Tl;dr I’m the more “calm and collected”, or hardened one, when it comes to my emotions compared to my husband and it makes situations where my husband feels emotional stressful for me to consolidate the situation at hand and his own emotional state.
I realized LO (8m) was running a little warmer than usual and shared that with hubby first thing in the morning since I noticed it during her 4am dream feed. He didn’t think much of it but agreed we’ll keep tabs just in case because his dad and brother both just got over being sick. we waited over a week after the fact of his dad getting better to go to the aquarium, but his brother invited himself and we have no idea how soon he got over the symptoms or just didn’t care. I didn’t know this until after the fact too.
Anyways, fast forward to mid day and we wholeheartedly believe it’s just low grade fever teething. Kept a mini fan on her, wrap a blanket around her and contact napped most of the day away. Shes eating just fine, not skipping bottles and still ate purées when offered. But this last hour I guess we either bundled her too much or it’s the first signs it may be something else other than teething since she started lightly convulsing. Took her temp and she jumped from 99.2 to 101.8. Have her children’s Tylenol and keeping a close eye on her.
Plan to call the doc in the morning since she’s still soo little ~ which I’m glad I called the nurse hotline earlier in the day for a dosage check to prepare for a fever spike just in case!
Anyways, my husband started crying when she was shaking from her fever and kept alarmingly telling me he doesn’t like this which started ramping up my anxiety immediately sending me into internal “we need to be seen NOW! Pack up and go!” but the logical side said, “no, let’s give her some Tylenol and check again in an hour or so. If it doesn’t go down, call the nurse hotline. Kids get sick, she’s going to be okay under our care”. But that other side, the anxiety fear driven side kept clawing its way every time I looked at my husband who had tears streaming down his face and had such concern in his tone. I asked him to calm down which had a snappy retort back where I calmly reiterated, “I just need you to take a breathe because I think we’re going to be just fine. This wasn’t to dismiss your feelings, or be disrespectful”.
I’m more annoyed that I have to council him much more than her when we’re in a scenario like this and makes me feel like I have to be the strong one for the family since he can be quite emotional. I mean it’s one of the reasons I love him but it’s hard when I can’t be vulnerable or have another adult to bounce off of. How do you comfort or work around that?

I apologize for the very long post.
I’ve been on NP thyroid for about 3 years now, before that I was on Nature Throid for several years before it was taken off the market back in 2021. That worked very well for me. Since starting NP thyroid, my symptoms have increasingly been getting worse and many are symptoms I had not dealt with before. I have been alternating 75mg & 90mg until about 3 weeks ago, when my labwork showed my TSH being the highest it has been since I first started desiccated thyroid over a decade ago. My endo requested I take 90mg daily and I have my appointment with her this week.
For background: I take my pill at 5am daily and usually don’t eat for 2-3 hours afterwards. Last year I had discussed with my endo that I needed to start taking my pill earlier because I found that if I was awake, I would suddenly get so hungry and it was difficult to wait the full hour before breakfast. Sometimes I would vomit while waiting and I was worried my medicine wasn’t absorbing so I changed it to be earlier so I get up and eat right away if I needed to. This concerned me because I never had a problem with the 1 hour rule before, but endo was not concerned.
My most recent labs show: TSH- 5.2 (this is over double what it was last August) T3 is ok, has stayed pretty consistent over time T4 is on the lower end of “normal” range Vitamin D- 48, which is the highest I can remember it being and does show that my supplements for that are at least being absorbed and working
I don’t take biotin, am celiac so completely gluten free, was checked for anemia and diabetes last year (both clear). Only other thing that has changed over the last couple of years is I now show arthritis in my hips and neck with a positive CRP, which I have a rheumatology appointment for. I was told multiple times that this has nothing to do with the thyroid.
Currently my biggest issues have been significant weight gain (70+ lbs), from when I started NP, whereas my weight was very stable before and my diet did not drastically change. It has primarily been to my face and stomach and has been impossible to lose, no matter how much exercise, calorie and portion cutting, diet changes I have done. It is incredibly frustrating and affects my self esteem more than I care to admit. I have had ED behaviors in the past and being the heaviest I have ever been in my entire life is very triggering. I have asked both my endo and primary doctor for help and have basically been told that I need to try harder and seek therapy. Right now, my weight has pretty much plateaued even though I have had a decreasing appetite the last couple of months. My exercise interolance has increased, along with more muscle weakness and joint pain that makes this issue even more difficult. I still exercise, though not to the same extent I had been doing. I constantly tell myself I am not doing enough and not having doctors believe me makes it worse. My family and partner tell me I look like a different person.
I am also struggling with sleep issues, waking up every 1-2 hours, difficulty falling asleep, so fatigued in the morning I immediately go for coffee when I never needed it before. I know this isn’t great and honestly I don’t even really like it, but I feel I need it to get through the morning before getting the afternoon crash again. I never do caffeine after 11am. I bruise more easily, have more noticeable mood swings, get overwhelmed easier, get frequent salt cravings, dizziness and headaches almost daily, rib pain that causes shortness of breath, back pain and stiffness that has worsened and does not respond to NSAIDS like it used to, so I stopped. I also have had a significant drop in libido, which has put a strain on my relationship. My partner has said he has noticed a cognitive decline especially over the last year- I have more difficulty understanding information than I ever had, things like directions or multi step instructions overwhelm me and it takes longer to process than it used to. I also forget words and how to pronounce them on occasion. This goes beyond the brain fog and fatigue I am used to and I’ve been brushed off with, my levels were in “normal” range before this (2.3 TSH), and I’m sure my endo will tell me now that my TSH is higher, I should expect to experience hypo symptoms, but this is far more than I’ve ever had to deal with. Ironically, I do not get as cold as I used to- and I used to wear a winter jacket in 90 degree weather!
I have asked for hormone testing multiple times and am brushed off as not needing it since my periods have not stopped completely (irregular cycles was one of the first issues I brought up, especially because my mom went into early menopause unexpectedly and I was worried about possibly being in perimenopause now), but I am told that I am too young. I am 26 and my mom was 32-33 and doctors were unsuccessful about restarting her cycles. I am worried something may be going on there.
I am also concerned about possibly having PCOS/adrenal issues. I just read that NP thyroid is not supposed to be taken if you have untreated adrenal problems and that it can worsen symptoms. I would like to ask about testing for this, but given I have a very dismissive endo, I am wondering if it is even worth trying. I am afraid of being brushed off again but at this point I don’t know if there is something else going on that is affecting my meds or if there is something else I should be looking into. My symptoms have only increased in frequency and intensity and it is impacting my day to day life tremendously. I have only been offered to go back on Synthroid (no other testing), which I turned down because that made my life so much worse, but I also do not want to be taking medication that is causing more harm than good.
Has anyone else experienced issues with NP or relatable symptoms? I’m tired of feeling like I can’t get a handle on things and worried how much more severe these issues will get. I plan on telling my endo this at my appointment of course, as well as having my partner with me. I want to have as productive of an appointment as possible-is there anything else I should be looking into in the meantime? I just want my life back.
Oh, and I forgot to mention I had a total thyroidectomy in case that makes a difference.

