. I have no idea what I actually need to keep. The only thing more anxiety inducing than looking at the clutter is trying to think my way through the clutter.
Are there any guides for this? Worksheets? I need something more concrete than Dana White. A lot of systems assume you have a house or at least another room where you can move stuff. I have neither of those things. I need to organize/declutter THEN clean (If you've seen Midwest Magic's ADHD cleaning video, I have the rage issue when my things are moved and I can't find them)
I have no executive function left and no one I trust to help with the organizing part. Even writing this is making my heart beat out of my chest. I just need help on how to THINK or pre-made worksheets where I can fill in the blanks for myself. Or something else.

This is a build up in my heart but I figured I would ask.
My NGM and NM were just so into this idea that it was a great gift idea to give math flash cards, math work books, or office software. They congratulated themselves that it was a “separate but equal” gift to video games and toys. So GC would get 101 awesome video game collection and I’d get a knock off of a knock off of office software with no instructions.
Once they had a boarder and convinced him that he was joining the family Christmas stuff and he asked what I would want since he was a single guy with no kids. They legit thought that this was a clever idea and convinced him that it was such a great gift.
Well, it was a gift for them because I can’t count the number of summer days or vacation days we had to do worksheets. Not even fun worksheets with crosswords or puzzles—just el cheapo lines of equations and fill in the blanks.
Is this an NPD?
LPT: no kid is so enamored with math that they legit want a math workbook over a comic book, a piece of chocolate, a toy.

My two recipents both have moderate/severe ME/CFS with exhaustion and brain fog (cognitive impairments) as well as anxiety, GI, muscle weakness and other issues. I'm having to do almost all their medical-related communication and prep. I'd estimate it takes me 20-30 hrs/week between the two, depending on the week.
TL:DR: Would IHSS pay for instrumental cognitive/communication tasks essential to getting appropriate medical care for those with mental health or cognitive impairment? Has anyone tried? Some publications suggest a broad range of necessary IADLs are within the IHSS scope (see at bottom).
Examples of the medical-related instrumental activities of daily living (IADL)s they are unable to do due to their physical and cognitive impairments:

• set up MD appointment, explain to an MD their symptoms and remember or articulate questions; f/u on referrals; compose messages to providers via the electroninc health record (EHR); call and change appointments to telehealth or just reschedule whenever too impaired to attend in person that day.
• My friend also uses the Visible app and the Verity HR tracker for ME/CFS. I annotate the day's heart rate graph with the activities that raised her heart rate, fill out the daily sx log. (It helps her learn the patterns of what makes her worse, so she can better manage her condition, and we can tell MDs, change meds, exercise, etc).
• I sometimes track headaches, sleep, food to see if there are triggers.
• I help both prep for MD appointments, by observing (and sometimes logging) symptoms, and then helping them recall and prioritize symptoms, concerns and questions.

It would help her get better from ME/CFS if I got recognized and paid for these. (Currently she feels guilty about how much is on my plate (especially unpaid). So whenever she feels good for a bit and i'm busy with another task (as I usually am) she will go and do a kitchen task, start a laundry, etc. she thus pushes through her symptoms and exceeds her energy envelope, which makes her get way worse (crashes). This leaves her bedbound for some days, with exhaustion, muscle aches, orthostatic sx, cognitive dysfunction, etc, and then I have to do more. Repeat.
Based on some publications, it seems that IHSS social workers ought to allocate time for this, but I've not seen it on any of their worksheets. Here's one example:

Advocate Tips:
IHSS is not restricted to consumers who need physical assistance with tasks. Individuals with mental health disabilities and cognitive impairments may also benefit from in-home care which provides assistance with a wide variety of activities of daily living (ADLs) and instrumental activities of daily living (IADLs).
When assisting an individual applying for IHSS, discuss their needs for assistance with tasks that are difficult because of their mental health conditions. Then ensure that the relevant information is communicated to the IHSS social worker.

Chapter 2: Day one

Charlotte couldn’t sleep. She stayed up for the remainder of the night, thinking about the odd nightmare that woke her up in the first place. What was that? What was the figure that she saw? Why did it all feel so real? A few hours later, Charlotte was getting ready for school, trying to pretend nothing ever happened. She put her lunchbox into her backpack, threw it around her shoulder, and ran outside to jump into her father’s car. “Do you have everything?” he asked as she threw her backpack inside the car. Charlotte stopped to think for a minute. She had her lunch, she had all of her folders and binders, she had her book. “Algebra homework!” Charlotte ran back inside and grabbed the homework off of the table where she left it before running back out again shortly after. “Ready.” Her father waited for her to get back in the car, and started driving. “You look tired, did you sleep alright?” he questioned as he pulled out of the driveway. “Yes, I slept fine, I just woke up a little early,” Charlotte half-lied. She hoped that her father would leave it at that, not wanting to tell him that she couldn’t sleep all night. Unfortunately, she wasn’t so lucky. “How early?” Alright, now what? She didn’t want to lie to her father. “Oh you know, nothing too bad, it was only a little bit earlier than usual,” Charlotte responded vaguely. Her father seemed to have gotten the message, or just gave up, and stopped bringing it up. The two sat still in silence for the duration of the drive, Charlotte just stared out the window, and her father just focused on driving. 

