My Ultimate Favorites

• Pixel Thoughts is a website that offers an interactive, 60-second meditation tool to communicate worries and release bothersome thoughts
• <3 25 Daily Affirmations <3
• You feel like shit offers an interactive self-care game/guide with grounding exercises for people struggling with feeling sad or anxious.
• 24 Best Self-Soothing Techniques and Strategies for Adults
• Me Too: What To Expect When Reporting a Sexual Assault - This quick guide covers what happens after someone chooses to report sexual violence. It covers medical forensic exams, interactions with the police and legal system, and some grounding/coping techniques.
• Habitica Provides a free habit-building and productivity app that treats your real life like a game. With in-game rewards and punishments to motivate you to complete tasks in your life.
• Sleep Hygiene Tips Offers a one-page PDF that gives tips for healthy sleeping habits.
• The National Association for Self-Esteem Offers lessons, activities, and up-to-date research on how to understand and boost self-esteem.
• NAMI: Getting Treatment During A Crisis Explains how different mental health crisis response services work to help discover and choose which option is best for a person's current crisis.
• Volunteer Match Facilitates local and remote volunteer opportunities based on interests.

Journaling Tools

• Journaling App: My Life/My Voice App is a journaling app that tracks your moods, feelings, or experiences. You can write, voice record, or photo journal.
• Antidepressant Workbook:
  • For adults: The Antidepressant skills workbook offers a self-guide for managing depression through self-care and coping skills.
  • For teens: The Antidepressant Skills Workbook for Teens offers a self-guide for managing depression through self-care and coping skills.
• The What’s Up? The app offers methods to cope with difficult emotions through spaces to track habits, journal, and coping skills for de-escalation. (insert iOS or Android link)
  • ios: https://apple.co/3x7BQtc
  • Android: https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.jacksontempra.apps.whatsup&hl=en_US&gl=US&pli=1
• This article shares tips about how keeping a journal can help you understand and change your mental health, well-being, habits, and behaviors.

Workbooks

• The DBT Skills Workbook shares DBT exercises for learning mindfulness, interpersonal effectiveness, emotion regulation & distress tolerance.
• Looking After Yourself: Looking After Yourself is a website with workbooks to improve mental health with topics like assertiveness, perfectionism, and more.
• “Coping with Suicidal Thoughts” is a PDF workbook to support and go through exercises.
• Centre for Clinical Interventions: Offers a workbook, worksheets, and info sheets on improving self-esteem. Also provides a range of information sheets about psychological disorders for one's self and others.
• Objective Zero: Connects veterans, service members, their families, and caregivers to peer support via voice, video, and text. Also provides free access to wellness resources such as yoga and meditation.

Worksheets / PDFs

• This worksheet has you reflect on activities and circumstances that cause distress to think through outcomes and work through the feelings.
• Distress Tolerance is a PDF that teaches you how to handle and accept situations that are out of your control.
• Goal Breakdown is a PDF that teaches you how to break large goals down into smaller, manageable tasks.
• Ten Ways to Untwist Your Thinking is a PDF that teaches you techniques to manage negative thoughts.
• This PDF helps address distressing thoughts by suggesting several ways one can create distance from these thoughts.
• This PDF is a workbook that supports survivors in discovering their resilience and learning how to tell their stories with self-compassion.
• Assertive Communication: This worksheet is a guide on how to be a more assertive communicator.
• Stopping Stupid Thoughts is a PDF that offers an activity for coping with and conquering negative thoughts.
• Feeling Safe PDF is a worksheet created by Mental Health America that serves as a reflection activity to describe and process safety and coping. It includes questions about what can make someone feel unsafe and what types of coping strategies can be more positive/helpful.
• Conflict Resolution Skills Provides examples of healthy and unhealthy conflict management skills and steps to address issues in personal and professional relationships.

Email Newsletters / Freebies

• VeryWellMind provides articles, techniques, therapy tips, living well, relationships, and psychology. Their mission is to help people prioritize their mental health and find balance. (Daily emails)
• The Skimm is delivered to your inbox every morning and prepares you for your day in minutes.

Email freebie newsletters

• MySavings.com offers hundreds of coupons, free items, sweepstakes, and more. Daily emails with deals & freebies.
• Free Sample Party offers coupons, deals, free items and samples, sweepstakes, and more. Daily emails with top deals.
• https://freebiesinyourmail.com/

Mister Haddock was always my least favourite teacher in Grade Ten. Balding, stoved-faced little man with a ratty ponytail behind his near naked pink skull. He was the only teacher I never saw smile or laugh, even around other teachers or adults. He was never even nice when parents came to visit – never had that put-on warmth most teachers do. With his diminutive stature and small miserable face, he looked like one of the seven dwarves from Snow White, if one of the seven dwarves were a closet alkie. He’d never let you go to the bathroom during class, whether it was an emergency or not, even if you were a girl. And if you requested an extension for an assignment – whether it was because you were sick, someone in your family had died, or you had to be excused for your soccer or football game – he would just respond with, “No” and “That’s tough.” As you can imagine, I wasn’t the only kid at John Haggert High School who harboured a grudge for the surly little troll of the JH High science department.
What really made the situation worse was that Mister Haddock taught science, a class in which I had to excel if I wanted to pursue my postsecondary dream of studying to become a veterinarian. Cliché, I know, but I’ve always loved animals and wanted desperately to understand and help them as best I could. That was another sticking point between Mister Haddock and I; he refused to give good marks no matter how hard you tried or how well you followed his instructions. “When you give me something good enough to get an A in university, I’ll give you an A,” he’d groan, his tired refrain to any nagging student. Like that was a reasonable bar to set for a high school junior or freshmen. Just my luck, Mister Haddock also taught Grade Eleven biology, another necessary course on my journey to guiding sick and dying pets into the afterlife.
And that’s another thing about Mister Haddock that bothered me; he clearly hated his job. I’d always planned on becoming a teacher as a back-up plan, especially since I’d always loved school. I was always on the honour roll, on at least three school teams, in multiple clubs, elected student rep for each grade I was in until making school president in Grade Twelve and would later be valedictorian. But Mister Haddock always acted like he’d rather be doing anything other than teach at our school. Like this job was somehow beneath him. Just for context, John Haggert High School is in the Meadowville neighborhood of Aakoziwin, the safest city in Ontario and one of the safest places in all of Canada – which would put in running for safest metropolitan area on the planet. It’s a bustling suburban town with lots to do, especially being so close to Toronto. Our school is neck and neck with Caramel Mountain Secondary for national reputation and university acceptances. We have one of the best hockey teams, one of the best arts and music programs, and are among the top performers in math and literacy. Our building is the typical squat, two-floor, lengthwise cinderblock affair, but our hallways are adorned with gorgeous wall murals painted by the arts students, festooned with colourful and accurate dioramas of the Globe Theatre, Greek coliseums, and DNA models. So why did Mister Haddock act like he was stocking the shelves at a grocery store? Why did he treat us like we were all riffraff, as my Uncle John would say?
The last straw that broke this camel’s back came when he docked me ten percent for being two days late on an assignment. My grandmother was in the hospital from a massive stroke, which is what caused me to be late. My mother had made sure to call reception to explain the situation on the very first day I was away from school. And even after I provided him with two letters, one from my parents, the other from the hospital, and even though all my other teachers accepted my homework without penalty, Mister Ian Warren Haddock refused to budge.
“Look,” he grunted, visibly cornered behind his particleboard desk, me standing before him with hands on hips, pleading my case. Demanding an explanation. “Look, I’ve already imputed the mark into the database and sent it out to the department head. I can’t change it right now. It’ll make me look bad.” I could feel my eyes grow moist. How could he do this to me? Me! Jennifer Wang Li, Grade Ten student rep and future saviour of all furry four-legged creatures!
Feebly, without meeting my misty gaze, he mumbled, “At least your gran’s alive, right? Isn’t that all that matters?”
Using my grandmother stroke against me? Trying to browbeat me away from demanding what was mine by guilting me into not appreciating my own family?
At this, I didn’t yell, didn’t storm off. Didn’t even bother complaining to my parents or the principal’s office. Instead, I coolly sat down at my lab table, and began plotting my petty revenge against Mister Haddock.
I knew all about the pranks kids pull on their teachers. The homemade stink bomb. The head in the jar. The dreaded toothpick in the door lock. I wasn’t about to bother with anything as cute or clever. During the lunch period, when I knew Mister Haddock was two kilometres away having a smoke near Meadow Woods Park, I would creep into the lab and simply swipe all his test papers and homework. I knew he wouldn’t bother keeping them secure, and even with the gas valves, there was a good chance the dope would leave the laboratory unlocked (he’d done so several times before).
In so many ways, it would be the perfect revenge; he’d have to admit to leaving the room unsupervised and unsecured, going against school policy and regulation, landing him in hot water with the office. Maybe even resulting in his eventual termination. And, when he asked the students to redo the test, someone would eventually complain to the school or a parent, resulting in him admitting that he’d lost the test papers, which would likewise get him in trouble – or at least so I figured at the time. He’d know what it was like to be punished for something that was not his fault. At least, not exactly his fault. To have every excuse in the world, only for each of them to fall on stone-deaf ears. It was perfect. I just had to be careful; I knew there were cameras in the hallways, but as far as I could tell, there was no surveillance in the classrooms themselves.
I snuck inside the unmanned lab at a quarter past noon. With the lights out and in the scant fluorescent glow bleeding in from the hallway through the open door, the lab looked almost eerie: the long tables, eye wash station, beakers, tongs and burners redolent of the abode of Doctor Jekyll in the movies. As though the lab were in preparation of some macabre, unnecessary surgery. But maybe that was just my imagination running away with me. I crept toward Mister Haddock’s desk. Sure enough, there were the unguarded test papers, lain plainly on the blotter.
Armed with the papers and loads of time before the vodka-reeking deadbeat returned, I felt compelled to poke around. Perhaps I’d find a pack of smokes or a micky of cheap rye lying around, getting Mister Haddock into some real trouble.
My curiosity piqued, I rounded the corner at the back and entered the supply closet, placing the test papers to the side. It was where they kept the textbooks, beakers, bunsen burners, and items meant to be hidden from teenage eyes. But no matter how hard I squinted or how furiously I rummaged through the boxes and bins, there were no incriminating objects for me to find. Not even a single cigarette butt.
I was about to turn and leave with my pillaged bounty when I spotted the slightest of movements out of the corner of my eye. Startled, I held my breath and jumped a bit before peering harder to the back of the closet. There, the slight movement, or trick of the light remained, just perceptible in the dark little room. It was so slight – a dribbling motion, that at first my brain registered a lava lamp. But that didn’t make sense; why would there be a lava lamp in a science lab? Much less one plugged in on a storage closet shelf.
I advanced further to inspect what lay at the back and that’s when I saw it. The most eldritch or horrors, like something straight from a pulp magazine. It was a two-foot anatomical model, showing the muscles and internal organs from the small intestine to the eyeballs. A jarring sight to begin with, but this particular model – it was bleeding. I mean, actively bleeding, pulsating with blood that dripped from red crevices and apertures, staining the beige metal platform on which it stood. My mind whirled at the sickening visual before me. How could that be? Wasn’t the model made of silicone? Not flesh or bone, surely. Unbelieving, I examined the ghastly little model, looking around to find some sort of power cord – certain this was some optical illusion or trick of the light. No such luck. As best I could tell, this was nothing but a regular artificial figurine. No means of moving – or in this case bleeding – on it own.
At my wits end to try and explain this thing before me, adrenaline barrelling through my veins, I deigned to touch the scarlet flow coming off it, getting some it on my fingertips. The wet sensation was enough to flip my stomach, but when I brought the smeared fingers to my nose, I discovered the unmistakable metallic odour of blood. It was real. As real as it could be. I looked down and saw the dark liquid begin to drip over the shelf’s edge onto the floor. Numb from scalp to chin, I peered back up at the vinaceous, pulsating face, at the fake blues eyes stuck to the front of the skull. The eyes which had somehow remained uncovered by the pouring crimson. They had been staring blindly away from me, but then, at that very moment, they came alive and swivelled around to glare at me. I shrieked before turning and fleeing from the lab, leaving Mister Haddock’s papers on the shelf where I’d lain them.
That night I couldn’t sleep. And the next day I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t chat with my friends or join them at any of our clubs. I just couldn’t get the image of that bleeding anatomical model out of my mind’s eye. And I couldn’t quiet the questions racing through my bewildered brain – those compelling echoes dinning off the inner walls of my skull. How could a silicone model’s inner working cause it to bleed like that? Or appear to bleed? Why did the fluid smell so unmistakably like blood? Why did I only see it bleeding like that after class had been dismissed? In the name of God, why was something like that in the science lab at all?
Resolved on getting to the bottom of this, I first had to be sure that what I saw wasn’t a mere figment of my imagination. To prove I wasn’t going crazy, I recruited my friend Jacqueline to come along with me the next lunch break, when Mister Haddock had gone out for his smoke. Having not been told the exact reason for sneaking into the science lab, Jackie giggled as I towed her along, inferring in whispers that our secret mission was owing to a crush I wanted to impart on her away from prying eyes and ears.
But when we arrived, the lab was closed. The yellow on gray stainless-steel doors were shut, the wooden door stop lying on the floor, discarded. I tried the handles, but it was no use. The hygienic doors wouldn’t budge. Mister Haddock hadn’t bothered locking up the lab since early September. Did he notice his test papers had been moved and got spooked?
Of course, Jacqueline balked at my expense, demanding I just tell her what this was all about. She then grew petulant when I insisted it was nothing, refusing, in her mind, to include her in what she was certain was a juicy bit of gossip.
We were then startled by a gruff voice growling behind us: “You two better move along.”
Startled out of our skin, we both spun on our heels, finding the groundskeeper, Mister Fanu, standing before us. He’d come up on us without a sound. He was a short compact man with a shapeless face behind black framed spectacles, today wearing his usual navy-blue coveralls. From his tan leather weightlifter’s belt hung a ring of what looked to be a thousand keys, like a silvery fist by his waist. “You shouldn’t be hanging out here now,” he grunted, his voice hoarse and low like dead leaves in the wind. He then proceeded into the mantra of all on or off duty school employees patrolling the halls, telling us to either go to the Caf or outside until the next bell. Neither intimidated or especially servile, Jacqueline droned her acquiescence and shuffled off without me, rolling her eyes before getting completely out of sight. Still with some resolve for my mission, I lingered. But what remained of my gumption withered under Mister Fanu’s icy parental stare.
But as I walked away, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the janitor had not departed the hallway. He was standing on the spot like a sentry, presumably watching me go. As if he were guarding the lab. The hairs on the back of my neck sufficiently stood on end, I turned around, finding that he was not staring after me, but rather facing the laboratory doors, as though waiting to be let in. Lastly, I noticed his hands, which were wringing and wiping themselves on a dirty black rag. On his hands, unmistakably, was a shiny, visibly wet red liquid. Blood?
Terrified, fixated, but nonetheless afraid of being spotted, I turned the corner into the adjacent stairwell. But instead of descending the steps to the main floor, I waited. When I returned to the hallway, poking my head out but not my torso from around the corner, I saw that one of the doors to the lab was ajar, and the lights within were now on. Mister Fanu was no longer there.
On rubbery legs, I inched over to the cracked door and peered inside. Squeezing myself in, first my head then shoulders then one limb at a time, I felt my heart thundering in my chest, expecting at any moment to be pulled aside by an irate Mister Haddock who would proceed to chide me. But instead, all I found was the empty, brightly lit room, and a maddening odour assaulting my nostrils.
It was the common coppery smell of blood from before but now fetid and miry like a century-old field of cow manure. Like something excreted not from anything as natural as cattle or other livestock but from something otherworldly. From something evil.
I pinched my nostrils and breathed through my nose but that hardly worked to stymy the eldritch stench. But now my senses were alerted to another disturbance, a bizarrely pleasant sound issuing from the supply closet. The sound of waves. Reminding me of my last summer vacation at Myrtle Beach, I heard the distinct lapping of waves crashing onto a sandy shore. Oh sure, it might have just been from a video or an audio file, but something about the enormity and clarity of the sound was indisputably real. I then had tinnitus in my left ear, and had to steady myself on one of the workbenches from a palpable loss of equilibrium. It was as though I’d suddenly become sick. Or as if I’d been transferred from reality into a dream. It was then that I realized the sound of the waves was no longer emanating from the closet, but was all around me, churning around my head, sending me into a dizzy spell.
The putrid, rust smell was now overwrought, and again, Mister Fanu was nowhere in sight. The crashing of the waves was then intermingled with a shrieking sound. It was small at first then swelled to a piercing wail. It wasn’t female or even human. Yes…Yes, I was certain it was an animal’s cry. Like a horse whinnying. Yes, exactly like the sound a horse would make. The voice was pained and sorrowing, as though the beast of burden were being whipped or driven into the ground. It was so terrible – so pitiful that my throat seized up and my heart ached. My mind throbbing from the assaulting soundscape swirling around – or perhaps inside – my head, I staggered toward the supply closet, grasping at stools and bench tables as I did so to not plummet to the floor. As I did, I wondered if this was what it was like to be on drugs.
I was just about to reach my hand out for the steel door handle, when all at once the encircling cacophony stopped, leaving a deafening quiet over the room. Backpedalling, tinnitus still in one ear, I regained my balance and stood up straight, standing stationary until a sudden crash from behind me – like a stool being knocked over – sent me flying out of the room and down the hallway to the stairwell. I was so terrified – so confused – I ran home without asking for leave, resulting in a two-day suspension. I was informed by one of the vice principals that if I was suspended again, I’d lose my student rep seat. But that would be the last of my troubles.
After being allowed back in school, I discovered my science class was moved to another room. Also, I never saw Mister Haddock again. First, there were a string of substitute teachers, some subbing internally from the science department – like Mister Abruzzo who taught Grade Twelve physics. Some were unfamiliar faces. All of them assigned nothing but work straight from the textbook or divvied out worksheets two or three grades below us. But eventually, much to the relief of my hovercraft, high-expectation-laden parents, we were assigned a full-time teacher, Miss Goldman, after the Christmas Break. Miss Goldman was young, energetic, and very knowledgeable. Most of my class was very happy to have her – especially as a replacement to gin-reeking Ian Haddock. Conversely, I was bricked up with anxiety, ruminating fretfully on what had happened to him. Had he really been let go? Was this somehow my fault? Or did it have something to do with that bleeding anatomical model I’d found in the supply closet? The one that had been replaced by another far less gory silicone figurine and had not been seen since that fateful day? And on what on earth was the cause of all those noises I’d heard the last time? What did those have to do with Haddock or the bleeding model?
Worse was that sound I heard that had cut through the muffling waves. The sound of the whinnying horse, the torment and desperation plain in that voice. I know this won’t make sense to you reading this, but the sound haunted me. Made me tear up every time I thought of it. The thought that something so cruel could be happening to animal here at JH High – just, just drove me insane. Eventually, either driven by guilt for Mister Haddock’s firing or the compulsion seeded by that hideous apparition, I went to visit the science department office. But as it turned out, they had meant to speak to me.
Mister Schmeling, the head of the science department who taught Grade Eleven Chemistry, told me he’d been waiting for me when I arrived. This was a bit unnerving since I’d never had a class with him and also owing to the fact that he had neither a warm nor jocular demeanour. Bald and bespectacled with tufts of iron-grey around his ears, a rotund physique and wobbling gait, he reminded most students of a cartoon villain than an approachable teacher. He motioned me to an empty seat with a curt nod of his head.
“So, Jennifer, dear,” he began in his ice-box timbre. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time.” He then began to plow through the typical teacher questions, usually reserved for guidance councillors during one-on-one consultations.
He then got to the meat of the conversation. “It’s come to my attention recently that you’ve been going into the Grade Ten science lab by yourself after lesson periods. I hope that that isn’t true.” Frozen in my seat on the concrete-hard plastic chair, a creeping fear waxing down my head to my nape, I said nothing and made no motion with my head or shoulders. I even kept my hands still inside my lap.
Relieving me of his glacial blue stare, Mister Schmeling clucked his tongue.
“I suppose you might have seen something which you shouldn’t have,” he said. My neck now a bed of bristled hairs. “Some test papers, perhaps? Some student progress reports Mister Haddock left lying around?”
I squinted hard and tilted my head. Another suspension or even expulsion for snooping around was the very least of my worries. What was this? A fishing expedition? Or a veiled threat?
Mister Schmeling carried on: “Perhaps you saw something in the supply closet? Something that startled you? Caused your imagination to run away with you?”
My eyelids peeled back inside my skull, the whites bulging from the sockets. He knew.
He scanned me over, a look that was not lustful but hungry and searching, making my skin crawl. “Did you tell anyone what you saw?” he asked after a long pause.
For the first time I answered him, shaking my head feverishly from side to side, my hair tremulous, strands slapping around my chin.
Mister Schmeling pulled back into his swivel chair, the metal spine creaking, evidently pleased with my answer. His furry stubs for fingers laced across his ample abdomen. “If other people learned about what you think you saw, we’d have no choice but to suspend you for violating school safety regulations. Or worse. You wouldn’t want that would you? Being such a serious and hardworking student? No, I didn’t think so, my dear. So, since you’ve been so good and we’d hate for you to get behind in your studies, this’ll just be our little secret. Okay, dear?”
And so concluded the bizarre saga of Mister Haddock and the bleeding anatomy model in the science lab. I never found out the exact cause of Haddock’s dismissal, though the school used the usual cryptic phrasing of him moving on and finding work elsewhere. Some kids told me they saw him in one of the local pubs around Lakeshore, testing out a few concoctions of Ocean Spray and Absolut.
I haven’t told anyone about what I saw, as per my agreement with Mister Schmeling. At least, I haven’t until now. Perhaps he’s right; maybe my imagination simply ran away from me that fateful afternoon alone in the supply closet. But then why swear me to secrecy? What did he care what I told people I saw? Why was that laboratory never used again and was all but boarded up? That being said, I would still see red speckles and smears of blood on Mister Fanu’s hands and coveralls some days, I would still sometimes catch a whiff of something coppery and fetid in the hallways, and every so often, I would hear the uncanny crashing of waves, accompanying by the strangled whinnying of a horse, emanating from the now empty Grade Ten science lab.