You may think you know this space agency, but you don’t. NASA is not the sum of its publicly-presented parts. I’m not simply talking about classified research and development. I’m talking about the dozens of space programmes veiled from prying eyes. Programmes hidden even from many folk within the company. And when I was finally offered the privilege of peering behind the curtain, I found myself at the eye of an unprecedented storm. A disaster beyond the bounds of earthly horror.
The GE1 mission.
Since the climax of the space race, a consensus has grown. A prevailing belief that NASA has abandoned the final frontier. It is, however, an absurd notion that the brightest minds of this agency no longer care about space’s mysteries. The truth is that our best scientists decided, decades ago, to shield humanity from the hellish things we uncovered. Things lying in the pits of space that no light reaches.
NASA projects featured in the media have low stakes. Even the International Space Station sits at the foot of this organisation’s priorities. Significant expeditions are classified. The ones intended to catapult humanity towards the stars, for instance. The ones using spacecraft beyond what the average person deems possible with human technology. We are capable of things that would leave you awestruck.
We are capable of things that would leave you cold.
The GE1 space craft launched on Wednesday 25^th January, 2023. It sailed beyond our solar system, pursuing a slow signal that was coursing through the outer reaches of the Milky Way. Not an intelligible transmission, but a frequency that intrigued us, nonetheless. A frequency named 784a.
Hysteria swept the company on the date of the signal’s first interception. Saturday 29^th October, 2022. Given 784a’s ever-moving source, the frequency sparked feverish intrigue. Regarding the nature of the mysterious, moving signal, there seemed to be a different hypothesis from every NASA employee with clearance. It was, truly, an exhilarating time.
And things reached a fever pitch when the GE1 craft launched a few months later. Employees weren’t eating or sleeping. They spent their waking hours sharing ideas about the mysterious transmission from space. A circuit-board of explanations that finally overloaded on Thursday 2^nd February, 2023. The day on which the GE1 stopped responding to NASA.
One week later, on Thursday 9^th February, the signal from the space craft returned.
“Commander Irwin, this is Mission Control,” Dr Parker, the head of the project, announced. “Mission Control to GE1. Do you copy?”
“Roger, Mission Control,” Commander Tim Irwin responded. “We’ve been trying to reach you.”
“We lost contact with GE1 seven days ago, Commander. What happened? What is your status?” Dr Parker asked.
“All systems are fine, Mission Control,” Irwin replied.
Dr Parker seemed flustered by the commander’s nonchalant demeanour. The project leader clawed at his grey, thinning hair with tense fingers. The old man seemed to be carefully considering his next utterance.
“Seven days without contact, Commander… Seven. GE1 disappeared at our end. Do you have a status report? Anything which might explain why we were unable to communicate with one another?” Parker asked.
“Nothing, Mission Control,” Irwin blankly replied. “As for 784a, we reached the transmission point of the signal. There was nothing to be found. We have collected as much data as possible. Requesting clearance to return home.”
There were several minutes of nervous mumbling from various scientists and board members. Dr Parker looked broken beyond measure by the time he leaned forwards, heavy breath beating against the microphone. He was trembling with a mixture of rage and confusion.
“Roger, Commander Irwin. You have clearance to come home,” Parked croakily whispered.
On a vessel traversing space at an unfathomable pace, the astronauts returned home. The craft silently landed at an unofficial NASA site on Wednesday 15^th February, 2023. The GE1 crew emerged, greeted by a small, applauding crowd. Tim Irwin, Gianna Daines, and Mattias Olsson. Those were the three astronauts who supposedly emerged from the space craft.
And, at first, we had no reason to believe anything else. We recognised the three faces. The three voices. The three brilliant minds. However, it did not take long for slight oddities to slip through the cracks. I overheard something perplexing whilst Tim Irwin spoke to his wife, Melissa Irwin, in the break-room.
“I love you, Melody,” The astronaut said.
Melissa frowned, smiling awkwardly. “Melody…? Who is Melody?”
I didn’t intend to eavesdrop. I’d been helping myself to a drink. Still, I slowed down when I heard that. Melissa was clearly teasing her exhausted husband, but there was a slight tinge of uncertainty in her voice. And I’ll admit that I was a little too nosy. I pretended to weigh up two different drinks, before I made my way out of the room. As a result, I managed to catch the tail-end of the commander’s strange fumble.
Irwin cleared his throat. “I… I’m sorry, honey. I–”
“– forgot my wife’s name,” Melissa laughed, finishing his sentence. “No worries, honey. It’s Melissa, by the way… Just to let you know. I didn’t realise I had to worry about you finding another woman in space.”
“I know your name,” Tim icily sliced.
I froze, halfway out of the door, as Melissa replied with a timid voice.
“Sorry, sweetie. I know. I know. I was only joking,” She assured. “Your head must be all over the place. You look like you need a good rest.”
I laughed to myself, once I was out of earshot, but I felt the same as Melissa. Something was slightly uneven about Tim’s disposition. It wasn’t simply a sleep-deprived brain. I knew that, and she knew that. The commander’s voice changed when his wife confronted him. It didn’t sound like the astronaut any longer. I didn’t know Tim incredibly well, but I knew that he was different.
Whatever the case, I would’ve forgotten about the entire thing, dismissing my gut feeling as the result of a nerve-wracking week or two. Everybody had been unsettled since GE1 lost its signal. We were still recovering from the stress of those awful seven days without any communication with the space craft.
There is one other thing worth mentioning from the day of GE1’s return. One of my co-workers claimed to find Gianna Daines standing alone in a corridor. Staring at a bathroom door. Not entering. Not moving.
Sleep-deprivation, I thought again.
One year later, that explanation no longer sufficed.
On Wednesday 31^st January, 2024, an unidentified object entered Earth’s atmosphere, tumbling into the Pacific Ocean. A catastrophe that was only brought to NASA’s attention because the object in question utilised advanced cloaking technology, though it did not broadcast a signal. It was a government satellite that detected the craft. And when specialists identified that they had detected technology used by Dozen Minus, our primary government contractor, NASA immediately sent a recovery team to the ocean site.
That was as much as I knew until Dr Parker knocked on my door.
“I’d appreciate your input,” He said.
“Pardon?” I replied, fearing, for a moment, that I’d have to join the exploration team.
“You’re one of only two dozen people who were involved with the GE1 project,” Parker explained, as if that were enough information.
“I… don’t understand… That project ended a year ago,” I said.
Dr Parker’s brow furrowed. “Please come with me, Dr Odell.”
And then, after following the man to the Control Room, I learnt something which my brain, usually eager to embrace the unknown, wanted so desperately to unlearn.
On the ocean floor, thousands of feet below the water’s surface, NASA found the GE1 space craft.
“What?” I gasped.
“We don’t know,” Dr Parker replied. “I need your help though.”
“Why?” I weakly asked. “I don’t understand any of this. The GE1 is sitting in a hangar, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Dr Parker nodded. “But it’s also sitting at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, 3000 miles off the east coast.”
My face whitened, and the man nodded.
“Take your time to process that,” He said. “I’m still working on wrapping my head around it.”
After a minute or so, I finally summoned a question that I didn’t find utterly foolish or uneducated.
“It’s the exact same space craft? Identical in every way?” I asked.
The project leader sighed. “Well, yes… and no.”
“Why am I here, Dr Parker?” I asked.
“The recovery team has not explored the craft yet,” The man replied. “But we have conducted a preliminary exploration with an unmanned vessel. UV7. Movement was detected within the craft.”
“Christ…” I gasped.
Parker continued. “It’s unsettling. The room is divided. Some specialists think a living organism might be down there, but others think it may have been a dislodged piece of equipment. The UV7 didn’t transmit any biological information. Anyway, that’s why I wanted to bring you into the room. You’re one of this organisation’s leading biologists, after all.”
I scoffed. “I specialise in cell and molecular biology. This is… Well, what is this? What have we even found here?”
“Nothing,” Parker said. “That’s my verdict, but Dr Long disagrees. I mentioned your name to them, and I’m hoping you’ll help me.”
“How?” I asked.
“By proving what the UV7 has already told us,” He answered. “Whatever moved down there, it wasn’t living. It wasn’t organic in nature, unless a fish happened to… No, it couldn’t have been. As I said, the UV7 would’ve detected a biological signal.”
I agreed to offer my opinion. I shouldn’t have done so, but I did. It would’ve been easy to ask Dr Parker to choose someone else. Give someone else clearance. I wasn’t exactly emotionally invested in the GE1 programme. It had been a year since the astronauts supposedly returned, and we’d found nothing at the source of the 784a frequency. Since then, I’d moved onto bigger and better things.
Of course, everything changed when Parker revealed that an identical version of the GE1 space craft existed at the bottom of the ocean. It was a discovery far beyond anything I’d experienced during thirteen years at NASA. I needed an answer to the unknown.
Two hours later, with no more than twenty people in the Control Room, we watched live footage of the submarine’s dive towards the GE1 crash site. The mission was a joint venture between NASA and a privately contracted company, with all participating crew members legally bound to an NDA. After all, they were about to explore a space craft which, in the public realm, did not exist.
After the initial flurry of breathtaking aquatic species, it took another two torturous hours for the video feed to display anything other than blackness. The vessel descended into the depths of the ocean. The part that light didn’t reach. I thought about its similarity to space. I found it ridiculous to think about the fact that we have ignored a frontier on our own planet before exploring the one beyond it. So much of the ocean remains unexplored.
Eventually, the contractors found the wreckage. And two divers, each fitted with a camera, left the submarine to explore the vessel. When they rounded the battered nose of the space craft, Mission Control fell silent. We all saw it at the same time. The bold letters printed on the crumpled wreckage of the sunken craft, which was half-buried in the black seabed.
GE1.
Hearing about the discovery was one thing. Seeing it on a gargantuan screen was something else. Dr Parker was no liar. I knew that, but I still didn’t believe him until I saw the footage for myself.
“Breaching the airlock now,” The lead diver, Barton, announced.
Disturbed water swirled into a stream of bubbles, clouding the lens of Barton’s camera, as he used a piece of specialised drilling equipment. It was a long and arduous process, during which Mission Control only had a limited view of the spectacle through the camera of Leigh, the second diver.
“That’ll do it,” Barton’s colleague said.
The bubbles started to disperse as the drill ceased, and we watched the two explorers break the airlock’s mechanism, before pulling the hatch towards them. They revealed a void within the opening, and the lights on their headsets did very little to illuminate the innards of the craft. I sensed that the two men were apprehensive about entering the wreckage. They likely knew very little about NASA’s GE1 programme. That, in the end, was for the best. We all long for that privilege.
“Entering the vehicle,” Barton uneasily said.
The lead diver swam through the opening, followed a couple of seconds later by Leigh, who may well have been on the verge of turning and retreating to the submarine. The split screen revealed two pieces of footage, barely different in perspective. Two views of the same bleak, water-filled tunnel. The entrance to a vessel that had once traversed space, only to meet its end in a watery grave.