“Now, has everyone completed the homework I assigned?” Mrs. Fischer spoke aloud to the class. Several students, Charlotte included, began to rise out of their seats and placed their papers on Mrs. Fischer’s desk. “Very good.”
Charlotte pulled a math worksheet out of a blue folder and began writing on it. She never found anything in this class too difficult, but today was different for some reason. Charlotte couldn't focus. A weird feeling rose inside her, an unsettling feeling, but Charlotte couldn't think of the source. Why did she feel so uncomfortable? A quick scan around the room found her answer. Someone was staring at her.
Conner. The new student. He had just arrived this morning. As soon as Charlotte saw, he quickly looked down at his desk without saying a word. Maybe he was shy? Kinda like her. But why was he staring at her? It doesn't matter. What matters is getting her work done. It's best to just ignore it.
Mrs. Fischer looked down at her watch for a few seconds before speaking, every student looking at her with anticipation. “You are dismissed.”
Everyone stood up from their seats and began walking towards the door in unison as students flooded the hallways.
The battering noise of constant chatter quickly overpowered every other sound nearby, even Charlotte’s own thoughts.
Charlotte was almost at her next class when the weird feeling suddenly returned. Someone was watching her. Charlotte began looking around as she walked forward, hoping to spot who it was staring at her from afar. Was it Conner again? No, he was nowhere in sight. The only time she saw someone looking at her was the occasional weird look from somebody concerned about her frantic turning. Nobody was watching her, at least, nobody she could see. Despite it being clear nobody was looking at her, the feeling didn't leave her body, and she kept frantically looking around. Charlotte suddenly collapsed to the ground along with her belongings.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Charlotte heard an unfamiliar voice speak. Looking up, Charlotte saw Conner standing at his locker. He reached out his hand with a smile. “Let me help you up.”
Charlotte took Conner’s hand and he lifted her up onto her feet. “Thank you,” Charlotte said, leaning over to pick up her belongings. She heard Conner step away from his locker and he started picking up Charlotte's items as well.
“I’m Conner.” He put Charlotte’s items back into her hands with what she had picked up herself.
“Thank you, Conner. I’m Charlotte.”
Conner closed his locker and looked back at Charlotte. “Well, Charlotte, what class do you have next?”
“I was walking to Mr. Evans’ room, what about you?”
“Oh! I also have Mr. Evans.” Conner started walking towards Mr. Evans classroom. Charlotte stared, slightly perplexed, why was he being so nice to her? With fear of the unsettling feeling creeping up on her again, Charlotte shook her head and followed Conner to class.
Charlotte walked out of the building and towards her spot under the Oak tree as everyone else walked towards the buses. It didn't take long for everybody else to clear out, leaving Charlotte alone in front of the school building. As expected, her father was going to be late again.
She began to play on her phone as a sharp feeling shot through her. Someone was watching her. Charlotte looked at the windows on the school building, thinking maybe one of the school staff was concerned about her still being there. Not a soul, nor was there anybody in the parking lot. What should she do? What could she do? She had no choice but to keep waiting for her father to arrive.
The feeling only got worse as time went on. The roads were silent, making it feel like she was the only person in the world. Where was her father? It doesn't normally take him this long. Why is everything so quiet? Who is looking at her? Why are they looking at her?
Charlotte almost screamed at the sound of a bird chirping on the tree above her, immediately scaring it off. With a sigh, Charlotte sat down on the curb and stared at the parking lot, hoping that the sight of her father would greet her.
A buzz went off in her hand. Charlotte looked at her phone to see a message from her father.
‘I’m stuck working overtime, you're going to have to walk home today, sorry’
This wasn't the first time Charlotte had to walk home, but the sense of actively being stalked prevented her from doing anything for a few minutes. She just sat on the curb, staring into space.
“Alright,” she said with a deep breath, “Let's go.” She stood up, cautiously watching the parking lot for whomever was watching her. Charlotte began walking down the sidewalk.
Whoever was stalking her, they didn't let her go after she started walking. The odd feeling followed her wherever she went. Charlotte looked behind her with a nervous expression. Nobody was there. Feeling uncomfortable, she started walking a little faster. She wasn't even 50 feet from the school, and she was already starting to lose it. After a few minutes, her walk turned into a jog, then she started running, and she ran all the way home.
Charlotte felt a lot better in the safety of her own home. The feeling of being stalked had vanished, although she still didn't feel good about the whole situation. Who was stalking her? Why couldn't she find them? Ni, that's not important, what's important is what they even wanted with her. She needed to tell someone, right? Being stalked is something you should tell people about, isn't it? Charlotte began to picture what would happen if she told her parents.
Her father walked through the door, hanging his coat on the coat rack, and setting his briefcase on the floor. “Charlie, I’m home!” He walked into the living room where Charlotte sat. “I’m sorry for making you walk home from school, I didn't expect to work overtime, I would’ve told your mother to stay home today.”
Charlotte looked up at her father, feeling bad that he felt the need to apologize to her so often. “It's no big deal, I’m fine.”
“Charlotte, I-”
“Dad… After school today…,” Charlotte began. Her father sat down and looked at her. “While I was walking home…I don't know…I felt like I was being watched, all the way home, like someone was following me…”
A shocked expression appeared on her father's face. “Charlotte…Somebody was looking at you, so what? Quit being a baby.” Charlotte looked up at her father, confused. “This is your problem, you take everything so seriously, you act like everything is a big deal. Charlotte, I’m so disappointed in you.” The last words felt like a bullet, piercing her heart as her father got up from the chair and walked upstairs. Charlotte sat still, crying and confused.
No, that's ridiculous. That wouldn't happen. Her father loved her, he would never be disappointed in her…
…Right?
She heard the front door fly open. Her father walked through the door, hanging his coat on the coat rack, and setting his briefcase on the floor. “Charlie, I’m home!” He walked into the living room where Charlotte sat. “I’m sorry for making you walk home from school, I didn't expect to work overtime, I would’ve told your mother to stay home today.”
Charlotte looked up at her father, feeling bad that he felt the need to apologize to her so often. “It's no big deal, I’m fine.”
“Charlotte I-”
“Dad…” Wait, what if she was right? What if he thought she was weak? What if he thought she was being a baby? What if he was disappointed in her? What was she doing? She can't tell him. It's not a big deal, it's just like earlier with Conner, just shut up and ignore it, there is no need to tell anybody. She needed to get out of this. What does she say? She already started talking, and her father definitely wouldn't take ‘Nevermind’ as an answer.
“It's fine,” she spoke in a serious enough tone to not sound suspicious.
“I know you think that, but I just can't help but feel guilty. But, if you say so, then I guess I can try to forget about it.” Her father gave her a smile, and walked upstairs.
“It's for the best,” Charlotte whispered to herself. “It's not a big deal.” She took a deep breath. “Just ignore it.”
“Dinner!” Charlotte's mother yelled. Charlotte walked down the stairs to see four plates of spaghetti on the table. “I made spaghetti, your favorite!” Everyone sat down at the table and began eating.
Her father looked up from his plate and at Charlotte, who wasn't eating a thing. “Charlie, is everything alright? You haven't touched your spaghetti.”
Charlotte looked at her father, with a clear sense of fear displayed on her face. “Oh, it's nothing.” She picked up her fork, and slowly began eating.
It's happening again. She's being watched. It feels like it's right behind her, it's eyes burning the back of her head. Suddenly the safety of her own home didn't feel so safe. Whoever was spying on her, they were inside, and nobody else knew. She shoved some spaghetti into her mouth and forced it down her throat. She didn't want to eat, not now, not while she was being stalked.
Her mother wasn’t buying it. She looked at Charlotte and spoke with a passive-aggressive tone. “Charlotte…”
“What? I’m just not very hungry right now,” Charlotte spoke in a nervous, not even a little bit convincing voice. “Honest.”
Her mother looked her in the eyes for a second before she talked again. “Alright… If you aren’t hungry, then you can go. There’s plenty of noodles if you change your mind.”
Charlotte immediately pushed herself up, washed her plate, and went up to her room. She closed the door, locked it, and leaped onto her bed. If there was one place where she felt safe, this was it. This was her place to think, and Charlotte had a lot to think about.
“What’s going on?” She thought. Somebody was stalking her, and had been all day. No matter how hard she looks, Charlotte can’t seem to find them, even when there is nowhere else they could possibly be. Nobody else seems to be able to see the stalker either, since it was right behind her at dinner, she knew it was, but her family wasn’t addressing it. Nobody else seems to be having these weird feelings of being watched like she was. She was the only one. And there was no way she could tell her parents about this, they would think she was insane. Okay, maybe she needed to calm down. A shower. Showers are calming, right? Yeah, that’s what she would do, she would take a shower to calm herself down, then think about things.
After showering, Charlotte went back into her room, locked the door, and laid still on her bed. The shower was relaxing. Or a t least, it would’ve been, if her invisible stalker hadn’t followed her inside. The entire time, she felt someone watching her. Maybe taking a shower wasn’t the best idea. What she really needed was some rest, surely that would help.
As the sky turned black, Charlotte settled under the covers of her warm bed. Maybe, she would wake up tomorrow and her stalker would be gone, and she would feel as good as new. Maybe she would be able to focus on her school work. Maybe she would be able to relax. Her phone vibrated on the nightstand next to Charlotte. A text from her father.
‘Goodnight.’
Charlotte set her phone back down, and closed her eyes.
Then she opened them again. The closet. Something was in the closet. Charlotte saw the outline of a figure against the back wall of the closet across from her. It was her stalker. Charlotte froze. What should she do? What would her father want her to do? Charlotte remembered her father from her vision. “Quit being a baby.” But that wasn’t her father, was it? That was just something she thought. It didn’t matter, she needed to face this head on. Slowly, Charlotte crawled out of the safety of her bed, not taking her eyes off of the figure, and made her way to the wooden floor beside her bed. She walked over to the closet, her mind racing with anticipation. She reached the closet. Carefully, Charlotte raised her hand to the light switch next to her and turned it on to reveal that the stalker was….
….A pile of clothes.
Charlotte let out a sigh of relief and moved the clothes before returning to the comfort of her bed. Charlotte got back under the covers, and closed her eyes.
The closet. Charlotte could see the figure in the closet. She stared at the figure as it stared at her, motionless, not making a sound. The only noise she could hear was her heavy breathing.
“W-who are you?” Charlotte stuttered. “What do you want?”
The figure stood still, staring at Charlotte from the dark.
Scared and confused, Charlotte spoke again. “Hello?”
The figure continued to stare at Charlotte.
Wait, why does this feel familiar? Didn’t she just do this? She saw the figure in the closet, walked over, and realized it was just a pile of clothes. That explains why she isn’t getting a response! There is no figure, it’s just her clothes! Not entirely satisfied with her realization, however, Charlotte made her way to the closet to prove to herself there was nobody there. It was all coming back so clearly now. Charlotte saw the figure, went to the closet, and turned on the light, then she moved the clothes out of the way.
…Then she moved the clothes out of the way…
The figure in front of her let out a deafening scream, and Charlotte woke up in her bed. She jolted up, nearly falling out of the bed, and stared at the closet, where there was nothing to be seen….

Hey everyone I, 24 F, just wanted to hop on here and say I’ve been doing so much better and maybe give anyone some hope that reoccurring severe panic attacks do get better.
I’ve been struggling with severe panic attacks (1-6 hours long, typically on the longer side), that cause constant vomiting/dry heaving, intense muscle shakes, hyperventilating, and sometimes I’d end up at the hospital. I did experience this years ago and somehow some what they just disappeared. Then, this past September, I had a wild night out and ended up drinking a few vodka redbulls (for contexts I never drink energy drinks cause they make me anxious). The next day I was extremely hungover and I think the excessive alcohol and energy drink combo made my heart feel like it was beating out of my chest and all the sudden I was having the first panic attack I’ve had since they disappeared almost 4 years ago. It was horrible, I felt like I remembered what the sensation was and that it was happening again. From September untill April I had been having a panic attack every week to 2 weeks, canceling on plans with friends, family, my boyfriend, and just being so closed off and scared of anything triggering it.
I tried a few different medications, somewhat reluctantly because I beat it without meds once, I wanted to do it again. None of them worked, and only made symptoms worse for me(Hydroxyzine, trazadone, sertaline, buspirine). When i tried the sertaline buspirine combo, I ended up having severe side effects that landed me in the hospital (nausea, dizziness, confusion, hot flashes, drowsiness, fainting), and looking back I can barely remember that day. I was so incredibly scared of the what was happening I actually thought I might be in trouble/my life was at risk.
It was an extremely low blow, those meds were my “last hope” at the time and I felt like nothing would work. HOWEVER, I think that experience changed the way I thought about panic attacks. Now, I tell myself “I will never be as scared as I was that day, I do not have horrible side effects from any medication because I don’t take any, and this will all pass. I am in no real danger” and I think the only reason I actually believe it now is because I felt real fear. It’s now been 47 days without a panic attack, almost 7 weeks. I also found a new therapist who gives me worksheets on working through thoughts about panic and I’m working on accepting them. I know it’s so so hard, I’m still struggling and I do get the feeling one is coming on occasionally. I just have to keep telling myself “it’s okay, you’ll get through it like you always do”. And ACCEPT that it could be coming on, and that you will probably get one again in the future and that’s okay! It doesn’t have to be so detrimental on your life, it can be a flare up and that’s all.
I know this hasn’t really had much advice and not many people are probably going to have a life or death feeling experience like I did but the thought process I go through now has helped so much, in addition to finding a therapist that gives me actual tools to mitigate those feelings and “battle” the thoughts that cause some of mine.
I also just wanted to let people know it gets better! Mine was so severe and really fucked up my life for a good 8 months and I finally feel like I’ll be okay.
I believe in everyone here, you guys got this, work on acceptance and it will combat the fear and anxiety causing these.

I’m kind of alarmed that there are so many people on here that aren’t equipped with the basics so here are some that work for me.
Google De catastrophising worksheet
Google Bilateral stimulation techniques ( this is for fidgety panickers like me)
YouTube full body scan for non fidgety panic attackers
The 555 rule ( I find the term funny having lived in Thailand and I’m pretty certain nobody will understand the reference
You’re not having a heart attack. Your Neanderthal brain has decided you’re being chased by a Sabre tooth tiger when in fact you’re in Walgreens and there’s no danger.
If you’re in public pick any topic and work your way through every letter of the alphabet. I find animals works best
Google Stretching you can do in public without looking weird
Not caring about looking weird in public
Breath in for 4 seconds , hold it for 4 seconds, breath out for 4 seconds and I know it sounds odd but try and breath in through your stomach.
And most importantly , if anyone reads this, drop your shoulders unclench your jaw and take a deep breath .

There have been an increasing number of juniors visiting this sub asking for advice about writing essays. Below are some tips and advice for making your essay stand out as excellent. Feel free to ask questions because I will answer every single question in the comments.
I know from experience that many of you are struggling to identify a good topic for your essay. Conventional wisdom says to start by brainstorming a list of potential topics, and chances are, you have already started a mental list of ideas. You might think you only have a few choices for topics, based on your activities or experiences, or essay examples you read, or the rough draft you already started (or worse, that GPT started...). I advise, however, that you put down your list of topics and back away from it. Forget that exists for a moment. Seriously - thinking about this initial list tethers you to certain ideas that might not actually be your best options.
Now you can begin brainstorming with a clean slate.
Start with thinking about what you want to show in your entire application, not just one essay. Every single component in your app has one purpose – to tell more about YOU. Filling out the rest of the application by rote and focusing solely on the essay is short-sighted and will leave so much potential untapped in your application.