UPDATE: expulsion reversed, for now!
Coming back for an update. We met with the headmaster and made our case. They agreed to let our son stay for the remainder of the year on very strict probational terms with all the power in their hands. They have instructed his teachers to extend zero extensions or generosity in expectations/ grading. They said it is very unlikely he will be allowed to remain at the school for next year, but they are willing to defer that decision to see what he can produce in these final months. It's in his hands.
On a very positive note, his mental health has improved. Opening a fresh term (they are on trimesters) without any late assignments hanging over him was a sweet relief. Although, due to his low grades, at least two courses have to be repeated in the summer. But he is doing much better and setting so many goals for himself.
I really appreciate the comments, even those who worried they were harsh. I can handle it, and I appreciate all of it.
I would in fact love to be less involved. When I try ignoring the school’s emails and phone calls, they only dial up the pressure and demand we come in for meetings.
As for my son’s need for autonomy and wanting to be in the driver’s seat on these enrollment decisions, I can’t do entirely so without feeling financially irresponsible. I went to free public school and to an affordable state university. A SINGLE year of his current tuition is more than was spent on my entire education from age 5 - 22. And not just because I’m old, lol, - a year of his high school cost more than 3 years of current tuition at my university. My parents graciously paid for that, and my obligation was clear in repayment: good attendance and respectable academic effort. The thought of just failing classes (almost entirely due to lack of attendance) on someone else’s dime seems entitled and ungrateful to me, especially since the whole thing (leaving public school) was his idea.
I will share some really mature insights he has offered in case any of you have very young children. From his perspective, all the years of IEP accommodations hurt him. He wishes we could go back and have no accommodations or supports, including extended time, modified/shortened assignments, etc., because he said it only pushed the problem off to an older age when it was much harder to adapt to "normal" expectations. He says being an A student in public school (with a robust IEP) prevented him from developing necessary skills that a 15 year old should have. And of course, he is also upset that it is all on his record because he wants to apply to West Point or the Air Force Academy and says the long history of accommodations will make that nearly impossible. The military was never on his or our radar before this year.
As I am facing an upcoming psycho-educational analysis with my 8 year old who is almost a carbon copy of my 15 year old (clinical dx of autism, anxiety, ADHD), I will take accommodation recommendations with a huge grain of salt and reflect deeply about whether they will serve him in the long run. I’m also halfway through a controversial book on childhood therapy that has me questioning everything and is somewhat supporting my teen’s opinion that many of our efforts to “help” him, from school accommodations to SSRIs to therapy, may not have only been unhelpful but potentially even harmful. He's asking to come off all meds. We let him come off ADHD but I'm nervous to have him wean off the SSRIs but promised we can try. It’s a lot to digest.
https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/716567/bad-therapy-by-abigail-shrie
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Original post:
TL;DR - are there alternatives to the Low Demand Lifestyle for supporting PDA? And what educational options should I consider for a 15 year old who has flunked out of school?
I don't think in the long run my son will be happy with the results if we go with Low Demand Lifestyle, he has in fact tells me I should've pushed him more his whole life and not let him quit so many things. To be fair, when I'm able to convey expectations in a non-confrontational manner, I do try. But an expectation is an expectation, and he can read between the lines. He has PDA but is also ambitious, which is a tragic combination. In moments of clarity throughout his life, he's expressed such anguish over all the things he quit (like team sports, musical instruments) and has such grief and regret for all the things he's said "no" to. But he's rarely in the right mood to say "yes." So in the moment, low demands might feel good to him, but I think that he will be incredibly unhappy in the long run because his world is just getting smaller and smaller and more screen-based and it's not what he says wants, even as he resists most offers of support and forms of therapy and tough love.
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Background: I will just start with an apology. I'm sure I'll say something wrong because no, I haven't lurked on this board lately and I'm sure I'll put my foot in my mouth even as I endeavor not to. I am breaking my self-imposed Reddit and social media ban to ask this because my family is in crisis. (I get screen-addicted very easily, just like my neurodivergent kids. I had to make a clean break from Reddit, Twitter and all other social media and hope that beyond the rare post like this I will stick with it).
I have 4 kids, 3 of whom are clinically diagnosed with autism, ADHD and anxiety disorders. I'm am very similar to them, but, you know, getting a clinical diagnosis for a 46 year old woman who's masked her whole life is a familiar and frustrating story in these spaces.
My oldest is in crisis. He is in the process of being expelled/flunking out of his high school. They are letting him finish the tri-mester term (finals are next week) after we begged so I'm using this time to make an emergency transition plan. He does have a psychiatrist and a therapist but I don't know how much I can lean on him because it turns out he just lies to them and they don't really "know" him. The PDA profile was suggested to me by a BCBA when he was 7 and he checks all the boxes for this condition perfectly, even though no other therapists, doctors or educators we've worked with are familiar with it and we are in the US so it's not a recognized DSM diagnosis.
His school, which he begged to attend, is a rigorous college prep school that I was adamantly opposed to because it's way too hard (AND requires 2 team sports! He's not a sporty guy and he has asthma which he uses to get out of most practices and games). It's also incredibly expensive, more than my college tuition for just high school. His rationale was that we pay college savings to high school instead, then he'd do so well he'd get scholarships.
He hated public school (which he attended Prek - 8th with a homeschool detour during Covid) despite the fact that we are in a very reputable district and he had a robust IEP. He didn't like it because he felt like he wasn't learning and that they discouraged critical thinking (any attempts at counterpoints or challenging a teacher on a historical inaccuracy was promptly shut down). He got excellent grades with little effort, there was not much homework and in our districts' attempt to close achievement gaps, they've just been continually lower the expectations across the board. So, I guess that was indeed a very Low Demand Lifestyle and on paper it looked like he was doing fine, straight As.
Even so, he's had school refusal his entire life. It got worse as he got older, like average 30 days absent per year. We used to get the threatening letters from the school about attendance. Which was really fucking rich during Covid, since they were the ones who'd they'd send him home if he so much as sniffled and not allow him back without a negative Covid test (which was before the home tests rolled out), and banned nebulizers for asthma during school hours because it could "aerosolize the Covid particles" then had the audacity to send us a sternly worded letter about attendance and referrals Child Family Service referrals. I digress.
I must emphasize that HE begged to leave the district. We are public school graduates, raised by public school teachers, it's all we knew and all we had considered. So when he applied then miraculously got accepted into the hardest private school in our region, I pled my case to pick any number of other more relaxed private schools like a really interesting Montessori high school that felt like a great fit. But no, he loved this one because it's hard, it's prestigious, it was more open to diverse viewpoints. They were fully aware of his diagnoses and IEP and made him their own version of a learning plan, which is not like an IEP but more like a 504. They offered the typical accommodations like extended time and organizational assistance.
He's in his sophomore year. From day 1 of freshman year, he's resisted all of their academic support. He doesn't check or respond to emails, he ghosted the peer tutors and learning consultants (until we tied his cooperation to screen time) and he didn't put in the time required to stay afloat. They were very upfront about rigor: high school students average 3 hours of homework per night. Other families we consulted confirmed their sons came home, worked, ate dinner, worked some more, and went to bed. I TOLD HIM ALL OF THIS and begged him not to go there. I was overruled. My husband thought that if there was even a chance that he would grow up and throw his heart into this school, who are we to stand in his way? My husband's best friend attended there in the 90s and barely got through it, but he says that it made him the successful man he is and that he had no regrets.
Things have only gotten worse. His grades and attendance have been terrible. I offered many times to let him transfer to an easier school. He refused (and still refuses, he says if this doesn't work out he won't consider any other school). He took a medical leave of absence this fall to go to Rogers Behaviorial in Wisconsin to treat his anxiety (total disaster, we picked him up 6 days into his planned 6 week stay). That, too, was his idea. He wanted to go "resolve" his social anxiety and we were sold a vision of peaceful walks in the woods, horseback riding, and strategies to conquer anxiety. Instead he was put in a locked depression recovery unit with suicidal kids (he was not suicidal) and he didn't breathe outdoor air once in the 6 days he was there and he wasn't even allowed to have books in his room. Suffice to say, his mental health declined while there instead of improving.
Upon picking him up early, his school didn't let him immediately return. They said it was finals time and he'd missed too much so he should just come back at the next term (around Thanksgiving). This meant weeks at home and retreating further into Youtube and videogames and daily battles with us for more screentime. I can't overemphasize how draining these daily battles were (and still are). We even tried it his way "if you remove ALL limits it will be less tantalizing for me and I will self-moderate." We tried that...without guardrails he'd spend 9-10 hours a day on screens! Which I get, my own screen addiction has been a constant battle.
They let him return in November for the second trimester and we are still in that term but his performance has been very poor, even as they let him drop one class to makeup over the summer. He has racked up absences and turned in almost no work and currently has two failing grades. Before winter break the school made it very clear that a massive turnaround was needed. He went into break full of ambition. He squandered it. He spent all of his time doing anything but work. We argued constantly about screen time and even when we stood firm on our limit (2 hours per day) he would find anything else to do besides work on his overdue assignments. The expectation was that he would return from break fully caught up. He did not, not even close.
We were clear then and have been clear throughout that they weren't going to let him continue in this manner. They told us that if a drastic improvement didn't happen immediately, he would have to repeat his sophomore year. That was a nonstarter for him. "I will not. I will have to quit in that case. I refuse."
We have tried SO FUCKING HARD. We've broken down every single missing assignment (there were over 50) and showed him exactly what to do, offered tutoring, offered to take him to dad's empty office on the weekends to work in peace, offered helpful apps like Photomath, he refused all of it. And the lies, oh the lies. We have caught him lying about completed work so many times. And that's what brought things to a head last week, ahead of schedule. He was supposed to have until the end of next week, the end of the term, before they lowered the boom. But they caught him lying to his advisor and learning consultant about having turned in work he hadn't turned in and they confronted him and he had a panic attack and said "ok! ok! I guess I have to quit!" and I think they were relieved and took that at face value. He didn't mean it. They told us there was nothing else they could do for him and that we were at the end.
Over the weekend he did 6 months worth of Algebra 2. He did it. For real. He said "I don't deserve another chance, but can you ask anyway?" So we went and plead his case with the powers that be yesterday. They were unmoved but we finally got them to let him take the finals, with a huge caveat that there is very little chance they will change their mind regardless of how he scores because his avoidant behavior and lack of honesty have been so persistent, and that the level of daily support they have been providing him is far beyond what they've ever done for any student at that school and just not in keeping with their standards for rigor and preserving their reputation for academic excellence. :(
I'm not sure if he is deluded about his propsects, all month he's been telling me he wants to get off all medications and drop his learning plan so he can apply for a medical waiver and try to get into USMA (West Point) which automatically disqualifies based on autism, adhd, IEPs, and related medications and supports. You can apply for an exemption, but based on his record even BEFORE he was about to be kicked out, it seems incredibly unlikely. It is bizarre to me that he is even interested. We are not a military family. He is a healthy weight, but I can't imagine he could keep up with the physical demands. He doesn't exercise daily (like we tell him to), he doesn't like to wake up early, basically everything about the military lifestyle seems counter to his nature, but that's his "thing" right now that's all he can think about.
So he's at school for the next week and a half and I need to use that time to figure out what happens next. The year we homeschooled (7th grade) was so stressful. He learned a lot, but not what I asked him to learn. I made daily work plans and he would just push them aside and watch educational videos instead on totally different topics than what we were supposed to be learning. We fought a lot. I am not sure I can try that again, but I also know he refuses to go to any other brick and mortar school. I'm also hesitant to do any kind of online school because he is SO SCREEN ADDICTED that it seems like a terrible idea. I was thinking of going old school with textbooks, worksheets, pencils and just avoiding screen-based work as much as possible. But every single day will be like pulling teeth and I'm not sure I have the emotional bandwidth for it.
The only school that *has* to take him at this point is obviously the public high school. I know he will not go.
I'm not sure what to do. And back to my original question -- are there other schools of thought besides Low Demand Lifestyle? My husband considers it a nonstarter. Even some of the "success" stories I've read for that approach don't sound like what I would consider success. There is some PDA coach I was looking at, reading her stuff, until I realized she just lets her kid on screens all day every day. That feels kind of like giving up to me, and I believe screens are the worst thing that ever happened to my family. I am forever regretful of letting a single smartphone, ipad, Switch or gaming PC into this house. I know I'm unlikely to find anti-screen allies on Reddit of all places, but...worth a shot. Are there approaches to PDA that allow you to maintain firm screen limits and have healthy expectations for a child in terms of schoolwork, hygiene, chores, employment? Or am I in denial about what living with PDA can look like?
Again, I'm sure I've offended lots of people with my post and word choices and anti-screen mentality. Mental health spaces are hard for me to navigate deftly. I'm sorry.

