i just turned 15 years old, my birthday was just basic nothing cool. but besides the point, the last month~ i’ve had 0 motivation and excitement for anything. yesterday i was hanging out with some of my friends and i was completely drained after less than an hour. i just couldn’t be bothered to do anything, i went home shortly after and i felt empty. i couldn’t bring myself to do anything not even school today, i was so unmotivated to do anything i told my mom i was sick to get out. in school too i can’t be motivated to do anything more than the bare minimum, idk if this is because it’s almost the end of the year or something else. but my grades are still fine, with mostly low B’s. after school, i jusy get home, lay in bed, and just lie there until i have to do it again. everyday jusy a single race to the fucking weekend. also, idk if i should’ve said this earlier, but in my “friend group” i’m kinda the odd one out almost always, if a hangout isn’t at my house, i probably wasn’t invited. i don’t know why, because i’m not rude to them, or treat them differently as each other. it’s just like im never there, i often feel ignored such as during lunch i’m talking and someone just fully talks over me not caring at all and i’m jusy there sitting. i don’t have any “true loyal” friends, and sometimes it does bother me, i wish i could have some people i can call real friends that i trust. but i just don’t. my parents always are pushing me to do things that i don’t want to do at all. like going to the gym and having friends over. i don’t like having friends over at all, the only time it ever happens is when i’m sort of forced to and then i still feel like the one lefy out. besides the friend part, i’ve felt really just hollow inside of that makes sense. nothing really seems to bother me much, nor do i care enough to do somethijg about it. it’s like i’m just there, no big role or anything important but jusy there. it’s caused me to lash out sometimes, yesterday my mom was just asking me what i wanted for dinner, (i love her she’s the nicest) and i just didn’t care at all to answer and kept on my way up the stairs. i didnt realize what just happened until a few hours later. but back to my hangout with my freidns yesterday, i was fine and just chilling until around 45 mibures we were watching a baseball game and i just kept putting my head down, partially because i was tired, but i was just drained inside to do the minimum. it was like i was on a timer for socializing and the. it just ended within an instant, i’ve kinda have felt like an otwice for the last 2 years ish ever since i stopped getting invited to things, i don’t know why, in the last peobably 9 months i’ve been out to a friends house 4 times, and 3 of those times was because i lied and said i couldn’t host. when i definitely could my parents LwYs have been pushing me to have people over especially for the last 2 months ish, i’m not currently in a sport and she thinks i’m jusy rotting my life away. that’s really it. apologies for grammar and spelling errors. i just had to tell this to someone, i don’t have anyone i trust enough to admit this too. i just have to get this out there it’s been eating me

Hi there! 👋
I'm Gonçalo "Eugini" Oliveira, a passionate Dungeon Master who brings cinematic storytelling to every session, and I'm currently trying to achieve the most immersive TTRPG experience out there – and I would love your help in doing it!
I'm looking for players to join the below campaign in order to hone it, work out some kinks and test some capabilities! I'll be sharing the link below to SPG only for more info on the campaign, as I'm looking for players to start a new one for free on the side.

A bit about Eugini – the Dungeon Master:

🎬 Film & TV Professional: Years of working as a Producer and Writer in the entertainment industry have given me a passion for creating worlds and making them a reality. Check out my credits and see if you (unknowingly) might've seen my work before!
📚 Bit of a Bookworm: My love for D&D started with my love for books! My first book was The Little Prince, and that book is to this day my first love. You might catch this passion during sessions, where my style tends to focus on the narrative side of things, in both NPCs, storylines, descriptions – you name it!
😂 Goofball: I'm a sucker for a laugh. I value serious topics as well as great dramatic character arcs. However, it's my outgoing and carefree charisma that allows me to run NPCs as highly nuanced performances, usually doing voices and acting for the sake of story. When I perform during a session, I try to live each character as they are – serious or not!

About the Campaign:

Step into Barovia, a land ensnared by a vampiric curse. In The Mists of Fate: Strahd’s Legacy, your actions and decisions will shape the narrative in a player-driven saga full of deep storytelling and rich role-play. This Curse of Strahd campaign promises an immersive and cinematic experience like never before.
By taking advantage of Foundry VTT and other tools, such as AI-modules for highly personalized character creation, and creating a short-animated film featuring your characters after each section of the story, I aim to make your character feel real and ready for its own show! 🎥

Why Join Us?

🎬 Cinematic Storytelling: Experience D&D like a blockbuster movie where immersion is king. State-of-the-art automation and cinematics paired with Foundry VTT will make the Theatre of the Mind feel alive on your screen every session.
🚀 Experience Innovation: Never before seen use of AI for TTRPG will allow you to see your character come alive. After each chapter of the campaign, an animated short-film will let you relive your actions and their impact on the story.
🤝 Collaborative Gameplay: Your choices will significantly impact the story. The way you make friends or foes ultimately decides your fate in this dreary land of shadows.
🌈 Welcoming Environment: Ideal for both newcomers and seasoned players. Our goal is to give you the most fun experience possible!
If you're ready to defy fate and venture into the unknown, join us by clicking below!
GoogleDoc to sign up if you'd like to join!
Sharing the below just for info on the campaign!
🔗 Info
Working to make your stories come alive!
Best, Eugini

A San Francisco police officer who for years ran his nonprofit on department time also founded a Security firm without notifying the department, essentially holding three different roles: working as a cop, heading a nonprofit, and owning a small private security business.
Jason Johnson, who founded a nonprofit called Operation Genesis, which takes disadvantaged kids to Ghana every year, incorporated a private Security firm in 2022 called Mirador Security Inc. and failed to notify the department about the business. It is unclear whether the company has ever had any customers.
Department orders require that any officer seeking outside employment first ask for permission from their supervisors.
Every year, the department publishes a list of all the officers who have been given such permission and the businesses they work for.
Johnson’s name was not on its latest list, which detailed such activities in 2023. He was also not on the department’s 2022 list.
After this article was published, a spokesperson for the department replied to an inquiry from The Standard, saying, “we don't have any evidence to suggest Officer Johnson has done any work with his license.”
The SFPD said Johnson isn't required to notify the department unless he earns income from the business. The city's Department of Human Resources, however, has published guidelines that state city employees must receive approval before engaging in additional employment activities, which include, “business ownership, consulting, and working as an independent contractor.” A spokesperson for Human Resources confirmed under its intepretation, Johnson should have reported forming a business.
“Given the recent SF Safe scandal, I don’t believe the public has any faith in SFPD’s ability to investigate the propriety of its dealings with nonprofit organizations.”
Police Commissioner Max Carter-Oberstone
According to the state’s Bureau of Security and Investigative Services, Johnson has been licensed as a private Security Guard and owner-manager of his business since 2022, which was initially called Security Firm 7 Inc.
When The Standard called a number associated with Johnson and asked about Mirador Security, the man on the line said the firm is not active.
It is unclear how much time Johnson spends on the firm or what specific tasks he is responsible for.
The newest revelation about Johnson’s activities outside of his role in the police department is one more reason why an outside investigation needs to be conducted, said Police Commissioner Max Carter-Oberstone.
“All I can say is that there needs to be an independent investigation into what occurred here,” Carter-Oberstone said. “Given the recent SF Safe scandal, I don’t believe the public has any faith in SFPD’s ability to investigate the propriety of its dealings with nonprofit organizations.”
Johnson, who was investigated by the department for running his nonprofit when also getting paid by the department as a cop, did not respond to a request for comment about the security firm.
The Standard previously reported that Johnson’s roughly 40-hour work week for Operation Genesis was sanctioned for years by the department, which paid him his salary during that time.
The department said there was no conflict because Johnson was not paid by the nonprofit.
Much of Operation Genesis’ funding came from the City of San Francisco. When the nonprofit was initially created, it listed its headquarters address at the same location as the police department’s headquarters.
An Internal Affairs investigation into Johnson and the nonprofit launched last year alleged that he failed to investigate misconduct, had an unreported relationship and had no formal agreement with the department.
The investigation only concluded that the entity had no memorandum of understanding, a document that would serve to codify the arrangement between SFPD and the nonprofit. The department said it was in the process of writing an MOU.
The 2022 tax filings for Operation Genesis, the latest available, listed Johnson as a board member and president. But he is no longer included as a board member of the nonprofit, according to its website.
The investigation, which came on the heels of the scandal involving another SFPD-linked nonprofit called SF SAFE, prompted a police commissioner and city supervisors to raise questions about what they saw as a conflict of interest.
Former officers said that while officers have often been assigned to work alongside nonprofits from time to time, they are never allowed to do so when the nonprofit is one they run.
The Department of Human Resources Additional Employment Request guidelines state, “Any employee violating the additional employment requirements is subject to disciplinary action, up to and including termination of employment.”

Hey All!
Im new to this subreddit but pretty active on other music related areas. Anyways I wanted to ask a couple of questions to some more experienced people.
So I’ve been playing guitar for almost two years (started in august? of 2022) back then I was playing on school instruments or an acoustic at home. In November 2022 in a bad wave of depression I bought my first guitar. A $270CAD Pacifica Stratocaster. I also got a stand, some picks, a strap and a small Boss Katana Mini for about $130 CAD.
This was one of the greatest purchases of my life.
Since then my guitar (which named Stevie) is my best friend and I love her. She’s here whenever I need to jam out, play some raging thrash riffs or need a quiet moment to play something softer. She’s pretty versatile and she’s helped me through some difficult battles and I’ve also gotten a much deeper appreciation and respect for music in general since buying her.
In January or February this year I bought a distortion pedal as well which I thought was an okay purchase.
Last month I decided I wanted to upgrade a few things.
Over time my playing has become more complex and more in favour of metal riffs and louder or faster jams as well as guitar solos. I felt my small amp couldn’t sustain much more power or volume and it was dying a slow death so I upgraded my amp to a 60W JyxPro which sounds amazing both clean and distorted and cost around $290 CAD.
I also decided to make a bit of an impulsive choice which had been in my mind for a while (so maybe not super impulsive). I found when playing with Stevie I wasn’t getting the quality of sound that I was looking for especially with heavier or faster songs, so I started looking for decent guitars with humbuckers that were also built for metal.
This is when I came across an Ibanez GRG131RX in matte black and red (around $400CAD) . i ordered it online through amazon immediately and it just arrived this morning. This is one hell of a beautiful instrument and it sounds much much deeper and richer. It’s lighter, looks more aesthetically appealing and has humbuckers. As excited as I was to open up the box, there is a part of my heart that is a bit sad for Stevie.
Another problem I have is they are very similar. Same shape, similar neck, both have five pickups, a ten and volume knob etc. the only different is colour, humbuckers on the Ibanez as well as an extra fret.
TL:DR: just bought a second guitar after just over a year and a half of playing and needing some questions answered or advice.
So here’s my questions:
Now that I have two guitars, what should I do with each?
Will playing my new guitar (which I’ve named Melinda) make me play Stevie less?
Did anyone else feel a bit of guilt after buying a second slightly more expensive guitar?
What are the perks of having more than one guitar even though they look kinda similar?
Did I make the right purchase?
Thank you everyone!!!