It's About You. Tell Your Story - And Be The Protagonist

An admissions officer’s goal is to understand you fully, in the context of your background and the rest of the applicant pool. They will begin this with assessing your academic abilities and potential. Then they will evaluate how you will fit into the student body they’re trying to curate. All of this can be somewhat broad and diverse and touch on several institutional goals. But they will dig deep to find out what each applicant is like, what your core values and motivations are, what kind of student you will be, how you will contribute to the vibrant and intellectual campus community they’re building, etc.
Your goal with essay brainstorming is to ascertain how to powerfully tell your story in a manner that will fit these criteria. The entirety of your application (again, not just one essay) aims to showcase your abilities, qualifications, and uncommon attributes as a person in a positive way. Before you begin outlining or writing your application, you must determine what is unique about you that will stand out to an admissions panel. All students are truly unique. Not one other student has the same combination of life experiences, personality, passions, or goals as you do. Your job in your application is to frame your unique personal attributes in a positive and compelling way. How will you fit on campus? What personal qualities, strengths, core values, talents, or different perspectives do you bring to the table? What stories, deeper motivations/beliefs, or formative experiences can you use to illustrate all of this?
It is always helpful to start with some soul-searching or self-examination. You might not immediately know what you want to share about yourself. It’s not a simple task to decide how to summarize your whole life and being in a powerful and eloquent way on your application. Introspection prior to starting your application takes additional time and effort rather than jumping straight into your first draft. But it is also a valuable method to start writing a winning application that stands out from the stack.
You'll see the advice everywhere that all essay prompts are really about the same thing - you. The goal of each essay then is to showcase who you are, what matters to you, and how you think. I guarantee if you're on this sub enough, you'll hear the advice to "show, don't tell" when writing about yourself. But what does this mean really, and how do you do it well? How do you even get started on an essay that does this?

Introspection Questions

It’s often easiest to start thinking in terms of superlatives, especially those related to personal insights -- what are the most meaningful things about you, and what do you value the most? Here is a list of questions to help you brainstorm broadly before you narrow down your focus for writing:

• What are your interests?
  
• What sparks your curiosity?
  
• About what topics do you enjoy reading?
  
• With whom do you enjoy spending time? Who has impacted your life the most?
  
• Reflect upon “superlatives” in your life. What moments were most memorable, formative, enlightening, enjoyable, or valuable? What physical possessions, experiences, dreams, or lessons could make your superlatives list?
  
• Stop and think about what things, people, or circumstances in your life are really unique, fascinating, or outlandish. Are there any that really have a lot of "cultural flavor" (whatever your culture is)?
  

I have a free introspection worksheet with over 100 questions like this designed to help you find ideas worth exploring in your essays. You can find it on the A2C Discord or download it directly here.

Find Your Story And Arc

Think of a small anecdote or story from your life that you could share that serves as a microcosm of who you are and what is important to you. It will massively help you narrow this down and find a gem of a story if you first start by thinking about your application arc or theme. This is the one-phrase summary of your entire application. It could be "brilliant entrepreneur who started her own successful business" or "talented athlete who wants to study economics and finance as they pertain to sports", or even "avid baker whose hobby sparked an interest in chemistry". It doesn't have to be related to your intended major, but it can help your arc be stronger and clearer if it is.
Once you have an arc determined and a story to share, think about what you want that story to say about you. This is where it can help to think of this as something you would share on a date - what impression does it make about you to the reader? Once you know this, start showing, not telling this attribute of yourself through your story. For example, instead of saying that you're compassionate toward others, you show an example of a time you were compassionate, then elaborate on why, and what it means to you.

Essay Brainstorming Techniques

If you are having trouble finding a story, or simply have writer’s block once you have picked your topic, here are some ideas to get your juices flowing:

• Stream of consciousness writing -- Start writing whatever is in your head, and don’t stop for 30 minutes. You probably won’t use what you just wrote for your essay, but it will help you find a starting point.
  
• Journaling -- Answer the prompt as if you were writing in a journal. This will get you in the habit of writing about yourself and establish comfort with the concept. It will also take you to a new level of introspection and self-awareness.
  
• Twitter X style -- Write several rapid-fire responses to the prompt in 280 characters or less. Choose an idea from these responses to expound upon in your essay.
  
• Read each essay prompt, then go through your introspection worksheet responses and connect the stories and insights to one or more of the prompts. Some students like using color coding to visually see how their different ideas might work together.
  

Why Essays Matter

Here's the thing a lot of people don't realize about college admission: it's not an award for being the smartest, most accomplished, or most impressive. It's an invitation to join a community. Far too many students think that if they can just show that they're smart enough, they'll get in. Yale even says right on their admissions website that 75% of their applicants are academically qualified to succeed at Yale. But only ~4% are getting in. That should tell you that they're looking for more than just top tier test scores and grades. To be perfectly clear, you will need top tier grades and (optionally) test scores to show that you're qualified, and the vast majority of my students come to me with this part already in the bank. But what sets the admits apart? It's personal insight - sharing who you are, how you think, what matters to you, and how you engage community. You can't just say "/IAmVerySmart, please admit me," or even "I did a cool thing guys! Isn't that neat!" You need to go deeper and show them your core values, personal strengths, motivations, aspirations, character traits, foundational beliefs, personality, etc. And you need to do it in a charming, winsome way that makes them like you and want to invite you to join their community.
So how do I get students to do this? All of my students complete that introspection worksheet. We go through it and find the stories, examples, anecdotes, conversations, memories, relationships, and other things from their life that will help us craft a strong and personally insightful narrative. We also make lists of the values, strengths, and key personal qualities we want to showcase. Once we have some topics, outlines, abstracts, or rough drafts, we talk about which stories to tell where, how to tell them well, and what details to include to present the best they have to offer. Then we refine, edit, polish, and enhance over and over until the story sings, but more importantly shows their heart and soul. We also go through all the other application components to ensure consistency, quality, and distinctiveness.
Here's why this works so well: at most highly selective colleges there is a primary reader (or 2-3) who will review everything first and then present it to the admissions committee, who then votes on whether to admit you. That presentation typically goes one of three ways:

1. Total enthusiasm, energy, and excitement. They strongly advocate for admission and paint a clear picture of how you will contribute to their goals and community. Everyone in the room picks up on that energy and is leaning forward in their chairs, looking for reasons to admit you. This is quite rare, generally less than 5 out of every 100 applications, even among those which are "fully qualified." When you do this right, you show depth, meaning, and valuable personal insights so the reviewer is learning about who you are and how you might engage the community they're curating. You come alive off the page as a person, not just another file.
   
2. Business as usual. You're another great applicant in a pile of great applicants. They share a basic review of the facts, your profile, stats, strengths, weaknesses, etc. Maybe someone on the committee finds something they love, and they really push for admission. More likely, not and you get deferred/waitlisted even though there wasn't anything "wrong" with your application. They just didn't love you enough to commit.
   
3. "Here's a stack of 20 applications that I didn't find all that compelling, so we won't present them individually, but you guys are the committee and you make the decisions. So let me know if there are any you want to talk about." In this case, unless there's a letter of endorsement from an athletics coach or your last name matches several buildings on campus, you're probably not getting additional consideration, much less admission. They will regret to inform you.
   

Everything we're doing is designed to help them get to know themselves, present the best they have to offer, and land in that first group. Having top tier essays is the single best way to get there. Get started on brainstorming in the next few weeks so you'll have time to get a few essays completed over the summer.

There have been an increasing number of juniors visiting this sub asking for advice about writing essays. Below are some tips and advice for making your essay stand out as excellent. Feel free to ask questions because I will answer every single question in the comments.
I know from experience that many of you are struggling to identify a good topic for your essay. Conventional wisdom says to start by brainstorming a list of potential topics, and chances are, you have already started a mental list of ideas. You might think you only have a few choices for topics, based on your activities or experiences, or essay examples you read, or the rough draft you already started (or worse, that GPT started...). I advise, however, that you put down your list of topics and back away from it. Forget that exists for a moment. Seriously - thinking about this initial list tethers you to certain ideas that might not actually be your best options.
Now you can begin brainstorming with a clean slate.
Start with thinking about what you want to show in your entire application, not just one essay. Every single component in your app has one purpose – to tell more about YOU. Filling out the rest of the application by rote and focusing solely on the essay is short-sighted and will leave so much potential untapped in your application.

It's About You. Tell Your Story - And Be The Protagonist

An admissions officer’s goal is to understand you fully, in the context of your background and the rest of the applicant pool. They will begin this with assessing your academic abilities and potential. Then they will evaluate how you will fit into the student body they’re trying to curate. All of this can be somewhat broad and diverse and touch on several institutional goals. But they will dig deep to find out what each applicant is like, what your core values and motivations are, what kind of student you will be, how you will contribute to the vibrant and intellectual campus community they’re building, etc.
Your goal with essay brainstorming is to ascertain how to powerfully tell your story in a manner that will fit these criteria. The entirety of your application (again, not just one essay) aims to showcase your abilities, qualifications, and uncommon attributes as a person in a positive way. Before you begin outlining or writing your application, you must determine what is unique about you that will stand out to an admissions panel. All students are truly unique. Not one other student has the same combination of life experiences, personality, passions, or goals as you do. Your job in your application is to frame your unique personal attributes in a positive and compelling way. How will you fit on campus? What personal qualities, strengths, core values, talents, or different perspectives do you bring to the table? What stories, deeper motivations/beliefs, or formative experiences can you use to illustrate all of this?
It is always helpful to start with some soul-searching or self-examination. You might not immediately know what you want to share about yourself. It’s not a simple task to decide how to summarize your whole life and being in a powerful and eloquent way on your application. Introspection prior to starting your application takes additional time and effort rather than jumping straight into your first draft. But it is also a valuable method to start writing a winning application that stands out from the stack.
You'll see the advice everywhere that all essay prompts are really about the same thing - you. The goal of each essay then is to showcase who you are, what matters to you, and how you think. I guarantee if you're on this sub enough, you'll hear the advice to "show, don't tell" when writing about yourself. But what does this mean really, and how do you do it well? How do you even get started on an essay that does this?

Introspection Questions

It’s often easiest to start thinking in terms of superlatives, especially those related to personal insights -- what are the most meaningful things about you, and what do you value the most? Here is a list of questions to help you brainstorm broadly before you narrow down your focus for writing:

• What are your interests?
  
• What sparks your curiosity?
  
• About what topics do you enjoy reading?
  
• With whom do you enjoy spending time? Who has impacted your life the most?
  