I F21 am considering a career change to dental hygiene or health science, maybe premed if I find my “calling”. I got an AA in secondary education for English, but due to some circumstances I can’t enroll in my local 4-year to finish my bachelor’s degree for at least a year. My education in, well, education, has come to a halt — at least for now.
While I know it isn’t forever, the idea of being out of school (or just taking music classes as I am also a piano teacher) is grating on my soul, as someone who has always loved to learn. I wanted to be a doctor when I was younger, but was discouraged by my dermatologist father (who wanted me to be a SAHM), and stuck to “soft skill” academia, which I love and am very good at. I was a “gifted kid” so although I naturally excelled at reading and math, science did not come easily, so I refrained from challenging myself.
There is nothing saying I will never be an English teacher, but this year is my best chance to take an earnest, wholehearted attempt at STEM and know if it’s right for me. Otherwise, I’ll be in a classroom for the next 20 years wondering if I could’ve made more money and been happier doing something else. But if I try and do my best and still don’t want to do anything health science, at least I’ll know I tried it with a (mostly) developed frontal lobe, and not just as a kid.
I’m currently watching crash course biology in my spare laundry time to get a refresher. I took a college BIO course in high school so I wouldn’t need to take general biology when i began this career, but it’s been so long that I need a refresher. I’m enjoying the videos but I am also a very hands-on, working it out on paper person, so just watching these videos won’t help the information stick enough. What websites, worksheets, or other (preferably free) resources would you recommend to supplement someone who is “relearning” general biology course material? TIA

Firstly I will try making changes in my daily life to boost my productivity and cognitive ability : •Fixed routine and sleep schedule •good diet,hygiene and daily 30 min exercise ( specifically to boost productivity) •reduce porn/masturbation gradually to 1 a month •set clear time bound goals, weekly test and daily 10-12 hrs study ( able to do now) and if not able to complete then not panic but analyse mistakes and keep going •give 40 mins to myself (for book,pod etc) Now to the actual studies: divided in to 4 phases 1year=2phases
Physics: Phase1-physics galaxy theory+ill, irodov, Phase2-SBT (lv2,lv3), JA pyqs + finish&revise full syllabus Phase 3-go through books like university physics, RHK, Morin,griffiths,Schroeder,Hetch, Feynman lectures for pure interest or advicenot related to jee in free time.Do Pathfinder ( mcq,build,check) Phase4- Finish worksheets which cover oly questions(Inpho,etc) ,200 puzzling problems , krotov,jaan Kalda and Kevin Zhou handouts etc for more exposure and do gmps,do a solid revision (1000 problems in total ) Lectures: physics shelter
Maths: Phase1- Cengage theory+ill+solved eg and some problems(15-20) for practice. Then use combination of yellow,pink,black book and Sameer Bansal ( if finding difficulty in solving then using cengage or blackbook ) Phase2- completing/revising the prev books + JA pyqs and full revision(1000 problems) Phase 3-mastering my abilities in each part of jee math and improving my fundamental thought using various books,resources,lectures (eg pathfinder,mit,Princeton lectures) then attacking ISI,TOMATO, and ioqm,rmo and various other problem sheets from mit sheets to titu andrescu problems,thrills in precollege maths,KD Joshi etc Phase 4- learning and going through some college level courses and books(for interest might help in jee too) and do gmp for revision JEE lectures: Mohit Tyagi sir for doubts
Chemistry Phase1 : Chemiit lecs and books Neeraj Kumar PC , Ms chauhan OC, VJoshi ioc ,NCERT Phase2- completing/revising the above+JA pyqs Phase 3- going through chem texts like JD Lee, Peter Atkins,LG wade, Peter Sykes clayden, Sn Sanyal,Vogel specific parts and solving incho,Icho ,Akshay Chaudhary, black book,advanced series lecs Phase4: short notes and consistently revising everything and gmp
Testing frequency : phase 1 and 2- weekly after syllabus over :phase3&4 first biweekly and then every 3 days 6hours jee adv tests Along with Thorough analysis and improvements in all metrics . Be scoring top 500 level marks consistently in 80-90% of time. Will try to use good resources to enhance my prep I will try my best these two years Pls give suggestion to change my plan
Phase1: 10 months phase2: 3 months phase 3 : 8 months phase 4: 3 months Revision frequency : every 10 days after chapter is finished and will not move to other phase if not confident with previous
Guys just for clarification for phase 3,4 I will not do complete books but only small and specific parts of the books which teachers say or I think might help

Background: I’m a 27 yr old female with moderate acne. I’ve had acne my whole life, but it got really bad two years ago and flares before my period. I have eczema, and prior to accutane my skin was combination, teetering on dry. I am prone to joint pain, headaches and ocular migraines. I have wavy dry hair, and live in a dry cold climate. I’m 5’4 and weigh 114 lbs. my first month was 30 mg and I’m half way through my second month on 60 mg. I currently take two 30 mg pills, one in the AM and one in the PM with fatty meals (avocados all the time!) I’ve experienced a lot of dryness, irritation, redness, and itchiness all over. Dry eyes has been my most uncomfortable side effect. I have not purged yet and am hoping I have completely avoided it. Here’s what I do/use to manage side effects.
Scalp: Eczema honey soothing scalp oil: helped with itchiness and dryness. I added a few drops of rosemary oil because I’m scared of hair loss.
Briogeo cooling hydration scalp revival mask: also helped with irritation and flaking.
Shampoo davines OI shampoo: gentle shampoo, good for first wash nizoral: dandruff shampoo, I use this for my second wash and let it sit on my scalp for 1-2 minutes
Conditioner L’Oréal 8 second wonder water: I use this right after shampooing and it helps with shine and damage
Amika the kure mask: also helps with moisturizing and damage. I let this sit for like 15 minutes with my hair in a claw clip Davines OI conditioner: after rinsing out the mask I follow up with my normal conditioner.
Leave in hair products: Kerastase nutritive crème: dime size amount after I get out of the shower, helps with moisture and detangling
Organix coconut oil: I pre oil my hair before washing and use this in my mids and ends every night. I sleep with my hair in a loose bun with a silk scrunchie.
Oral care: Burt’s bees SLS free toothpaste: SLS can be irritating so any SLS free toothpaste is good.
Nano bristle toothbrush: my gums got pretty sensitive about two weeks into treatment, and switching to a very soft brush toothbrush has helped a lot.
Body care: Bioderma atoderm oil cleanser: the only body wash that has not triggered eczema or make my skin itchy. Expensive, but worth it.
Vanicream: no frills, very moisturizing.
Aquaphor: apply while my skin is still damp from lotion
My hands are prone to eczema so I will do a vanicream+aquaphor combo on them and then wear disposable rubber gloves for a few hours. Doing this has also helped my nails.
Face: Ponds cold cream: first cleanse to remove sunscreen
Vanicream cleanser: holy grail for me! So gentle and effective as a second cleanse.
Dr. Jart ceramidin serum toner: has made a major difference in flaking. I pat this onto my lips as well. Beware, it has essential oils in it, but I don’t find they bother me. The cocokind ceramide barrier repair serum looks like it would be a fragrance free dupe, though I have not tried this product.
Laneige cream skin toner: super moisturizing. I like to have the spray version of this in my bag to moisturize throughout the day without touching my face.
The ordinary copper peptide serum: also hydrating and may help with discoloration. This product may cause irritation, so tread lightly at first. I’ve had no issues with it, but I used it in my routine prior to accutane.
Laneige cica sleeping mask: this is just a thick moisturizer. This has helped me manage redness and irritation on my face a lot
The ordinary squalene oil: cheap and does the job
Aquaphor: on my face and on my lips and everywhere else. Test before starting accutane if you’ve never used it before, as lanolin, while an awesome ingredient, is a fairly common allergen
Lips: Aquaphor Vaseline with coco butter Sunbum SPF lip balm
I bring all hydrating toners over my lips and apply one of the two occlusive products while my lips are still damp with toner. I’ve experienced no lip cracking using this method.
SPF: sunbum unscented for face and body. Keep sunscreen on you to reapply throughout the day
Tower 28 tinted sunscreen: I use this as a foundation and I like it a lot!
Eyes: Systane gel drops: I use these before bed and immediately when waking up. Gel drops are supposed to help keep your eyes moisturized longer
Biotrue hydration drops: I use these throughout the day. Became with overusing eye drops, as they can dilute your actual tears.
Vaginal/anal dryness Momotaro salve: can be used externally and internally. Smells like tea tree oil, but this works so well. Also helpful for yeast infections or irritation after sex
Other random tips: Moisturize on damp skin
Do not wait until your skin is dry and irritated to start adding in more moisturizing products, especially if prone to eczema
Take Claritin to help with purging!!!
Start an omega three supplement before starting accutane
Yin yoga is really good for sore muscles and helped me decrease joint/muscle pain and tension headaches. I go to a yoga studio but there are a bunch of good free videos online
Start to introduce higher amounts of fiber before starting accutane. If you’re diet is low in fiber, immediately adding a bunch of fiber can cause GI upset
Keep a journal with side effects and prior to your derm appointments not a few key concerns down that you would like to address. I’ve found that coming into short check in appointments with a clear agenda helps me get my needs met.
Switch to a silk or satin pillow case and hair scrunchies to help lessen irritated skin and hair damage
Try adding in milk thistle to help with liver support. I use the organic Olivia liver juice and I put that in some coconut water every morning.
Hot water bottle for aches and pains. Also amazing for period cramps
Epsom salt baths also help with aches and pains and I also noticed it helped with body acne. I add some body oil (literally whatever I have laying around) to make sure my skin doesn’t get irritated.
Take cooler showers and baths
Clay ice packs for headaches. They stay cold fairly well and they are soft so you can mold it to your face
Bring a juice box or a little snack to have after blood draws.
Take your mental health seriously. Journal, practice good sleep hygiene and set aside time every day to relax. I work full time, go to grad school full time, and intern at a hospital and I set aside 30 minutes every day to unwind. Sometimes if I’m extra stressed, anxious, or depressed I will do a DBT worksheet that I find for free online. I also see a therapist.
Acne negatively impact myself esteem, but it never impacted who I was able to date or casually hook up with, I even was dating a skin care influencer for a little bit haha. Don’t let a bad break out keep you from going out and enjoying life. Even if you purge, it’ll be over soon! Rely on your support systems to help you get through this treatment :) good luck everyone

Hi all, I work on an inpatient psychiatry unit and run a few different groups (with themes around resilience, relaxation, and life skills such as sleep hygiene and nutrition). They are one-off groups, as patients are regularly admitted and discharged, and it’s difficult to predict what any group will look like.
I’ve just been making my own groups with handouts from Therapist Aid and some other sites, but I’m wondering if anyone has any recommendations for a workbook I can use with discussion questions, worksheets, etc? Thanks!