wow. it’s been over a year since i posted and i figured i would provide a little update for later me and anyone who cares. i had just enrolled in my dream school at what i thought was my dream career(teaching). that school turned out to be a nightmare that fucked me over financially and wouldn’t help me when help was requested. i had some of the worst professors who couldn’t give a fuck less about any of the students. i also just went through some of the worst experiences of my life. i was struggling heavily with alcoholism and nicotine addiction at the beginning of college and i wouldn’t stop. then i got roofied and SA’ed at a frat party and my friends had not a clue where i was at. that was my wake up call, waking up and realizing i probably could have died that night, i dropped out of college after my first semester and started doing the work on myself. unpacking and sitting with my childhood trauma is one of the hardest things i have ever done, and im still working on it. im doing a lot better now though. in going through my trauma, i realized i was pushed in a direction and followed. i never really wanted to be a teacher. i have always loved doing hair and makeup though. so, i am back in trade school for the next year to get my cosmetology license. hopefully i can move to new york and open my very own salon. if there’s anything to get from this (besides if you are a teenager don’t do what i did), it would be that anyone can turn their life around and make it what you want it to be. im so genuinely happy to finally break the cycle and do what actually makes me happy. now that i have experienced genuine happiness, i don’t ever want to look back. thank you so much if you have read this far!
TLDR: college was shit and im making something of myself now

Hi I’m 25 and for context I currently live in Maryland for 7 months now and have made no progress in my life here at all, I am debating going back to college for a medical career which is so funny for me to even think because I went to college for nursing and didn’t finish to become an esthetician and because of covid I left that field as well and haven’t been back until literally 2 weeks ago when I got a job to do lash extensions and have been disappointed since.
I honestly never thought that I wouldn’t be the person to not go to college and I think that because I got a license as an esthetician I didn’t really process how I really didn’t go to college I did a vocational education basically and lost my job because of covid and was so depressed about it I didn’t go back to it which was useless.
I still had hopes of becoming an esthetician again when I got this job as a lash tech to realize I have been out of the game in a long time and definitely draining on my body specially all the back pain, all that for not much reward since the other techs have told me that honestly they get paid very little specially when I told them where I used to live some lash techs could make up to 1,200-1,400 a week and here they were making half that I felt more discouraged because I already felt this wasn’t what I wanted to do anymore for a career.
I got desperate recently since the past couple of months I’ve been walking on a tight rope verging being fully broke every month and feeling like a bag of waste and that I wasted so much time of my life in a delusion that I was okay and in fact I am not which brought me to 2 hours ago scrolling career paths online and I found a posting for travel health agencies and the pay definitely caught my attention first but also the position, to think if I have continued my college degree and had been a nurse I could be in a different place that I am right now.
But not to dwell in the what if’s that I cannot change since I don’t currently life in a Si-fi movie with a best friend scientist that will create a time machine for me, I want good advice on what are my options and realistically what would be most beneficial for my future.
The path I was thinking of choosing is not very clear but I was very interested in some of the positions in the traveling agency’s I saw and looked into and some of them where physical therapy, Cath tech, and a CT technician where the only ones I had enough time to do research on but there seemed to be several others but they all still mean going back to school for probably at least 4 years.
I guess my biggest worry is not really going back to school but the financial, I currently tip toe the lines of having a 0 balance in by bank every month and some credit card debt that I used to pay for the vocational school (about 5k, I feel like when I say cc debt some people always think it’s over 10k so maybe not that bad), but I’m scared of doing school and working, rent, car, insurance, I already try to work a lot now even babysitting on my off time to make sure I’m always bringing some money in every day and I’m just scared of making a mistake and it costing me what I already don’t have.
I also don’t know if this is important but a reason that kept me from going back to school before is that I am married we are separated but not yet divorced and I couldn’t get financial aid anymore since I basically made too much money bc he was on the tax return.
That’s honestly all the information I could think of right now but can always say more for clarity and I’m just hoping for some guidance or advice on what to do, since I’m literally writing this after having a small mental breakdown and considering being a sugar baby (although I’m not sexy enough of that the idea went away really quickly lol). Any advice is greatly appreciated, thank you.

Hey All!
Im new to this subreddit but pretty active on other music related areas. Anyways I wanted to ask a couple of questions to some more experienced people.
So I’ve been playing guitar for almost two years (started in august? of 2022) back then I was playing on school instruments or an acoustic at home. In November 2022 in a bad wave of depression I bought my first guitar. A $270CAD Pacifica Stratocaster. I also got a stand, some picks, a strap and a small Boss Katana Mini for about $130 CAD.
This was one of the greatest purchases of my life.
Since then my guitar (which named Stevie) is my best friend and I love her. She’s here whenever I need to jam out, play some raging thrash riffs or need a quiet moment to play something softer. She’s pretty versatile and she’s helped me through some difficult battles and I’ve also gotten a much deeper appreciation and respect for music in general since buying her.
In January or February this year I bought a distortion pedal as well which I thought was an okay purchase.
Last month I decided I wanted to upgrade a few things.
Over time my playing has become more complex and more in favour of metal riffs and louder or faster jams as well as guitar solos. I felt my small amp couldn’t sustain much more power or volume and it was dying a slow death so I upgraded my amp to a 60W JyxPro which sounds amazing both clean and distorted and cost around $290 CAD.
I also decided to make a bit of an impulsive choice which had been in my mind for a while (so maybe not super impulsive). I found when playing with Stevie I wasn’t getting the quality of sound that I was looking for especially with heavier or faster songs, so I started looking for decent guitars with humbuckers that were also built for metal.
This is when I came across an Ibanez GRG131RX in matte black and red (around $400CAD) . i ordered it online through amazon immediately and it just arrived this morning. This is one hell of a beautiful instrument and it sounds much much deeper and richer. It’s lighter, looks more aesthetically appealing and has humbuckers. As excited as I was to open up the box, there is a part of my heart that is a bit sad for Stevie.
Another problem I have is they are very similar. Same shape, similar neck, both have five pickups, a ten and volume knob etc. the only different is colour, humbuckers on the Ibanez as well as an extra fret.
TL:DR: just bought a second guitar after just over a year and a half of playing and needing some questions answered or advice.
So here’s my questions:
Now that I have two guitars, what should I do with each?
Will playing my new guitar (which I’ve named Melinda) make me play Stevie less?
Did anyone else feel a bit of guilt after buying a second slightly more expensive guitar?
What are the perks of having more than one guitar even though they look kinda similar?
Did I make the right purchase?
Thank you everyone!!!

Hey All!
Im new to this subreddit but pretty active on other music related areas. Anyways I wanted to ask a couple of questions to some more experienced people.
So I’ve been playing guitar for almost two years (started in august? of 2022) back then I was playing on school instruments or an acoustic at home. In November 2022 in a bad wave of depression I bought my first guitar. A $270CAD Pacifica Stratocaster. I also got a stand, some picks, a strap and a small Boss Katana Mini for about $130 CAD.
This was one of the greatest purchases of my life.
Since then my guitar (which named Stevie) is my best friend and I love her. She’s here whenever I need to jam out, play some raging thrash riffs or need a quiet moment to play something softer. She’s pretty versatile and she’s helped me through some difficult battles and I’ve also gotten a much deeper appreciation and respect for music in general since buying her.
In January or February this year I bought a distortion pedal as well which I thought was an okay purchase.
Last month I decided I wanted to upgrade a few things.
Over time my playing has become more complex and more in favour of metal riffs and louder or faster jams as well as guitar solos. I felt my small amp couldn’t sustain much more power or volume and it was dying a slow death so I upgraded my amp to a 60W JyxPro which sounds amazing both clean and distorted and cost around $290 CAD.
I also decided to make a bit of an impulsive choice which had been in my mind for a while (so maybe not super impulsive). I found when playing with Stevie I wasn’t getting the quality of sound that I was looking for especially with heavier or faster songs, so I started looking for decent guitars with humbuckers that were also built for metal.
This is when I came across an Ibanez GRG131RX in matte black and red (around $400CAD) . i ordered it online through amazon immediately and it just arrived this morning. This is one hell of a beautiful instrument and it sounds much much deeper and richer. It’s lighter, looks more aesthetically appealing and has humbuckers. As excited as I was to open up the box, there is a part of my heart that is a bit sad for Stevie.
Another problem I have is they are very similar. Same shape, similar neck, both have five pickups, a ten and volume knob etc. the only different is colour, humbuckers on the Ibanez as well as an extra fret.
TL:DR: just bought a second guitar after just over a year and a half of playing and needing some questions answered or advice.
So here’s my questions:
Now that I have two guitars, what should I do with each?
Will playing my new guitar (which I’ve named Melinda) make me play Stevie less?
Did anyone else feel a bit of guilt after buying a second slightly more expensive guitar?
What are the perks of having more than one guitar even though they look kinda similar?
Did I make the right purchase?
Thank you everyone!!!

Me and my friend (14-16) where walking down the street after a gang fight (I’m not gonna explain it) then we stopped infront of a pub where we got some drinks and shit. Suddenly these 3 stunning women walked up to us and started getting like, you know what I mean? They were being touchy and shit. Then they told us we can come to there apartment at any time. The thing is they knew we were minors and they are 21, 21, and 22. I know it’s wrong and there probably using me for there twisted desires but bro, when I tell you they where fine as fuck I mean it. So like I’m really perplexed.

Hey All!
Im new to this subreddit but pretty active on other music related areas. Anyways I wanted to ask a couple of questions to some more experienced people.
So I’ve been playing guitar for almost two years (started in august? of 2022) back then I was playing on school instruments or an acoustic at home. In November 2022 in a bad wave of depression I bought my first guitar. A $270CAD Pacifica Stratocaster. I also got a stand, some picks, a strap and a small Boss Katana Mini for about $130 CAD.
This was one of the greatest purchases of my life.
Since then my guitar (which named Stevie) is my best friend and I love her. She’s here whenever I need to jam out, play some raging thrash riffs or need a quiet moment to play something softer. She’s pretty versatile and she’s helped me through some difficult battles and I’ve also gotten a much deeper appreciation and respect for music in general since buying her.
In January or February this year I bought a distortion pedal as well which I thought was an okay purchase.
Last month I decided I wanted to upgrade a few things.
Over time my playing has become more complex and more in favour of metal riffs and louder or faster jams as well as guitar solos. I felt my small amp couldn’t sustain much more power or volume and it was dying a slow death so I upgraded my amp to a 60W JyxPro which sounds amazing both clean and distorted and cost around $290 CAD.
I also decided to make a bit of an impulsive choice which had been in my mind for a while (so maybe not super impulsive). I found when playing with Stevie I wasn’t getting the quality of sound that I was looking for especially with heavier or faster songs, so I started looking for decent guitars with humbuckers that were also built for metal.
This is when I came across an Ibanez GRG131RX in matte black and red (around $400CAD) . i ordered it online through amazon immediately and it just arrived this morning. This is one hell of a beautiful instrument and it sounds much much deeper and richer. It’s lighter, looks more aesthetically appealing and has humbuckers. As excited as I was to open up the box, there is a part of my heart that is a bit sad for Stevie.
Another problem I have is they are very similar. Same shape, similar neck, both have five pickups, a ten and volume knob etc. the only different is colour, humbuckers on the Ibanez as well as an extra fret.
TL:DR: just bought a second guitar after just over a year and a half of playing and needing some questions answered or advice.
So here’s my questions:
Now that I have two guitars, what should I do with each?
Will playing my new guitar (which I’ve named Melinda) make me play Stevie less?
Did anyone else feel a bit of guilt after buying a second slightly more expensive guitar?
What are the perks of having more than one guitar even though they look kinda similar?
Did I make the right purchase?
Thank you everyone!!!