• Reflect upon “superlatives” in your life. What moments were most memorable, formative, enlightening, enjoyable, or valuable? What physical possessions, experiences, dreams, or lessons could make your superlatives list?
  
• Stop and think about what things, people, or circumstances in your life are really unique, fascinating, or outlandish. Are there any that really have a lot of "cultural flavor" (whatever your culture is)?
  

I have a free introspection worksheet with over 100 questions like this designed to help you find ideas worth exploring in your essays. You can find it on the A2C Discord or download it directly here.

Find Your Story And Arc

Think of a small anecdote or story from your life that you could share that serves as a microcosm of who you are and what is important to you. It will massively help you narrow this down and find a gem of a story if you first start by thinking about your application arc or theme. This is the one-phrase summary of your entire application. It could be "brilliant entrepreneur who started her own successful business" or "talented athlete who wants to study economics and finance as they pertain to sports", or even "avid baker whose hobby sparked an interest in chemistry". It doesn't have to be related to your intended major, but it can help your arc be stronger and clearer if it is.
Once you have an arc determined and a story to share, think about what you want that story to say about you. This is where it can help to think of this as something you would share on a date - what impression does it make about you to the reader? Once you know this, start showing, not telling this attribute of yourself through your story. For example, instead of saying that you're compassionate toward others, you show an example of a time you were compassionate, then elaborate on why, and what it means to you.

Essay Brainstorming Techniques

If you are having trouble finding a story, or simply have writer’s block once you have picked your topic, here are some ideas to get your juices flowing:

• Stream of consciousness writing -- Start writing whatever is in your head, and don’t stop for 30 minutes. You probably won’t use what you just wrote for your essay, but it will help you find a starting point.
  
• Journaling -- Answer the prompt as if you were writing in a journal. This will get you in the habit of writing about yourself and establish comfort with the concept. It will also take you to a new level of introspection and self-awareness.
  
• Twitter X style -- Write several rapid-fire responses to the prompt in 280 characters or less. Choose an idea from these responses to expound upon in your essay.
  
• Read each essay prompt, then go through your introspection worksheet responses and connect the stories and insights to one or more of the prompts. Some students like using color coding to visually see how their different ideas might work together.
  

Why Essays Matter

Here's the thing a lot of people don't realize about college admission: it's not an award for being the smartest, most accomplished, or most impressive. It's an invitation to join a community. Far too many students think that if they can just show that they're smart enough, they'll get in. Yale even says right on their admissions website that 75% of their applicants are academically qualified to succeed at Yale. But only ~4% are getting in. That should tell you that they're looking for more than just top tier test scores and grades. To be perfectly clear, you will need top tier grades and (optionally) test scores to show that you're qualified, and the vast majority of my students come to me with this part already in the bank. But what sets the admits apart? It's personal insight - sharing who you are, how you think, what matters to you, and how you engage community. You can't just say "/IAmVerySmart, please admit me," or even "I did a cool thing guys! Isn't that neat!" You need to go deeper and show them your core values, personal strengths, motivations, aspirations, character traits, foundational beliefs, personality, etc. And you need to do it in a charming, winsome way that makes them like you and want to invite you to join their community.
So how do I get students to do this? All of my students complete that introspection worksheet. We go through it and find the stories, examples, anecdotes, conversations, memories, relationships, and other things from their life that will help us craft a strong and personally insightful narrative. We also make lists of the values, strengths, and key personal qualities we want to showcase. Once we have some topics, outlines, abstracts, or rough drafts, we talk about which stories to tell where, how to tell them well, and what details to include to present the best they have to offer. Then we refine, edit, polish, and enhance over and over until the story sings, but more importantly shows their heart and soul. We also go through all the other application components to ensure consistency, quality, and distinctiveness.
Here's why this works so well: at most highly selective colleges there is a primary reader (or 2-3) who will review everything first and then present it to the admissions committee, who then votes on whether to admit you. That presentation typically goes one of three ways:

1. Total enthusiasm, energy, and excitement. They strongly advocate for admission and paint a clear picture of how you will contribute to their goals and community. Everyone in the room picks up on that energy and is leaning forward in their chairs, looking for reasons to admit you. This is quite rare, generally less than 5 out of every 100 applications, even among those which are "fully qualified." When you do this right, you show depth, meaning, and valuable personal insights so the reviewer is learning about who you are and how you might engage the community they're curating. You come alive off the page as a person, not just another file.
   
2. Business as usual. You're another great applicant in a pile of great applicants. They share a basic review of the facts, your profile, stats, strengths, weaknesses, etc. Maybe someone on the committee finds something they love, and they really push for admission. More likely, not and you get deferred/waitlisted even though there wasn't anything "wrong" with your application. They just didn't love you enough to commit.
   
3. "Here's a stack of 20 applications that I didn't find all that compelling, so we won't present them individually, but you guys are the committee and you make the decisions. So let me know if there are any you want to talk about." In this case, unless there's a letter of endorsement from an athletics coach or your last name matches several buildings on campus, you're probably not getting additional consideration, much less admission. They will regret to inform you.
   

Everything we're doing is designed to help them get to know themselves, present the best they have to offer, and land in that first group. Having top tier essays is the single best way to get there. Get started on brainstorming in the next few weeks so you'll have time to get a few essays completed over the summer.

I have a student who lost their mother to violence over a year ago. They are also LD.
I have another student who lost their dad to a heart attack about 2 months ago.
The first student doesn't try, doesn't ask for help, doesn't even put on answer on a worksheet. When I approach and say, hey, how.can I help you get started, they just suck their thumb (6th grade) and mumble, no thanks.
The other student missed about 2 weeks, came back and made all the work up and had an A. First student has an F bc they have turned in literally nothing.
I am torn. I totally get where first student is traumatized. As was 2nd student because there are multiple issues (health) with their remaining parent, whose health is on the decline rapidly.
For me, 1st student should be able to grieve, but understand that doing zero work does not help them. I have tried, guidance counselor has tried, and on site therapist has tried. 1st student just refuses.
Should I let 1st student fail for refusing help? I personally feel like if I just pass them, they'll get into that mindset that they'll be "successful" with zero effort, and the world is going to be a horrible place for them when they go out into it. Can't read. Can barely write, and gives zero effort. All o can think is homelessness, abusive relationships bc of financial needs...I know you get what I'm trying to say, so I'll leave it at that.
To clarify, have contacted Dad with concerns and he assures me he can take 1st student to the library to finish assignments. Student 1 has come back on Monday with no finished work. Talked to dad, he said he took student 1 to the library and put them on the computer (where my work is posted), but said they just wouldn't do anything.
Do I fail student 1? I've followed all the IEP requirements and have gone out of my way to assist them.
I'm really torn. Thanks, and please be kind.

So,basically it happened when I was in second semester.There was a girl who used to stare at me during lectures and there were various moments when we had a eye contact but I used to ignore that thing.Then things started to escalate when she started saying hello to me when I was with my friends.So, my friends suggested me to go and talk to her.So I gathered my confidence and approached her.She interacted with me but left very soon.Later that day she sent me Instagram request and we started having conversation about random things(politics, studies etc).
She knew I was good in academics so she asked for help and as a human being I helped her and then after this we were talking 1-1.5 hrs daily on phone and when I didn't saw her message she used to call me continuously(One time she called me 7 times in interval of 3-4 mins) and every time she would ask me that if I am okay or has she committed some mistake that is why I am ignoring her.She used to ask for my suggestions for every thing.
Then we started going to library,where I used to teach her on the expense of my own academics but I didn't cared.Things were going well. She became a support system for me.We used to go on walks etc. She appreciated my physique (I go to gym).
But things started going downhill on June 3rd,it was her birthday and she didn't invite me,I thought she might be busy with her friends but foolish me called her and asked that am I just for her academic support!She denied and said that she wanted to give me party alone and I said I don't want a party from you .Things were not going well, we didn't called each other much.
Fast forward to 16th June ,I was working on my project and it was around 3 in the morning and she texted me that his boyfriend is asking about you,My heart fell down and I just replied her it's your matter and you have to answer it but she insisted me to tell something to reply him.. Then I wrote a long paragraph in which I said I don't want to become a barrier between both of you.I trusted you but you betrayed me and used me. I wish you all the best and please don't try to text me again.. then she started spamming that sorry,I know it's my mistake. Don't leave me blah blah... I didn't reacted to her messages. Then I went to my bed and it was around 4:30 AM, I am having project submission at 9:00 AM and after 2 days I am having my end semester exams. I tried to sleep but after 1 hour, I woke up and was feeling heavy, I called my friend and told him that everything thing is over and I broke down. Then he and one more friend of mine came running to my room and took me to the balcony and consoled me and told me that don't be sad..
Then afterwards I gathered myself and went for the project evaluation,it went good but I was feeling a void. Then in the evening she texted me again asking me that If I am angry because of her.. my friends suggested me not to reply so I didn't reply.. But the night before the exams she texted me asking for the solutions of worksheets, I didn't send her.Then she called with a different number.But then again she started spamming. Then I texted her that I want to meet and want to end everything, she came and I gave her a short reality check and saw her tears rolling down her cheeks,I again said that please don't cry etc etc.... So I gave my exams and went home.
Again on July 2nd she texted me that I met with an accident and broke my hand. I replied take care. She said are you still angry with me,please give me a chance I want to normalise everything but I asked why should I give you a second chance which she didn't bother to reply.
Now fast forward to 4th semester, everything is going fine(My CG is 9.0) but now again she is staring at me and is trying to initiate a conversation but I ignore her completely but deep down I also want to initiate a conversation again. So what should I do? Kindly guide me!!
Thank You :⁠-⁠D