Mister Haddock was always my least favourite teacher in Grade Ten. Balding, stoved-faced little man with a ratty ponytail behind his near naked pink skull. He was the only teacher I never saw smile or laugh, even around other teachers or adults. He was never even nice when parents came to visit – never had that put-on warmth most teachers do. With his diminutive stature and small miserable face, he looked like one of the seven dwarves from Snow White, if one of the seven dwarves were a closet alkie. He’d never let you go to the bathroom during class, whether it was an emergency or not, even if you were a girl. And if you requested an extension for an assignment – whether it was because you were sick, someone in your family had died, or you had to be excused for your soccer or football game – he would just respond with, “No” and “That’s tough.” As you can imagine, I wasn’t the only kid at John Haggert High School who harboured a grudge for the surly little troll of the JH High science department.
What really made the situation worse was that Mister Haddock taught science, a class in which I had to excel if I wanted to pursue my postsecondary dream of studying to become a veterinarian. Cliché, I know, but I’ve always loved animals and wanted desperately to understand and help them as best I could. That was another sticking point between Mister Haddock and I; he refused to give good marks no matter how hard you tried or how well you followed his instructions. “When you give me something good enough to get an A in university, I’ll give you an A,” he’d groan, his tired refrain to any nagging student. Like that was a reasonable bar to set for a high school junior or freshmen. Just my luck, Mister Haddock also taught Grade Eleven biology, another necessary course on my journey to guiding sick and dying pets into the afterlife.
And that’s another thing about Mister Haddock that bothered me; he clearly hated his job. I’d always planned on becoming a teacher as a back-up plan, especially since I’d always loved school. I was always on the honour roll, on at least three school teams, in multiple clubs, elected student rep for each grade I was in until making school president in Grade Twelve and would later be valedictorian. But Mister Haddock always acted like he’d rather be doing anything other than teach at our school. Like this job was somehow beneath him. Just for context, John Haggert High School is in the Meadowville neighborhood of Aakoziwin, the safest city in Ontario and one of the safest places in all of Canada – which would put in running for safest metropolitan area on the planet. It’s a bustling suburban town with lots to do, especially being so close to Toronto. Our school is neck and neck with Caramel Mountain Secondary for national reputation and university acceptances. We have one of the best hockey teams, one of the best arts and music programs, and are among the top performers in math and literacy. Our building is the typical squat, two-floor, lengthwise cinderblock affair, but our hallways are adorned with gorgeous wall murals painted by the arts students, festooned with colourful and accurate dioramas of the Globe Theatre, Greek coliseums, and DNA models. So why did Mister Haddock act like he was stocking the shelves at a grocery store? Why did he treat us like we were all riffraff, as my Uncle John would say?
The last straw that broke this camel’s back came when he docked me ten percent for being two days late on an assignment. My grandmother was in the hospital from a massive stroke, which is what caused me to be late. My mother had made sure to call reception to explain the situation on the very first day I was away from school. And even after I provided him with two letters, one from my parents, the other from the hospital, and even though all my other teachers accepted my homework without penalty, Mister Ian Warren Haddock refused to budge.
“Look,” he grunted, visibly cornered behind his particleboard desk, me standing before him with hands on hips, pleading my case. Demanding an explanation. “Look, I’ve already imputed the mark into the database and sent it out to the department head. I can’t change it right now. It’ll make me look bad.”
I could feel my eyes grow moist. How could he do this to me? Me! Jennifer Wang Li, Grade Ten student rep and future saviour of all furry four-legged creatures!
Feebly, without meeting my misty gaze, he mumbled, “At least your gran’s alive, right? Isn’t that all that matters?”
Using my grandmother stroke against me? Trying to browbeat me away from demanding what was mine by guilting me into not appreciating my own family?
At this, I didn’t yell, didn’t storm off. Didn’t even bother complaining to my parents or the principal’s office. Instead, I coolly sat down at my lab table, and began plotting my petty revenge against Mister Haddock.
I knew all about the pranks kids pull on their teachers. The homemade stink bomb. The head in the jar. The dreaded toothpick in the door lock. I wasn’t about to bother with anything as cute or clever. During the lunch period, when I knew Mister Haddock was two kilometres away having a smoke near Meadow Woods Park, I would creep into the lab and simply swipe all his test papers and homework. I knew he wouldn’t bother keeping them secure, and even with the gas valves, there was a good chance the dope would leave the laboratory unlocked (he’d done so several times before).
In so many ways, it would be the perfect revenge; he’d have to admit to leaving the room unsupervised and unsecured, going against school policy and regulation, landing him in hot water with the office. Maybe even resulting in his eventual termination. And, when he asked the students to redo the test, someone would eventually complain to the school or a parent, resulting in him admitting that he’d lost the test papers, which would likewise get him in trouble – or at least so I figured at the time. He’d know what it was like to be punished for something that was not his fault. At least, not exactly his fault. To have every excuse in the world, only for each of them to fall on stone-deaf ears. It was perfect. I just had to be careful; I knew there were cameras in the hallways, but as far as I could tell, there was no surveillance in the classrooms themselves.
I snuck inside the unmanned lab at a quarter past noon. With the lights out and in the scant fluorescent glow bleeding in from the hallway through the open door, the lab looked almost eerie: the long tables, eye wash station, beakers, tongs and burners redolent of the abode of Doctor Jekyll in the movies. As though the lab were in preparation of some macabre, unnecessary surgery. But maybe that was just my imagination running away with me. I crept toward Mister Haddock’s desk. Sure enough, there were the unguarded test papers, lain plainly on the blotter.
Armed with the papers and loads of time before the vodka-reeking deadbeat returned, I felt compelled to poke around. Perhaps I’d find a pack of smokes or a micky of cheap rye lying around, getting Mister Haddock into some real trouble.
My curiosity piqued, I rounded the corner at the back and entered the supply closet, placing the test papers to the side. It was where they kept the textbooks, beakers, bunsen burners, and items meant to be hidden from teenage eyes. But no matter how hard I squinted or how furiously I rummaged through the boxes and bins, there were no incriminating objects for me to find. Not even a single cigarette butt.
I was about to turn and leave with my pillaged bounty when I spotted the slightest of movements out of the corner of my eye. Startled, I held my breath and jumped a bit before peering harder to the back of the closet. There, the slight movement, or trick of the light remained, just perceptible in the dark little room. It was so slight – a dribbling motion, that at first my brain registered a lava lamp. But that didn’t make sense; why would there be a lava lamp in a science lab? Much less one plugged in on a storage closet shelf.
I advanced further to inspect what lay at the back and that’s when I saw it. The most eldritch or horrors, like something straight from a pulp magazine. It was a two-foot anatomical model, showing the muscles and internal organs from the small intestine to the eyeballs. A jarring sight to begin with, but this particular model – it was bleeding. I mean, actively bleeding, pulsating with blood that dripped from red crevices and apertures, staining the beige metal platform on which it stood. My mind whirled at the sickening visual before me. How could that be? Wasn’t the model made of silicone? Not flesh or bone, surely. Unbelieving, I examined the ghastly little model, looking around to find some sort of power cord – certain this was some optical illusion or trick of the light. No such luck. As best I could tell, this was nothing but a regular artificial figurine. No means of moving – or in this case bleeding – on it own.
At my wits end to try and explain this thing before me, adrenaline barrelling through my veins, I deigned to touch the scarlet flow coming off it, getting some it on my fingertips. The wet sensation was enough to flip my stomach, but when I brought the smeared fingers to my nose, I discovered the unmistakable metallic odour of blood. It was real. As real as it could be. I looked down and saw the dark liquid begin to drip over the shelf’s edge onto the floor. Numb from scalp to chin, I peered back up at the vinaceous, pulsating face, at the fake blues eyes stuck to the front of the skull. The eyes which had somehow remained uncovered by the pouring crimson. They had been staring blindly away from me, but then, at that very moment, they came alive and swivelled around to glare at me. I shrieked before turning and fleeing from the lab, leaving Mister Haddock’s papers on the shelf where I’d lain them.
That night I couldn’t sleep. And the next day I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t chat with my friends or join them at any of our clubs. I just couldn’t get the image of that bleeding anatomical model out of my mind’s eye. And I couldn’t quiet the questions racing through my bewildered brain – those compelling echoes dinning off the inner walls of my skull. How could a silicone model’s inner working cause it to bleed like that? Or appear to bleed? Why did the fluid smell so unmistakably like blood? Why did I only see it bleeding like that after class had been dismissed? In the name of God, why was something like that in the science lab at all?
Resolved on getting to the bottom of this, I first had to be sure that what I saw wasn’t a mere figment of my imagination. To prove I wasn’t going crazy, I recruited my friend Jacqueline to come along with me the next lunch break, when Mister Haddock had gone out for his smoke. Having not been told the exact reason for sneaking into the science lab, Jackie giggled as I towed her along, inferring in whispers that our secret mission was owing to a crush I wanted to impart on her away from prying eyes and ears.
But when we arrived, the lab was closed. The yellow on gray stainless-steel doors were shut, the wooden door stop lying on the floor, discarded. I tried the handles, but it was no use. The hygienic doors wouldn’t budge. Mister Haddock hadn’t bothered locking up the lab since early September. Did he notice his test papers had been moved and got spooked?
Of course, Jacqueline balked at my expense, demanding I just tell her what this was all about. She then grew petulant when I insisted it was nothing, refusing, in her mind, to include her in what she was certain was a juicy bit of gossip.
We were then startled by a gruff voice growling behind us: “You two better move along.”
Startled out of our skin, we both spun on our heels, finding the groundskeeper, Mister Fanu, standing before us. He’d come up on us without a sound. He was a short compact man with a shapeless face behind black framed spectacles, today wearing his usual navy-blue coveralls. From his tan leather weightlifter’s belt hung a ring of what looked to be a thousand keys, like a silvery fist by his waist.
“You shouldn’t be hanging out here now,” he grunted, his voice hoarse and low like dead leaves in the wind. He then proceeded into the mantra of all on or off duty school employees patrolling the halls, telling us to either go to the Caf or outside until the next bell. Neither intimidated or especially servile, Jacqueline droned her acquiescence and shuffled off without me, rolling her eyes before getting completely out of sight. Still with some resolve for my mission, I lingered. But what remained of my gumption withered under Mister Fanu’s icy parental stare.
But as I walked away, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the janitor had not departed the hallway. He was standing on the spot like a sentry, presumably watching me go. As if he were guarding the lab. The hairs on the back of my neck sufficiently stood on end, I turned around, finding that he was not staring after me, but rather facing the laboratory doors, as though waiting to be let in. Lastly, I noticed his hands, which were wringing and wiping themselves on a dirty black rag. On his hands, unmistakably, was a shiny, visibly wet red liquid. Blood?
Terrified, fixated, but nonetheless afraid of being spotted, I turned the corner into the adjacent stairwell. But instead of descending the steps to the main floor, I waited. When I returned to the hallway, poking my head out but not my torso from around the corner, I saw that one of the doors to the lab was ajar, and the lights within were now on. Mister Fanu was no longer there.
On rubbery legs, I inched over to the cracked door and peered inside. Squeezing myself in, first my head then shoulders then one limb at a time, I felt my heart thundering in my chest, expecting at any moment to be pulled aside by an irate Mister Haddock who would proceed to chide me. But instead, all I found was the empty, brightly lit room, and a maddening odour assaulting my nostrils.
It was the common coppery smell of blood from before but now fetid and miry like a century-old field of cow manure. Like something excreted not from anything as natural as cattle or other livestock but from something otherworldly. From something evil.
I pinched my nostrils and breathed through my nose but that hardly worked to stymy the eldritch stench. But now my senses were alerted to another disturbance, a bizarrely pleasant sound issuing from the supply closet. The sound of waves. Reminding me of my last summer vacation at Myrtle Beach, I heard the distinct lapping of waves crashing onto a sandy shore. Oh sure, it might have just been from a video or an audio file, but something about the enormity and clarity of the sound was indisputably real. I then had tinnitus in my left ear, and had to steady myself on one of the workbenches from a palpable loss of equilibrium. It was as though I’d suddenly become sick. Or as if I’d been transferred from reality into a dream. It was then that I realized the sound of the waves was no longer emanating from the closet, but was all around me, churning around my head, sending me into a dizzy spell.
The putrid, rust smell was now overwrought, and again, Mister Fanu was nowhere in sight. The crashing of the waves was then intermingled with a shrieking sound. It was small at first then swelled to a piercing wail. It wasn’t female or even human. Yes…Yes, I was certain it was an animal’s cry. Like a horse whinnying. Yes, exactly like the sound a horse would make. The voice was pained and sorrowing, as though the beast of burden were being whipped or driven into the ground. It was so terrible – so pitiful that my throat seized up and my heart ached. My mind throbbing from the assaulting soundscape swirling around – or perhaps inside – my head, I staggered toward the supply closet, grasping at stools and bench tables as I did so to not plummet to the floor. As I did, I wondered if this was what it was like to be on drugs.
I was just about to reach my hand out for the steel door handle, when all at once the encircling cacophony stopped, leaving a deafening quiet over the room. Backpedalling, tinnitus still in one ear, I regained my balance and stood up straight, standing stationary until a sudden crash from behind me – like a stool being knocked over – sent me flying out of the room and down the hallway to the stairwell. I was so terrified – so confused – I ran home without asking for leave, resulting in a two-day suspension. I was informed by one of the vice principals that if I was suspended again, I’d lose my student rep seat. But that would be the last of my troubles.
After being allowed back in school, I discovered my science class was moved to another room. Also, I never saw Mister Haddock again. First, there were a string of substitute teachers, some subbing internally from the science department – like Mister Abruzzo who taught Grade Twelve physics. Some were unfamiliar faces. All of them assigned nothing but work straight from the textbook or divvied out worksheets two or three grades below us. But eventually, much to the relief of my hovercraft, high-expectation-laden parents, we were assigned a full-time teacher, Miss Goldman, after the Christmas Break. Miss Goldman was young, energetic, and very knowledgeable. Most of my class was very happy to have her – especially as a replacement to gin-reeking Ian Haddock. Conversely, I was bricked up with anxiety, ruminating fretfully on what had happened to him. Had he really been let go? Was this somehow my fault? Or did it have something to do with that bleeding anatomical model I’d found in the supply closet? The one that had been replaced by another far less gory silicone figurine and had not been seen since that fateful day? And on what on earth was the cause of all those noises I’d heard the last time? What did those have to do with Haddock or the bleeding model?
Worse was that sound I heard that had cut through the muffling waves. The sound of the whinnying horse, the torment and desperation plain in that voice. I know this won’t make sense to you reading this, but the sound haunted me. Made me tear up every time I thought of it. The thought that something so cruel could be happening to animal here at JH High – just, just drove me insane.
Eventually, either driven by guilt for Mister Haddock’s firing or the compulsion seeded by that hideous apparition, I went to visit the science department office. But as it turned out, they had meant to speak to me.
Mister Schmeling, the head of the science department who taught Grade Eleven Chemistry, told me he’d been waiting for me when I arrived. This was a bit unnerving since I’d never had a class with him and also owing to the fact that he had neither a warm nor jocular demeanour. Bald and bespectacled with tufts of iron-grey around his ears, a rotund physique and wobbling gait, he reminded most students of a cartoon villain than an approachable teacher. He motioned me to an empty seat with a curt nod of his head.
“So, Jennifer, dear,” he began in his ice-box timbre. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time.” He then began to plow through the typical teacher questions, usually reserved for guidance councillors during one-on-one consultations.
He then got to the meat of the conversation. “It’s come to my attention recently that you’ve been going into the Grade Ten science lab by yourself after lesson periods. I hope that that isn’t true.”
Frozen in my seat on the concrete-hard plastic chair, a creeping fear waxing down my head to my nape, I said nothing and made no motion with my head or shoulders. I even kept my hands still inside my lap.
Relieving me of his glacial blue stare, Mister Schmeling clucked his tongue.
“I suppose you might have seen something which you shouldn’t have,” he said. My neck now a bed of bristled hairs. “Some test papers, perhaps? Some student progress reports Mister Haddock left lying around?”
I squinted hard and tilted my head. Another suspension or even expulsion for snooping around was the very least of my worries. What was this? A fishing expedition? Or a veiled threat?
Mister Schmeling carried on: “Perhaps you saw something in the supply closet? Something that startled you? Caused your imagination to run away with you?” My eyelids peeled back inside my skull, the whites bulging from the sockets. He knew. He scanned me over, a look that was not lustful but hungry and searching, making my skin crawl. “Did you tell anyone what you saw?” he asked after a long pause. For the first time I answered him, shaking my head feverishly from side to side, my hair tremulous, strands slapping around my chin. Mister Schmeling pulled back into his swivel chair, the metal spine creaking, evidently pleased with my answer. His furry stubs for fingers laced across his ample abdomen. “If other people learned about what you think you saw, we’d have no choice but to suspend you for violating school safety regulations. Or worse. You wouldn’t want that would you? Being such a serious and hardworking student? No, I didn’t think so, my dear. So, since you’ve been so good and we’d hate for you to get behind in your studies, this’ll just be our little secret. Okay, dear?”
And so concluded the bizarre saga of Mister Haddock and the bleeding anatomy model in the science lab. I never found out the exact cause of Haddock’s dismissal, though the school used the usual cryptic phrasing of him moving on and finding work elsewhere. Some kids told me they saw him in one of the local pubs around Lakeshore, testing out a few concoctions of Ocean Spray and Absolut.
I haven’t told anyone about what I saw, as per my agreement with Mister Schmeling. At least, I haven’t until now. Perhaps he’s right; maybe my imagination simply ran away from me that fateful afternoon alone in the supply closet. But then why swear me to secrecy? What did he care what I told people I saw? Why was that laboratory never used again and was all but boarded up? That being said, I would still see red speckles and smears of blood on Mister Fanu’s hands and coveralls some days, I would still sometimes catch a whiff of something coppery and fetid in the hallways, and every so often, I would hear the uncanny crashing of waves, accompanying by the strangled whinnying of a horse, emanating from the now empty Grade Ten science lab.