“Are we broadcasting clear footage?” Leigh asked.
“Yes,” Dr Parker responded. “If you follow the main hallway, you’ll reach GE1’s flight deck.”
“Not seeing any obstructions,” Barton said. “Should be manageable.”
The pair continued to swim through the hallway of the craft which, as Barton had noted, was remarkably intact. None of the carnage and chaos we’d expected to find. Then again, we shouldn’t have been surprised. There were minimal tears in the exterior of the craft. Given the level of investment placed into developing a vessel far beyond mankind’s perceived capabilities, it seemed plausible that the craft had mostly survived both a dangerous re-entry and a high-speed collision with the water.
What did not seem plausible was Parker’s explanation that we were looking at a carbon copy of an existing space craft. One which I’d watched land on Earth a year earlier. I had no reason to believe that everybody in the room had to be lying to me, but something in my brain refused to compute such an impossibility. I wouldn’t have ever believed Dr Parker, even if I’d gone to the hangar and physically seen the craft in person, before swimming to the bottom of the ocean to view its twin.
Even after everything I’ve seen, I still try hard not to believe any of it.
“Oh, Jesus…” Barton cried.
It only took a second for the camera to reveal what the diver had seen. The hellish scene that had sparked such a haunted response, and I unleashed a similar yelp of terror. We all recoiled fearfully, in fact. I suppose none of us had hypothesised what we might find in the wreckage, even when the debate about movement and biological signatures had raged.
There was no joyous hysteria. This was not like those early days of the GE1 project. Nobody seemed exuberant to find three floating spacesuits at the front of the space craft.
Spacesuits that were not empty.
Spacesuits that were, surprisingly, intact.
It had taken roughly a day or so, since the GE1 crash, for the divers to breach the vessel. Twenty-four hours for the bodies to decompose underwater. The skin of each astronaut was discoloured and wounded with haunting, razor-thin gashes, but their gaunt faces were unmistakable.
The two men and one woman, each wearing a scream to the grave, were the three astronauts who had returned to Earth one year earlier.
Worst of all was the corpse of Commander Tim Irwin. The upper half of his helmet, and the head within, had been cleanly severed above his gaping mouth. That explained the rotten nature of his remaining lower half, in comparison to Dianes and Olsson, who were each encased in a suit without oxygen. The ship’s oxygen would’ve lasted at least a month or so, resulting in partial decay of Irwin’s remaining face, exposed by the savagely sawn helmet. The lower half of his face bore holes in the cheeks, revealing teeth behind.
One scientist murmured that the three scientists may have died long before impact. Within a sealed spacesuit, lacking oxygen, the decomposition process would be slowed. Of course, that only raised more terrified questions. One, in particular, played on my mind.
Why were the astronauts wearing suits inside the space craft?
A technical engineer gave a probable explanation for the ship’s return. The GE1 was programmed with a homing initiative. In the event of life loss, or twenty-four hours without manual piloting, the craft’s motherboard was programmed to assume automatic control of GE1 and steer it back to Earth.
“The re-entry might’ve failed because the ship was damaged. That might also explain why we didn’t receive a signal from its transmitter. Honestly, it’s a miracle that the GE1 made it back to Earth at all,” The engineer said.
“We’ll know more when we look at the ship’s log,” Another engineer added.
Dr Parker sighed. “Barton, we need you to–”
“– We have to get out of here,” Leigh yelled, shouting over Dr Parker. “I didn’t sign up for this. Look, we did the dive. You’ve seen what you needed to see.”
“I understand that this is a terrible situation,” Parker continued. “You were, however, briefed. You signed a contract, Mr Leigh. The nature of the expedition was made clear to you, and we don’t have all of the information that we need. We need you to recover as much of the ship’s data as possible. Do you have the drive?”
“I, er… I… Yes,” Barton murmured, dazed by the three floating corpses.
“Right,” Parker replied. “You should see the socket on the right-hand side.”
The lead diver swam towards the main console, searching anxiously with the navigational assistance of every expert in the room. When he finally inserted the drive into the designated socket, a red light flickered beside it.
“What does that mean?” Barton asked.
“You were right, Ian,” One of the technical engineers said to his colleague. “It’s not good, Mr Barton. It means that some of the ship’s log files are corrupted.”
“All of them?” Dr Parker asked.
The engineer rubbed his chin. “Well, if there’d been no light at all, this would’ve been a lost cause. So, there’s still hope. It’ll be the water damage. No doubt about that. Just leave the drive in the socket, Mr Barton. Let it run. When the light turns off, that means the data transfer has finished.”
Meanwhile, Leigh was scanning the ship with equipment for detecting organic matter. I was standing by, waiting for the diver’s device to detect some sign of life. Something that would warrant me being in the room. But there was nothing. Not even any sign of the movement that the UV7 had detected. I was the uncomfortable biologist in the corner. Only there, it seemed, to endure the horror alongside everyone else.
Something that did intrigue Mission Control, however, was Leigh’s discovery of floating glass shards in Daines’ laboratory. Most people wouldn’t pay attention to suspended glass fragments in an underwater wreckage. The diver certainly didn’t understand the commotion from the scientists, and neither did I, but Leigh indulged Dr Parker when he was instructed to collect a sample.
It’s just broken glass, I naively thought, frowning.
Ten minutes later, when the data transfer completed, Barton recovered the drive. And the two divers were beyond happy to receive the go-ahead from Dr Parker to leave the site. The men returned to the submarine, the transmission ended, and everybody in the Control Room dispersed.
I didn’t sleep that night, of course. No sane person would manage a good night’s sleep after such an awful discovery. When I went into work that morning, I hadn’t expected to see video footage of three dead astronauts. More terrifying than that, I hadn’t expected to see footage of three corpses who I’d seen return to Earth. Alive and well.
“Earl…?” Dr Parker half-barked.
I was sitting in my office, boring into the wall with a thousand-yard stare. It took the man three attempts to catch my attention. Using my first name had triggered something in my brain. Taken me out of myself for a moment. Reminded me that this was all real. No matter how hard I tried to dissociate and detach myself, I was excruciatingly intertwined with the horror.
“Dr Parker,” I replied, unable to say anything else.
“I’m afraid I have to ask you, once again, to come with me,” The man said, seeming far paler than usual. “We just reviewed the data from the GE1 wreckage.”
“What did you find?” I whispered, voice breaking.
“I…” Parker sighed. “If you come to my office, you’ll see. I really need your… opinion.”
That seemed like a lie to me. Dr Parker had been talking about the importance of my opinion, as a biologist, since the start of the GE1 programme. In the end, I’d simply been a limp, lifeless limb. Hardly even a backup appendage. Just some excess fat that somebody had forgotten to trim.
As it would transpire, however, Dr Parker had finally found something that required my input.
Out of 102 audio files on the drive, only two were uncorrupted. Two recordings from Commander Tim Irwin. Within those recordings, Dr Parker heard something he didn’t understand. Heard many things he didn’t understand. Unfortunately, I scarcely understood the recordings either.
What little I did understand, however, horrified me. And I saw that coming. It was foreshadowed by the project leader. By his haunted eyes.
“The… The board need to know whether they’ve found something alien in nature, Dr Odell. I still don’t think we’ve… It’s not organic. I don’t believe that. They won’t listen to me,” Dr Parker said. “But they’ll listen to you.”
I could tell that the man no longer believed his own words. He wanted me to prove him wrong.
File 86:
This is Commander Tim Irwin. I am recording this message at fourteen forty on Thursday 2^nd February, 2023, Greenwich Mean Time. Since twelve fifteen today, we have been unable to contact Mission Control. Olsson has not pinpointed any malfunction, so we hope that all remains well back home.
The three of us are contemplating the possibility that the issue with our broadcasting signal stems from what we have discovered. The source of the 784a frequency. We found it. And, given what we have experienced over the past two hours, I believe it to be vital for me to record our findings, in the absence of any communication with Dr Parker.
At roughly twelve thirty-five, shortly after losing contact with home, we finally saw a physical manifestation of the frequency that we’ve been hunting for eight days. We were starting to think there would be nothing there. We’d been eyeing blackness for hours. Believing that the transmission had no visible source. It was when we neared a mile, or less, from the signal’s source that we finally saw something tangible. I’m still struggling to describe our discovery. It’s… It’s…
Well, at first, we didn’t know how to put it into words. Now, however, I suppose I’d say that we were pursuing an ever-moving belt of glass shards. Yes, glass shards. You heard me correctly. Thousands of small, glass-like fragments hurtling through the cosmos. Jagged pieces of some unknown material. No sign of biological life. No sign of foreign technology. Just a near-transparent substance, with no technological or organic nature, somehow transmitting the 784a frequency.
That revelation might disappoint some people back home. Those hoping for signs of alien life. Still, I know that Dr Parker and other minds behind this mission will be extremely fascinated by this discovery.
At twelve fifty-five, after a brief preparation period, we used the B1 craft to retrieve a sample of glass from the moving belt. I understand that, though we were cleared to use the equipment without approval, Dr Parker may be a little disheartened. I know he wanted to experience this with us.
I just hope he’ll understand. We didn’t want to wait for the line of communication to reopen. After all, we didn’t know whether we’d have another opportunity. We had no way of knowing how the mysterious belt of glass would react to our presence, even though GE1 still wasn’t picking up organic or electronic signatures. Dianes keeps talking about the possibility of something sentient lurking in the shards. Until we detect something organic, I doubt that.
The belt was, and still is, moving at a rather glacial pace of roughly six-thousand miles per hour. We will have no trouble pursuing it in the GE1. As I speak, we are trundling alongside the glass stream at a crawl. It stretches for hundreds of miles. Who knows how many shards are contained within the stream.
With regards to recovering glass pieces from the belt, the B1 craft suffered catastrophic damage, which intrigued us. No form of glass on Earth would be powerful enough, even at such a speed, to tear through the B1’s reinforced hull. That only confirmed what we already knew.
This isn’t glass. It isn’t anything we understand.
Upon realising that, we knew we had to retrieve a sample. Regardless of the damage to B1. The small craft only managed to collect a meagre handful of passing shards, but that was enough. We didn’t want to push our luck, so we brought it back within a matter of minutes. I’ll send over the data logs as soon as the communication is fixed. You’ll see what I mean. The miniature vessel was almost obliterated by the belt, and we didn’t want to lose an opportunity to claim at least something.
At thirteen twenty, Dr Gianna Dianes examined the seven shards, recovered by the B1 craft, in her laboratory. She instructed Olsson and I to wear protective gear before joining her, as she had no idea exactly what we’d found. We giddily watched Dianes conduct her tests. She was giddy too, in all honesty, though she attempted to maintain a professional composure.