So,basically it happened when I was in second semester.There was a girl who used to stare at me during lectures and there were various moments when we had a eye contact but I used to ignore that thing.Then things started to escalate when she started saying hello to me when I was with my friends.So, my friends suggested me to go and talk to her.So I gathered my confidence and approached her.She interacted with me but left very soon.Later that day she sent me Instagram request and we started having conversation about random things(politics, studies etc). She knew I was good in academics so she asked for help and as a human being I helped her and then after this we were talking 1-1.5 hrs daily on phone and when I didn't saw her message she used to call me continuously(One time she called me 7 times in interval of 3-4 mins) and every time she would ask me that if I am okay or has she committed some mistake that is why I am ignoring her.She used to ask for my suggestions for every thing.Then we started going to library,where I used to teach her on the expense of my own academics but I didn't cared.Things were going well. She became a support system for me.We used to go on walks etc. She appreciated my physique (I go to gym).But things started going downhill on June 3rd,it was her birthday and she didn't invite me,I thought she might be busy with her friends but foolish me called her and asked that am I just for her academic support!She denied and said that she wanted to give me party alone and I said I don't want a party from you .Things were not going well, we didn't called each other much. Fast forward to 16th June ,I was working on my project and it was around 3 in the morning and she texted me that his boyfriend is asking about you,My heart fell down and I just replied her it's your matter and you have to answer it but she insisted me to tell something to reply him.. Then I wrote a long paragraph in which I said I don't want to become a barrier between both of you.I trusted you but you betrayed me and used me. I wish you all the best and please don't try to text me again.. then she started spamming that sorry,I know it's my mistake. Don't leave me blah blah... I didn't reacted to her messages. Then I went to my bed and it was around 4:30 AM, I am having project submission at 9:00 AM and after 2 days I am having my end semester exams. I tried to sleep but after 1 hour, I woke up and was feeling heavy, I called my friend and told him that everything thing is over and I broke down. Then he and one more friend of mine came running to my room and took me to the balcony and consoled me and told me that don't be sad.. Then afterwards I gathered myself and went for the project evaluation,it went good but I was feeling a void. Then in the evening she texted me again asking me that If I am angry because of her.. my friends suggested me not to reply so I didn't reply.. But the night before the exams she texted me asking for the solutions of worksheets, I didn't send her.Then she called with a different number.But then again she started spamming. Then I texted her that I want to meet and want to end everything, she came and I gave her a short reality check and saw her tears rolling down her cheeks,I again said that please don't cry etc etc.... So I gave my exams and went home. Again on July 2nd she texted me that I met with an accident and broke my hand. I replied take care. She said are you still angry with me,please give me a chance I want to normalise everything but I asked why should I give you a second chance which she didn't bother to reply. Now fast forward to 4th semester, everything is going fine(My CG is 9.0) but now again she is staring at me and is trying to initiate a conversation but I ignore her completely but deep down I also want to initiate a conversation again. So what should I do? Kindly guide me!! Thank You :⁠-⁠D

Illiterate ESL/Refugee Students
Hey everyone! I am a teacher in a very difficult situation that I am at a total loss in terms of how to navigate. It brings me a great deal of anxiety because I feel like it is an impossible task and that these kids are not getting what they need from me. I don’t know what I’m looking for here… I need to rant, I want advice, I want other people to share their experiences.
I teach at an inner city middle school with a large population of new immigrants and refugees, primarily from Somalia and central Africa. Some of the kids in my class are pre-literate. They cannot read or write in their native languages, they do not know their numbers, and many have NEVER attended school before. Their parents are also illiterate. Some of these kids could be best described as feral - they are quite violent and aggressive, and unable to function socially in a school setting, which makes sense given the circumstances they grew up in. There are lots of challenging behaviours to deal with on top of the academic issues.
When these new students arrive here, they are attending school for the first time and are thrown into a mainstream class. As one would expect, it is nothing short of disastrous. These kids are not getting the attention or help they need. I feel like I am ignoring them because I have 30 other students. When I do have the chance to work with them one on one, it is at the expense of my other kids’ learning because they require so much attention. I end up having to plan multiple lessons for a single class and I cannot keep up with it. There is no reason a teenager who does not know their letters is in a classroom with students who are writing essays. It is not fair to either group of students.
It is quite a sad situation and my heart goes out to these kids, but I am in no way qualified to deal with them. I am middle school trained and have a class with 30+ other students that I am expected to teach the middle school curriculum to. I am not a phonics teacher and do not know how to teach children how to read. I don’t even think that early childhood literacy strategies would work with teenagers learning to read for the first time. I also cannot translate worksheets into their native languages because they cannot read those either.
Funds have been mismanaged in my district so we do not have ESL classes and the consultants who come in once every few weeks expect you to focus all of your attention on your ESL kids, which is just not feasible.
I feel like I am just a babysitter for some of these kids and that they are not getting anything from being there. I just wish there were some transitional classes for newcomers when they arrived here. I’m in Canada, and we keep bringing in more and more refugees, but offer nothing in the way of supports.
What the hell do I do? I am so overwhelmed. Can a teenager even learn to read for the first time or have they surpassed that zone of development? How have you guys dealt with similar situations?

Hey everyone! I am a teacher in a very difficult situation that I am at a total loss in terms of how to navigate. It brings me a great deal of anxiety because I feel like it is an impossible task and that these kids are not getting what they need from me. I don’t know what I’m looking for here… I need to rant, I want advice, I want other people to share their experiences.
I teach at an inner city middle school with a large population of new immigrants and refugees, primarily from Somalia and central Africa. Some of the kids in my class are pre-literate. They cannot read or write in their native languages, they do not know their numbers, and many have NEVER attended school before. Their parents are also illiterate. Some of these kids could be best described as feral - they are quite violent and aggressive, and unable to function socially in a school setting, which makes sense given the circumstances they grew up in. There are lots of challenging behaviours to deal with on top of the academic issues.
When these new students arrive here, they are attending school for the first time and are thrown into a mainstream class. As one would expect, it is nothing short of disastrous. These kids are not getting the attention or help they need. I feel like I am ignoring them because I have 30 other students. When I do have the chance to work with them one on one, it is at the expense of my other kids’ learning because they require so much attention. I end up having to plan multiple lessons for a single class and I cannot keep up with it. There is no reason a teenager who does not know their letters is in a classroom with students who are writing essays. It is not fair to either group of students.
It is quite a sad situation and my heart goes out to these kids, but I am in no way qualified to deal with them. I am middle school trained and have a class with 30+ other students that I am expected to teach the middle school curriculum to. I am not a phonics teacher and do not know how to teach children how to read. I don’t even think that early childhood literacy strategies would work with teenagers learning to read for the first time. I also cannot translate worksheets into their native languages because they cannot read those either.
Funds have been mismanaged in my district so we do not have ESL classes and the consultants who come in once every few weeks expect you to focus all of your attention on your ESL kids, which is just not feasible.
I feel like I am just a babysitter for some of these kids and that they are not getting anything from being there. I just wish there were some transitional classes for newcomers when they arrived here. I’m in Canada, and we keep bringing in more and more refugees, but offer nothing in the way of supports.
What the hell do I do? I am so overwhelmed. Can a teenager even learn to read for the first time or have they surpassed that zone of development? How have you guys dealt with similar situations?