Mister Haddock was always my least favourite teacher in Grade Ten. Balding, stoved-faced little man with a ratty ponytail behind his near naked pink skull. He was the only teacher I never saw smile or laugh, even around other teachers or adults. He was never even nice when parents came to visit – never had that put-on warmth most teachers do. With his diminutive stature and small miserable face, he looked like one of the seven dwarves from Snow White, if one of the seven dwarves were a closet alkie. He’d never let you go to the bathroom during class, whether it was an emergency or not, even if you were a girl. And if you requested an extension for an assignment – whether it was because you were sick, someone in your family had died, or you had to be excused for your soccer or football game – he would just respond with, “No” and “That’s tough.” As you can imagine, I wasn’t the only kid at John Haggert High School who harboured a grudge for the surly little troll of the JH High science department.
What really made the situation worse was that Mister Haddock taught science, a class in which I had to excel if I wanted to pursue my postsecondary dream of studying to become a veterinarian. Cliché, I know, but I’ve always loved animals and wanted desperately to understand and help them as best I could. That was another sticking point between Mister Haddock and I; he refused to give good marks no matter how hard you tried or how well you followed his instructions. “When you give me something good enough to get an A in university, I’ll give you an A,” he’d groan, his tired refrain to any nagging student. Like that was a reasonable bar to set for a high school junior or freshmen. Just my luck, Mister Haddock also taught Grade Eleven biology, another necessary course on my journey to guiding sick and dying pets into the afterlife.
And that’s another thing about Mister Haddock that bothered me; he clearly hated his job. I’d always planned on becoming a teacher as a back-up plan, especially since I’d always loved school. I was always on the honour roll, on at least three school teams, in multiple clubs, elected student rep for each grade I was in until making school president in Grade Twelve and would later be valedictorian. But Mister Haddock always acted like he’d rather be doing anything other than teach at our school. Like this job was somehow beneath him. Just for context, John Haggert High School is in the Meadowville neighborhood of Aakoziwin, the safest city in Ontario and one of the safest places in all of Canada – which would put in running for safest metropolitan area on the planet. It’s a bustling suburban town with lots to do, especially being so close to Toronto. Our school is neck and neck with Caramel Mountain Secondary for national reputation and university acceptances. We have one of the best hockey teams, one of the best arts and music programs, and are among the top performers in math and literacy. Our building is the typical squat, two-floor, lengthwise cinderblock affair, but our hallways are adorned with gorgeous wall murals painted by the arts students, festooned with colourful and accurate dioramas of the Globe Theatre, Greek coliseums, and DNA models. So why did Mister Haddock act like he was stocking the shelves at a grocery store? Why did he treat us like we were all riffraff, as my Uncle John would say?
The last straw that broke this camel’s back came when he docked me ten percent for being two days late on an assignment. My grandmother was in the hospital from a massive stroke, which is what caused me to be late. My mother had made sure to call reception to explain the situation on the very first day I was away from school. And even after I provided him with two letters, one from my parents, the other from the hospital, and even though all my other teachers accepted my homework without penalty, Mister Ian Warren Haddock refused to budge.
“Look,” he grunted, visibly cornered behind his particleboard desk, me standing before him with hands on hips, pleading my case. Demanding an explanation. “Look, I’ve already imputed the mark into the database and sent it out to the department head. I can’t change it right now. It’ll make me look bad.”
I could feel my eyes grow moist. How could he do this to me? Me! Jennifer Wang Li, Grade Ten student rep and future saviour of all furry four-legged creatures!
Feebly, without meeting my misty gaze, he mumbled, “At least your gran’s alive, right? Isn’t that all that matters?”
Using my grandmother stroke against me? Trying to browbeat me away from demanding what was mine by guilting me into not appreciating my own family?
At this, I didn’t yell, didn’t storm off. Didn’t even bother complaining to my parents or the principal’s office. Instead, I coolly sat down at my lab table, and began plotting my petty revenge against Mister Haddock.
I knew all about the pranks kids pull on their teachers. The homemade stink bomb. The head in the jar. The dreaded toothpick in the door lock. I wasn’t about to bother with anything as cute or clever. During the lunch period, when I knew Mister Haddock was two kilometres away having a smoke near Meadow Woods Park, I would creep into the lab and simply swipe all his test papers and homework. I knew he wouldn’t bother keeping them secure, and even with the gas valves, there was a good chance the dope would leave the laboratory unlocked (he’d done so several times before).
In so many ways, it would be the perfect revenge; he’d have to admit to leaving the room unsupervised and unsecured, going against school policy and regulation, landing him in hot water with the office. Maybe even resulting in his eventual termination. And, when he asked the students to redo the test, someone would eventually complain to the school or a parent, resulting in him admitting that he’d lost the test papers, which would likewise get him in trouble – or at least so I figured at the time. He’d know what it was like to be punished for something that was not his fault. At least, not exactly his fault. To have every excuse in the world, only for each of them to fall on stone-deaf ears. It was perfect. I just had to be careful; I knew there were cameras in the hallways, but as far as I could tell, there was no surveillance in the classrooms themselves.
I snuck inside the unmanned lab at a quarter past noon. With the lights out and in the scant fluorescent glow bleeding in from the hallway through the open door, the lab looked almost eerie: the long tables, eye wash station, beakers, tongs and burners redolent of the abode of Doctor Jekyll in the movies. As though the lab were in preparation of some macabre, unnecessary surgery. But maybe that was just my imagination running away with me. I crept toward Mister Haddock’s desk. Sure enough, there were the unguarded test papers, lain plainly on the blotter.
Armed with the papers and loads of time before the vodka-reeking deadbeat returned, I felt compelled to poke around. Perhaps I’d find a pack of smokes or a micky of cheap rye lying around, getting Mister Haddock into some real trouble.
My curiosity piqued, I rounded the corner at the back and entered the supply closet, placing the test papers to the side. It was where they kept the textbooks, beakers, bunsen burners, and items meant to be hidden from teenage eyes. But no matter how hard I squinted or how furiously I rummaged through the boxes and bins, there were no incriminating objects for me to find. Not even a single cigarette butt.
I was about to turn and leave with my pillaged bounty when I spotted the slightest of movements out of the corner of my eye. Startled, I held my breath and jumped a bit before peering harder to the back of the closet. There, the slight movement, or trick of the light remained, just perceptible in the dark little room. It was so slight – a dribbling motion, that at first my brain registered a lava lamp. But that didn’t make sense; why would there be a lava lamp in a science lab? Much less one plugged in on a storage closet shelf.
I advanced further to inspect what lay at the back and that’s when I saw it. The most eldritch or horrors, like something straight from a pulp magazine. It was a two-foot anatomical model, showing the muscles and internal organs from the small intestine to the eyeballs. A jarring sight to begin with, but this particular model – it was bleeding. I mean, actively bleeding, pulsating with blood that dripped from red crevices and apertures, staining the beige metal platform on which it stood. My mind whirled at the sickening visual before me. How could that be? Wasn’t the model made of silicone? Not flesh or bone, surely. Unbelieving, I examined the ghastly little model, looking around to find some sort of power cord – certain this was some optical illusion or trick of the light. No such luck. As best I could tell, this was nothing but a regular artificial figurine. No means of moving – or in this case bleeding – on it own.
At my wits end to try and explain this thing before me, adrenaline barrelling through my veins, I deigned to touch the scarlet flow coming off it, getting some it on my fingertips. The wet sensation was enough to flip my stomach, but when I brought the smeared fingers to my nose, I discovered the unmistakable metallic odour of blood. It was real. As real as it could be. I looked down and saw the dark liquid begin to drip over the shelf’s edge onto the floor. Numb from scalp to chin, I peered back up at the vinaceous, pulsating face, at the fake blues eyes stuck to the front of the skull. The eyes which had somehow remained uncovered by the pouring crimson. They had been staring blindly away from me, but then, at that very moment, they came alive and swivelled around to glare at me. I shrieked before turning and fleeing from the lab, leaving Mister Haddock’s papers on the shelf where I’d lain them.
That night I couldn’t sleep. And the next day I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t chat with my friends or join them at any of our clubs. I just couldn’t get the image of that bleeding anatomical model out of my mind’s eye. And I couldn’t quiet the questions racing through my bewildered brain – those compelling echoes dinning off the inner walls of my skull. How could a silicone model’s inner working cause it to bleed like that? Or appear to bleed? Why did the fluid smell so unmistakably like blood? Why did I only see it bleeding like that after class had been dismissed? In the name of God, why was something like that in the science lab at all?
Resolved on getting to the bottom of this, I first had to be sure that what I saw wasn’t a mere figment of my imagination. To prove I wasn’t going crazy, I recruited my friend Jacqueline to come along with me the next lunch break, when Mister Haddock had gone out for his smoke. Having not been told the exact reason for sneaking into the science lab, Jackie giggled as I towed her along, inferring in whispers that our secret mission was owing to a crush I wanted to impart on her away from prying eyes and ears.
But when we arrived, the lab was closed. The yellow on gray stainless-steel doors were shut, the wooden door stop lying on the floor, discarded. I tried the handles, but it was no use. The hygienic doors wouldn’t budge. Mister Haddock hadn’t bothered locking up the lab since early September. Did he notice his test papers had been moved and got spooked?
Of course, Jacqueline balked at my expense, demanding I just tell her what this was all about. She then grew petulant when I insisted it was nothing, refusing, in her mind, to include her in what she was certain was a juicy bit of gossip.
We were then startled by a gruff voice growling behind us: “You two better move along.”
Startled out of our skin, we both spun on our heels, finding the groundskeeper, Mister Fanu, standing before us. He’d come up on us without a sound. He was a short compact man with a shapeless face behind black framed spectacles, today wearing his usual navy-blue coveralls. From his tan leather weightlifter’s belt hung a ring of what looked to be a thousand keys, like a silvery fist by his waist.
“You shouldn’t be hanging out here now,” he grunted, his voice hoarse and low like dead leaves in the wind. He then proceeded into the mantra of all on or off duty school employees patrolling the halls, telling us to either go to the Caf or outside until the next bell. Neither intimidated or especially servile, Jacqueline droned her acquiescence and shuffled off without me, rolling her eyes before getting completely out of sight. Still with some resolve for my mission, I lingered. But what remained of my gumption withered under Mister Fanu’s icy parental stare.
But as I walked away, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the janitor had not departed the hallway. He was standing on the spot like a sentry, presumably watching me go. As if he were guarding the lab. The hairs on the back of my neck sufficiently stood on end, I turned around, finding that he was not staring after me, but rather facing the laboratory doors, as though waiting to be let in. Lastly, I noticed his hands, which were wringing and wiping themselves on a dirty black rag. On his hands, unmistakably, was a shiny, visibly wet red liquid. Blood?
Terrified, fixated, but nonetheless afraid of being spotted, I turned the corner into the adjacent stairwell. But instead of descending the steps to the main floor, I waited. When I returned to the hallway, poking my head out but not my torso from around the corner, I saw that one of the doors to the lab was ajar, and the lights within were now on. Mister Fanu was no longer there.
On rubbery legs, I inched over to the cracked door and peered inside. Squeezing myself in, first my head then shoulders then one limb at a time, I felt my heart thundering in my chest, expecting at any moment to be pulled aside by an irate Mister Haddock who would proceed to chide me. But instead, all I found was the empty, brightly lit room, and a maddening odour assaulting my nostrils.
It was the common coppery smell of blood from before but now fetid and miry like a century-old field of cow manure. Like something excreted not from anything as natural as cattle or other livestock but from something otherworldly. From something evil.
I pinched my nostrils and breathed through my nose but that hardly worked to stymy the eldritch stench. But now my senses were alerted to another disturbance, a bizarrely pleasant sound issuing from the supply closet. The sound of waves. Reminding me of my last summer vacation at Myrtle Beach, I heard the distinct lapping of waves crashing onto a sandy shore. Oh sure, it might have just been from a video or an audio file, but something about the enormity and clarity of the sound was indisputably real. I then had tinnitus in my left ear, and had to steady myself on one of the workbenches from a palpable loss of equilibrium. It was as though I’d suddenly become sick. Or as if I’d been transferred from reality into a dream. It was then that I realized the sound of the waves was no longer emanating from the closet, but was all around me, churning around my head, sending me into a dizzy spell.
The putrid, rust smell was now overwrought, and again, Mister Fanu was nowhere in sight. The crashing of the waves was then intermingled with a shrieking sound. It was small at first then swelled to a piercing wail. It wasn’t female or even human. Yes…Yes, I was certain it was an animal’s cry. Like a horse whinnying. Yes, exactly like the sound a horse would make. The voice was pained and sorrowing, as though the beast of burden were being whipped or driven into the ground. It was so terrible – so pitiful that my throat seized up and my heart ached. My mind throbbing from the assaulting soundscape swirling around – or perhaps inside – my head, I staggered toward the supply closet, grasping at stools and bench tables as I did so to not plummet to the floor. As I did, I wondered if this was what it was like to be on drugs.
I was just about to reach my hand out for the steel door handle, when all at once the encircling cacophony stopped, leaving a deafening quiet over the room. Backpedalling, tinnitus still in one ear, I regained my balance and stood up straight, standing stationary until a sudden crash from behind me – like a stool being knocked over – sent me flying out of the room and down the hallway to the stairwell. I was so terrified – so confused – I ran home without asking for leave, resulting in a two-day suspension. I was informed by one of the vice principals that if I was suspended again, I’d lose my student rep seat. But that would be the last of my troubles.
After being allowed back in school, I discovered my science class was moved to another room. Also, I never saw Mister Haddock again. First, there were a string of substitute teachers, some subbing internally from the science department – like Mister Abruzzo who taught Grade Twelve physics. Some were unfamiliar faces. All of them assigned nothing but work straight from the textbook or divvied out worksheets two or three grades below us. But eventually, much to the relief of my hovercraft, high-expectation-laden parents, we were assigned a full-time teacher, Miss Goldman, after the Christmas Break. Miss Goldman was young, energetic, and very knowledgeable. Most of my class was very happy to have her – especially as a replacement to gin-reeking Ian Haddock. Conversely, I was bricked up with anxiety, ruminating fretfully on what had happened to him. Had he really been let go? Was this somehow my fault? Or did it have something to do with that bleeding anatomical model I’d found in the supply closet? The one that had been replaced by another far less gory silicone figurine and had not been seen since that fateful day? And on what on earth was the cause of all those noises I’d heard the last time? What did those have to do with Haddock or the bleeding model?
Worse was that sound I heard that had cut through the muffling waves. The sound of the whinnying horse, the torment and desperation plain in that voice. I know this won’t make sense to you reading this, but the sound haunted me. Made me tear up every time I thought of it. The thought that something so cruel could be happening to animal here at JH High – just, just drove me insane.
Eventually, either driven by guilt for Mister Haddock’s firing or the compulsion seeded by that hideous apparition, I went to visit the science department office. But as it turned out, they had meant to speak to me.
Mister Schmeling, the head of the science department who taught Grade Eleven Chemistry, told me he’d been waiting for me when I arrived. This was a bit unnerving since I’d never had a class with him and also owing to the fact that he had neither a warm nor jocular demeanour. Bald and bespectacled with tufts of iron-grey around his ears, a rotund physique and wobbling gait, he reminded most students of a cartoon villain than an approachable teacher. He motioned me to an empty seat with a curt nod of his head.
“So, Jennifer, dear,” he began in his ice-box timbre. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time.” He then began to plow through the typical teacher questions, usually reserved for guidance councillors during one-on-one consultations.
He then got to the meat of the conversation. “It’s come to my attention recently that you’ve been going into the Grade Ten science lab by yourself after lesson periods. I hope that that isn’t true.”
Frozen in my seat on the concrete-hard plastic chair, a creeping fear waxing down my head to my nape, I said nothing and made no motion with my head or shoulders. I even kept my hands still inside my lap.
Relieving me of his glacial blue stare, Mister Schmeling clucked his tongue.
“I suppose you might have seen something which you shouldn’t have,” he said. My neck now a bed of bristled hairs. “Some test papers, perhaps? Some student progress reports Mister Haddock left lying around?”
I squinted hard and tilted my head. Another suspension or even expulsion for snooping around was the very least of my worries. What was this? A fishing expedition? Or a veiled threat?
Mister Schmeling carried on: “Perhaps you saw something in the supply closet? Something that startled you? Caused your imagination to run away with you?”
My eyelids peeled back inside my skull, the whites bulging from the sockets. He knew.
He scanned me over, a look that was not lustful but hungry and searching, making my skin crawl.
“Did you tell anyone what you saw?” he asked after a long pause.
For the first time I answered him, shaking my head feverishly from side to side, my hair tremulous, strands slapping around my chin.
Mister Schmeling pulled back into his swivel chair, the metal spine creaking, evidently pleased with my answer. His furry stubs for fingers laced across his ample abdomen. “If other people learned about what you think you saw, we’d have no choice but to suspend you for violating school safety regulations. Or worse. You wouldn’t want that would you? Being such a serious and hardworking student? No, I didn’t think so, my dear. So, since you’ve been so good and we’d hate for you to get behind in your studies, this’ll just be our little secret. Okay, dear?”
And so concluded the bizarre saga of Mister Haddock and the bleeding anatomy model in the science lab. I never found out the exact cause of Haddock’s dismissal, though the school used the usual cryptic phrasing of him moving on and finding work elsewhere. Some kids told me they saw him in one of the local pubs around Lakeshore, testing out a few concoctions of Ocean Spray and Absolut.
I haven’t told anyone about what I saw, as per my agreement with Mister Schmeling. At least, I haven’t until now. Perhaps he’s right; maybe my imagination simply ran away from me that fateful afternoon alone in the supply closet. But then why swear me to secrecy? What did he care what I told people I saw? Why was that laboratory never used again and was all but boarded up? That being said, I would still see red speckles and smears of blood on Mister Fanu’s hands and coveralls some days, I would still sometimes catch a whiff of something coppery and fetid in the hallways, and every so often, I would hear the uncanny crashing of waves, accompanying by the strangled whinnying of a horse, emanating from the now empty Grade Ten science lab.