i was diagnosed 2 years ago, but i thibk i’ve had it all my life ever since i was 7 or 8. i just turned 15 years old, my birthday was just basic nothing cool. but besides the point, the last month~ i’ve had 0 motivation and excitement for anything. yesterday i was hanging out with some of my friends and i was completely drained after less than an hour. i just couldn’t be bothered to do anything, i went home shortly after and i felt empty. i couldn’t bring myself to do anything not even school today, i was so unmotivated to do anything i told my mom i was sick to get out. in school too i can’t be motivated to do anything more than the bare minimum, idk if this is because it’s almost the end of the year or something else. but my grades are still fine, with mostly low B’s. after school, i jusy get home, lay in bed, and just lie there until i have to do it again. everyday jusy a single race to the fucking weekend. also, idk if i should’ve said this earlier, but in my “friend group” i’m kinda the odd one out almost always, if a hangout isn’t at my house, i probably wasn’t invited. i don’t know why, because i’m not rude to them, or treat them differently as each other. it’s just like im never there, i often feel ignored such as during lunch i’m talking and someone just fully talks over me not caring at all and i’m jusy there sitting. i don’t have any “true loyal” friends, and sometimes it does bother me, i wish i could have some people i can call real friends that i trust. but i just don’t. my parents always are pushing me to do things that i don’t want to do at all. like going to the gym and having friends over. i don’t like having friends over at all, the only time it ever happens is when i’m sort of forced to and then i still feel like the one lefy out. besides the friend part, i’ve felt really just hollow inside of that makes sense. nothing really seems to bother me much, nor do i care enough to do somethijg about it. it’s like i’m just there, no big role or anything important but jusy there. it’s caused me to lash out sometimes, yesterday my mom was just asking me what i wanted for dinner, (i love her she’s the nicest) and i just didn’t care at all to answer and kept on my way up the stairs. i didnt realize what just happened until a few hours later. but back to my hangout with my freidns yesterday, i was fine and just chilling until around 45 mibures we were watching a baseball game and i just kept putting my head down, partially because i was tired, but i was just drained inside to do the minimum. it was like i was on a timer for socializing and the. it just ended within an instant, i’ve kinda have felt like an otwice for the last 2 years ish ever since i stopped getting invited to things, i don’t know why, in the last peobably 9 months i’ve been out to a friends house 4 times, and 3 of those times was because i lied and said i couldn’t host. when i definitely could my parents LwYs have been pushing me to have people over especially for the last 2 months ish, i’m not currently in a sport and she thinks i’m jusy rotting my life away. that’s really it. apologies for grammar and spelling errors. i just had to tell this to someone, i don’t have anyone i trust enough to admit this too.

Got my vertical labret pierced by someone that was “reputable”. I wanna explain my experience in chronological order to avoid confusion, I had planned to get my vertical labret re-pierced as a walk-in today. the last time I had it, it had been pierced to deep and was also crooked (not as much as this time) me and my friend found a shop that was far and expensive but it was supposedly reputable, i figured it’s fine if I get a good well pierced piercing. We arrive and it seems normal they take my name, ID, what piercing I want and have me sign some stuff. The lady who pierced me gets me in the room and starts drawing the dot on me to make sure i like the placement, first time it seemed a bit too close to my upper lip and the second time it seemed a little lower so I was happy. She puts the clamps on,pierces me, and i look in the mirror and it looks super crooked right away. My friend points this out and the lady said there’s no way to know if it’s straight and it’ll be crooked because of swelling. (which I understand but it was not this crooked the last time I had it pierced) also that it looks fine to her. I’m having a freak out because this doesn’t seem right and in addition I paid $110 for this piercing not to mention the shop was far away. I wanna know if it’s typical for it to be THIS crooked?? And also advice because i don’t wanna give up on getting a vertical labret

The HRRFY.
It’s the horror movie festival where something genuinely fucked happens every year. And I mean every year.
Like, there are some screenings that unleash hordes of bats while the movie is playing. You're free to leave whenever you want, but the movie will still play for 2 hours and 15 minutes.
Other screenings hire actors to turn at you and scream at some point in the movie. You have no idea when, or how many times.
It's a festival where the word "illegal" can't even begin to describe what happens. You'd only attend if you were a young, stupid edgelord like me who was trying to prove he was hardcore to his friends.
Trust me. DO NOT GO.
You have nothing to prove to anyone. Don't be stupid.
Wait for the lamer film versions to come out streaming. That's what everyone else does. They're neutered edits but they're fine.
All they lack is the real gleaming thing everyone wants to see at HRRFY, but who cares. At least you don’t get traumatized. At least you’re not risking your life.
Anyway, if you really want to know what attending HRRFY is like. I’ll be quick and summarize the one screening I went to. It was the 20th anniversary, and I was lucky enough to get in.
***
I had signed up for the HRRFY mailing list, and joined the subreddit. Through a series of cryptic online emails I solved a sequence of riddles and was entered in the lottery for a HRRFY entry.
Lady Luck took a shine to me, because one day in my mailbox, I received a physical ticket. I had done it.
I was going.
The actual ‘ticket’ was a black USB key that announced the location of the festival the night before (which I won’t disclose here) and it did force me to pay for a very expensive flight in order for me to make it on time.
You see, to prevent getting shut down, the location of HRRFY changes every year. Some years the local police have managed to stop it, but for the most part, authorities have given up. What’s the point of arresting or charging anyone, if all the organizers and attendees actually want to be there?
Upon arrival, I had to pick between three participating theaters.
Based on title alone, I decided to go see “Many Drownings” (directed by Oleksander Gołański.) It was in the theater that was furthest away from the downtown core, which meant it was likely the one where the craziest shit was bound to happen.
That’s what I came here for right?
I lined up a solid two hours before the screening like everyone else. The entire line was jittering, just vibrating with excited twenty-somethings. Rumors flew left and right.
“I heard they’re going to force everyone to take acid.”
“I heard an actor’s gonna run in and shotgun the ceiling.”
“I heard they’re going to disappear like four more people this year. At this screening!”
Each year people disappeared. And each year the same people were ‘found.’ And yes this is the worst part, and why should never, ever, ever go to this event.
Again I will repeat myself. DO NOT GO.
No one has ever truly gone 'missing' at HRRFY in any legal or physical sense, because every missing person always shows up a day later, convinced that they are fine—refusing to elaborate further.
There are some small support groups for people who have family members who had gone to HRRFY, and came back irrevocably changed after being ‘found.’
These few unlucky people lose all semblance of personality. They don’t want interviews, or help, or therapy, or contact of any kind. And they never, ever want to talk about what they saw.
Some HRRFY fans think that these ‘found’ people were body-snatched. Cloned in a lab or replaced by a cyborg, or something stupid like that.
But I think there’s a far simpler explanation. The ‘found’ are still the same people. They're just terrified. They got shaken by something that shattered the foundation of their mind, body and soul. They got too scared.
They got HRRFY’d.
***
I should mention I had a cough the day I went. And I was worried my sickly appearance might give me trouble at the airport.
So I invested in an intense double N95 mask which I wore for the whole flight, and continued to wear even at the screening of “Many Drownings.”
It made my face hot and uncomfortable, but it still didn’t stop me from yelling “excuse me, excuse me!” as I ran to snag a seat in the back of the theater.
I always preferred sitting in the far back. You get a good view of the whole screen, and a good view of the whole audience.
Beside me sat a big dude named Sylvester, who apparently flew all the way from Australia to attend HRRFY.
“Worth the full Seventeen hours mate! It’s gonna be epic!” he dropped a massive camping backpack beside me, which I assume contained all of his luggage.
The lights dimmed, and the production company logos started to play.
The whispering, giggling and suspense all stacked upon each other to create an electric feeling in the air. I was giddy. It's like the entire audience was embarking on a massive roller coaster.
The anticipation was the best part for sure. It might have been the only good part.
Then the movie started.
It was a wide shot of a gray, stormy sea. The waves were massive, and the thunderclouds were looming. There was no land visible in any direction.
All we could hear was the sound of waves foaming, swirling, and crashing over and over. Lightning crackled. Rain poured. The camera held perfectly still over this storm as if it was mounted on a perfectly hovering drone. A drone so resilient that it didn’t waver at all.
I thought it had to be CGI.
The shot held like this for the next few moments. Everyone sat glued to their seats. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
What’s going to happen? How are they going to scare us?
People chuckled. People cheered. People wanted to tease whatever was going to happen—to happen already.
But nothing did.
Five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes went by without any change. People started snoring.
I looked beside me and saw that Sylvester—the most excited audience member of them all—had fallen totally asleep. The jet lag must’ve gotten to him.
Then I peered beyond the rest of the audience members and saw other people snoozing too. Heads were keeled over, some people were curled in their seats, some had even spilled out into the aisle and were dozing on the floor.
I looked above the bright screen, at the huge vents in the corner of the theater. I saw a faint white gas emerging from the vents.
Holy shit. What have we been breathing? I tightened the straps on my N95 mask, and made my breathing shallower.
The gas must have been pumping since the opening credits—because how else would an audience of two hundred people all fall asleep?
As I moved my hand through the air in front of me, I could sense the thickness. It was definitely hazier than usual. I took the scarf off my neck and wrapped it around my mouth as well.
Then I spotted movement in front of the screen.
It was a tall blonde man, wearing a black trenchcoat and military-grade gas mask. Beside him arrived six hazmat suits who started pointing at various audience members.
I slunk in my chair, pretending to sleep like everyone else.
Two hazmats walked over to the front row and picked out a sleeping guy in flannel. They lifted flannel up, under the armpits and by his ankles, carrying him between them both like a hammock.
The hazmats walked back up to the stage, where the blonde leader inspected the flannel man and tapped his head. Something was approved?
The hazmats began to swing flannel back and forth, as if they were getting ready to toss him. Despite their masks, I could hear a very muffled, very distant countdown.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
The flannel audience member was tossed into the screen.
I literally watched him fly into the image of stormy waves … andfallinto them. The flannel man sank into the gray water like a rock, leaving a few bubbles and foam. A wave came crashing down. All trace of him was gone.
What the fuck.
All six hazmats began grabbing more audience members with much more urgency. It became a minute-long process where they would pick the sleeping person up, bring them beside the screen, and then swing-toss them into it.
How was this possible?
I turned slightly to see if there was a projector above me, and realized there was none. Which meant maybe there was no screen on stage.
Which meant … maybe it was a portal?
I tried to wake Sylvester by shaking him. I pinched his leg and arm a bunch.
He was out cold.
The hazmats started grabbing audience members from the middle rows now. They were emptying the whole theater. What the hell was I supposed to do?
I waited until they grabbed another batch, only a few rows down from me. When all hazmats had their backs turned—I broke into a run.
With my left arm, I tightly gripped my mask and scarf against my face, while my right arm vaulted me over seat after seat.
I had never breathed so hard—through so much fabric—in my life.
The hazmats all turned to me. “Hey! Hey!” But their hands were full with their next victims.
I ran all the way down the aisle, to the big exit sign on the left. My heartbeat filled my head. My plan was to dropkick through the exit door.
I imagined myself breaking through like some flying gazelle.
I jumped.
I angled my kick.
It might as well have been a brick wall. I fell ass-first to the ground, followed by my head. Of course the door was locked.
Through a muffled mask I heard a sneering scoff.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Above me stood the one wearing a trenchcoat. I could see his piercing gray eyes through his gas mask.
I rolled aside and tried to run by him. He lifted a foot and tripped me without effort.
My forehead bashed into an empty seat. It dazed me.
The blonde leader bent down and grabbed me by the neck, tearing away my scarf and mask.
“No! No!”
A sweet, ether-like smell filled my nostrils. I did my best to hold my breath, but I could already feel myself getting light-headed.
The other hazmats joined in, grabbing me from all sides. Even if I had the strength to struggle, there was no escape now.
Above me, all I could see was the dark theater ceiling, and some of the light behind me from the cinema screen.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“No. Please. Don’t do thi—”
SPLASH.
I was plunged deep into cold, wet chaos. My head was completely underwater.
Gagging. Bubbles. Spinning.
I fought for dear life, dog-paddling like a maniac.
Churning. Freezing. Panic.
For a second, my head popped above the water. I inhaled all the air my lungs could muster. I stared across a vast, violent ocean.
An enormous thirty foot wave came in my direction.
My whole body lifted higher and higher as the wave approached. I did my best to tread water. It seemed to be working.
Then a series of smaller waves arrived and smacked my chest.
SPLASH.
Spinning. Kicking. Flipping.
My view alternated between the pitch dark ocean beneath me, and the moonlit night sky above.
Again I swam to the surface, popped my head out. Ravenously sucked in air.
There was a small lull in the water.
Around me I now registered the other theater goers. Most of them were lying face-down or sinking … but a few were flapping about like me, fighting for their life.
And above all of us, a floating white shape.
It was painfully bright, I had to lift one hand to look at it.
My jaw dropped.
It was the movie screen, hanging completely still in the air. It showed a dark, empty theater. The exact same theater we all occupied moments ago.
It was tremendously high, above all of our heads. There was no way of reaching it.
Then I saw another thirty foot wave come our way. It grazed the bottom of the screen.
I knew what had to be done.
***
One of the theater goers happened to be on a college swim team. She was the first one able to traverse one of the giant waves and climb into the screen.
Once she was up there, she found a firehose in the theater and reeled it out to us like a rope.
One by one, we swam as hard as we could, praying to God we could reach the rope. Everyone’s energy was sapped. Your body can only sustain itself on adrenaline and fear for so long.
By some miracle, five of us got out.
I was the last.
I climbed the rope coughing and vomiting. I had swallowed so much water that my stomach felt swollen.
When I reached the top and they pulled me into the screen, I sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying.
My life had flashed countless times before my eyes. In bubbling, suffocating visions, I saw both my parents and my brother. I saw my highschool graduation. I saw my favorite Christmas from when I was six years old.
I had almost lost all of that. I had lost almost everything.
On the dirty, carpeted theater floor, I lay with my face down, savoring the fact that I now lay on a hard surface. God bless ground. God bless this filthy, popcorn-strewn ground.
Beside me I heard bantering, hugging, the wringing of wet clothes. Sylvester was the second last to be saved, and he was particularly vocal.
“Wooooooaaaaahh!” He came and drummed me on the back, lifted me up. “Oh my god dude! Holy shit!”
I sat on my knees, wiping the tears and snot off my mouth.
Sylvester clapped his hands, held his face and screamed some more.
“Holy shit dude! That was so fucking scary! Like literally people were dying beside us. Like I SAW people die!”
I nodded, shivering in my drenched clothes. “ I know it was—”
“—That was craaaaazy!”
He laughed and stood up, patting everyone on the back. He kept clapping his hands like this was some sports event.
“That was sick! That was siiiiiiiiick!”
He ruffled someone’s hair then ran up to me with an open palm.
“High five dude! WE MADE IT! High five!
“Don’t leave me hangin’ dude!”