We’re aware, whatever we’ve retrieved, that it is unlike anything humanity has seen before. Dr Dianes confirmed, around fourteen twenty, what we’d seen in GE1’s data. The shards do not contain organic matter. Each piece is composed of a raw material not present on Earth or any other planet we’ve ever explored.
Shortly before I started this recording, however, Olsson became a little jittery. He told Dianes and me that he saw one of the shards enlarge. Or, at least, move in some form. It was likely a trick of the lighting, of course. Dianes took him seriously, but she found no evidence of any change in the material. I suggested that, moving forwards, we set up cameras to record the laboratory. Dianes and Olsson agreed. That’ll ensure we don’t miss anything.
I’ll send everything to Mission Control as soon as Olsson has figured out how to fix the transmitter, though he assures me that it remains unbroken. Bizarre. Anyway, interference from the 784a frequency seems to be the most likely explanation, but we’re still unsure.
I will continue to log daily updates. For now, the three of us need to get some rest. It’s been a historic day, but we’re shattered. None of us have slept in over a day.
This is Commander Tim Irwin. Audio File 86. Terminating recording at fourteen fifty.
“I need you to brace yourself,” Dr Parker said.
I snapped back into reality, having been fully immersed in the wonder of the crew’s discovery, much like Commander Irwin. I’d almost forgotten the gravity of the situation. Forgotten the terror that NASA had found at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.
“Brace myself for what? The next audio file?” I asked.
Dr Parker nodded. “We just listened to 86. The only other uncorrupted recording is 99.”
“So… We’re missing 12 files in-between those?” I asked.
“Yes,” He answered. “And 3 files after 99. The board doesn’t care about the first 85 audio files. The ones before we lost contact with GE1. Meaningless updates that would likely mirror whatever Commander Irwin was telling Mission Control on a daily basis. But the audio recordings from 86 to 102 detail whatever happened after the vessel went dark. Those are, perhaps, the most valuable pieces of data this organisation currently possesses.”
“Right. Is File 99 useful?” I asked.
The doctor’s lip quivered as he hovered his unsteady index finger over the mouse, contemplating whether to inflict such horror upon me. I wish he hadn’t.
“Useful? That’s an interesting word. I… I don’t know, Dr Odell. It tells one horrifying part of a story we don’t understand,” Parker croaked, before clicking.
File 99:
This is Irwin. 99… File 99.
Since the… the, er… the last few recordings, things have… It’s all over. And things were already terrible. This must be my fifth recording today. I’m sorry. Sorry for the back log of files for you to… Oh, who cares? Why am I apologising to anyone? Nobody’s there. Nobody will ever be there. I’ll be lost to space, and…
Well, I hope somebody hears it. There’s the protocol, after all. The return protocol. I’m no engineer, but I remember Olsson talking about it. If GE1 makes it back to Earth, I hope these recordings make sense to you. Whoever’s listening. None of this makes sense to me. And it’s even worse now Dianes is gone. She died at, erm… Oh, I don’t know. Twenty-two ten, perhaps.
Fuck.
It’s Tuesday 7^th February. Twenty-two forty. I’m the only surviving member of the GE1 crew. You know how it happened. I just want her family to know that I tried to save her. Oh, God… This all started with a reckless endeavour. We should’ve turned around when we saw the vessel outside the window. It’s still there. I’m looking at it now. GE1. An… An identical version of our space craft, eyeballing me from the belt. Impervious to the racing current of glass.
You know what? I’d like to amend my statement. We should’ve turned around as soon as we lost contact with Mission Control. This was written on the wall. Everything about the belt was wrong. We knew it, but we were drooling from our mouths like apes.
Olsson’s idea was smart. It was… It was smart. It just wasn’t enough. We should’ve thought about B1. Thought about how the glass tore through it. Olsson promised, however, that this would be different. The belt was moving so quickly, after all. He said the shards weren’t as dangerous outside of the belt.
We wanted to believe him. Maybe I still want to believe him. After all, I’m wearing my suit, even though I know it didn’t save him. And it didn’t save Dianes either. She… I spent most of the day trying to stop the bleeding, but…
It was awful. You heard it. You don’t need me to tell you.
I still hear her words. Ringing in my ears. The things she described. The way it cut into her skin, and then… disappeared. The glass disappeared after hacking her face to pieces. It was so methodical and quick. So eerily quick, but not in a merciful way. Her dying scream will never leave my mind. Neither will the sight of that sharp shard, unbound by the laws of physics, slicing her face with clean, swift motions. A weapon wielded by an unseen force.
I’ve locked the lab. That won’t be enough, will it? It wasn’t enough to stop…
Oh, there it goes. That’s why I… That’s why I wanted to record this. I keep seeing something in the copied version of the GE1 space craft, gliding a hundred yards away from the real one. I keep seeing movement behind the windows. I…
Oh, God. God. God. God. God. No, there’s no God. Not in the…
I see them. See them so clearly now. But they’re… dead. Olsson and Dianes are dead. Their bodies are still sitting in the control room. I’m looking at them, and I’m also… They’re across the way. Surveying me from the flight deck of the copied craft.
What is happening? What is this? I don’t… I don’t… I don’t…
They won’t stop looking at me. They won’t stop.
I want to turn around. I want to stop following the belt. I’ve wanted to abandon the mission for days, but Dianes made a good point. After Olsson passed, she said that we shouldn’t head back with the shards on board. We were just too frightened to go near the glass after he died.
Without Dianes, I don’t see myself solving this. I just have to soldier onwards. Keep tracking things. Keep moving.
I’ll record an update tomorrow, but I won’t abandon this mission. Not until I talk to somebody from Mission Control. Whatever material we’ve found, I don’t think I should come home unless I get rid of it. So I…
Wait, that’s… Do you hear that? That’s what I heard before. When it happened to Dianes. When the glass moved. Changed into something… I don’t know. It looked like liquid. Like a thin trail of water with a slight sheen. It crawled across the walls, before climbing her suit and somehow slithering beneath the visor. I don’t know how it entered. And then it started solidifying… She was running around. Screaming. Wrestling with her own helmet.
Give me a second. I need to check the, er… the lab.
Yes. There are fewer pieces of glass. That’s the other thing. Four. There are only four shards. We collected seven from the belt. There were definitely seven. Then six, after the mirrored version of the GE1 craft appeared outside the window. Five, after we found Olsson’s body in the airlock. Four, after it took Dianes…
Wait. No. There were four after Dianes died. At twenty-two ten.
It’s twenty-two forty-three, and I… I only see three shards in there. Sitting on her desk. But I… The door’s locked. There’s no sign of exit. It…
Where did the fourth one go? Where did it fucking go?
God fucking damn it. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to wait… I want to come home more than anything. See Melissa. See the little ones. But that’s exactly why I won’t come back. It would be selfish. It wouldn’t be right to let them live on an Earth with the risk of these shards…
STOP LOOKING AT ME! BOTH OF YOU! STOP IT!
What are you? You’re not them. They’re dead.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for recording all of this. It would’ve been better not to know, wouldn’t it? It would’ve been better not to know.
Commander Tim Irwin… Audio File… 99. Terminating recording at… at twenty-two forty-five.
After the audio ended, Dr Parker and I sat quietly. Not silently. I could hear my own heartbeat in the quaking canals of my ears. I could hear the project leader hyperventilating, failing to hide a fearful murmur that sounded at the back of his throat. He’d already heard the two files, of course. I had no idea how he’d managed to maintain any semblance of professionalism. He knew what was coming. He knew what I was about to hear. But he said nothing. Did nothing.
I was crumbling from the haunting revelations in the last surviving recording of Commander Irwin. I hated Dr Parker for involving me in the GE1 programme.
“Think about what we saw,” The man eventually whispered.
I looked at him without uttering a word, giving the scientist time to continue.
“Think about the body of Tim Irwin,” Parker explained. “What remained of it. I need, more than anything in the world, to hear File 102. The commander’s final recording on Friday 17^th February, 2023.”
“That was after the GE1 landed,” I said.
He shuddered. “It wasn’t the GE1, Dr Odell. You know that now.”
“I’m thinking about the shards recovered from the wreckage. What happened to those?” I asked, gripped by a fresh wave of terror.
Dr Parker lowered his head. “Scientists are examining the fragments. Dr Zeeland’s team. Now you’ve listened to the audio files, I’d like you to lend your expertise in his laboratory.”
“Right… Well, I’ve remembered something else,” I said. “The video footage from the dive. Do you remember seeing the glass in GE1’s laboratory?”
“I’ve hardly thought of anything else,” He replied.
“Commander Irwin said, in the final uncorrupted recording, that only three shards remained, but there were more than three shards in that water,” I quivered.
Parker frowned. “I don’t know what to say to that, Earl. The shards could have shattered during the crash. Split into numerous smaller fragments?”
I didn’t believe that. Not from the description the commander had given. These were sturdy, unnatural things. Things which could change shape and state. Not things that would shatter.
“Anyway, Dr Odell,” The scientist muttered, clearing his throat. “Before we go to Zeeland’s lab, I’d like to ask for your opinion. GE1 found no evidence of organic matter in the belt. Dr Gianna Dianes found no evidence of organic matter in the shard samples. Given the commander’s description in File 99, however, do you think that the ship’s data log may have been wrong? Do you think Dr Dianes may have been wrong?”
I sighed. “There isn’t enough evidence for me to give a definite answer to that question, Dr Parker. Not until I see the shards for myself.”
I regretted saying that. I didn’t want to see the shards. I wanted to run away. Wash my hands of the whole thing. File 99 had filled me with a bottomless dread that I didn’t realise the human body could experience. It haunted me. The thought of an unfeeling thing stealing one’s form and then shredding that same person to pieces.
The commander was right. It would be the worst thing imaginable for the substance to make its way back to Earth. But it was all over when the glass mimicked the space craft.
The shards have already been here for a year.
“You’re too late,” Dr Zeeland said.
That line snapped my mind into action. I had zoned out of the earlier conversation with the scientist, still trying desperately to process the horror of the past few days. It was nearly impossible to process something far beyond our world. Something the human mind has not evolved to process.
Dr Parker scoffed. “Dr Odell needs to–”
“– Dr Odell is too late,” Zeeland interrupted. “We disposed of the shards this morning.”
“I beg your pardon?” I asked.
“The fragments were dangerous. The audio recordings made that abundantly clear. Dr Long ordered us to destroy the samples,” Dr Zeeland said.
At that moment, Veronica Riding emerged from the lab, which was being barricaded by Dr Zeeland’s hulking form. The sheepish was pushing a trolley of black waste bags, and she seemed to be trying to avoid detection. Regardless, hope sparked in my mind, as Veronica was a close friend of mine, not just a colleague.
I hoped she would clear up the strangeness of the situation. The idea of NASA discarding such an important historical find seemed unthinkable to me. It was a lovely thought. There’s no denying that. I wanted to entertain the possibility of the agency putting mankind’s safety before mankind’s progression. But I’m not a moron.
“Veronica!” I called. “Is it true?”
“What was that, Dr Odell?” She asked, stopping to face me.
My body temperature lowered. As I eyed the face of my dear friend, I felt the shift. I didn’t see a physical difference in Veronica’s appearance, as such. The shift in my fractured mind was more subtle than that. It was a feeling that whisked the contents of my gut.
Veronica always called me Earl.