Mister Haddock was always my least favourite teacher in Grade Ten. Balding, stoved-faced little man with a ratty ponytail behind his near naked pink skull. He was the only teacher I never saw smile or laugh, even around other teachers or adults. He was never even nice when parents came to visit – never had that put-on warmth most teachers do. With his diminutive stature and small miserable face, he looked like one of the seven dwarves from Snow White, if one of the seven dwarves were a closet alkie. He’d never let you go to the bathroom during class, whether it was an emergency or not, even if you were a girl. And if you requested an extension for an assignment – whether it was because you were sick, someone in your family had died, or you had to be excused for your soccer or football game – he would just respond with, “No” and “That’s tough.” As you can imagine, I wasn’t the only kid at John Haggert High School who harboured a grudge for the surly little troll of the JH High science department.
What really made the situation worse was that Mister Haddock taught science, a class in which I had to excel if I wanted to pursue my postsecondary dream of studying to become a veterinarian. Cliché, I know, but I’ve always loved animals and wanted desperately to understand and help them as best I could. That was another sticking point between Mister Haddock and I; he refused to give good marks no matter how hard you tried or how well you followed his instructions. “When you give me something good enough to get an A in university, I’ll give you an A,” he’d groan, his tired refrain to any nagging student. Like that was a reasonable bar to set for a high school junior or freshmen. Just my luck, Mister Haddock also taught Grade Eleven biology, another necessary course on my journey to guiding sick and dying pets into the afterlife.
And that’s another thing about Mister Haddock that bothered me; he clearly hated his job. I’d always planned on becoming a teacher as a back-up plan, especially since I’d always loved school. I was always on the honour roll, on at least three school teams, in multiple clubs, elected student rep for each grade I was in until making school president in Grade Twelve and would later be valedictorian. But Mister Haddock always acted like he’d rather be doing anything other than teach at our school. Like this job was somehow beneath him. Just for context, John Haggert High School is in the Meadowville neighborhood of Aakoziwin, the safest city in Ontario and one of the safest places in all of Canada – which would put in running for safest metropolitan area on the planet. It’s a bustling suburban town with lots to do, especially being so close to Toronto. Our school is neck and neck with Caramel Mountain Secondary for national reputation and university acceptances. We have one of the best hockey teams, one of the best arts and music programs, and are among the top performers in math and literacy. Our building is the typical squat, two-floor, lengthwise cinderblock affair, but our hallways are adorned with gorgeous wall murals painted by the arts students, festooned with colourful and accurate dioramas of the Globe Theatre, Greek coliseums, and DNA models. So why did Mister Haddock act like he was stocking the shelves at a grocery store? Why did he treat us like we were all riffraff, as my Uncle John would say?
The last straw that broke this camel’s back came when he docked me ten percent for being two days late on an assignment. My grandmother was in the hospital from a massive stroke, which is what caused me to be late. My mother had made sure to call reception to explain the situation on the very first day I was away from school. And even after I provided him with two letters, one from my parents, the other from the hospital, and even though all my other teachers accepted my homework without penalty, Mister Ian Warren Haddock refused to budge.
“Look,” he grunted, visibly cornered behind his particleboard desk, me standing before him with hands on hips, pleading my case. Demanding an explanation. “Look, I’ve already imputed the mark into the database and sent it out to the department head. I can’t change it right now. It’ll make me look bad.”
I could feel my eyes grow moist. How could he do this to me? Me! Jennifer Wang Li, Grade Ten student rep and future saviour of all furry four-legged creatures!
Feebly, without meeting my misty gaze, he mumbled, “At least your gran’s alive, right? Isn’t that all that matters?”
Using my grandmother stroke against me? Trying to browbeat me away from demanding what was mine by guilting me into not appreciating my own family?
At this, I didn’t yell, didn’t storm off. Didn’t even bother complaining to my parents or the principal’s office. Instead, I coolly sat down at my lab table, and began plotting my petty revenge against Mister Haddock.
I knew all about the pranks kids pull on their teachers. The homemade stink bomb. The head in the jar. The dreaded toothpick in the door lock. I wasn’t about to bother with anything as cute or clever. During the lunch period, when I knew Mister Haddock was two kilometres away having a smoke near Meadow Woods Park, I would creep into the lab and simply swipe all his test papers and homework. I knew he wouldn’t bother keeping them secure, and even with the gas valves, there was a good chance the dope would leave the laboratory unlocked (he’d done so several times before).
In so many ways, it would be the perfect revenge; he’d have to admit to leaving the room unsupervised and unsecured, going against school policy and regulation, landing him in hot water with the office. Maybe even resulting in his eventual termination. And, when he asked the students to redo the test, someone would eventually complain to the school or a parent, resulting in him admitting that he’d lost the test papers, which would likewise get him in trouble – or at least so I figured at the time. He’d know what it was like to be punished for something that was not his fault. At least, not exactly his fault. To have every excuse in the world, only for each of them to fall on stone-deaf ears. It was perfect. I just had to be careful; I knew there were cameras in the hallways, but as far as I could tell, there was no surveillance in the classrooms themselves.
I snuck inside the unmanned lab at a quarter past noon. With the lights out and in the scant fluorescent glow bleeding in from the hallway through the open door, the lab looked almost eerie: the long tables, eye wash station, beakers, tongs and burners redolent of the abode of Doctor Jekyll in the movies. As though the lab were in preparation of some macabre, unnecessary surgery. But maybe that was just my imagination running away with me. I crept toward Mister Haddock’s desk. Sure enough, there were the unguarded test papers, lain plainly on the blotter.
Armed with the papers and loads of time before the vodka-reeking deadbeat returned, I felt compelled to poke around. Perhaps I’d find a pack of smokes or a micky of cheap rye lying around, getting Mister Haddock into some real trouble.
My curiosity piqued, I rounded the corner at the back and entered the supply closet, placing the test papers to the side. It was where they kept the textbooks, beakers, bunsen burners, and items meant to be hidden from teenage eyes. But no matter how hard I squinted or how furiously I rummaged through the boxes and bins, there were no incriminating objects for me to find. Not even a single cigarette butt.
I was about to turn and leave with my pillaged bounty when I spotted the slightest of movements out of the corner of my eye. Startled, I held my breath and jumped a bit before peering harder to the back of the closet. There, the slight movement, or trick of the light remained, just perceptible in the dark little room. It was so slight – a dribbling motion, that at first my brain registered a lava lamp. But that didn’t make sense; why would there be a lava lamp in a science lab? Much less one plugged in on a storage closet shelf.
I advanced further to inspect what lay at the back and that’s when I saw it. The most eldritch or horrors, like something straight from a pulp magazine. It was a two-foot anatomical model, showing the muscles and internal organs from the small intestine to the eyeballs. A jarring sight to begin with, but this particular model – it was bleeding. I mean, actively bleeding, pulsating with blood that dripped from red crevices and apertures, staining the beige metal platform on which it stood. My mind whirled at the sickening visual before me. How could that be? Wasn’t the model made of silicone? Not flesh or bone, surely. Unbelieving, I examined the ghastly little model, looking around to find some sort of power cord – certain this was some optical illusion or trick of the light. No such luck. As best I could tell, this was nothing but a regular artificial figurine. No means of moving – or in this case bleeding – on it own.
At my wits end to try and explain this thing before me, adrenaline barrelling through my veins, I deigned to touch the scarlet flow coming off it, getting some it on my fingertips. The wet sensation was enough to flip my stomach, but when I brought the smeared fingers to my nose, I discovered the unmistakable metallic odour of blood. It was real. As real as it could be. I looked down and saw the dark liquid begin to drip over the shelf’s edge onto the floor. Numb from scalp to chin, I peered back up at the vinaceous, pulsating face, at the fake blues eyes stuck to the front of the skull. The eyes which had somehow remained uncovered by the pouring crimson. They had been staring blindly away from me, but then, at that very moment, they came alive and swivelled around to glare at me. I shrieked before turning and fleeing from the lab, leaving Mister Haddock’s papers on the shelf where I’d lain them.
That night I couldn’t sleep. And the next day I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t chat with my friends or join them at any of our clubs. I just couldn’t get the image of that bleeding anatomical model out of my mind’s eye. And I couldn’t quiet the questions racing through my bewildered brain – those compelling echoes dinning off the inner walls of my skull. How could a silicone model’s inner working cause it to bleed like that? Or appear to bleed? Why did the fluid smell so unmistakably like blood? Why did I only see it bleeding like that after class had been dismissed? In the name of God, why was something like that in the science lab at all?
Resolved on getting to the bottom of this, I first had to be sure that what I saw wasn’t a mere figment of my imagination. To prove I wasn’t going crazy, I recruited my friend Jacqueline to come along with me the next lunch break, when Mister Haddock had gone out for his smoke. Having not been told the exact reason for sneaking into the science lab, Jackie giggled as I towed her along, inferring in whispers that our secret mission was owing to a crush I wanted to impart on her away from prying eyes and ears.
But when we arrived, the lab was closed. The yellow on gray stainless-steel doors were shut, the wooden door stop lying on the floor, discarded. I tried the handles, but it was no use. The hygienic doors wouldn’t budge. Mister Haddock hadn’t bothered locking up the lab since early September. Did he notice his test papers had been moved and got spooked?
Of course, Jacqueline balked at my expense, demanding I just tell her what this was all about. She then grew petulant when I insisted it was nothing, refusing, in her mind, to include her in what she was certain was a juicy bit of gossip.
We were then startled by a gruff voice growling behind us: “You two better move along.”
Startled out of our skin, we both spun on our heels, finding the groundskeeper, Mister Fanu, standing before us. He’d come up on us without a sound. He was a short compact man with a shapeless face behind black framed spectacles, today wearing his usual navy-blue coveralls. From his tan leather weightlifter’s belt hung a ring of what looked to be a thousand keys, like a silvery fist by his waist.
“You shouldn’t be hanging out here now,” he grunted, his voice hoarse and low like dead leaves in the wind. He then proceeded into the mantra of all on or off duty school employees patrolling the halls, telling us to either go to the Caf or outside until the next bell. Neither intimidated or especially servile, Jacqueline droned her acquiescence and shuffled off without me, rolling her eyes before getting completely out of sight. Still with some resolve for my mission, I lingered. But what remained of my gumption withered under Mister Fanu’s icy parental stare.
But as I walked away, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the janitor had not departed the hallway. He was standing on the spot like a sentry, presumably watching me go. As if he were guarding the lab. The hairs on the back of my neck sufficiently stood on end, I turned around, finding that he was not staring after me, but rather facing the laboratory doors, as though waiting to be let in. Lastly, I noticed his hands, which were wringing and wiping themselves on a dirty black rag. On his hands, unmistakably, was a shiny, visibly wet red liquid. Blood?
Terrified, fixated, but nonetheless afraid of being spotted, I turned the corner into the adjacent stairwell. But instead of descending the steps to the main floor, I waited. When I returned to the hallway, poking my head out but not my torso from around the corner, I saw that one of the doors to the lab was ajar, and the lights within were now on. Mister Fanu was no longer there.
On rubbery legs, I inched over to the cracked door and peered inside. Squeezing myself in, first my head then shoulders then one limb at a time, I felt my heart thundering in my chest, expecting at any moment to be pulled aside by an irate Mister Haddock who would proceed to chide me. But instead, all I found was the empty, brightly lit room, and a maddening odour assaulting my nostrils.
It was the common coppery smell of blood from before but now fetid and miry like a century-old field of cow manure. Like something excreted not from anything as natural as cattle or other livestock but from something otherworldly. From something evil.
I pinched my nostrils and breathed through my nose but that hardly worked to stymy the eldritch stench. But now my senses were alerted to another disturbance, a bizarrely pleasant sound issuing from the supply closet. The sound of waves. Reminding me of my last summer vacation at Myrtle Beach, I heard the distinct lapping of waves crashing onto a sandy shore. Oh sure, it might have just been from a video or an audio file, but something about the enormity and clarity of the sound was indisputably real. I then had tinnitus in my left ear, and had to steady myself on one of the workbenches from a palpable loss of equilibrium. It was as though I’d suddenly become sick. Or as if I’d been transferred from reality into a dream. It was then that I realized the sound of the waves was no longer emanating from the closet, but was all around me, churning around my head, sending me into a dizzy spell.
The putrid, rust smell was now overwrought, and again, Mister Fanu was nowhere in sight. The crashing of the waves was then intermingled with a shrieking sound. It was small at first then swelled to a piercing wail. It wasn’t female or even human. Yes…Yes, I was certain it was an animal’s cry. Like a horse whinnying. Yes, exactly like the sound a horse would make. The voice was pained and sorrowing, as though the beast of burden were being whipped or driven into the ground. It was so terrible – so pitiful that my throat seized up and my heart ached. My mind throbbing from the assaulting soundscape swirling around – or perhaps inside – my head, I staggered toward the supply closet, grasping at stools and bench tables as I did so to not plummet to the floor. As I did, I wondered if this was what it was like to be on drugs.
I was just about to reach my hand out for the steel door handle, when all at once the encircling cacophony stopped, leaving a deafening quiet over the room. Backpedalling, tinnitus still in one ear, I regained my balance and stood up straight, standing stationary until a sudden crash from behind me – like a stool being knocked over – sent me flying out of the room and down the hallway to the stairwell. I was so terrified – so confused – I ran home without asking for leave, resulting in a two-day suspension. I was informed by one of the vice principals that if I was suspended again, I’d lose my student rep seat. But that would be the last of my troubles.
After being allowed back in school, I discovered my science class was moved to another room. Also, I never saw Mister Haddock again. First, there were a string of substitute teachers, some subbing internally from the science department – like Mister Abruzzo who taught Grade Twelve physics. Some were unfamiliar faces. All of them assigned nothing but work straight from the textbook or divvied out worksheets two or three grades below us. But eventually, much to the relief of my hovercraft, high-expectation-laden parents, we were assigned a full-time teacher, Miss Goldman, after the Christmas Break. Miss Goldman was young, energetic, and very knowledgeable. Most of my class was very happy to have her – especially as a replacement to gin-reeking Ian Haddock. Conversely, I was bricked up with anxiety, ruminating fretfully on what had happened to him. Had he really been let go? Was this somehow my fault? Or did it have something to do with that bleeding anatomical model I’d found in the supply closet? The one that had been replaced by another far less gory silicone figurine and had not been seen since that fateful day? And on what on earth was the cause of all those noises I’d heard the last time? What did those have to do with Haddock or the bleeding model?
Worse was that sound I heard that had cut through the muffling waves. The sound of the whinnying horse, the torment and desperation plain in that voice. I know this won’t make sense to you reading this, but the sound haunted me. Made me tear up every time I thought of it. The thought that something so cruel could be happening to animal here at JH High – just, just drove me insane.
Eventually, either driven by guilt for Mister Haddock’s firing or the compulsion seeded by that hideous apparition, I went to visit the science department office. But as it turned out, they had meant to speak to me.
Mister Schmeling, the head of the science department who taught Grade Eleven Chemistry, told me he’d been waiting for me when I arrived. This was a bit unnerving since I’d never had a class with him and also owing to the fact that he had neither a warm nor jocular demeanour. Bald and bespectacled with tufts of iron-grey around his ears, a rotund physique and wobbling gait, he reminded most students of a cartoon villain than an approachable teacher. He motioned me to an empty seat with a curt nod of his head.
“So, Jennifer, dear,” he began in his ice-box timbre. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time.” He then began to plow through the typical teacher questions, usually reserved for guidance councillors during one-on-one consultations.
He then got to the meat of the conversation. “It’s come to my attention recently that you’ve been going into the Grade Ten science lab by yourself after lesson periods. I hope that that isn’t true.”
Frozen in my seat on the concrete-hard plastic chair, a creeping fear waxing down my head to my nape, I said nothing and made no motion with my head or shoulders. I even kept my hands still inside my lap.
Relieving me of his glacial blue stare, Mister Schmeling clucked his tongue.
“I suppose you might have seen something which you shouldn’t have,” he said. My neck now a bed of bristled hairs. “Some test papers, perhaps? Some student progress reports Mister Haddock left lying around?”
I squinted hard and tilted my head. Another suspension or even expulsion for snooping around was the very least of my worries. What was this? A fishing expedition? Or a veiled threat?
Mister Schmeling carried on: “Perhaps you saw something in the supply closet? Something that startled you? Caused your imagination to run away with you?”
My eyelids peeled back inside my skull, the whites bulging from the sockets. He knew.
He scanned me over, a look that was not lustful but hungry and searching, making my skin crawl.
“Did you tell anyone what you saw?” he asked after a long pause.
For the first time I answered him, shaking my head feverishly from side to side, my hair tremulous, strands slapping around my chin.
Mister Schmeling pulled back into his swivel chair, the metal spine creaking, evidently pleased with my answer. His furry stubs for fingers laced across his ample abdomen. “If other people learned about what you think you saw, we’d have no choice but to suspend you for violating school safety regulations. Or worse. You wouldn’t want that would you? Being such a serious and hardworking student? No, I didn’t think so, my dear. So, since you’ve been so good and we’d hate for you to get behind in your studies, this’ll just be our little secret. Okay, dear?”
And so concluded the bizarre saga of Mister Haddock and the bleeding anatomy model in the science lab. I never found out the exact cause of Haddock’s dismissal, though the school used the usual cryptic phrasing of him moving on and finding work elsewhere. Some kids told me they saw him in one of the local pubs around Lakeshore, testing out a few concoctions of Ocean Spray and Absolut.
I haven’t told anyone about what I saw, as per my agreement with Mister Schmeling. At least, I haven’t until now. Perhaps he’s right; maybe my imagination simply ran away from me that fateful afternoon alone in the supply closet. But then why swear me to secrecy? What did he care what I told people I saw? Why was that laboratory never used again and was all but boarded up? That being said, I would still see red speckles and smears of blood on Mister Fanu’s hands and coveralls some days, I would still sometimes catch a whiff of something coppery and fetid in the hallways, and every so often, I would hear the uncanny crashing of waves, accompanying by the strangled whinnying of a horse, emanating from the now empty Grade Ten science lab.