Disclaimer: This woman is not and should not be a reflection of the Church/organization itself, I only mentioned it because it was relevant to my story.
I’m (19 F) a college student living in a dormitory outside my university. My blockmate (now best friend) referred me to the place since she lived there.
The landlady, a woman in her early-fifties, I think, was a member of Vict*ry Church. She’s your conventional conservative Christian that preaches about God and believes everyone should lead that life too.
On the day we confirmed/paid for my room there, she said that she will serve as my 2nd mom and told my parents na from here onwards, nakabilin na ako sa kanya. My parents mindlessly agreed, thinking that was just for posterity. We had no idea she took it seriously.
Fast forward, I had a boyfriend whom I met in college. My parents didn’t know yet, but everytime I slept over to his place, the landlady would call and ask where I was and threatened to tell my parents I wasn’t sleeping there if I didn’t come home this instant. My best friend who stayed in the room in front of me eventually got caught that she was covering up for me too.
The landlady then proceeded to tell my parents about my sneaking out and lied about a lot of things. Buntis na raw ako at ipacheck nila ako sa OB ngayon na, napariwara na raw ako sa Diyos, kung kani-kanino na raw ako nagpagalaw and that her Vict*ry friends advised her that our family pull me out of college para hindi na mapariwara and file for rape against my boyfriend. Di raw siya nagsisinungaling at Kristiyano siya kaya she’s telling the truth daw. My parents almost believed her and I told them na lalayasan ko sila if they listened to her and pulled me out of college.
After that shitstorm, I resolved things with my parents. May lamat na, but all was well. They’re okay with my boyfriend now and they have long forgiven me for what happened. They love me too much that they couldn’t bear to hear what shit the landlady, her family, and her Vict*ry friends said about me.
Fast-forward, my best friend left because her mom got into a fight with the landlady after telling her na wag pakialamanan ang buhay ng anak niya dahil hindi naman sila magkaano-ano. Pinagkalat rin ng landlady na to sa Vict*ry friends niya na nabuntis na to, and that sayang kasi irereto pa naman sana niya sa bunso niyang anak na may gusto sa friend ko.
Fast-forward again and I’m still in the dorm, but I tried to maintain a better relationship with the landlady for appearances. Inutusan niya akong maghanap ng tenants at inaalisan lagi siya. I agreed and found two new tenants for her. Yung isa, in a few months pa sana magsisimula magrent, the other one nakailang buwan na rito. Siniraan sa aking yung latter tenant ng landlady by telling me na hindi na raw nagbabayad ng rent. I asked the tenant about this and he told me na inuubos na lang raw nya deposit niya at wala siyang balak na magtagal pa dito. He told me that after he rejected the landlady na ipasok yung anak niyang walang kwenta ang CV sa work niya, she started treating him horribly. The guy works for an IT company and that when he explained that they were looking for someone that had a background in it, she rudely said na “computer computer lang naman yang trabaho mo eh, magaling pa anak ko sayo dyan kahit wala siya experience.”
She would barge in the middle of his meetings and ask him to clean up. Tinaasan niya rent nung tenant just because she felt like it, and she started stealing his stocks (canned goods like Spam and Delimondo) and his money (like the 4k he left in his dresser and never saw again). She was the only one that had access to the room keys so we had no one else to blame. My stocks and skincare products started disappearing too. My last straw was when my Milka chocolate—na tinitipid tipid ko kasi nirequest ko pa yon—vanished. I was saving that as a reward to myself after I survive finals week. I cried to my parents about this na wala na ako makain kasi wala na ako stocks sa dorm, and they finally told me na I can start looking for another dorm para maconsume na yung deposit ko sa landlady.
She still checks up on me every night and naiimbyerna na yung mom ko sa kakatawag niya sa kanila at the dead of night just to ask then na ivideo call nila ako at baka kung sino sino na naman “gumagalaw” sa akin. My parents know better than to believe her now.
I finally found another dorm na malilipatan next month, and yung isang tenant na guy aalis na rin by next month. I decided to take my sweet revenge and tell the tenant na magrerent sana in a few months what happened. She backed out, so now the landlady won’t have any tenants left after namin makaalis. She was planning na iparenovate sana yung room ko at yung room ng isang tenant because she was anticipating the latter’s arrival soon.
Tinitiis ko na lang siya this month. God, I am so willing to reveal her whole identity here para wala na talaga magrent sa kanya. Sana itakwil to ng simbahan niya, people like her are what give Christians a bad rep.

I took a short solo trip this week. Rented a car on Monday morning, drove to the coast, stayed the night, and left around midday on Tuesday. Honestly? I had a great time. I was so independent and unburdened, at least while it lasted.
One unusual finding was that… I miss the suburbs? I stopped at a suburban Panera in a very nice town south of the city. It reminded me of the town my college friends live in — lots of greenery, very new, very nice, and with an overall feeling of growth and prosperity. Sitting in that Panera, listening to the local geriatric population gossip as I ate my salad, felt strangely comforting. I guess that’s how I grew up, right? In the land where shops only exist in shopping centers, and you have to drive to get anywhere, and going to Panera is an event.
It’s funny, I eat at restaurants all the time, but I very rarely get lunch with friends. I think I’m desensitized to it, so going out to eat is no longer of any importance to me. In high school, we’d go to Panera somewhat often and it was always fun. In college, I’d do the same thing with restaurants in the area. Here, I don’t.
Right, I was in Panera. The suburbs felt so comforting. I went to a really big Target. I went to a really big furniture store. I went to a really big Barnes & Noble.
There used to be a Barnes & Noble in the city. My first summer here, I was a voracious reader. I learned the city through the coffee shops and parks where I read. Going to that bookstore was always a treat, and I even became a B&N member, but then it closed. There are other bookstores, I guess, but they are too cramped. I never feel like I have permission to take up space and browse for a long time.
When I woke up this morning, I had a feeling of dread because I was going back to the city. I hadn’t been gone long enough. I wanted to keep on enjoying the small town on the coast, largely empty except for locals and a few random travelers. I wanted to keep roleplaying as a suburbanite whose can enjoy some privacy. But I had to go — the rental car was due at 4. So I left. I listened to podcasts, I considered stopping in another suburb that felt grungy and old, I had my gas filled by an attendant for some reason, and survived the highway traffic. I was back. The trip was over.
Am I a loner? The things I loved about the trip were the independence, the quiet, the space, the anonymity. I was able to do things like read a book while sitting in a gay bar, maybe because I felt so anonymous and focused on myself that I was not hindered by the opinions of others. I didn’t touch Instagram. I barely touched my phone at all besides directions and a few brief conversations.
I felt so creative, too. An empty itinerary + a good fantasy book + a dnd podcast primed me. I felt like I could write a novel. I could spin up a rich world in my mind. I revisited some old concepts I wrote down years ago, and they still hold water.
Some of that creative energy survived the drive back to the city. I made some art on my iPad. I sent it to some friends. One of the first replies was a biting, mean critique. It was meant as a joke, I imagine, but it was crushing.
I want to go back on vacation. I don’t know if I really hate my life in the city, but it was good to escape it for a little while.
So… why did I write this? I only write these when I’m feeling some type of way. Well, I got home from the local place where I made that art. And now I don’t know what to do with myself. A movie? Read? Clean? Finish my art? Sleep? Cry (if I can manage it, which is unlikely)? Go on Hinge?
I hooked up with the guy I’ve been infrequently seeing for the last two and a half years. He’s finally leaving the city. I need someone different, so that’s maybe a good thing.
I feel lonely. I feel sad. I wish I had a car so I could drive off into the night. My heart is beating heavy — not really any faster than usual, but I can feel it.
When I quit my job, I think I expected all this stress to release, like cutting through a stretched rubber band (weird metaphor, I know). But it didn’t. The truth is, I am stressed about the new job. I am stressed about seeing my family this weekend. I don’t feel like I have enough room to totally relax — like I made an optometry appointment tomorrow at 10am, so I can’t sleep in. But I don’t want to sleep yet either, so I guess I just won’t sleep enough. I need to release all this stress somehow. I guess I’ll get a lil high. Idk.
What else? I was prescribed Prozac. I quit my job, as mentioned above. That’s really it.
Well, thanks for bearing with me. This started as a vacation recap and then went off the rails. I’ll reschedule my optometry appointment and then I’ll just fuck off.