This story was originally written July 2023.
You might have heard of me. I was a social media influencer for two years.
I know kids have “influencer” as one of their top professions these days, but for me it was all an accident, really. I uploaded a few YouTube videos back in 2019, in the summer I finished school. All I did was rant about movies. I had a few notes, not a full script, and just spouted off to my laptop camera about inaccurate science, bad casting choices, real nitpicky stuff. In about six months I’d got 200 subscribers.
I was at university then, and I mentioned my videos to some of my uni friends. They subbed and told their friends, and I got up to 1,000 sub by January 2020. My videos were only about ten minutes long, and I had nowhere near the views to monetise. I was making one a week, but not on any sort of schedule. It was just something I did when I was bored.
Then the pandemic hit. A lot of students here in England basically got locked into their halls of residence (that’s dorms for any Americans reading), but I was lucky enough to get back to my parents’ before then. So I was doing what my uni laughably called “remote learning”, which basically meant a couple of video lectures a week, some worksheets, and lots and lots of my own research. I won’t bore you with the topic of my course; it’s not relevant.
I’m not exactly stereotypically pretty. I’ve come to accept that. My hair is stringy, my nose is too big, my face is profoundly asymmetrical, my complexion is strange and acned, my teeth are crooked … You get the idea. You can only do so much with makeup and hair that covers your face. I probably have fewer friends than I would if I looked like other people, and it actually took a lot of courage to make that first video - and even more courage to upload it.
I can only assume that’s the reason I went viral. It certainly wasn’t the high production values, or the tightly-written scripts, or the quality of my research. On the 9th of April I had 1,322 subscribers. On the 10th it was over 8,000. By the end of April it was up to 300,000, and I had actually monetised my channel.
The comments were … well, they were varied. Lots of hate because of my looks, but lots of love from people who just appreciated what I put out there, calling out others for their negative comments. I know many social media stars struggle with unkind comments, but I’d got used to it. Let’s be honest, they weren’t nice, but neither were they untrue. And comments under your video are easier to ignore than comments in the street. I was making decent money after all. If you were one of those commenters, you know which side you were on, and I love you either way. Thanks for the engagement - it’s not easy to gain financially from your unusual appearance!
The trouble with going viral is that it doesn’t last. Competing in the fast-paced world of internet stardom takes a lot of effort. I started experimenting with other things - YouTube shorts, TikTok, Instagram, pretty much anything going. The format that turned out to work best was actually TikTok. I’d bought some skimpy outfits and did ridiculous little dances. I quickly reached over a thousand views per video, and while I wasn’t up to their creator tier, it still worked. A well-known cosmetics company asked to sponsor my videos.
Cosmetics! Me! I guess they were going for woke points or something. I didn’t care, they offered me more money than I knew what to do with, as long as my views stayed high. So I started making 2-minute videos. A dance without make-up, then I applied the make-up - being sure to show the brand name clear and up-close - and then the same dance with make-up. If this is ringing any bells with you, then yes - that was me. And no, stupid - that’s not my real name.
I’d got used to undesired attention of course. Along with the unpleasant comments, I got my fair share of unwelcome male approaches. For a few hours after any upload, about half of my DMs were from men, and some women (or men with female account names), asking to see more of me. I wasn’t a camgirl, though I suppose I wasn’t a million miles away from one; but I could have been. I did seriously consider it a few times, but never actually followed through.
And half of the rest of my DMs, and a good portion of the public comments, were from angry women. What made me think I had the right to show off like that? How could I bring their favourite cosmetics brand into disrepute? But I’ve got pretty thick skin (hey, I can make that joke, you can’t), and mostly laughed the comments off and ignored them.
That was, in hindsight, a mistake.
By September my uni was reopening for in-person teaching. I was working six or seven hours a day just to keep up with everything, and had a couple more brands sponsoring me. Being an influencer isn’t just about filming for ten minutes a day and watching the money come in!
So I was going to tutorials an hour a day, watching video lectures at 2x speed, and ignoring my assignments in favour of making videos and replying to messages. It’s not like my pointless degree was helping with my real job.
Okay fine. It was geology. Rocks and stuff. You happy now? I bet you can’t tell the difference between sylvite and carnallite just by licking it, can you?
Anyway, the point is I came close to being chucked out. Actually I had to repeat the second year. At least I could afford it.
So anyway, I somehow got through to the end of my second year, the end of my second year again, and part way through my third year. I was passing my exams - just - and through several reinventions I had managed to maintain my social influencer role. Last Autumn I was getting some good views, and cash, back on YouTube. I was getting pretty good at make-up (I had an exclusive deal with one company on TikTok, and another deal with a different cosmetics company on YouTube). The videos that did well then were me with experimental hairstyles and not much in the way of clothes, putting on makeup for a few minutes, then reading out-of-copyright fiction in my patented “YouTube voice”. If you can imagine a cross between Shania Twain and Marge Simpson then… well, then you’re weird, but you’ve pretty much got it.
Then, last December, a week or so before the Christmas holidays, I went out with my friends. I had made a decent number, both girls and guys, by then. I could never quite tell whether it was my personality (which I assure you is fantastic), my influencer status, or the cash I was liberal with (it always seemed to be my round, and I didn’t mind). There were even a couple of boys who were keen on me, though I hadn’t done anything about it yet. Eight of us went out together to celebrate a birthday. It wasn’t actually anybody’s birthday that day, but Shireen had a Christmas Day birthday, and she wanted a proper party.
Now I look quite different in real life than I do online. I think the technical term is “frumpy” - jeans, trainers, fluffy jumper and a hat, or maybe a hoodie. The birthday girl had somehow convinced me to put a bit more effort in, and had helped me pick out some heels and a knee-length silver dress. Make-up was easy for me of course, and so I got dressed up and off we went to the Black Swan.
The Black Swan has several great qualities about it. One: it’s cheap. Two: it does good food. Three: it’s a couple of hundred metres from The Bar. We had a decent meal, a few drinks, and around 9 we walked to The Bar.
To be more precise, they walked. I wobbled. If you’ve watched my videos you might have seen me in heels, but did you ever see me walk in them? Didn’t think so.
The Bar is open til 3 in the morning. It looks respectable enough from the outside, especially in the afternoon; but after about 11, when most pubs close, it fills up with students drinking expensive-looking drinks. And almost every night, somebody jumps up onto a table, and then everybody’s up there dancing. In The Bar, either you hold your drink tightly, or you lose it.
I’d done this before, and I can handle my alcohol. I’ve stayed at The Bar till chuckout more than a few times, and I’ve been wobbly on the way home, but I’ve never thrown up or passed out. And so I was surprised when I woke up. The last thing I remembered was Stu saying he was tired, and Shireen replying that it wasn’t even midnight yet. Now I was lying on the hard wooden floor of my living room.
My head pounded. Daylight streamed through the window, and I blinked a few times and rubbed my eyes. My hands were wet and sticky.
I looked at them. They were covered in blood.
I looked down. My heels were across the room, but I was still wearing my dress. It, also, was covered in blood, a huge stain across the chest.
Panic set in. What happened to me last night? I checked myself out and could find no injuries. Where did the blood come from?
Standing up, I realised it was worse than that. Red pools stained the wooden floor. I don’t know much medicine, but if somebody had lost this much blood, I couldn’t see how they could have survived.
I stood up, unsure whether my shaking was from the shock or the alcohol. This was when I saw a shirt on the floor behind me. White, with a subtle pattern. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that it wasn’t my shirt. I lived alone, and rarely invited people back to my flat. I looked around some more. A pair of men’s black leather shoes by the door. And then I saw it.
I suppose, rather, I should say him. He was naked except for a pair of dark blue jeans, slumped in the open doorway to the kitchen, covered in blood, and very, very, dead.
I panicked then. I’m calmer now, so let’s take a moment to describe my conclusions that morning. I had got very drunk. I had met a guy. We’d come back to my flat. We’d been getting naked (the shoes and shirt weren’t bloodied). Then, for some reason, we’d had an argument or a fight. The body had stab wounds in the chest, and a pool of blood had congealed onto the wooden floor of the living room and the linoleum of the kitchen where the man collapsed. How did those stab wounds get there? I didn’t know for sure, but a quick glance at my kitchen counter showed that my sharp carving knife was missing. It was all coming together. I didn’t know if he had picked up the knife, or if I had; I didn’t know why either of us would do that. I didn’t even know his name, and later when I checked his pockets, I couldn’t find any ID.
There was a lot I didn’t know. But I’m smart. So once I was done crying on the floor (I think it was about two hours), I came up with a plan. This man was dead, and I couldn’t do anything about that. But what would the consequences be? There’s no need for my life to be ruined as well. I decided not to call the police. People go missing mysteriously all the time, he can just be another statistic and I’ll get on with my life.
The blood on Dave was mostly dry by now. (Sure, I didn’t know his name, but every bloke’s called Dave, right?) So I put a badly-fitting vest on him to soak up the remaining blood, and his shirt over the top, along with his shoes. His jeans were bloody, but they were dark, so hopefully it wouldn’t show up in low light. I couldn’t find his coat, which was odd given how cold it was, but this would have to do. I put my dress and heels in a plastic bag, and grabbed a spade that I never used. Had I missed anything?
The knife. The fucking knife. I searched all over for it, but by the time it got dark I still hadn’t found it. I knew I couldn’t delay for long, so I figured it was best to deal with Dave now, and find the knife later.
Eight o’clock in the evening came. I’m lucky I have parking right outside my house, no street cameras, and a ground-floor flat. I put the bag in the boot of my car and came back for the body.
Have you ever tried to move a dead person? It’s not easy, and I’m not exactly strong. I put my arm around his waist and eventually managed to heave him almost upright. “Come on Dave, that’s it. We’re gonna get you home. Maybe calm down on the tequila next time right? Try to keep it in, and don’t you dare vomit in my car, you sexy bastard.”
Oh come on, what do you want from me? I’m an influencer, not a stand-up comedian. And anyway, I don’t think anybody saw me during the several minutes it took to drag Dave to the passenger seat. I really wish I’d got round to buying a bigger car than the Fiat Punto I’d had since I was 18, but it was too late for that now.
There’s a place about an hour’s drive from me called Epping Forest. The Heritage Trust reckon it’s most famous for its huge tracts of unspoiled wildlife, thousands of trees, and Iron Age settlements. But around here it’s best known as the place where murderers and gang members bury bodies. So off I trundled in my 1.2 litre pensioner-mobile. I arrived around 9:30, checked Google Maps, and drove offroad into the woods.
Do you know how long it takes to dig a grave? The answer is: a long time! By dawn I’d only managed a hole about two feet. Oh, and it was my third try, because the first two times I found too much rock. Well, it would have to do. In went Dave, and I shovelled the ground back over him. I thought I could put my clothes in with him, but it was a shallow grave, and when the inevitable dog-walker finds it I didn’t want them linked back to me. I mean, there’s my DNA in there for sure, but let’s not make it too easy for them, right? So I chucked the spade in a river, and the clothes went back home with me, including the vest I’d lent him.
Now in England we have a thing called ANPR everywhere. The police can just type in a car registration and see exactly where it’s been from traffic cameras. I needed an alibi. Why had I gone to Epping Forest? For a hike of course! So I walked around for a few hours, got breakfast at a pub, and told the staff about all the wacky adventures I’d had that night. And while I was there, for the first time in a good long time, I checked my phone.
Hundreds of messages, of course. But only one sent a shiver down my spine.
Jolly_Gal_56234
I KNOW WHAT YOU DID
My heart thumped. My ears started ringing. I felt dizzy, nearly passed out. How could anybody know?
Of course nobody knew. I actually got messages like this fairly often. Just some idiot trying to wind people up. They’d probably sent a dozen messages just like it, to random people, and I just blocked her. Still it rattled me. I finished my breakfast, paid up, walked back to my car, and drove home.
My flat was just as I left it. Dave was gone, but his blood was still there. I scrubbed the floor for hours, and it helped a bit, but you could still see the stains. Exhausted, I showered and went to bed.
The next morning I woke up. I hadn’t posted anything for a day and a half, so I needed to do something about that. Scrolling through my messages, one stood out like a police light.
Jolly_Gal_28473
YOU’VE BEEN A BAD GIRL 🔪
Shit. SHIT! What the fuck is going on? I stared at my phone, paralysed with indecision. When I finally snapped out of it I made sure the door was locked, and tried to come up with a plan.
I had no idea who was sending these. Maybe they didn’t really know anything. You send stupid messages like that to hundreds of people, you’re gonna come across one who’s actually done something bad, right? I poured myself a big glass of gin, decided that nobody could know anything, and made a video.
Remember that one where I didn’t speak at all, just danced for three minutes dressed like 90s Britney to 70s disco music, titled “HANGOVER DANCE”? Yeah, that’s the one. I didn’t trust myself to speak without breaking, but I could dance about as well as I ever could.
The rest of the day I answered messages, emailed my sponsors, and considered getting an agent. It’s still just me doing everything, and that Sunday afternoon, I really didn’t want to. I also spent a few hours scrubbing the wooden floor with baking soda and vinegar, and looking for the knife.
I kept getting messages from Jolly_Gal. It didn’t matter how much I blocked her, she just popped up again the next day with different numbers at the end of her username. Always all-caps, just a single sentence.
YOU DON’T DESERVE IT
YOU’LL GET WHAT’S COMING TO YOU
OWN UP
DELETE YOUR ACCOUNT
Exactly one message a day, but always at different times. I decided it was a bot, and it was just coincidence that it started when it did. Until Christmas Day.
I’d been back at my parents’ for a few days, and endured the usual conversations about what I was going to do for a “proper job” after uni. They’re great, and really supportive. They’ve just never understood what an “influencer” really is, and that “playing on my phone” for six hours a day counts as work. My brother Rich gets it, but the rest of my family is honestly baffled.
Anyway, Christmas morning comes. All four of us were in the house together (my brother’s 17 so he still lives there), and we gathered together in the living room opening presents. It was a couple of weeks since the incident, and I still had nightmares every night, and those sudden panic attacks - you know, when you’re sure you’re going to be found out - but I was getting used to it. It had happened, I couldn’t change it, and I’d have to keep it secret for the rest of my life; but it was becoming a sort of background hum. I don’t know if that’s too quick, but I suppose I’ve learned to handle difficulty in my life.
Until we finished opening presents and I checked my phone.
Jolly_Gal_814385
HAPPY CHRISTMAS
And underneath, a photo of my kitchen knife, stained with blood.
I ran out of the house in tears.
Rich found me, sitting on the wooden bridge down the road from the house, my legs dangling over the river. I came here a lot when I was a teenager, so it was the first place he looked. I’d left my phone on the living room floor, and the three of them had seen the message, so he knew what triggered me. He just didn’t know the full story.
Well, I told him. I mean, not everything, obviously. But I told him how this person had been harassing me for weeks. He listened sympathetically, like he’s always done, and asked if there was anything he could do to help. I didn’t say anything; I just turned around, hugged him, and cried into his Christmas sweater.
After about half an hour we went back to the house. Rich explained things to my parents, thank goodness. I don’t think I could have handled it.
The rest of the holiday was … okay, I guess. More messages from Jolly_Gal, but only text. I made videos most days, and met all two of my old schoolfriends for drinks, movies and shopping. They’re big fans of my channels. I even took Rich out for drinks one evening, though it took us four pubs to find somewhere that wouldn’t ID him. He’s a bit of a babyface.
I did all I could not to think about Dave. I put him to the back of my mind, letting him live in the shed at the bottom of the garden of my psyche where he couldn’t disturb me. I guess that’s why it came as a shock to me, when I packed my stuff into the boot of my car to head back to uni.
There was one suitcase I’d packed but hadn’t got round to taking into the house. And peeking around the edge was that plastic bag. I’d forgotten to get rid of it!
Dad was helping me load the car, so I couldn’t do anything about it. I tucked it out of sight, finished loading up, said goodbye, and drove back to uni. It was dark when I got back, so I unpacked everything else, triple-bagged my bloody clothes, left my phone at home (no tracking me!), and walked two miles to drop them into somebody else’s wheelie bin.
The next morning I checked my messages.
Jolly_Gal_12592
WELCOME HOME
And a photo of me dumping the bag the night before.
You know what? This didn’t bother me. I mean, it did bother me, but not as much as I guess Jolly_Gal hoped. I’ve been bullied and harassed most of my life, and I’ve got pretty good at ignoring it. Sure, it was an escalation - she was actually following me - but it was just one of almost thirty messages. Jolly_Gal was hoping to destroy me. Instead, she hardened my resolve.
Clearly she had enough evidence to go to the police, but she hadn’t. And obviously she lived nearby. Now I’m no hacker, but you don’t do a job like mine without learning your way around technology. So I started sleuthing. I hadn’t bothered blocking her after the third or fourth message, so I made a list of all the messages, including timecodes. I’ve got a geology degree (almost), and we have techniques to analyse rock strata. Finally I had a genuine use for all that studying I sort of did!
Jolly_Gal was not as clever as she thought. She’d got sloppy. About half of her messages were sent at strange hours, on the hour. These were presumably posted by her bot. But the other messages were all sent between 7 and 8 am, or between 6 and 10 pm. So I guessed that she has a normal 9-5 day job, or maybe she’s a student.
Next I searched all the social media sites I could think of for Jolly_Gal or JollyGal usernames. There are a few, so please don’t go harassing people with that username! I don’t want innocent people to get hurt. After a few hours I had profiles of all Jolly_Gals. Pictures, locations, partial travel history, even birthdays for some of them. I discounted those who clearly weren’t in England, but I still had too many to narrow it down. The photos had no EXIF data so I couldn’t tell the type of phone or camera they used.
So my days became something like this: Five hours doing uni stuff, five hours working on my socials, and an hour or two learning digital sleuthing. I still went out with my friends sometimes, but made sure not to drink too much. I know how to have a good time without being drunk!
The breakthrough came by total chance. I rarely read the local papers, and just got lucky one afternoon in March. I was waiting for a friend in the pub after lectures, and there was a copy of the Post somebody had left on a table. So I flicked through it. The local council was rubbish at doing traffic. Some group of OAPS was organising a May Day celebration. And a woman had been convicted of body-snatching.
I recognised her! There was a photo of a woman in her early twenties. She’d been arrested when a corpse went missing back in December, and they’d seen her take it on the morgue’s CCTV. She’d been released on bail. “Prevention of the lawful and decent burial of a dead body” is a rare crime these days, so she hadn’t been sentenced yet; instead she was released until her sentencing, expected to be in August. Her name was Jenny Smith, which is so common as to be almost useless - that is, if you don’t have a profile of her on your laptop at home!
The report also gave her address. So I started hatching a plan. I texted my friend that I wouldn’t make it, and went home.
Jolly_Gal, or rather, Jenny, lived near me, and actually went to the same university. She had accounts on Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, Twitter, and a few others. Of course you can’t get Jolly_Gal by itself these days, but my profile gave all her precise usernames. I spent my evening watching her videos and reading her tweets. And then I found the smoking gun.
Jenny had posted a video on TikTok last June bitching about me. She’s way prettier than me, and yet I’d got all the subs and follows. She deserved all those sponsorship deals. It wasn’t fair that I had hundreds of thousands of subs and she only had a few thousand. She even said I was ugly and deserved to die.
Well, she got one out of two right, I guess. You can decide which one.
It all started to slot into place. Jenny was absurdly jealous of me, so she’d hatched a plan to destroy me. She must have roofied me in The Bar, got me and Dave back to my place, stabbed him, poured blood everywhere, and taken the knife home. I mean, I don’t know anything about forensic science, and I was drugged and panicked when I woke up that morning. I’d have no way of knowing that Dave had died days before he ended up in my flat!
I’d never managed to get all the blood out of the wooden flooring, and ended up putting a really misplaced rug over it. I chiselled off a sample and gave it to one of my friends who was doing a PhD in biology. It took a bit of persuading, but he ran an analysis on it.
It was pig’s blood.
Fuck Jenny. She’s not Jenny, or Jolly_Gal, she’s fucking Carrie!
She planned to destroy me. She ruined my mental health, she framed me for murder. All because I was more popular on TikTok than she was. Well, two can play at that game. I didn’t deserve what Jenny did to me. She did.
I thought about this all night, coming up with plan after plan, weighing them in my head. I wanted two things: to destroy Jenny, and to feel good about it for myself. Finally I had a course of action I’m actually rather proud of.
I decided to start slow. I did something anybody could have done - I mocked up a poster. At the top was “Jenny Smith - body snatcher!”. Underneath were two pictures, her Insta profile pic and the courthouse photo from the paper, and between them: “From This … To This!” And all her various social media handles to top it off. I printed hundreds of these, and pinned them all around the university and her street.
I’ve never thought of myself as an unkind person - God knows I’ve suffered enough myself to be sympathetic to others. But I’m willing to admit I felt a lot of satisfaction seeing her comments fill up with accusations and links to the online article. Jenny carried on making videos, but I could tell she was suffering. Good!
That was stage one. I had to up the ante for stage two. Jenny had covered me and my flat with pig’s blood, so I think we all know what’s coming next.
I pondered for a long time whether I should do it in the day or the night. But you know what they say - go big or go home. I scoped out her house for a while, and found out that she leaves her kitchen window, at the back of the house, open. Now I’m not the most athletic girl in the world, but I can be pretty determined when I want to be. So one night around 2 am I walked to her house - it’s only about half a mile - and climbed through the window.
I almost gave myself a heart attack when I knocked a glass over on the kitchen sink! Luckily it didn’t smash. I hid in a corner and waited for a full half hour before I decided Jenny hadn’t heard me. Then I snuck upstairs, slow as anything, and crept into her room.
Actually, the first room wasn’t hers. She shared with a couple of other students. Thank fuck I checked first! The second room was the right one. She was asleep, alone, in a double bed. I was so quiet that the only thing I could hear was my heart pounding in my chest as I opened my canvas bag, gently deposited its contents onto the pillow next to her, and took a photo. It didn’t come out that well - I couldn’t use the flash - but hey, I have a souvenir!
I really wish I’d seen her face when she woke up the next morning, staring at a pig’s head. She didn’t post on her socials for a week after that, and for two days she even forgot to send me a threatening message.
I’m sorry? You think I’m done? Oh, my sweet summer child. I’ve barely begun.
Jenny had a boyfriend, Abdul. I made sure he wasn’t around when I broke in, but stage three involved him in a big way.
Abdul was also at our university, a year younger than me, a year older than Jenny. He wasn’t very active on social media, but he did tend to broadcast his activity on Twitter. And what do you know? He’s also a fan of The Bar. So I spent the next month planning my move. I bought a new clubbing dress and heels - hey, I kinda missed that outfit! - and asked around for the other thing I needed. Some things you can’t just buy in Next, or a local butcher’s, but eventually I managed it.
I got my chance one Friday in May. Abdul had loudly announced on Twitter that he was excited for his boys’ night out in The Bar, and Jenny had been gushing about a girls’ night on the whole other side of town. Perfect. I spent hours on my makeup, and got to The Bar around ten. Abdul and his mates were having a drinking contest, and leching up at the girls dancing on the tables.
I figured I had a good long while before he would be ready, so I had a couple of drinks - not too much, but like I said I can handle myself, and I knew Jenny wasn’t around - and got up on the tables myself for a bit. Then about midnight Abdul’s friend got another round in, while Abdul was in the loo. This was my chance. I walked up to their table - which had no dancing feet on it, but a heck of a lot of spilled beer - and started talking to them, saying I thought their friend was hot.
“Uh, what the fuck?” “Not a chance in hell.” “Get lost, freak!”
Lovely chaps. But they were too far gone to notice me dropping something into Abdul’s double-whiskey-and-coke. For all I know, it’s the exact same thing Jenny used on me all those months ago.
Abdul came back and downed his whiskey in one gulp. I was worried he was going to vomit it up, but he held it in and blamed his difficulty on the coke fizz. Yeah mate, sure, sure.
Not too long after, he started to fade. His friends were really taking the piss out of him for being such a lightweight. Well, when I came over, the pisstaking just got worse. I introduced myself (with a fake name, duh) and told him he was hot. Believe it or not, it was only about twenty seconds before he put his tongue down my throat. Wow, I’m not sure I even needed to bother with the roofie!
His friends, who had been so intent on being mean to me, now turned their attention to him. I suggested we ditch them and go back to his place (I’d checked, it was only five minutes’ walk sober) - and off we went.
That was the first time I had sex. I’m sure I don’t need to go into details, but we did a lot of stuff, and I enjoyed it. I’m not sure if that’s because it was good, or because he was good, or because I knew what it was all for. I was impressed that he managed to keep going as long as he did in his state, but I do feel a bit sorry for him; from his Twitter he seems like a decent guy.
When he finally fell asleep I left. I’d got what I came for - pictures. And the next day I made a new account and sent a DM to Jenny.
At first I blurred my face, or chose shots that didn’t include it. A bit of editing and I could have been anybody. I watched their messy breakup on Twitter, Jenny hurling accusations, Abdul protesting his innocence. I know this is the age of social media, but I never understood why people play these things out in public.
And then, after posting a picture a day for a few weeks (I’d taken a lot of pictures), I sent one that showed my face clearly.
Jenny had managed to restrain herself from replying before, but now she knew who I was. She was furious! The very idea that her boyfriend had cheated on her with ME, of all people, was unbelievable. And this was exactly the outcome I’d been going for.
Jolly_Gal was broken. She’d ruined her reputation. She’d lost her boyfriend. She had nightmares about pigs (okay, so I don’t know that for certain, but in my imagination she woke up screaming every night). She was possibly going to prison. And now she knew that not only was I more successful than her as an influencer, but I was the one to steal her lover. She still sent messages, at first angry, but they soon degenerated into pleading. “Please stop.” “I’m sorry.” “We can work this out.” Jolly_Gal without CAPS LOCK, it was glorious to see.
In fact it was almost perfect. Three stages of my plan were complete, and only one remained. Jenny’s sentencing was in three weeks, so I had to move quickly.
She had two flatmates, so I needed to work around them. They weren’t particularly active on Twitter, but Jenny was. I knew from her tweets that while her flatmates had gone home, she was staying on a couple of weeks after the end of term. She didn’t say why publicly, but it was for her trial. No flatmates, no boyfriend. Now was the time.
And that brings us up to date. I’ve typed this up over the last few days, and saved as a draft. The final chapter, hopefully, comes tonight.
*******
I’m at Jenny’s house, and I’ve just called the police.
I turned up at Jenny’s door just after seven. Luck was with me - she’d tweeted that she was expecting a Deliveroo takeout. And I got there first.
The idiot actually kept the knife. I’d seen it when I was in her room. When she answered the doorbell, expecting food, and saw me - ah, the look on her face was priceless.
“I’m so sorry! Please, let’s just talk. I didn’t mean it to get this -”
I stalked towards her, anger in my face. Jenny fled upstairs. Perfect! She went into her room and shut the door, but I was like the furies of Greek legend. I smashed the door in, and looked on as Jenny cowered on her bed.
In full daylight, I saw the knife took pride of place in what looked like a shrine. She had photos of me printed out, and she’d written on them “BITCH”, “WHORE”, “FREAK” and all sorts of other hateful words.
Jenny had tried to make me into a murderer, so I gave her what she wanted. I grabbed the knife and stood over her. The coward shrank into the bed, begging for forgiveness, pleading for her life. Unfortunately for her I was not inclined to oblige. I plunged the knife into her chest, just as she had done to Dave all those many months ago. Jenny whimpered like a whipped dog, and after the ninth stab (yes, I counted), she stopped.
The police are on their way. I’m definitely going to jail after this. But Jenny got what was coming to her. We could both have lived happily, but Jenny chose otherwise.
And me? I passed my degree. I have friends. And jail or not, I have a life.
Burn in hell, Jolly_Gal.