CGs and Littles worksheet:
For CGs:

• Do you feel comfortable being a CG for your little?
  
• Do you like the idea of being able to care for an nurture your little?
  
• What needs would you like to be met for you through engaging with your little? (I.e. feeling wanted, being a protector, loved, cherished, feeling secure/ safe, fun and joy, nurturing, connection)
  
• How do you like to be addressed in CG space? (Nicknames, Daddy, Mommy, etc.)
  
• How do you feel about baby talk?
  
• Is there anything you’re confused about, uncomfortable with, or would like more information on?
  
• What parts of your littles LS bring you the most joy? (Or what do you find the cutest)
  
• How often are you comfortable with engaging with your little? (Always, daily, once a week, etc.) Do you prefer spontaneous LS or scheduled time?
  
• What are your favorite activities to do with/ watch your little do?
  
• Do you want to be fully responsible for your Little while they’re in LS, or would you prefer to be there as moral support while they do their own thing?(or something in between)
  
• After a long or stressful day, do you prefer engage with your little or have time to decompress?
  
• Is there anything different about your likes/ dislikes when you’re in CG headspace versus you day to day headspace? List them! (Shows, hobbies/ activities, aesthetics, etc.)
  
• What does your dream Little look like? (How they act, make you feel, treat you)
  
• What is your “parenting” style as a CG? (I.e. soft, nurturing, strict, etc.)
  
• How do you feel about sexual themes in general while your little is in LS? (I.e. movies, games, conversations, sexual activities, etc.) List what’s off limits!
  
• Is there anything else that hasn’t been mentioned that’s important for your Little to know about you?
  

For littles:

• Do you feel comfortable regressing around your CG?
  
• Do you regress involuntarily, voluntarily or both?
  
• Do you have a specific age or range of ages you tend to regress to? Would you like to try regressing younger or older than that?
  
• What needs do you have in LS that you would like your CG to support you by meeting for you, or helping you meet? List physical (I.e. hygiene, eating, taking medication) and emotional (I.e. feeling safe, joy, connection, belonging, being wanted.)
  
• How do you like to be addressed in your LS? (Pet names)
  
• Do you engage in baby talk, and do you want your CG to engage in baby talk with you?
  
• Are there any parts of your LS (or things you’d like to try) you’re scared to bring up to your CG? (I.e. pacifiers, diapers, little dates)
  
• What does your dream CG look like (how they act, treat you, and make you feel)
  
• How often would you like to be little? (approximate) (I.e. always, daily, once a week)
  
• What are your favorite activities you like to do in LS?
  
• Is there anything different about your likes/ dislikes when you’re little compared to when big? List some! (Favorite colors, asthetic, foods, shows, etc.)
  
• How do you feel about sexual themes in general while in your LS? (I.e. movies, games, conversations, sexual activities, etc.) List what’s off limits!
  
• Do you need little gear to slip into LS? If so, list the items:
  
• Do you have any routines or rituals that are important to you in LS? (I.e. bedtime story, goodbye kisses and hugs, warm milk, etc.)
  
• What are your expectations of your CG in meeting your little needs? (I.e. support, cutting up food, dressing you, changing diapers, etc.)
  
• Do you tend to be more emotionally sensitive in LS? Are you more “needy” or independent? What can your CG be more mindful of when communicating with you? (I.e. tone of voice, word choice, patience, empathy)
  
• Is there anything else that hasn’t been mentioned that is important for your CG to know about you?
  

I made this to help other Littles and CGs communicate more clearly and openly in their dynamic. In order to get our needs met and have healthy relationships in general it’s important to have clear and honest communication from both sides! <3

Starting off by saying I’m not really sure how to mark this because I have evidence that this EXISTS, but I can’t find the video itself (this is my first post to this subreddit if you can’t tell, lol).
For background, when I was in early elementary school (late 2000s), we had a health teacher who came sometimes to teach us about hygiene etc. She would play videos on the projector of short films and PSAs. The video I remember most distinctly was called “Cincinnati Bones and the Treasure of Health.” It was a parody of Indiana Jones where daredevil Cincinnati Bones journeys through a human body on drugs. To my memory, the inside of the body looked like a cave, but that may be incorrect. The part I remember most clearly is when he looks through the skull’s eyes and there was super foggy/distorted vision. The moral of the story was that Cincinnati says drugs are bad.
Through my research, I can’t find this video anywhere online, but it’s listed as “suggested teaching material” on worksheet PDFs for “Real World Science.” It was also previously for sale on Amazon (now unavailable). I also found it on a titles catalog for Discovery Education, where it states that Cincinnati Bones was made by AIMS Multimedia in 1988. After some googling, I found that AIMS was bought by Discovery in 2004. Discovery Education is one of those services that school districts subscribe to, so you have to be affiliated with a school to be able to create an account. I reached out to Discovery Education to see if there’s any way I can access the video without a login. They replied with “Unfortunately, the "Cincinnati Bones and the Treasure of Health" video has been deactivated due to old copyright/content, and we no longer have it within our library.”
I’m not entirely sure where to go from this point as this is the first time I’ve actually tried looking for lost media myself. I was thinking about tracking down my old health teacher for her copy, but 1. I forget her name and 2. I remember her being old at the time so she’s probably retired by now (honestly unsure if she’s still alive). If anyone has tips or coincidentally has a copy of this video, that would be great!!