The HRRFY.
It’s the horror movie festival where something genuinely fucked happens every year. And I mean every year.
Like, there are some screenings that unleash hordes of bats while the movie is playing. You're free to leave whenever you want, but the movie will still play for 2 hours and 15 minutes.
Other screenings hire actors to turn at you and scream at some point in the movie. You have no idea when, or how many times.
It's a festival where the word "illegal" can't even begin to describe what happens. You'd only attend if you were a young, stupid edgelord like me who was trying to prove he was hardcore to his friends.
Trust me. DO NOT GO.
You have nothing to prove to anyone. Don't be stupid.
Wait for the lamer film versions to come out streaming. That's what everyone else does. They're neutered edits but they're fine.
All they lack is the real gleaming thing everyone wants to see at HRRFY, but who cares. At least you don’t get traumatized. At least you’re not risking your life.
Anyway, if you really want to know what attending HRRFY is like. I’ll be quick and summarize the one screening I went to. It was the 20th anniversary, and I was lucky enough to get in.
***
I had signed up for the HRRFY mailing list, and joined the subreddit. Through a series of cryptic online emails I solved a sequence of riddles and was entered in the lottery for a HRRFY entry.
Lady Luck took a shine to me, because one day in my mailbox, I received a physical ticket. I had done it.
I was going.
The actual ‘ticket’ was a black USB key that announced the location of the festival the night before (which I won’t disclose here) and it did force me to pay for a very expensive flight in order for me to make it on time.
You see, to prevent getting shut down, the location of HRRFY changes every year. Some years the local police have managed to stop it, but for the most part, authorities have given up. What’s the point of arresting or charging anyone, if all the organizers and attendees actually want to be there?
Upon arrival, I had to pick between three participating theaters.
Based on title alone, I decided to go see “Many Drownings” (directed by Oleksander Gołański.) It was in the theater that was furthest away from the downtown core, which meant it was likely the one where the craziest shit was bound to happen.
That’s what I came here for right?
I lined up a solid two hours before the screening like everyone else. The entire line was jittering, just vibrating with excited twenty-somethings. Rumors flew left and right.
“I heard they’re going to force everyone to take acid.”
“I heard an actor’s gonna run in and shotgun the ceiling.”
“I heard they’re going to disappear like four more people this year. At this screening!”
Each year people disappeared. And each year the same people were ‘found.’ And yes this is the worst part, and why should never, ever, ever go to this event.
Again I will repeat myself. DO NOT GO.
No one has ever truly gone 'missing' at HRRFY in any legal or physical sense, because every missing person always shows up a day later, convinced that they are fine—refusing to elaborate further.
There are some small support groups for people who have family members who had gone to HRRFY, and came back irrevocably changed after being ‘found.’
These few unlucky people lose all semblance of personality. They don’t want interviews, or help, or therapy, or contact of any kind. And they never, ever want to talk about what they saw.
Some HRRFY fans think that these ‘found’ people were body-snatched. Cloned in a lab or replaced by a cyborg, or something stupid like that.
But I think there’s a far simpler explanation. The ‘found’ are still the same people. They're just terrified. They got shaken by something that shattered the foundation of their mind, body and soul. They got too scared.
They got HRRFY’d.
***
I should mention I had a cough the day I went. And I was worried my sickly appearance might give me trouble at the airport.
So I invested in an intense double N95 mask which I wore for the whole flight, and continued to wear even at the screening of “Many Drownings.”
It made my face hot and uncomfortable, but it still didn’t stop me from yelling “excuse me, excuse me!” as I ran to snag a seat in the back of the theater.
I always preferred sitting in the far back. You get a good view of the whole screen, and a good view of the whole audience.
Beside me sat a big dude named Sylvester, who apparently flew all the way from Australia to attend HRRFY.
“Worth the full Seventeen hours mate! It’s gonna be epic!” he dropped a massive camping backpack beside me, which I assume contained all of his luggage.
The lights dimmed, and the production company logos started to play.
The whispering, giggling and suspense all stacked upon each other to create an electric feeling in the air. I was giddy. It's like the entire audience was embarking on a massive roller coaster.
The anticipation was the best part for sure. It might have been the only good part.
Then the movie started.
It was a wide shot of a gray, stormy sea. The waves were massive, and the thunderclouds were looming. There was no land visible in any direction.
All we could hear was the sound of waves foaming, swirling, and crashing over and over. Lightning crackled. Rain poured. The camera held perfectly still over this storm as if it was mounted on a perfectly hovering drone. A drone so resilient that it didn’t waver at all.
I thought it had to be CGI.
The shot held like this for the next few moments. Everyone sat glued to their seats. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
What’s going to happen? How are they going to scare us?
People chuckled. People cheered. People wanted to tease whatever was going to happen—to happen already.
But nothing did.
Five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes went by without any change. People started snoring.
I looked beside me and saw that Sylvester—the most excited audience member of them all—had fallen totally asleep. The jet lag must’ve gotten to him.
Then I peered beyond the rest of the audience members and saw other people snoozing too. Heads were keeled over, some people were curled in their seats, some had even spilled out into the aisle and were dozing on the floor.
I looked above the bright screen, at the huge vents in the corner of the theater. I saw a faint white gas emerging from the vents.
Holy shit. What have we been breathing? I tightened the straps on my N95 mask, and made my breathing shallower.
The gas must have been pumping since the opening credits—because how else would an audience of two hundred people all fall asleep?
As I moved my hand through the air in front of me, I could sense the thickness. It was definitely hazier than usual. I took the scarf off my neck and wrapped it around my mouth as well.
Then I spotted movement in front of the screen.
It was a tall blonde man, wearing a black trenchcoat and military-grade gas mask. Beside him arrived six hazmat suits who started pointing at various audience members.
I slunk in my chair, pretending to sleep like everyone else.
Two hazmats walked over to the front row and picked out a sleeping guy in flannel. They lifted flannel up, under the armpits and by his ankles, carrying him between them both like a hammock.
The hazmats walked back up to the stage, where the blonde leader inspected the flannel man and tapped his head. Something was approved?
The hazmats began to swing flannel back and forth, as if they were getting ready to toss him. Despite their masks, I could hear a very muffled, very distant countdown.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
The flannel audience member was tossed into the screen.
I literally watched him fly into the image of stormy waves … andfallinto them. The flannel man sank into the gray water like a rock, leaving a few bubbles and foam. A wave came crashing down. All trace of him was gone.
What the fuck.
All six hazmats began grabbing more audience members with much more urgency. It became a minute-long process where they would pick the sleeping person up, bring them beside the screen, and then swing-toss them into it.
How was this possible?
I turned slightly to see if there was a projector above me, and realized there was none. Which meant maybe there was no screen on stage.
Which meant … maybe it was a portal?
I tried to wake Sylvester by shaking him. I pinched his leg and arm a bunch.
He was out cold.
The hazmats started grabbing audience members from the middle rows now. They were emptying the whole theater. What the hell was I supposed to do?
I waited until they grabbed another batch, only a few rows down from me. When all hazmats had their backs turned—I broke into a run.
With my left arm, I tightly gripped my mask and scarf against my face, while my right arm vaulted me over seat after seat.
I had never breathed so hard—through so much fabric—in my life.
The hazmats all turned to me. “Hey! Hey!” But their hands were full with their next victims.
I ran all the way down the aisle, to the big exit sign on the left. My heartbeat filled my head. My plan was to dropkick through the exit door.
I imagined myself breaking through like some flying gazelle.
I jumped.
I angled my kick.
It might as well have been a brick wall. I fell ass-first to the ground, followed by my head. Of course the door was locked.
Through a muffled mask I heard a sneering scoff.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Above me stood the one wearing a trenchcoat. I could see his piercing gray eyes through his gas mask.
I rolled aside and tried to run by him. He lifted a foot and tripped me without effort.
My forehead bashed into an empty seat. It dazed me.
The blonde leader bent down and grabbed me by the neck, tearing away my scarf and mask.
“No! No!”
A sweet, ether-like smell filled my nostrils. I did my best to hold my breath, but I could already feel myself getting light-headed.
The other hazmats joined in, grabbing me from all sides. Even if I had the strength to struggle, there was no escape now.
Above me, all I could see was the dark theater ceiling, and some of the light behind me from the cinema screen.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“No. Please. Don’t do thi—”
SPLASH.
I was plunged deep into cold, wet chaos. My head was completely underwater.
Gagging. Bubbles. Spinning.
I fought for dear life, dog-paddling like a maniac.
Churning. Freezing. Panic.
For a second, my head popped above the water. I inhaled all the air my lungs could muster. I stared across a vast, violent ocean.
An enormous thirty foot wave came in my direction.
My whole body lifted higher and higher as the wave approached. I did my best to tread water. It seemed to be working.
Then a series of smaller waves arrived and smacked my chest.
SPLASH.
Spinning. Kicking. Flipping.
My view alternated between the pitch dark ocean beneath me, and the moonlit night sky above.
Again I swam to the surface, popped my head out. Ravenously sucked in air.
There was a small lull in the water.
Around me I now registered the other theater goers. Most of them were lying face-down or sinking … but a few were flapping about like me, fighting for their life.
And above all of us, a floating white shape.
It was painfully bright, I had to lift one hand to look at it.
My jaw dropped.
It was the movie screen, hanging completely still in the air. It showed a dark, empty theater. The exact same theater we all occupied moments ago.
It was tremendously high, above all of our heads. There was no way of reaching it.
Then I saw another thirty foot wave come our way. It grazed the bottom of the screen.
I knew what had to be done.
***
One of the theater goers happened to be on a college swim team. She was the first one able to traverse one of the giant waves and climb into the screen.
Once she was up there, she found a firehose in the theater and reeled it out to us like a rope.
One by one, we swam as hard as we could, praying to God we could reach the rope. Everyone’s energy was sapped. Your body can only sustain itself on adrenaline and fear for so long.
By some miracle, five of us got out.
I was the last.
I climbed the rope coughing and vomiting. I had swallowed so much water that my stomach felt swollen.
When I reached the top and they pulled me into the screen, I sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying.
My life had flashed countless times before my eyes. In bubbling, suffocating visions, I saw both my parents and my brother. I saw my highschool graduation. I saw my favorite Christmas from when I was six years old.
I had almost lost all of that. I had lost almost everything.
On the dirty, carpeted theater floor, I lay with my face down, savoring the fact that I now lay on a hard surface. God bless ground. God bless this filthy, popcorn-strewn ground.
Beside me I heard bantering, hugging, the wringing of wet clothes. Sylvester was the second last to be saved, and he was particularly vocal.
“Wooooooaaaaahh!” He came and drummed me on the back, lifted me up. “Oh my god dude! Holy shit!”
I sat on my knees, wiping the tears and snot off my mouth.
Sylvester clapped his hands, held his face and screamed some more.
“Holy shit dude! That was so fucking scary! Like literally people were dying beside us. Like I SAW people die!”
I nodded, shivering in my drenched clothes. “ I know it was—”
“—That was craaaaazy!”
He laughed and stood up, patting everyone on the back. He kept clapping his hands like this was some sports event.
“That was sick! That was siiiiiiiiick!”
He ruffled someone’s hair then ran up to me with an open palm.
“High five dude! WE MADE IT! High five!
“Don’t leave me hangin’ dude!”