"Dreams are the mutiny of the common man."
Verse Ten of The First Binding

In Port Cardica, every streetwise unbound must memorize three rules to survive:
First, no thieving on Sundays. The Sisters bring free food, but if anyone steals, no one eats.
Second, don’t cross the nobles. They need someone to blame for the city’s unrest. It will be you.
Third, a fool’s prayer always follows danger, so if you’re planning to do something dumb, pray first.

Tonight, Callam Quill was breaking all three in a brazen attempt to change his fate.
He dangled from a cliff wall, his fingers straining to bear his weight. The wind battered him as he stretched out his bare feet in search of footing but found none. High above him stood his mark: a coastal manor with the gothic arches and spires popular among the port’s elite.
“Prosper in his light, a heathen outside his sight,” he recited over and over, hoping to calm his nerves and keep his grip on the bluff’s wall. The stanza was one of many prayers shared by the chapel’s Sisters in lieu of lessons or love. Repetition got you fed, but memorization got you seconds, so Callam had learned them all by heart.
If the gods heard Callam’s plea, they cast no magic to save him. Callam did, however, manage to wedge his foot into a small crevice—his toes cramped within a few seconds of anchoring in. That was too close, he thought while hugging the rock face. He dared not look down at the waves and rocks below.
Slow, deep breaths steadied Callam’s pulse. When he could no longer feel the beat of his chest, he pushed off his foothold and leveraged it into another. The wet stones were slick as seaglass, and his muscles soon burned from exertion. Yet he persisted, knowing his best chance for freedom was at the top of this cliff.
Twice more he almost fell, and twice more he repeated the Sisters’ stanzas.
The edge inched closer as Callam climbed, and he’d just passed the halfway point when a gust howled its approach. Bracing himself, he shifted his weight onto his back foot—suddenly, he slipped. His grip flagged, then faltered as the wind pried him from the bluff.
“It isn't written, it isn’t written,” he prayed, while he plummeted. The dockboys would have laughed at his superstition, but he didn’t care; to him, the stanzas were lucky and he needed some luck. Instinctively, he reached out, scrambling to find a hold or catch a ledge. His calluses tore as he traded skin for friction on the rock face.
Callam's stomach lurched. Stone scraped against his abdomen, cloth ripped, and his tunic tightened around his back. The air was forced out of his lungs when he came to an abrupt halt. For a moment he hung like a rag doll, his eyes shut against an avalanche of gravel that peppered him.
The rock shower passed; only then did Callam manage a labored breath. His hands trembled as he lifted his body to unhook his tunic from a rock spur it had snagged on. Once free, he clambered to a nearby perch, then brushed the dirt from his face. Debris fell from his messy brown hair; he always kept it short, and it was slightly uneven, as if it had been shorn by a dull blade. The only part of him that didn’t seem dirty was the tattoo of a feather on his wrist.
“Po–Poet’s hand,” he cursed, his teeth chattering.
He was freezing, reeked of salt, and hurt all over. His palms were raw and scoured with pebbles—they throbbed in the cold air. A cautious flex proved he hadn’t broken any bones, but a cough brought about that sting that every kicked street rat knew so well. Soft prods confirmed Callam’s fears: a bruised rib. He’d seen beggars ignore similar injuries from fights or beatings, only to end up plagued by the stitcher’s cough weeks later.
It was reason enough to consider giving up.
Not happening, Callam thought with a grimace. I promised her. Her faith in him was his stone. A lump formed in his throat. He’d come too far to quit now and doom himself to a lifetime of serving those whose only virtue was being blessed by scripture.
He owed her memory that much, at least.
With renewed vigor, Callam resumed his ascent. He climbed more carefully this time, testing each hold to make sure it was secure, and taking breaks when his body demanded it. If all went well, he’d have a grimoire in hand by morning and would no longer be unbound.
Claiming a spellbook was imperative. Binding Day was coming, and the ceremony would force all unbound seventeen-year-olds into a blind binding, with terrible odds of success. For years, Callam had watched as naïve orphans lined up to receive their spellbooks, only for their expressions to go from hopeful to horrified when the ink failed to take.
That won’t happen to me, Callam swore. His jaw tightened as he remembered the cries of the orphans when their bindings had broken. It was supposed to be “painless,” yet shattered dreams never were. Those who failed the rite forever lost access to grimoires and to the magic the books bestowed.
They became Ruddites.
Callam reached for the next handhold, a knot forming in his stomach. He gripped the stone, fingers stiff, and pulled himself upwards. The sunken stares of Ruddite orphans were burned into his mind. The dark rings beneath their eyes proved that they never lacked for work; there was always a steady business in selling them to the patrons of the port.
The edge was five handspans away when the route Callam had chosen came to an end—there wasn’t a purchase in sight, just a sheer rock face. Shaking out each arm in turn, he weighed his options. He could take a leap of faith, or climb down and find a safer route. It was rumored that the guards rotated at midnight; after that, the grounds would be secure, so he’d—
“That which is written,” a gruff voice stated from above.
Callam flattened himself against the cliff, heart thumping. The words were muffled, so it took him a second to realize their origin. Peeking upwards, he could just make out the silhouette of a guard walking atop the cliff’s edge.
“Is foretold and forbidden,” another voice responded a moment later, completing the greeting. “Alright, alright. Enough formalities. All quiet on the watch?”
“Quiet as it gets. Just sea, stone, and sand for miles. I’ve slept less during sermon.”
“Hah! Better than the warfront or that blasted Tower, though, right? Two years, and I can still taste the stench of those damned barren beasts…”
The conversation was swept up by the wind as the watchmen paced farther down the perimeter. They hadn’t seen him, but he needed to hurry. The guards were rotating now.
Cold sweat covered Callam as he prepared to leap. He clutched the bluff’s face, his knuckles turning white from his trepidation. It’s no different than jumping piers at the harbor, he tried to convince himself, as if he weren’t over a hundred feet in the air.
Now or never. Callam lunged upward, loose stones falling from where he’d kicked off the wall. For a second he was airborne, his hands reaching for the headland, his heart beating wildly. Then he cleared the cliff’s rim and immediately clawed his fingers into the dirt above. His palms burned as he began to slide backwards, before a foothold gave him the support he needed to haul himself over the bluff’s edge. The exertion shot pain through Callam’s ribs. He clenched his teeth until it passed.
“Made it,” he wheezed. Thank the Poet. For a moment, Callam lay on the ground, the drizzle wetting his face. Then, he stood gingerly and winced—he wanted to check his wounds, but there was no time. He needed to locate the four markers he’d memorized in preparation for his heist. They would lead him to the estate's collection of scripted grimoires.
Keeping to the shadows, Callam wound his way through the grounds. The manor loomed in the distance, its stories of ivy-covered granite fading into the darkness. Windows glowed like watchful eyes; one flickered on, and Callam fought the urge to hide. Instead, he sped up, the grass squelching loudly underfoot. He hoped the sound would be muted by the groans and creaks of nearby tree branches.
Callam soon reached an open pavilion. Peering around a hedge, he looked for any guards—the courtyard was empty except for a speaker's lectern, with a marble copy of the Sermon’s Book laid open upon it.
The first marker. A smile tugged at Callam’s lips; he knew the Sisters would have raged at the sight of the relic left to weather outside.
The second marker, a manned tower with sentries on lookout, protruded from above a large brick archway. Unfortunately for Callam, these guards stood vigilant in their watch. One leaned out the tower’s window and held a lantern high against the storm. The other had a cupped hand over his brow to better see the grounds. Both wore breastplates, and neither had the unkempt beards common among the city's constables.
That’s no good, Callam thought, swallowing heavily. Camouflaged behind a topiary, he rubbed his arms to stave off the chill, then waited for any sign that the sentries were distracted. It came in the spark of a flint; one of the guards turned to the other, and both leaned in to light a smoke.
Callam dashed into the passageway. After rounding the first turn, he crouched and listened. No guards came running.
The only sounds were the shifting of leaves and the pattering of rain. Lantern light danced on an arched wall to Callam’s left, causing the stone to vary in hue from amber to ochre. Across the way, lichen grew on columns that led to a manor-side garden. Callam walked over to those pillars, wary of making any noise. The closer he got, the more the air smelled damp and slightly sweet, like a barrel of wine that had been left out in the rain. Some of the tension began to drain from Callam’s shoulders, and he took a moment to wring out his damp shirt.
Then, the wind held still. Silence fell, the type that all prey know. As if ice was pressed against his spine, every hair on Callam’s neck rose. He inhaled shallowly, afraid he’d be heard. Someone was watching—he was sure of it. Shadows filled the corners of his eyes; they stretched and wove and played tricks on his mind.
He needed to run. Now.
Callam shot forward, aiming for the plants that bordered the manor’s exterior. His first step felt like moving lead, but each subsequent one came easier.
He’d made it less than ten paces when the storm picked up. The feeling of being watched passed.
Callam shivered, then took cover amongst the manor’s foliage. There, he waited for his terror to fade. He’d spent years on the streets honing his instincts; those long nights had left him jumpy as well.
‘Fear long enough, and it becomes loud,’ he reminded himself. That stanza carried more weight with the unbound orphans than the Sisters could ever know.
Chapter 1-16 out on RR right now. Once chapter a day until we are caught up <3