We’ve been together years. Have 2 kids together. One a toddler. The other elementary age.
I struggle with depression, anxiety, and ptsd. Severely. I’m on 3 different medications. And have a history of meth use where I died twice. Not to mention almost being murdered. This is in my past, yet I still struggle. It happens. Between that and childhood trauma I know I’m going to forever have this struggle.
I’m a stay at home mom. My kids are homeschooled. I am with them 24/7. Our youngest still co sleeps. Between my mental health and the time my kids take up. I just sort of put my personal hygiene on the back burner.
I will admit. I shower every other day. I brush my teeth everyday though. I know I’ve gained weight since we met. (I’ve also had 2 kids and then I was bedridden due to a car accident for 6months)
Tonight he told me I’m disgusting. That I’ve let myself go and he hates it. That I used to care about myself and now I just don’t.
Idk how to process this. I just…. It really hurt my feelings and my first instinct was too lash out but I just left the room. Abs now I’m crying. How do I explain that it’s just not easy for me to have the desire to put more effort in. ….. I want to do better, I want to lose weight and look prettier. But it’s like something inside me just hates me so much that I can’t. Idk how to describe it.
How should I go about bringing up that it really hurt my feelings and make him understand it’s hard for me?
Update : idk why everyone is harping on the homeschool bit? Like my kids are extremely socialized, and they learn a lot through various means. (Online curriculum , worksheets, co-op). My reason for no public school is honestly nobody’s business. But since y’all can’t stop bringing it up, I believe school to be unsafe. Bullying, school shootings, no REAL world value. My son was in KINDERGARTEN and coming home telling me he was being bullied, talks of sex were happening, cussing. Not to mention his IEP being completely disregarded numerous times. I educate my kids at home, but they are not prisoners at home. They have plenty of real world experiences and friends and are educated plenty for their ages.
And for everyone trying to say they think it’s a red flag or dangerous? Comparing me to a mom who killed her children? Really?! I love my children. EVERYTHING I do is for them! That probably is a major reason I am burnt out. And others are right, I can’t pour from an empty cup. I spend all my energy and love on my kids. Leaving none for myself or my husband. Homeschooling my kids is NOT a red flag. I would never hurt them. And I’m appalled that so many would even think that simply because of my choice on education.
One more thing - my past drug use. Is in my past. I am clean and sober and have been before my children were born or conceived. So fuck off respectfully. How dare any of you think that has something to do with my parenting. The only thing it’s done is be more aware of the dangers of drug use. And when my kids are old enough, then being able to share my experiences so they know that it’s no joke.

Update as of May 8 - I have found a few people and we’ve created a server where we have some goals channels & do pomodoro study sessions together!!! Anyone is welcome to join if this is what you’re looking for, just DM me!
Hello, as the title says I am currently looking for accountability buddies that also have ADHD. I have been struggling a lot lately with my own ADHD and it would be really nice to have others that understand me and want to keep each other accountable.
I’m in my last year of college (completely online) and I currently don’t have a job so I am usually always home, which makes it difficult to stay on top of a routine.
I was hoping to create a private and small Discord server where we can send daily to-do lists, keep each other motivated, and have daily or weekly call check-ins (can be voice only). On top of Discord, I’d also be interested in using focus-oriented apps together.
Things I would like to work on with an accountability buddy or group would be: • Sleep schedule (waking up and sleeping early)

• Eating healthy
• Having focus calls using timers where we can body double and get work done
• Cleaning the house
• Working on self hygiene
• Remembering to take medicine
• Do ADHD worksheets together?
• Being better at financial management

The only requirements I ask for are that you are over 18 and you are able and willing to be active (daily check-ins & not disappearing without a reason)! Please shoot me a DM if you are interested :)))

⚠️Self Harm:
-Calm Harm app
-draw with markers on yourself
-Self Injury Outreach and Support
-Adolescent Self Injury Foundation
-S.A.F.E. Alternatives
⚠️⚠️Suicide:
-https://www.rethink.org/advice-and-information/about-mental-illness/learn-more-about-symptoms/suicidal-thoughts-how-to-cope/
-https://psychcentral.com/health/coping-with-suicidal-thoughts-like-i-want-to-die#how-to-cope-with-these-thoughts
-Afsp.org
-DBT skills (especially crisis planning, distress tolerance and emotional regulation)
-suicide hotlines
😬Anxiety disorders and panic/anxiety attacks:
-Whats Up? App
-Antistress app
-dailystrength website
-Anxiety Resource Center
-The April Center for Anxiety Attack Management
-Joyable website (social anxiety)
-The Anxiety Network
-Social Anxiety Institute
-https://www.healthline.com/health/how-to-stop-a-panic-attack#12-ways-to-stop-a-panic-attack
-https://www.anxietycanada.com/sites/default/files/adult_hmpanic.pdf
😭Depression and mood disorders:
-Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance
-https://themighty.com/2017/12/depression-hygiene-hacks/
-Erika’s Lighthouse website
-MoodNetwork
-BeyondBlue
-Families for Depression Awareness
-https://iapmd.org/about-
🫠Dissociation:
-hold ice
-drink ice cold water
-eat mint
-5, 4, 3, 2, 1 method
-https://www.isst-d.org/resources/dissociation-faqs/
-https://www.beautyafterbruises.org/blog/grounding101
😨Addiction:
-I am Sober App
-Substance Abuse and Mental Health services association (SAMSAH)
-LifeRing
-Women for Sobriety
-Al-Anon
💖General:
-Anxiety and Depression Association of America (ADAA)
-To Write Love on her Arms website
-NAMI
-Child Mind Institute
-7Cups app
-Crisis Chat
-BetterHelp
-Turn2Me
-https://www.aninfinitemind.com/resources.html
🫣OCD and related disorders:
-International OCD foundation
-The TLC Foundation for Body Focused Repetive Behaviors
-Beyond OCD. Org
-NOCD
-Made of Millions
-trichstop.com
-pickingme.org
-skinpick.com
🥶Eating Disorders:
-National Eating Disorders Association
-nationaleatingdisorders.org
-Eating Disorder Hope
-Multi Service Eating Disorders Association
-https://www.eatingdisorderhope.com/information/resources-for-anorexia-bulimia-and-binge-eating-disorder
😵‍💫Bpd:
-https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL4Qw4-tlRJe-T2l5MtFOsLkTIkfZqjobY
-find DBT worksheets
-National Education Alliance for Borderline Personality Disorder
-Healing from BPD
-BPDFamily

anxiety

bpd

trauma

depression

mentalhealth

eatingdisorders

addiction

dissociation

I absolutely love the following specific MS Excel Template: https://templates.office.com/en-us/check-register-with-spending-summary-tm00000043
I would like to make a few alterations to it that are beyond my KSA's to do.
In column "B" & "C" aka the Spending Summary “pane” on the left side of the worksheet currently remains independent of the middle “pane”. If I create a new Summary category, Excel does it without adding a new row to the middle “pane”.
How can I create a new “category” column like the one in column "G" to the right of that column in a new column "H' and title it “sub-category” so that I can break down expenses further? I don't want to get rid of the current columns "H' thru "J", I just want them moved over 1 column to the right.
I know how to create the new column but I don't know how to create sub-category Summary Spending feature.
Currently the template has: Deposit, Groceries, Entertainment, School, Utilities, & Other as Spending Summary categories.
For example: I want the Automotive category to break down to Oil Changes, Fuel, Tire Purchases, Wiper Blade Purchases, Car Washes, License Plate Renewal, Emmissions, Etc.
I want the Groceries category to break down to Food Purchased, Cleaning Supplies Purchased, Hygiene Items Purchased, Pet Food or Supplies Purchased, Misc Household Items Purchased, Etc.
I want the Entertainment category to break down to Meals, Movies, Activities, Souvenirs, Gifts, Etc.
I want the Memberships category to break down to Gym, AAA, Legal-Shield, Sam’s Club, Etc.
Ideally, I would like the Spending Summary “pane” to have a +/- sign on the left that I can click on to either show the data for the “sub-category” information or hide it.
Does this make sense?

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Asking all yalls to give a short essay of Why they're bad parents.
Ballingers --Chris and Jessica, PARENTS of 6 kids. I've been posting about them a lot lately. From their homeschooling fails to raising 14yr old Bailey like an 11 yr old, dressing her like an 11yr old, and Jess constantly bagging on public high school as if their ultra conservative, Born Again, Christian Foreign Voluntourism-based homeschool curriculum is utmost more superior to any educational resources any of her children might encounter Outside of the home. They have their eldest son Jacob doing all the video editing for homeschool, and recently they bragged on tiktok that Parker is now a Level 10 Gymnast. Ya right. They often forget about kid #4, 5yr old Duncan, they never brag about him anymore. Make room for 3yr Luke, who was born with a chromosomal deletion that impacts his his entire life.
Jessica and Chris don't realize or understand the severity of their son's lifelong condition and how it will affect him as he grows older. They likely mistaken it for autism or they dismiss the projections and prognosis, and act like he's such a miracle compared to other children living with the same chromosomal deletion. Maybe he does he have more progress at a faster rate than similar children, but he can easily PLATAEU/STAGNATE/REACH HIS MAXIMUM LEVEL OF FUNCTIONING anytime between now age 3 and puberty. If he stops developing in milestones and he does Plataeu, I believe it will be mostly caused by medical neglect, and C and J will just dismiss it and say "we did our best but this what it is". They have made every excuse in the book to discontinue outside therapies, so they can remain lazy homebodies and not have to take responsibility for anything serious in life. Perhaps, that alone makes them in the top 5 worst of vlogging Parents. The "wholesome large family" gimmick is long overdone and I don't see any reason to continue buying into it anymore. They are Ultra-Conservative Born Again Christians, and attend a Mega-church in their area.
And they have 1yr old Theodore aka Teddy who is still very much a potato of a baby, maybe his personality is hiding from the camera and he's not exactly thumbnail-ideal just yet. They also have an expensive goldendoodle dog named Rue they claim is going to be a service dog for Luke, but the only thing she knows how to do is SIT...and considering these people don't take their kids anywhere outside the house, I don't see why a 3yr old needs a service dog when his parents do practically 100% of everything for him anyways. The dog looked more like furniture than a pet in their videos. And to top it all off, they love remaining their house walls and remodeling their kitchen, but God forbid they have more kids than bedrooms they don't care who suffers, because eldest daughter Bailey always has to share a room with her brothers, and right now is sharing a room with her 13yr old brother because supposedly he needs a bed on the ground while he has a broken arm in a cast, so he doesn't struggle to get up onto a top bunk in his room he shares with Duncan and Parker. Bailey has also been forced to share her room with Luke, while he's in a crib, to be his sister-mom, and while Jess and Chris speak for her and say she loves sharing a room with Luke, Bailey never says it herself to the camera. Mind you, Chris has a whole garage as office #1, and another bedroom as office #2, while they have like 2acres and he could build a tiny shed office outside of the house and give that actual Permitted bedroom to his only and eldest daughter out of mother fucking respect. But nah, that's too much work for them. And don't forget, every subsequent baby needs his own nursery/bedroom instead of being at the mother's side of the bed, so that's another bedroom that is given away and at least 4 older children can't have. That girl will never have her own room.
Other vlogger parents to write long winded essays about who Absolutely Suck:
April and Davey Orgill, who verbally and emotionally abuse their large brood of kids for shits and giggles, and have hosted at least 4 exchange students who come from Spanish speaking countries and are all Catholic or Christian, but the Orgills really push their Mormonism onto the exchange teens at a toxic level. They are LDS/Mormon.
Jamie and Skyler Scotts: they have two teen sons and 4yr old quintuplets, they recently separated and have the kids on split custody, but some of their parenting habits are problematic, including how Jamie overportrays Mormon-approved gender affirming stereotyping to her quintuplets and dresses them in non-play clothes to doll them up as little Dresden Dolls whenever they're with her. I think she's missing the point of childhood by a mile. They should be so thankful that their high-order multiples don't have any lifelong health issues, internal issues, autism or retinopathy despite having been born at 6 months gestation. They are LDS/Mormon.
FamilyFunPack: mom Kristine has crazy eyes like a deranged serial killer. Husband Matt started out strong but has since been Whipped. They have 7 kids, their youngest they had via surrogacy. I sure hope that their surrogate was paid well, especially concerning the baby girl was born a month early and spent time in the NICU. The baby still looks like a potato, she's not in all the vlogs. Recently on their tiktok they showed their 12 yr old twin boys getting rid of their Little Tikes Fire Truck beds, replaced with a twin over twin bunk bed....which they look like they'll outgrow in no time. Their 16 yr old daughter still wears Jojo Siwa headbands and hairbows, and dresses like an 11yr old. Only their 14yr old son has any life behind his eyes, he often throws daggers to his parents when they're vlogging and looks displeased by bring on camera. Their 9yr old son also avoids the camera more frequently. Kristine and Matt Over Infantalize all their kids, with their 5yr old son still sleeping in a crib in the master bedroom, they spoonfeed him as if his hands are broken 24/7/365. He doesn't seem to have any independence and probably won't have any, ever. They homeschool their kids, but never have any actual homeschool videos, just random sightings of generic workbooks that most teachers use just for photocopying extra worksheets out of. They are LDS/Mormon.
The Tanner family, aka Yawi Vlogs aka The Tannerites: Jonny and Sarah are very, emotionally and verbally abusive to their 7 kids, one of whom is married and the other who recently moved out and is engaged at 19. 5 more kids at home. They claim to homeschool via online school, which there is a difference. They have a 7yr old son who often displays problematic behaviours around hygiene, fecal smearing, scizzors in his underwear, pull-ups on the outside of his pants, urinating in closets instead of the bathroom, etc. Johnny and Sarah will either laugh at him or degrade him from one incident to the next. They are also LDS/Mormon. They humiliate their daughters on camera when they're on their periods, have cramps, stay in bed sick all day from their periods; they make fun of their middle son, who has stomach ulcers and a lisp; they have put down dogs and cats and parakeets for no reason other than laziness; they don't ever take their kids on vacation or out of the house, they're shut-ins.

I think i can no longer deny that spoons have become the major limiting factor to my life. I used to believe my mental ilness itself was what limited me, but i feel like i have finally gotten the upper hand of it but still i struggle. I think it's the combination of my constantly inflamed deformed knees, body constantly having to process psych meds and some nutritional defficiencies for the most part...
I (f 32)work in a somewhat demanding job near full time, and live alone and I just can't keep up with everything. Housework and hygiene suffers first, my pets sometimes suffer as i am too tired to complete the pet care at night and have to finish in the morning, my partner sometimes gets the worst of me, things just slip through the gaps...
My therapist says i need life hacks and energy budgeting to get through the day and i need to enlist more help. I'm not sure where to begin though... Nutrition is an issue, hygiene is an issue, getting enough mental stimulation without overexerting the physical body is an issue (i am an extrovert AND my mind relaxes only when my hands are busy, so solo downtime worsens my mental health dramatically).
I'm here for your life hacks, tips and tricks, especially on how to deal with situation when 80% of spoons get spent at work and how to streamline home life so i would have something left for stimulating activities! Maybe someone has useful lists or worksheets on locating and managing resources or something like that too?
Thanks in advance for the welcome, i'm sure it will be warm!