If I’m being honest it’s not fun being black. Especially being a black women, everyone hates you, even your own. I have to question if my own race likes me. The black men are hateful towards black women and will degrade us just to uplift other races they’re attracted to. Being labeled as ghetto even though you’ve done nothing considered ghetto but it’s because of your skin color not your actions. I was made fun of for my lips growing up, wearing braids, bonnets, nails etc are considered ghetto towards BW YET others can wear it and nothing is said. Other races listening and immersing themselves into black culture yet are racist towards us but their black friends allow it. Latino/as saying the n-word because we’re “cousins” yet living around them and Asian people , they are the most racist people I’ve met.
Asains… they profit the most from us especially black women, wanna know how much they made off of us just in beauty? $7.5 Billion dollars… yea, imagine that. I don’t even want to get into a certain group that I live around because knowing the mods and whatnot but it’s amazing how in my face I was told slavery never happened but they want me to believe their genocide happened? At least you guys got reparations for it, till this day we haven’t gotten anything. In slavery, with cotton alone the USA made $6.5 billion dollars in todays currency. When we tried making our own cities that flourished what happened? Lake Lanier? The Central Park?
The black men, they don’t want anything for themselves, just rapping and being athletes, they aren’t pushing for more. More Black women are graduating college than Black men, that’s an issue education isn’t important to them. Hip-Hop is literally killing us, encouraging young black men that we should be killing one another, young girls selling and sexualizing themselves. Its just so much going on. I hate my family and how poor we are, I wish my mother used her light skin to get a white man with money but instead laid down with a man with multiple baby mothers already. Now I’m stuck selling myself just to survive. I hate being black, I hate being poor, if you own a gun lmk please
(I should probably make another account for things like this)

Hello Everyone, it’s absolutely insane how much that place has affected so many of us and our lives. I just wanted to come on here and say I appreciate all of you beautiful people for speaking out about the harm you endured at ballet5:8. Thinking back to it all now brings back a lot of emotions, honestly a lot of it is all a blur, but I’ll try and see if I can get any experiences I had typed out on here in the future. I had started dance at B58 when it was still TP, it was so amazing. I knew from the start that I loved ballet and later knew I wanted it to be my career. And I do feel like there was a solid mission when it was TP, but as b58 grew I just felt like that “Christian” mission was lacking. And the care I felt from staff was starting to disappear, I didn’t feel like they really cared about me as a person much anymore. It all felt so hypocritical how the studio and especially the company functioned, when I started to do more things with the company later in my training I was so shocked at how staff was treated. It was truly awful to see how J talked to and treated trainees and staff in rehearsals. As the studio grew to b58 I moved through the ranks quick, but as the years went by that place slowly sucked all the joy out of me and my love for dance. By age 16, I had nothing left and quit in 2017. Looking back I’m so glad I left when I did, because from what I heard from other ballet friends still there, the place really burst into flames that next season when a valuable staff member left. But it’s still tough that I felt I had to quit when I loved ballet so much and they took that from me. My own education was set back for a time, because I was dancing so much all day. It started to feel like a job, and at 15/16 years old your just a kid. I thought it’s what I needed to do to get to where I wanted to be, but it obviously didn’t go as planned. I do feel that there was some manipulation and that me alongside other younger students were taken advantage of because of our age. I was just a kid, and the situations and things I had to go through were way out of my league. I struggled for a long time after quitting ballet, it was my whole life and identity, but after many years and help from loved ones I have found joy in dance again. I may not be a professional ballet dancer, but I still love movement and appreciate the arts so much. I hope as more of us speak out about b58, people can see the harm they have done and are doing to dancers now. Thank you all for listening to my word vomit 🤪❤️

The HRRFY.
It’s the horror movie festival where something genuinely fucked happens every year. And I mean every year.
Like, there are some screenings that unleash hordes of bats while the movie is playing. You're free to leave whenever you want, but the movie will still play for 2 hours and 15 minutes.
Other screenings hire actors to turn at you and scream at some point in the movie. You have no idea when, or how many times.
It's a festival where the word "illegal" can't even begin to describe what happens. You'd only attend if you were a young, stupid edgelord like me who was trying to prove he was hardcore to his friends.
Trust me. DO NOT GO.
You have nothing to prove to anyone. Don't be stupid.
Wait for the lamer film versions to come out streaming. That's what everyone else does. They're neutered edits but they're fine.
All they lack is the real gleaming thing everyone wants to see at HRRFY, but who cares. At least you don’t get traumatized. At least you’re not risking your life.
Anyway, if you really want to know what attending HRRFY is like. I’ll be quick and summarize the one screening I went to. It was the 20th anniversary, and I was lucky enough to get in.
***
I had signed up for the HRRFY mailing list, and joined the subreddit. Through a series of cryptic online emails I solved a sequence of riddles and was entered in the lottery for a HRRFY entry.
Lady Luck took a shine to me, because one day in my mailbox, I received a physical ticket. I had done it.
I was going.
The actual ‘ticket’ was a black USB key that announced the location of the festival the night before (which I won’t disclose here) and it did force me to pay for a very expensive flight in order for me to make it on time.
You see, to prevent getting shut down, the location of HRRFY changes every year. Some years the local police have managed to stop it, but for the most part, authorities have given up. What’s the point of arresting or charging anyone, if all the organizers and attendees actually want to be there?
Upon arrival, I had to pick between three participating theaters.
Based on title alone, I decided to go see “Many Drownings” (directed by Oleksander Gołański.) It was in the theater that was furthest away from the downtown core, which meant it was likely the one where the craziest shit was bound to happen.
That’s what I came here for right?
I lined up a solid two hours before the screening like everyone else. The entire line was jittering, just vibrating with excited twenty-somethings. Rumors flew left and right.
“I heard they’re going to force everyone to take acid.”
“I heard an actor’s gonna run in and shotgun the ceiling.”
“I heard they’re going to disappear like four more people this year. At this screening!”
Each year people disappeared. And each year the same people were ‘found.’ And yes this is the worst part, and why should never, ever, ever go to this event.
Again I will repeat myself. DO NOT GO.
No one has ever truly gone 'missing' at HRRFY in any legal or physical sense, because every missing person always shows up a day later, convinced that they are fine—refusing to elaborate further.
There are some small support groups for people who have family members who had gone to HRRFY, and came back irrevocably changed after being ‘found.’
These few unlucky people lose all semblance of personality. They don’t want interviews, or help, or therapy, or contact of any kind. And they never, ever want to talk about what they saw.
Some HRRFY fans think that these ‘found’ people were body-snatched. Cloned in a lab or replaced by a cyborg, or something stupid like that.
But I think there’s a far simpler explanation. The ‘found’ are still the same people. They're just terrified. They got shaken by something that shattered the foundation of their mind, body and soul. They got too scared.
They got HRRFY’d.
***
I should mention I had a cough the day I went. And I was worried my sickly appearance might give me trouble at the airport.
So I invested in an intense double N95 mask which I wore for the whole flight, and continued to wear even at the screening of “Many Drownings.”
It made my face hot and uncomfortable, but it still didn’t stop me from yelling “excuse me, excuse me!” as I ran to snag a seat in the back of the theater.
I always preferred sitting in the far back. You get a good view of the whole screen, and a good view of the whole audience.
Beside me sat a big dude named Sylvester, who apparently flew all the way from Australia to attend HRRFY.
“Worth the full Seventeen hours mate! It’s gonna be epic!” he dropped a massive camping backpack beside me, which I assume contained all of his luggage.
The lights dimmed, and the production company logos started to play.
The whispering, giggling and suspense all stacked upon each other to create an electric feeling in the air. I was giddy. It's like the entire audience was embarking on a massive roller coaster.
The anticipation was the best part for sure. It might have been the only good part.
Then the movie started.
It was a wide shot of a gray, stormy sea. The waves were massive, and the thunderclouds were looming. There was no land visible in any direction.
All we could hear was the sound of waves foaming, swirling, and crashing over and over. Lightning crackled. Rain poured. The camera held perfectly still over this storm as if it was mounted on a perfectly hovering drone. A drone so resilient that it didn’t waver at all.
I thought it had to be CGI.
The shot held like this for the next few moments. Everyone sat glued to their seats. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
What’s going to happen? How are they going to scare us?
People chuckled. People cheered. People wanted to tease whatever was going to happen—to happen already.
But nothing did.
Five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes went by without any change. People started snoring.
I looked beside me and saw that Sylvester—the most excited audience member of them all—had fallen totally asleep. The jet lag must’ve gotten to him.
Then I peered beyond the rest of the audience members and saw other people snoozing too. Heads were keeled over, some people were curled in their seats, some had even spilled out into the aisle and were dozing on the floor.
I looked above the bright screen, at the huge vents in the corner of the theater. I saw a faint white gas emerging from the vents.
Holy shit. What have we been breathing? I tightened the straps on my N95 mask, and made my breathing shallower.
The gas must have been pumping since the opening credits—because how else would an audience of two hundred people all fall asleep?
As I moved my hand through the air in front of me, I could sense the thickness. It was definitely hazier than usual. I took the scarf off my neck and wrapped it around my mouth as well.
Then I spotted movement in front of the screen.
It was a tall blonde man, wearing a black trenchcoat and military-grade gas mask. Beside him arrived six hazmat suits who started pointing at various audience members.
I slunk in my chair, pretending to sleep like everyone else.
Two hazmats walked over to the front row and picked out a sleeping guy in flannel. They lifted flannel up, under the armpits and by his ankles, carrying him between them both like a hammock.
The hazmats walked back up to the stage, where the blonde leader inspected the flannel man and tapped his head. Something was approved?
The hazmats began to swing flannel back and forth, as if they were getting ready to toss him. Despite their masks, I could hear a very muffled, very distant countdown.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
The flannel audience member was tossed into the screen.
I literally watched him fly into the image of stormy waves … andfallinto them. The flannel man sank into the gray water like a rock, leaving a few bubbles and foam. A wave came crashing down. All trace of him was gone.
What the fuck.
All six hazmats began grabbing more audience members with much more urgency. It became a minute-long process where they would pick the sleeping person up, bring them beside the screen, and then swing-toss them into it.
How was this possible?
I turned slightly to see if there was a projector above me, and realized there was none. Which meant maybe there was no screen on stage.
Which meant … maybe it was a portal?
I tried to wake Sylvester by shaking him. I pinched his leg and arm a bunch.
He was out cold.
The hazmats started grabbing audience members from the middle rows now. They were emptying the whole theater. What the hell was I supposed to do?
I waited until they grabbed another batch, only a few rows down from me. When all hazmats had their backs turned—I broke into a run.
With my left arm, I tightly gripped my mask and scarf against my face, while my right arm vaulted me over seat after seat.
I had never breathed so hard—through so much fabric—in my life.
The hazmats all turned to me. “Hey! Hey!” But their hands were full with their next victims.
I ran all the way down the aisle, to the big exit sign on the left. My heartbeat filled my head. My plan was to dropkick through the exit door.
I imagined myself breaking through like some flying gazelle.
I jumped.
I angled my kick.
It might as well have been a brick wall. I fell ass-first to the ground, followed by my head. Of course the door was locked.
Through a muffled mask I heard a sneering scoff.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Above me stood the one wearing a trenchcoat. I could see his piercing gray eyes through his gas mask.
I rolled aside and tried to run by him. He lifted a foot and tripped me without effort.
My forehead bashed into an empty seat. It dazed me.
The blonde leader bent down and grabbed me by the neck, tearing away my scarf and mask.
“No! No!”
A sweet, ether-like smell filled my nostrils. I did my best to hold my breath, but I could already feel myself getting light-headed.
The other hazmats joined in, grabbing me from all sides. Even if I had the strength to struggle, there was no escape now.
Above me, all I could see was the dark theater ceiling, and some of the light behind me from the cinema screen.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“No. Please. Don’t do thi—”
SPLASH.
I was plunged deep into cold, wet chaos. My head was completely underwater.
Gagging. Bubbles. Spinning.
I fought for dear life, dog-paddling like a maniac.
Churning. Freezing. Panic.
For a second, my head popped above the water. I inhaled all the air my lungs could muster. I stared across a vast, violent ocean.
An enormous thirty foot wave came in my direction.
My whole body lifted higher and higher as the wave approached. I did my best to tread water. It seemed to be working.
Then a series of smaller waves arrived and smacked my chest.
SPLASH.
Spinning. Kicking. Flipping.
My view alternated between the pitch dark ocean beneath me, and the moonlit night sky above.
Again I swam to the surface, popped my head out. Ravenously sucked in air.
There was a small lull in the water.
Around me I now registered the other theater goers. Most of them were lying face-down or sinking … but a few were flapping about like me, fighting for their life.
And above all of us, a floating white shape.
It was painfully bright, I had to lift one hand to look at it.
My jaw dropped.
It was the movie screen, hanging completely still in the air. It showed a dark, empty theater. The exact same theater we all occupied moments ago.
It was tremendously high, above all of our heads. There was no way of reaching it.
Then I saw another thirty foot wave come our way. It grazed the bottom of the screen.
I knew what had to be done.
***
One of the theater goers happened to be on a college swim team. She was the first one able to traverse one of the giant waves and climb into the screen.
Once she was up there, she found a firehose in the theater and reeled it out to us like a rope.
One by one, we swam as hard as we could, praying to God we could reach the rope. Everyone’s energy was sapped. Your body can only sustain itself on adrenaline and fear for so long.
By some miracle, five of us got out.
I was the last.
I climbed the rope coughing and vomiting. I had swallowed so much water that my stomach felt swollen.
When I reached the top and they pulled me into the screen, I sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying.
My life had flashed countless times before my eyes. In bubbling, suffocating visions, I saw both my parents and my brother. I saw my highschool graduation. I saw my favorite Christmas from when I was six years old.
I had almost lost all of that. I had lost almost everything.
On the dirty, carpeted theater floor, I lay with my face down, savoring the fact that I now lay on a hard surface. God bless ground. God bless this filthy, popcorn-strewn ground.
Beside me I heard bantering, hugging, the wringing of wet clothes. Sylvester was the second last to be saved, and he was particularly vocal.
“Wooooooaaaaahh!” He came and drummed me on the back, lifted me up. “Oh my god dude! Holy shit!”
I sat on my knees, wiping the tears and snot off my mouth.
Sylvester clapped his hands, held his face and screamed some more.
“Holy shit dude! That was so fucking scary! Like literally people were dying beside us. Like I SAW people die!”
I nodded, shivering in my drenched clothes. “ I know it was—”
“—That was craaaaazy!”
He laughed and stood up, patting everyone on the back. He kept clapping his hands like this was some sports event.
“That was sick! That was siiiiiiiiick!”
He ruffled someone’s hair then ran up to me with an open palm.
“High five dude! WE MADE IT! High five!
“Don’t leave me hangin’ dude!”