I recently turned 20 and I'm living on my own in a big city, i originally lived in a small town 7 hours away, and i thought I've been coping well. But this last month or so, idk, i just feel useless. I have zero motivation for anything. My apartment is a mess and i have like no clean dishes. And i have to sweep the floor and wipe the counters etc. My kitchen looks like a hoarders house. And im so embarrassed when people come over and i havent had enough time to make it look better. Today i woke up feeling like a zombie cuz i have a cold, my period and the depression, and i sleep with a biteguard, otherwise i grind my teeth. And usually i put it in a spot where i can easily see it again after i went to classes etc. But today.. idk what happened but i cant find the thing anywhere. I've been searching for like an hour and a half and i honestly gave up cause i was having such a big meltdown. I know it seems silly and dumb to cry over this, but like, I'm supposed to be able to take care of and keep track of important items.. I'm supposed to be responsible, and I've had this biteguard for a year now, and i could find it again every time. But not today. I tore everything apart but still couldnt find it. I just feel so broken, since i have aspergers, add, ocd, anxiety, depression and pots. I just feel like my brain is so broken. And i just wish it wasnt. So i could do things i should be able to do, but i cant even do simple tasks without screwing up in some way. Im on a shitload of meds for all the stuff, but its caused my hands to be extremely shaky, abd i loved drawing fine drawings, and pointilism art, but now my hands shake so much i cant paint or draw like before. I cant draw a perfectly straight line anymore. Its like a wiggly worm now. I feel so defeated... like how am i so young and already so fucking broken?? I just wish i wasnt me...

Dearest Lovie,
There isn’t a day that I do not think of you. My heart aches because what was left unsaid or what was miscommunicated.
It always seemed like you were half way out the door. Maybe it was because of the past traumas you’ve been through. But you disassociated rather than talk and fight for us when that’s all I ever did for us. You were afraid and I get that. Being hurt once before can turn a heart cold. But I don’t think I deserve to be ghosted when you started making up your own ideas of what the truth was. You listened to your friends who are all in bad relationships or single instead of the person you wanted to start a life with. You left me hanging in the precipice of our new life together because those you sought advice for were miserable. Misery seeks company they say and to that end I know it to be true.
So here is my last letter to you to say good bye. May you find the peace you deserve. Don’t forget that you are deserving of it. May you find laughter that shakes your bones, as such a sweet smile should not go unheard. May you accomplish your goals and dreams and have the life you’ve always wanted. And finally my love, may you find a love like no other, and never let it go. I love you to the moon and back. You will always have a piece of my heart, but this door shall be closed forever. Take care.
With deep regret, Anonymous

“Don't let them take me!” she begged, pulling her cuffs taut as Sergeant Robinson hauled her into a fireman's lift.
These women. Always getting carried away as usual.
“It’s only a few questions, Mrs Slant,” I said, soothingly. “We just want to know how and why you killed your husband.”
“I didn’t!” Mrs Slant screamed, her lipstick now looking more like cheekstick. “It wasn’t me!”
I made a mental note to update my Spotify playlist. “Toodle-oo, Mrs Slant!”
Her ravings echoed down the corridor.
“What a mess,” I said, surveying the kitchen and shaking my head. “Did she ever do the washing up?”
“Uh… sir?” a pale young PC appeared beside me. “We're waiting for you.”
“Excellent! I'll have a BLT and an ice-cold cadaver, please!” I quipped.
The young grasshopper blanched, but his eyes turned to steel. “I'm here to serve justice, sir,” he said. “Not cunts.”
“It's been a long time since I was a constable, lad,” I said. “But lead the way!”
•••
It was a gruesome scene. No, scratch that. It was a grueall-and-then-some scene.
As far as I could see, the man had been stabbed, garrotted, partially dismembered, and burned.
“Ah, a suicide,” I said, looking at the smouldering remains with distaste. “Or somebody really didn't like him.”
“Sir?” The pale grasshopper appeared. “Someone here says they can help us.”
“Send them in,” I snapped. “I'm stumped.”
I glanced at the corpse with its missing hands and feet. “No offence.”
The young PC put a hand on my shoulder. “Let's meet them at the station,” he said.
•••
“Tell me about Mister Slant.”
“Urm,” the woman looked at me through red-rimmed eyes. The glasses suited her. “I haven't much. He had a wife and eight children.”
“Eight?” I leaned forward. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Where are they now?”
“I… can't answer that.”
“Ages?”
“All ages." She glanced at the pale PC. "Between newborn and sixteen.”
“Names?”
Tears spurted down her cheeks. “One was my Charlie.”
“I see. A philanthropist and his hussy.” I patted her arm. “Thank you, Miss Meh-meh-meh, you can go.”
“I don't think Mrs Solomon meant Slant was a philanderer, sir. Looking at old case files…”
“Old case files? Old hat!” I shouted. “Get outta here and let me work!”
•••
I stayed up all night trying to solve this case. Who could've done it? Why?
And then it dawned on me. I opened the curtains and let in some natural light.
Mrs Slant seemed like the obvious choice, if the guy was sticking his dick about all over town.
“He had a wife and eight kids…” I said, trying to string it all together.
I gasped and grabbed my camera before heading back to the crime scene.
The freezer had been unplugged. A slush of melted red ice dripped onto the linoleum.
Red ice?
I threw open the freezer door and stared at the tiny limbs stacked haphazardly on the shelves.
“He had a wife and eight kids…” I said. “I see.”

My dr prescribed me a pred taper until we figure things out but I forgot to mention that I’m three days into a cold. I know it’s a cold because my son went to the dr office and tested positive for enterovirus. I haven’t had a fever and I’m started to get better just stuffy and itchy throat but is it wise to start prednisone now or give it a few days for my body to kick this? Also side note. I just finished a pred taper a week and a half ago so I haven’t been off of it long.

I’m 21 and started drinking coffee regularly last year. i thought it was a miracle drug and wondered where it was all my life but now i’m starting to see the clear side effects that have been compounding over the months. anxiety increased significantly, more irritable and prone to headaches, skewed circadian rhythm, suppressed sleep hormone, dark sunken eyes from deprivation, etc. this shit is clearly not good for me but i can work 10x better on it. I went cold turkey for months but needed to lock in last week and went back on. the difference in focus and productivity is tremendous but my health seems to deteriorate. I need help with some alternatives, but I’m sure those have their own cons. I guess the best thing to do is just embrace the slower pace and work with it.

My workplace is in a shop house. The air ventilation in there is not so good. The air con gets cold when on and if don't switch on, it gets stuffy. I recently down with covid. Rested 5 days went back work and after a few days yesterday down with fever again. Sleep very early and managed to control. I thought about quitting. Only give 1 week notice and I am good to go. That will also mean I will have another few months of being jobless. I resigned from my previous job of 4 years and kept looking around for a new job and this current job is the only one which responded to my application and hired me. Salary is slightly higher. I will need the standard 1 month notice if I stayed on. I admit my body although is still considered healthy, is on the weaker side from the average working Joe, easily down with flu and colds. What will be your advice?

Hello,
I’m a 20-year-old male who has been experiencing some concerning symptoms for about 2 months now. Around 10 weeks ago, I had a viral infection with a sore throat and fatigue that lasted about a week. A week after recovering, I started noticing tightness and weakness in my legs, along with frequent twitching in my legs and diaphragm. Walking up stairs became more difficult, and my legs would shake significantly when walking down.
A few days later, I began experiencing issues with my breathing. It feels like there is some restriction or weakness making it difficult to breathe comfortably. This sensation is constant and hasn't gone away. Additionally, my voice feels a little hoarse, and I find it hard to talk for long periods without needing to catch my breath. Speaking aggressively is also challenging.
I’ve undergone numerous tests, including two chest X-rays, blood tests, and heart tests, all of which came back normal. I have an appointment with a neurologist in 17 days.
I use an oxygen finger monitor and an Oura ring at home. My respiratory rate during sleep has increased slightly, now averaging close to 16 breaths per minute compared to below 15 before these symptoms started. My blood oxygen levels remain normal, averaging 95-98% during sleep and 95-99% during the day.
I understand self-testing isn't ideal, but I can heel and toe walk without issues. I can move my toes freely, though my right foot feels weak. Despite this, I haven’t experienced any falls.
Eight weeks in, I still have breathing difficulties and persistent weakness in my right foot. Running causes tightness in my left calf, and when walking, it feels like I need to force my right foot to lift, or it will drop. The foot feels tight, weak, and somewhat loose.
My primary concern is a brain tumor, particularly in the brainstem, given the range of symptoms including breathing issues and muscle weakness. I suffer from chronic insomnia, which began three years ago after my sibling passed away. I’ve read that insomnia can increase oxidative stress and inflammation, and I’m worried that this could be contributing to my symptoms.
I don’t really experience any bad headaches or seizures from what I know of. I notice that when I extend my right arm I’ll have some shaking in my hand and fingers, but not my left. Not sure if this is a tremor. I wouldn’t say I have double vision. I can smile okay,raise my eyebrows, move my eyes, no drooping in the face. I do notice if I close my left eye my right eye is blurry. But if both eyes are open I can see fine
I appreciate any insights or advice from those who have experienced similar symptoms or have knowledge about brain tumors.