2024-172 / Zedd MAP: 98.54 / MLZ MAP: 97.44 / Score Gap: 1.10
Wikipedia?wprov=sfti1#) / IMDb / Official Trailer / Our Collection
“Holy crap…” ((gets out of chair)) “Goddamn it…” ((starts pacing, wipe my face with my hand)) “For the love of all that’s good and holy…” ((the dogs get involved, confused - am I initiating play, is someone at the door - I’m rapidly blinking, snapping my fingers in front of my face)) “fuck me, Mrs. Lady Zedd - I gotta go outside” ((not the way you’d expect to start a Robert Altman film write up - unless (of course), you’ve watched a Altman film with me in person))
From IMDb: Private investigator Philip Marlowe helps a friend out of a jam, but in doing so gets implicated in his wife's murder.
Believe me, don’t believe me - it’s your prerogative ((shrug)) the truth is, at least 50% of any movie you watch happens between your ears - it’s what you bring to the table that counts - I’m upgrading it to 51% ((wink-wink)). You’re going to see what you expect to see, and that’s largely a product of where you come from, what you’ve experienced in life, you’re mental disposition, how you believe life works.
You sit next to someone and 49% of the movie is shared between you - what’s on the screen, from there it’s completely personal… and I take motion pictures very personal. On a film where the sights and sounds make sense to me - it’s like a portal opens up and I’m projected into the story. Everything disappears and I melt away along with it.
Robert Altman and DP Vilmos Zsigmond worked closely to give us a very naturalistic film - it’s not just the way shot are blocked or the lighting choices, it has a lot to do with the way the camera moves. In shot after shot the camera movement transports you into the action. Zsigmond moves like you’d move if you were there - immersion - you and the movie are one.
((Well, 51%, I was))
Mrs. Lady Zedd was “watching the same movie” - she says Raymond Chandler’s story twists and turns. Altman removed the lead character, P.I. Marlowe, from his usual post-wamid-century time period and interjects him into a modern (for the production) setting and it’s a risky move that really pays off. The New Hollywood era was tailor made for this sort of rolling around in the gutter, gritty crime-fest. She went on to commend Elliott Gould for his exemplar performance.
So what about that vulgarity laced reaction up top? I don’t know - I think when I’ve simply disappeared into a film, that sudden return to my senses ((shrug)) I’m slapped back into my body, in my chair, in my living room… everything feels familiar but also too big (?), too small, all at the same time. I have to get up, vacate the room, bring myself back into… me.
So - if the film is truly great, if it reached my heart, engaged my mind - you’ll know even before I take up the MAP worksheet. I’ve got my own very Zedd ways of doing things, I know, but I wouldn’t change a thing. One person’s movie on might be wildly different than another’s - what’s most important is we movie on in the first place, just let the chips fall where they may.
Movie On!