I have a friend who is going through a really tough time financially. They are nearly in the negative almost everyday and their job doesn’t provide much. A while back they started asking for a few dollars here and there for food and gas. I said yes without thinking twice about it. Now, the requests are becoming more frequent and they range anywhere between ($3-$20). I feel guilty and say yes everytime, but I checked my bank statement and I’ve given my friend hundreds of dollars in a couple of months.
I think what’s frustrating me is my friend says they will send me back the money the same day but they never do or they’ll send back the low amount that I lent and ignores the big amount.
I’m at a loss for what to do. Right now I’m feeling pretty frustrated each time they message me and ask for more money. But then I also feel extremely guilty when they tell me they’re starving, low on gas, etc.
I 100% don’t expect to get the money back that I’ve lent out which is my mistake. I just have no clue how to approach this and whether I’m being selfish to not help them?

Hello, I have been looking everywhere for somewhere to post this because I wanted more opinions, so this is my first time here. I’ve been having some symptoms going on for almost a year now. I was wondering if people on here could help me & I didn’t get any objections to this idea from my other friends, so here we go.
About last year I was talking to a friend who I’m no longer in contact with about some childhood stories, my first day in preschool, a hospital trip, and something that happened during middle school where I heard some sort of very faint voice in my head that didn’t sound exactly like me (I talked to my therapist about it, she suggested it was probably a depression voice since I was hearing thoughts as if I was overthinking or having anxiety.) All three times I started to feel incredibly zoned out, feverish, & it was hard to think. It felt very intense and I’m unsure why, a few days later I was with some friends on VR Chat, I start complaining about how I feel like I’m dreaming, and my friend asks if I’m dissociating, I ask them to clarify if feeling like you’re dreaming can count as dissociation, and they said yes to an extent, I ask my other friends who experience dissociation a lot and they say yes overall.
A few days after that, me and my family go somewhere for my dad’s birthday, it went fine but my mom started talking to me about how I always had a high pain tolerance since I was younger, while we’re eating she asked me if something in my childhood felt normal to me (I won't specify what it was, but it was something medical related to helping me eat) I said yes, so this and my friend asking if I was dissociating made me want to talk to my therapist about it both dissociation and my childhood.
I had a therapy appointment shortly after that and I ask my therapist what counts as dissociation (my other friends have explained it to me, I just never thought to myself “hey I feel like that a lot.”) and she explained to me what does count as dissociation and then I realize “hey I’ve felt like this a lot, maybe even every other day.” I ask her if next time we can talk more about my childhood since I was in and out of hospitals a lot and experienced a lot of other things related to that, and she says yes.
Around now is when I start feeling a pressure in my head a lot, or just a slight pushing feeling in my head feeling like somethings pushing my forehead forward, that or something trying to pull me away.
Next appointment we talk more about my childhood and some other things like middle school, and dissociation, and how I probably do have a lower level of trauma mostly revolving around my medical history, (I don’t recall any abuse or yelling besides my father grabbing my arm sometimes and raising his voice a good amount, he’s better now, just issues with tone.) Like I said earlier I will not specify what it is entirely but up till I was around 3-4 I was horribly sick, vomited a bunch, and had needles poked in me a lot for blood draws, needed a good amount of surgery, was constantly severely swollen most of the time, & suffered a lot of severe pneumonia (though I was still in and out of the hospital a bit till up to 5-6 I believe.)
More context is that I’m in a smallish sized friend group (more than 7-8 people at least.) About 3 people of them were systems, at this point, all 3 said systems told me they suspected me being a system and have been saying a lot of the symptoms seem very suspicious, & my descriptions sound similar to their experiences before they themselves found out they were systems, another 2 systems joined our group later on and they thought the same thing, so that’s 5.
Sometimes when I wake up, I do hear something like “Hey (my name).” quite often (when I hear things it also seems most common when I’m with friends.) I start feeling like I’m losing control of my body, sometimes (an example is I remember playing another game and suddenly I felt incredibly zoned out and I had to “hold on” Is how I’d put it.) Very rarely I do hear things during the day even now (though I thought I’ve been hearing my name get called down as I mentioned earlier, hearing things more commonly I feel like when I’m around others, when nobody did call me in reality, or in a call I hear someone in my head speak sometimes I’ve felt like.) another example is when I was in a voice chat on Discord with my other friends and we were all jokingly arguing about how Maria was said and I swear I heard a faint “Mari-uh.”
There’s not much else, besides constantly feeling a bit disconnected from reality, my therapist doesn’t know too much about the topic of dissociation unfortunately so she can’t be too reliable, my family is trying to look for a psychologist for me, here are some other notes.
-I am genderfluid, sometimes it feels like when I shift genders I feel like my head is melting and there’s a bunch of pressure on it - when I change genders sometimes it feels like it’s triggered by looking at other certain characters from other media (for an example, one makes me feel masculine, one makes me feel feminine, and one makes me feel non binary.)
-Talking to other systems most times triggers my head to flare up, most of the time feeling like something is sitting there (my other friends have suggested it is dissociative barriers.)
I have tried talking to “Maria” a bunch of times before, but it seems more responsive to other people (people saying “hello maria” jokingly, other systems speaking, etc, & flares up at things like me being mean lightheartedly towards my friends, talking to certain other friends, & sometimes when I’m around my dad the pain/pushing feeling flares up.)
-I am very likely autistic, if that is important.
-I have been having elevated blood pressure for over two years now (my therapist has suggested it might be why some symptoms are happening, though I have been on a light dose of medication for a bit, soon to move to a higher dose.)
-I have maybe heard voices when I was younger than 8 though I only feel like that has happened, I’m not too sure about the memory itself.
-I am pretty sure I remember a few instances where I was younger and I have randomly blacked out (mainly during dangerous situations) to wake up somewhere completely different, I have also shut down a lot mentally when I was young and zoned out a bunch - though it is probably due to a bunch of sensory overloads but still thought I’d mention it.
Forever I’ve felt like I’ve gotten these short, small rushing feelings in my head, like something is rushing towards the front of my head (sometimes my vision gets a bit blurry) the short moments of that rushing feeling might’ve been spiking up with how often it has been happening lately.
-Another friend who is a system has suggested things could be active at night because other alters could be feeling safer at that time.
-While I did say "Maria" is more responsive to others rather than me, the pain does sometimes go away when I type out "Please make my head stop hurting" or if I ask for my head to stop hurting. It seems more consistent when I type it out rather than saying it aloud, and if it does work, then I feel like I zone back in a little, even if I didn't feel too zoned out to begin with. It feels more consistent if I use name “Maria” or sometimes other names too.
-I have spoken to my therapist about how my memory of my childhood feels jumbled, as if I can only remember random certain events and small pieces, it still feels like a lot of my memory is missing (an example would be I cannot remember 2nd-4th grade for the most part.) Though my therapist did say missing gaps like that was normal but I’m still not sure.
-If my age is important, I am a 19.
-I’ve always felt a small struggle with who I am as a person, or my identity (I am able to say I am myself, but I’ve always felt a slight struggle at the same time, or I guess an off feeling when seeing myself in a mirror.)
-Sometimes it feels like I’m able to change my emotions as if it’s on command, I’d be breaking down terribly and sometimes I can snap myself into feeling mostly okay, though I am unsure If this is just me repressing those emotions or not.
-The head pain or pushing/pulling feeling in my head sometimes starts when I wake up and is pretty bad for a while.
-Sometimes the pain or pushing/pulling feeling goes away when I'm around others or outside.
I am aware nobody on here can diagnose me as none of you are likely a professional, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to get secondary opinions. I believe that’s all, I just want more opinions. Whoever has read this and made it this far, thank you and please put your own input if you have any thoughts. I am aware I should get a professional for this kind of thing but as I said earlier, my family is currently looking for a psychologist for me, and my therapist doesn’t know too much about these things unfortunately, so I just want more opinions on it to see if I can get more help.