“Are you really that afraid of the basement?” My boyfriend was busy putting on his blue buttoned shirt as he asked me casually. I glared back at him. “You’re seriously going to bring this up now? I’m busy getting ready for dinner” I said grumpily, pulling on my bra. He shrugged apologetically, “Look, I’m sorry okay, I just want to know why, especially if it’s such a big issue. We can talk about it whenever you want. But I would really like to talk about it eventually.” His tone was calm and filled with sincere concern. I sighed. Timothy had been so great. We’d been living together for over a year now and he’d been very patient with me and my phobia of dark places. I don’t just mean I’m afraid of the dark, I mean I go into full on panic attack mode and start tearing the walls apart with my bare hands and finger nails and teeth if it gets even close to dark in any room I’m in. It makes going out at night or doing anything normal like going to the cinema, or planetarium or club or bar very difficult. I also cannot enter a bathroom that has no natural light and nothing but motion-sensor based lights. If they go out for just a second my heart races, my blood boils from fear and my lungs burn from panic. I scream and run, crying usually until I’m back in the light.
I slowly sat on the edge of our bed “Okay Tim, I’ll tell you why. Right now actually if you’d like. I’d rather just spit it out. We have a few minutes and it’s not a very long story anyway”. Timothy quickly pulled on his last sock and came over to sit next to me. I looked at him and then looked back down at the bed. “I’ve – I’ve never told this to anyone. But the reason I’m so afraid of the dark. Of being alone. Is because of what happened to me in the basement when I was ten years old.” I paused and Tim took my hand. His fingers were rough and warm. “I’d never had issues with the dark or the basement or anything like that ever before. One day my mom asked to go down and fetch the laundry from the dryer. So, I’ve been down in the basement of this house a billion times and I think nothing of this at all. The door creaked loudly just like normal as I opened it. I lazily walked down the steps and was busy messing around with my new Walkman when I suddenly heard the door slam behind me. I was plunged into darkness and I thought I’d gone blind.
I groped in the darkness for the light-switch and heard it click as the lightbulb buzzed to life noisily. The basement was not large and was nothing but bare concrete. We used it to store some old furniture and photo albums. Of course we kept our laundry down there too. A bit spooked by the door slamming, I decided to get the chore over with as fast as possible. However, as I my foot left the last step and touched the cold concrete floor the lightbulb glowed brightly and burst. I was plunged into darkness yet again. I breathed heavily and moved in the direction of the laundry. I waved my hands in front of my face but could see nothing. I knew that there was a flashlight in the drawer of the desk next to the dryer. I took a few tentative steps expecting any minute to feel bright pain explode threw my hip as I bumped into the desk. But I never did.
So, I started taking bigger steps. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I realized that something was horribly wrong. I should’ve been on the other side of the room by then. A few steps after that I should’ve been on the other side of the wall! Before I knew it I was running. Sprinting! Hoping to be lucky enough to slam hard into the wall. To prove this nightmare a fake. But the wall never came. I ran through cold darkness.
Then I heard a voice. A soft whisper at first. Then it became louder. It was the voice of a man. There was nothing abnormal about his voice at all. But it gave me goosebumps. He – he warned me never to return to the dark. He warned me never to tell another living soul about where I had been. I shook. Trembling with fear and incredulity. How could this be possible? Where was I? Suddenly, light sprung to life in front of me. I yelped and shielded my eyes because it was very bright and I suddenly felt really cramped like the room had just shrunk. Then strong hands were grabbing me and lifting me and I found myself being pulled from a well. We still have no idea how but some men had heard a noise and once they’d seen me they rescued me immediately. They found me in a well that was hundreds of miles from my house. From that damn basement.”
I paused briefly as I rubbed my temples with the tips of my fingers, “I had to go to therapy and no one could ever explain anything. Like I said before, I never mentioned what really happened to anyone. I didn’t know whether I was more afraid of people thinking I was crazy or if I was really more afraid of that – voice. All I said was that I blacked out on my way down the stairs. Ended up being in all the papers and my family and I had to move to a whole new town. After that it was just kind of swept under the rug and people stopped asking questions. My parents never bring it up. They pretend it didn’t happen. I like to do that too. So now that I’ve told you I don’t want to hear another word about it. And if you tease me or prank me, so help me God I’ll dump your ass.” I was trying to make a joke to help break the tension but I could feel myself shaking as I recounted the story. It had been some time since I’d thought about that traumatizing day. I felt tears form in the corners of my eyes but quickly blinked them away.
Tim sat silently and still, his expression one of sympathy and concern, “Wow, I had no idea. that sounds really horrifying my dear. I completely understand your fears now. I’m feeling a bit less fond of the dark too now myself.” He kissed me lightly on the forehead and rubbed my arm. “You still okay for dinner with my folks? We can always reschedule and get McDonald’s or something. Watch some Ducktales?” I smiled at him and chuckled. “That’s tempting but no. No, we’ve booked a table and everything. Besides it’s too short notice now to cancel. Let’s get going soon. I feel okay. It was a long time ago.” Tim glanced at me in a way that showed he was wholly unconvinced, but he yielded. “Okay my dear, I’ll just take the trash down quickly. Meet you downstairs.”
A few minutes later I had my makeup on and was waiting downstairs on the ground floor. Tim had left ahead of me to take the trash to the refuse bins in the basement and I had expected him to be waiting for me already. But he wasn’t there. I frowned, confused. Is he still downstairs? Why is he taking so long? I tried to keep my panic in check but as the minutes ticked by my heart began to thump loudly. “No, no, no. There’s no such thing as the dark-place. There’s no such thing as the monster in the basement” I stammered to myself softly as I tried to force the panic back down into the recesses of my stomach. “He’s just - he’s – “ I couldn’t end that thought without the ending being dire.
My blood was electrified with terror as I made a small step towards the basement. The stairway to the basement was curved so the basement door was hidden. I craned my neck and peered around the corner. The large, metal basement door was shut. “Tim? Tim, is everything ok?” My voice shook slightly as I spoke but it was firm and loud. Silence pressed up against my ears.
I took a step forward and started to descend. I halted after three steps. I felt dizzy now. “Tim? Tim this isn’t funny. I’m really freak – “, then I heard him. “Cara! Cara! I tripped and hit my head”. I heard him groan in pain, “I think I twisted my ankle. I really need some help.” My fear instantly dissipated. Tim was hurt badly! His voice sounded really worried. If he’d been unconscious this whole time he’d need serious medical attention. Shit! Why had I waited so long to check on him? Of course there’s no such thing as monsters. He needed me and I couldn’t let my fear get in the way. I hurried down the stairs and ripped the door open. As soon as I stepped through the doorway I knew I’d made a huge mistake.
Complete, utter darkness pressed up against my eyes and I felt an unnatural coldness in the air. I turned to leave but the basement door slammed into me and knocked me back so hard I felt myself leave the floor. I hit the ground hard and yelled with fright, pain and surprise. “What the hell?” I stammered, my head swimming with confusion. “Tim? Timothy!” I whimpered in the pure darkness. I was sitting on the hard, dusty floor which was the only other thing I could sense besides the horrendous cold, my soft sobs and the musty smell. Then a gloomy light bloomed to life.
My jaw dropped open in horror. It couldn’t be possible. There, many yards in front of me, too far for the size of this basement to be possible, was hanging a single lightbulb. Its light was cold and small. It looked almost exactly like the light from my old basement. As I looked down I yelled and began to wail loudly. Lying in the light of the bulb was the mutilated, bloodied corpse of my dear, sweet Timothy. The man who I had wanted to marry. The man who always made me feel safe. The man who knew exactly how I liked my coffee and pancakes.
Oh my God! He was dead! That thing had got him and it was all my fault. Guilt, terror and pain of all kinds washed over me. Tears poured down my face and I yelled incomprehensibly, pleading for someone to help. Suddenly, another identical lightbulb popped to life before the first. Then another. Then another. Soon, hundreds of lights sprung to life. The line of lights made a beeline toward me and the final lightbulb flickered to life in front of me. I heard the sizzle and hum of its electromagnetic field as it hung above me. I was frozen from fear. I had no idea what to do.
My eyes burned with tears and I squinted because of the bright fluorescent lights. I shouted from fright as I heard a lightbulb suddenly explode. I gazed down the line of lights and saw the silhouette of a man standing beneath the broken bulb right at the end. Then the next bulb in the line burst and the man instantaneously stood beneath it, now one light closer to me.
With a loud pop the next bulb blew. Then the next. Suddenly, all the bulbs were exploding one after the other louder and louder. I saw the silhouette get closer and closer, as swift as a shadow. I stood to run, vomit making its way into my mouth as my heart screamed from panic. As I turned to face the dark behind me a cold hand grabbed my throat. I felt myself lift into the air. The cold hand squeezed ever tighter. As I sputtered, unable to breathe, I heard a soft, raspy male voice say, “We warned you”.