Last year my daughter attended kindergarten at the elementary school that's like 2 minutes from home. We live in the side of town that's lower income, especially the large low-income apartment complex that's a block away. I got tired of her being bullied with no repercussions, I got tired of her and other smart kids being ignored because teachers were forced to focus on the kids going wild, so this year I decided to transfer her to a school that's about 15 minutes away that's much better regarded. It's in a better side of town and felt better when we toured it. She says she loves her new school, so I figured I made the right call but I still wasn't sure since we did take her away from some of her friends there.
But this year I also started working as a sub. I've subbed in her old school many times, but not as much in her new school until I picked up a long term librarian job where I go between her old school and her new school (a wonderful coincidence).
Dude. The difference between the schools is incredible. At her old school, I regularly have to send kids to the office because they're incredibly rude and do their best to prevent me from teaching. My library assistant is so burnt out. She doesn't have a work space and has to basically just pile things around her on the desk. They send her out on so many duties she's only with me half the time) that she's basically useless to me. When I collect worksheets from the kids, half the time it's unreadable scribbles if they actually write anything down. I go home much more frustrated and grumpy.
At the new school, the kids are much more respectful and actually seem to care about consequences. My library assistant is AMAZING, super involved and we have a fantastic office where she does so many crafty things for the library. The library itself is much nicer, the work the kids do is much better, and even the trouble kids are better because I have more support. Even my rough days at the new school are better than the better days at the old school. I can do so much more with these kids because I'm not as concerned about them destroying the library and I don't have to stop to tell them to STFU as often.
I feel bad for all the kids who want to learn at the old school, especially the 5th and 6th graders. One of the 5th grade classes even managed to chase off their teacher, which is why I got my gig in the first place because the librarian went to cover that class for the rest of the school year. I know that so many of those kids come from rough homes and don't have positive role models at home to teach them how to be decent people, which breaks my heart. There's a few 5th graders in particular that I've developed a rapport with, especially after I admitted to having ADD during a lesson because I was teaching them tips for doing research and I told them I write things down because otherwise I don't remember shit.
I won't say the new school is perfect (the class sizes are a bit bigger than I'd like), but now that I've spent a lot of time going between them, I am happy with my decision to transfer my daughter. Her teacher is able to give her more attention, she's being challenged (my daughter is very bright), and she has made many friends who are positive influences on her.
I just wish the education system wasn't so intrinsically unfair.

Hello everyone, I started DBT yesterday & my first worksheet is filling out sections of the lifejacket Metaphor sheets. I'm stuck. Very stuck on identifying my rocks. I'm married and have 2 adult children and 3 grandchildren under the age of 8. I know most people would put their husband/wife down as their rock however both my husband & daughter can be controlling and narcissistic. I hate myself for even thinking that but I have to be honest. Yesterday my therapist when explaining my rocks said "your husband and your family members would be listed here as your rocks" my heart sank. On describing how our rock should make us feel safe and something or someone we turn to when things get rough I'm just not sure if I can place them here. Both are highly triggering to me. My husband isn't a great listener, he often says the wrong things, my daughter expects too much from me and whenever we fall out she comes at me big time! Both of their antics have chipped away at me over the years, I dread messages from my daughter, I've noticed patterns in the way they both treat me and I try now not to react at all to my daughter when she kicks off. I have multiple health conditions and disabilities and both of them are insensitive to my needs, my husband doesn't listen or has very little input when I hit stormy waters, my daughter uses my grandkids against me when we argue. I feel guilt at not wanting to list them as my rocks.. I am however their rock when they hit stormy waters. This is really hard for me to even accept this let alone write it down and disclose it. Is anyone else in a similar situation where their own family are triggers? What do i list as my rock/s? I usually talk with my neighbour that I've known for over 20 years and she's always there for me as is my dad. If I turn to my daughter and husband for support it's either not listened to or at some point thrown back at me during any arguments. Any advice is appreciated.
Helen x

I’m a cheese lover. I used to eat too much grams (MANY) daily in my keto lazy way of being, and meanwhile I remained keto happy.
Then one day (2 weeks ago) I decided to stop eating cheese (I quit cold turkey, as I think you say) and a few days later my heart was beating very fast.
When I got aware that I was low in electrolytes, never thought in cheese. Days passed until I realized yesterday doing my “keto excel worksheet” for coming back to keto the abundant quantity of sodium in cheese. OMG I was having an epiphany. I went to the store and bought one kilogram of my favorite cheddar cheese for the next three days. 🤣😂🤣
This was very important to me because I literally don't eat almost any ultra-processed foods, nothing in cans, bags or boxes with endless expiration dates and full of sodium. So I was getting it only from salt, but I wasn't aware of whether I was consuming the minimum required, I was not.
It is so important to know what the sources of our micronutrients are.
I am keto happy again. Today is my first day in keto after a 10-day obligated break.