The HRRFY.
It’s the horror movie festival where something genuinely fucked happens every year. And I mean every year.
Like, there are some screenings that unleash hordes of bats while the movie is playing. You're free to leave whenever you want, but the movie will still play for 2 hours and 15 minutes.
Other screenings hire actors to turn at you and scream at some point in the movie. You have no idea when, or how many times.
It's a festival where the word "illegal" can't even begin to describe what happens. You'd only attend if you were a young, stupid edgelord like me who was trying to prove he was hardcore to his friends.
Trust me. DO NOT GO.
You have nothing to prove to anyone. Don't be stupid.
Wait for the lamer film versions to come out streaming. That's what everyone else does. They're neutered edits but they're fine.
All they lack is the real gleaming thing everyone wants to see at HRRFY, but who cares. At least you don’t get traumatized. At least you’re not risking your life.
Anyway, if you really want to know what attending HRRFY is like. I’ll be quick and summarize the one screening I went to. It was the 20th anniversary, and I was lucky enough to get in.
***
I had signed up for the HRRFY mailing list, and joined the subreddit. Through a series of cryptic online emails I solved a sequence of riddles and was entered in the lottery for a HRRFY entry.
Lady Luck took a shine to me, because one day in my mailbox, I received a physical ticket. I had done it.
I was going.
The actual ‘ticket’ was a black USB key that announced the location of the festival the night before (which I won’t disclose here) and it did force me to pay for a very expensive flight in order for me to make it on time.
You see, to prevent getting shut down, the location of HRRFY changes every year. Some years the local police have managed to stop it, but for the most part, authorities have given up. What’s the point of arresting or charging anyone, if all the organizers and attendees actually want to be there?
Upon arrival, I had to pick between three participating theaters.
Based on title alone, I decided to go see “Many Drownings” (directed by Oleksander Gołański.) It was in the theater that was furthest away from the downtown core, which meant it was likely the one where the craziest shit was bound to happen.
That’s what I came here for right?
I lined up a solid two hours before the screening like everyone else. The entire line was jittering, just vibrating with excited twenty-somethings. Rumors flew left and right.
“I heard they’re going to force everyone to take acid.”
“I heard an actor’s gonna run in and shotgun the ceiling.”
“I heard they’re going to disappear like four more people this year. At this screening!”
Each year people disappeared. And each year the same people were ‘found.’ And yes this is the worst part, and why should never, ever, ever go to this event.
Again I will repeat myself. DO NOT GO.
No one has ever truly gone 'missing' at HRRFY in any legal or physical sense, because every missing person always shows up a day later, convinced that they are fine—refusing to elaborate further.
There are some small support groups for people who have family members who had gone to HRRFY, and came back irrevocably changed after being ‘found.’
These few unlucky people lose all semblance of personality. They don’t want interviews, or help, or therapy, or contact of any kind. And they never, ever want to talk about what they saw.
Some HRRFY fans think that these ‘found’ people were body-snatched. Cloned in a lab or replaced by a cyborg, or something stupid like that.
But I think there’s a far simpler explanation. The ‘found’ are still the same people. They're just terrified. They got shaken by something that shattered the foundation of their mind, body and soul. They got too scared.
They got HRRFY’d.
***
I should mention I had a cough the day I went. And I was worried my sickly appearance might give me trouble at the airport.
So I invested in an intense double N95 mask which I wore for the whole flight, and continued to wear even at the screening of “Many Drownings.”
It made my face hot and uncomfortable, but it still didn’t stop me from yelling “excuse me, excuse me!” as I ran to snag a seat in the back of the theater.
I always preferred sitting in the far back. You get a good view of the whole screen, and a good view of the whole audience.
Beside me sat a big dude named Sylvester, who apparently flew all the way from Australia to attend HRRFY.
“Worth the full Seventeen hours mate! It’s gonna be epic!” he dropped a massive camping backpack beside me, which I assume contained all of his luggage.
The lights dimmed, and the production company logos started to play.
The whispering, giggling and suspense all stacked upon each other to create an electric feeling in the air. I was giddy. It's like the entire audience was embarking on a massive roller coaster.
The anticipation was the best part for sure. It might have been the only good part.
Then the movie started.
It was a wide shot of a gray, stormy sea. The waves were massive, and the thunderclouds were looming. There was no land visible in any direction.
All we could hear was the sound of waves foaming, swirling, and crashing over and over. Lightning crackled. Rain poured. The camera held perfectly still over this storm as if it was mounted on a perfectly hovering drone. A drone so resilient that it didn’t waver at all.
I thought it had to be CGI.
The shot held like this for the next few moments. Everyone sat glued to their seats. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
What’s going to happen? How are they going to scare us?
People chuckled. People cheered. People wanted to tease whatever was going to happen—to happen already.
But nothing did.
Five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes went by without any change. People started snoring.
I looked beside me and saw that Sylvester—the most excited audience member of them all—had fallen totally asleep. The jet lag must’ve gotten to him.
Then I peered beyond the rest of the audience members and saw other people snoozing too. Heads were keeled over, some people were curled in their seats, some had even spilled out into the aisle and were dozing on the floor.
I looked above the bright screen, at the huge vents in the corner of the theater. I saw a faint white gas emerging from the vents.
Holy shit. What have we been breathing? I tightened the straps on my N95 mask, and made my breathing shallower.
The gas must have been pumping since the opening credits—because how else would an audience of two hundred people all fall asleep?
As I moved my hand through the air in front of me, I could sense the thickness. It was definitely hazier than usual. I took the scarf off my neck and wrapped it around my mouth as well.
Then I spotted movement in front of the screen.
It was a tall blonde man, wearing a black trenchcoat and military-grade gas mask. Beside him arrived six hazmat suits who started pointing at various audience members.
I slunk in my chair, pretending to sleep like everyone else.
Two hazmats walked over to the front row and picked out a sleeping guy in flannel. They lifted flannel up, under the armpits and by his ankles, carrying him between them both like a hammock.
The hazmats walked back up to the stage, where the blonde leader inspected the flannel man and tapped his head. Something was approved?
The hazmats began to swing flannel back and forth, as if they were getting ready to toss him. Despite their masks, I could hear a very muffled, very distant countdown.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
The flannel audience member was tossed into the screen.
I literally watched him fly into the image of stormy waves … andfallinto them. The flannel man sank into the gray water like a rock, leaving a few bubbles and foam. A wave came crashing down. All trace of him was gone.
What the fuck.
All six hazmats began grabbing more audience members with much more urgency. It became a minute-long process where they would pick the sleeping person up, bring them beside the screen, and then swing-toss them into it.
How was this possible?
I turned slightly to see if there was a projector above me, and realized there was none. Which meant maybe there was no screen on stage.
Which meant … maybe it was a portal?
I tried to wake Sylvester by shaking him. I pinched his leg and arm a bunch.
He was out cold.
The hazmats started grabbing audience members from the middle rows now. They were emptying the whole theater. What the hell was I supposed to do?
I waited until they grabbed another batch, only a few rows down from me. When all hazmats had their backs turned—I broke into a run.
With my left arm, I tightly gripped my mask and scarf against my face, while my right arm vaulted me over seat after seat.
I had never breathed so hard—through so much fabric—in my life.
The hazmats all turned to me. “Hey! Hey!” But their hands were full with their next victims.
I ran all the way down the aisle, to the big exit sign on the left. My heartbeat filled my head. My plan was to dropkick through the exit door.
I imagined myself breaking through like some flying gazelle.
I jumped.
I angled my kick.
It might as well have been a brick wall. I fell ass-first to the ground, followed by my head. Of course the door was locked.
Through a muffled mask I heard a sneering scoff.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Above me stood the one wearing a trenchcoat. I could see his piercing gray eyes through his gas mask.
I rolled aside and tried to run by him. He lifted a foot and tripped me without effort.
My forehead bashed into an empty seat. It dazed me.
The blonde leader bent down and grabbed me by the neck, tearing away my scarf and mask.
“No! No!”
A sweet, ether-like smell filled my nostrils. I did my best to hold my breath, but I could already feel myself getting light-headed.
The other hazmats joined in, grabbing me from all sides. Even if I had the strength to struggle, there was no escape now.
Above me, all I could see was the dark theater ceiling, and some of the light behind me from the cinema screen.
“Three…”
“Two…”
“No. Please. Don’t do thi—”
SPLASH.
I was plunged deep into cold, wet chaos. My head was completely underwater.
Gagging. Bubbles. Spinning.
I fought for dear life, dog-paddling like a maniac.
Churning. Freezing. Panic.
For a second, my head popped above the water. I inhaled all the air my lungs could muster. I stared across a vast, violent ocean.
An enormous thirty foot wave came in my direction.
My whole body lifted higher and higher as the wave approached. I did my best to tread water. It seemed to be working.
Then a series of smaller waves arrived and smacked my chest.
SPLASH.
Spinning. Kicking. Flipping.
My view alternated between the pitch dark ocean beneath me, and the moonlit night sky above.
Again I swam to the surface, popped my head out. Ravenously sucked in air.
There was a small lull in the water.
Around me I now registered the other theater goers. Most of them were lying face-down or sinking … but a few were flapping about like me, fighting for their life.
And above all of us, a floating white shape.
It was painfully bright, I had to lift one hand to look at it.
My jaw dropped.
It was the movie screen, hanging completely still in the air. It showed a dark, empty theater. The exact same theater we all occupied moments ago.
It was tremendously high, above all of our heads. There was no way of reaching it.
Then I saw another thirty foot wave come our way. It grazed the bottom of the screen.
I knew what had to be done.
***
One of the theater goers happened to be on a college swim team. She was the first one able to traverse one of the giant waves and climb into the screen.
Once she was up there, she found a firehose in the theater and reeled it out to us like a rope.
One by one, we swam as hard as we could, praying to God we could reach the rope. Everyone’s energy was sapped. Your body can only sustain itself on adrenaline and fear for so long.
By some miracle, five of us got out.
I was the last.
I climbed the rope coughing and vomiting. I had swallowed so much water that my stomach felt swollen.
When I reached the top and they pulled me into the screen, I sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying.
My life had flashed countless times before my eyes. In bubbling, suffocating visions, I saw both my parents and my brother. I saw my highschool graduation. I saw my favorite Christmas from when I was six years old.
I had almost lost all of that. I had lost almost everything.
On the dirty, carpeted theater floor, I lay with my face down, savoring the fact that I now lay on a hard surface. God bless ground. God bless this filthy, popcorn-strewn ground.
Beside me I heard bantering, hugging, the wringing of wet clothes. Sylvester was the second last to be saved, and he was particularly vocal.
“Wooooooaaaaahh!” He came and drummed me on the back, lifted me up. “Oh my god dude! Holy shit!”
I sat on my knees, wiping the tears and snot off my mouth.
Sylvester clapped his hands, held his face and screamed some more.
“Holy shit dude! That was so fucking scary! Like literally people were dying beside us. Like I SAW people die!”
I nodded, shivering in my drenched clothes. “ I know it was—”
“—That was craaaaazy!”
He laughed and stood up, patting everyone on the back. He kept clapping his hands like this was some sports event.
“That was sick! That was siiiiiiiiick!”
He ruffled someone’s hair then ran up to me with an open palm.
“High five dude! WE MADE IT! High five!
“Don’t leave me hangin’ dude!”