Not only that, last month, I was just used for money and sex and shes ghosted me now. I actually wanted to be with her or at least keep talking. Its not easy for me to be comfortable with someone and she was the only one i had been intimate with in a long time. And she was cold after the first three days we spent and then once i went home i never heard from her again.
Ive been in bed all day shaking back and forth to stop the chills and the hot flashes and to keep myself somewhat comfortable. When i stay still it feels like my chest is being torn apart I have stuff to do today but i cant get out of bed. I havent eaten much today.
I havent told anyone this but Ive got a weird guilt about not being good enough and it makes me feel like i dont deserve to eat. I think thats what it is anyway because im never hungry until its either eat or let my muscles and brain be the food source.. i love cooking and want to eat more but i just cant
I feel physically sick when i try to eat when im stressed. I have some trauma relating to food so it makes sense i guess When i was pretty young i was forced to sit at the table until i finished my food. Id be crying and asking please can i be done and id just get screamed at and belittled Emotional flashbacks are rough i feel weak all the time because of the kind of stuff they said to me. I was also smacked and spanked as a kid a few times. I remember feeling a really deep and dreadful hopelessness. Zoning out and disassociating when yelled at or hit.. once i was pushed against a wall so hard it knocked the wind out of me and i had an asthma attack trying to regain my breath.
Now 20 years old and way too underweight. I was lied to and forced to put myself in a position where im dependent on the parent that hurt me and im just so tired of being alone. That parent is extremely manipulative and erratic. Yells all the time and then makes ppl around her feel like well the only reason shes yelling is because no one is listening to her and here she is on this island with no help, meanwhile shes the fucking one pushing everyone away. She twists facts around to suit her needs and does it in such a fluid manner that the gaslighting it causes is ridiculously strong.
I dont have positive relationships or friendships with girls that last long because i dont know how to act around them. I walk on eggshells and give off a desperate vibe but its only because ive been touch starved for so fucking long and alone and any time ive gotten close with someone since 2017 has ended with them taking advantage of me or self sabotage. Or a combo of both. I am not a saint i know ive done fucked up things, but i want a girl in my life that is happy im alive. This most recent girl that ghosted me has been really messing with my head.. this post is long enough but she really took advantage of my vulnerability and my want to get close with someone. And yet again its another girl thats gonna stop talking to me on the drop of a dime and i just have to live with the fact that im expendable to everyone in my life. And i just fucking know it was over some stupid shit like me being too clingy or weak or underweight. If she just told me what was wrong i could have explained everything.
I am slightly feeling better after writing this out but really.. im just losing hope of healing best i can do is manage symptoms, alone.

“The Butcher was furious last time I visited the Larder. It seems that her favourite perch is still being strangled. Visit her this week, ok? Bring some treats for the little ones, you know what they like… fine. I’ll gather them for you. Honestly Nick, I don’t know why I indulge you so much.” - Mabel
How inhabitants treat animals in Raifee Wood is not unlike how humans tend to regard animals: As pets, as nuisances, as resources and so forth. The Butcher is an exception, with seemingly no such pretences and a strong preference for the company of animals. Specifically, she lives with a large colony of red-backed shrikes that inhabit a thorny cluster of bushes and trees in the north of the woods. We’ve named this territory the Larder for reasons that will be apparent later.
Similarly to the area around the Blightswell’s den, rangers are advised not to enter the Larder since its residents are highly territorial- we have marked it out on our main map but it would be hard to step into by mistake. You should only enter when the Larder requires maintenance. This usually happens every two months but can be more frequent during the summer when the vegetation around the forest regrows more quickly. Smother-root is a blight on Raifee Wood- the fast-growing plant overgrows and kills other vegetation, and is dangerous to remove. It can be identified by its five-pointed leaves and hairy stems, streaked with red veins. Mabel has told us that when the plant was first noticed, she led a month-long effort with the Rangers to obliterate the smother-root. This was mostly successful but due to the dense, tangled nature of the Larder, it persists there, cropping up periodically. Neither the Butcher nor the shrikes can remove it so they begrudgingly allow us in to do so. Despite relying on us for this task, the Butcher hardly makes this easy for us- while intelligent enough to hold a conversation, she is for lack of a better word, animalistic. Impatient, territorial and bloodthirsty, she is easy to aggravate and hard to reason with.
You’re likely to get a few cuts and scratches in the Larder, so to minimise this, wear a long-sleeved shirt and trousers. In the staff wardrobe, there should also be a leather jacket you can wear- it was Nikita’s, he arrived with it on and we’re all very grateful for it. Before you leave, grab the gardening gloves, an empty hemp sack and the sickle from the equipment cabinet. Find the glass jar containing brown pastilles and take two. We’ll let Mabel know the day you’re planning to head out, and she will leave a knotted sack next to the cottage fence for you to collect. Keep the sack shut and ignore the noises. And the wriggling.

1. The Larder is quite far north from the cottage and will take you just under an hour to reach on foot. Try to arrive just before dusk. The Butcher is mostly active during the day, so if you arrive later she will be worn out and easier to handle. However, if it is too dark, you won't be able to navigate the Larder safely. If you are unsure, arrive early and wait until you see the shrikes around the border settle and grow quiet.
2. The border of the Larder is marked by a low barrier of thorny bushes that you will need to step over to enter. However, before you do so, approach the border and kneel down. Put the sack in front of you but keep it closed. Lower your head. Eventually, you should feel one or two of the shrikes land on you for an inspection. Stay calm and still. You are not there to challenge them, but you cannot give the impression that you're prey either.
3. When the inspectors get off you, they will land at a specific point at the border and wait. You must enter the Larder at that spot. Do not stomp down the bushes to get over them or choose an entry point that the shrikes haven’t selected for you: This will be regarded as immensely disrespectful, and the birds who oversee the outer area of the Larder will swarm, trying to knock you over so that you land directly in the bushes. Step clear over the barrier and avoid touching it at all. If you do get a scratch which breaks the skin, consume one of the brown pastilles immediately. The border's thorns are laced with a poisonous substance that causes disorientation and hallucinations- it makes the unfortunate animals who touch it easy prey for the shrikes and it is strong enough to work on humans too. The toxin is fast-acting but if you take a pastille immediately, you should be fine.
4. Once you are in the Larder, begin to walk inwards. Your goal is to reach the hawthorn tree which sits in the middle of the Larder. It grows abnormally tall, with thick branches that are uncharacteristic of the other hawthorns in Raifee Wood. Take your time, since almost all of the vegetation in the Larder has very sharp thorns. Unlike the ones at the border, these plants are not poisonous, but if you are too bloody by the time you reach the Butcher, the scent of your blood may trigger her predatory instincts.
5. If you see any smother-root during your walk attached to bushes and trees, rip it off using the gloves and put it in the empty hemp sack. However, if you see an animal, including a shrike covered in smother-root, you need to get rid of both. Usually, the animal is long dead, but if they’re still alive, use either the sickle or a firm stomp to put them down. It may seem brutal, but you are sparing them from a much crueller death down the line. The shrikes won't take offence if you kill one of their own in this way either- they've all seen what the plant can do.
6. As you walk through the Larder, you will notice a number of creatures impaled on the thorny branches of the trees and bushes. In the outer areas these will be small creatures such as frogs, mice, sprites and pucklings, but the further you progress, the larger the prey will be. In the innermost area, you can anticipate deer, foxes and occasionally, humans. Don’t touch any of the impaled creatures, since it will be perceived as you trying to ‘steal’ them. For smaller creatures, this will earn you a nasty peck on the hand, but if you dare to touch one of the larger kills, the shrikes will call for the Butcher to deal with you. This rule stands even if the creatures are still alive and twitching. Freeing the impaled creatures would be pointless- the shrikes and Butcher both favour neck injuries to subdue their prey so the majority are partially if not fully paralysed.
7. When you reach the hawthorn, you will notice the Butcher sitting in it. She is easy to spot, being the size of a lion. Her body is a giant shrike's, but her face is mostly that of a human woman with cold black eyes and pale skin, stained by her most recent meal. When you find her, kneel as you did at the beginning but do not duck your head. Tell her clearly that you have been sent by Mabel to remove the smother-root, and that you have brought a meal for her.
8. When speaking to the Butcher do not appear frightened, weak or anxious. Body language and tone of voice are essential here. If she is taking a while to decide or seems as if she is about to pounce, firmly tell her that the meal you brought will likely expire soon. This should compel her to focus on the sack rather than you. You will know that you are safe (for the time being) when she asks for you to release the meal.
9. When she asks for you to release the meal, untie the sack and stand back. It will contain several live mice and rats (Mabel has suggested that we could set up traps to catch them ourselves, but we’ve managed to avoid it thus far) plus a larger animal for the Butcher- usually a rabbit or pheasant. The majority will immediately run out, triggering the hunt. Make sure to shake the bag in case any of the animals are still inside. If you pick up the sack later to leave and the Butcher notices movement, she will pounce on you to retrieve the remaining tribute. Even if she doesn't mean to, the force of this attack will likely break several of your bones.
10. Once the Butcher and birds have taken off to hunt, you can start to remove the smother-root from the hawthorn. Use the sickle to divide each climber into tearable segments and rip them off the tree using the gardening gloves. You must wear the gloves while handling smother-root, since if it comes into contact with living flesh, it adheres very tightly. A human is strong and dextrous enough to rip it off, but the majority of animals and even some inhabitants aren't as fortunate. If you do end up touching the root, rip it off as soon as possible.
11. If you have to pull a piece of smother-root off your skin you will notice that the prickly hairs of the vines have left behind several tiny punctures. When you get back to the cottage, use the green gel in the medicine cabinet to treat them- the pot has a drawing of smother-root on it so it's easy to find. Cover every puncture liberally, and leave the gel until it hardens. Don’t remove the gel or wash it off for at least 24 hours. The smother-root uses its hairs to plant seeds into animals, using their bodies as incubators and fertiliser for the saplings. If left untreated, the saplings will painfully erupt from the host body a few days after being implanted, usually killing them in the process. The green gel smothers the saplings, killing them before they can grow. After three days, the gel will peel off on its own, pulling out the dead seeds too.
12. Giving the Butcher a live meal keeps her occupied while you are removing the smother-root. She enjoys stringing out the hunt so you'll have at least 40 minutes before the Butcher returns to perch on the hawthorn where she’ll skewer her meal. This is usually enough time to remove most, if not all, of the smother-root on the hawthorn. Once she’s returned you can continue to work, but you must wrap things up within the next 10 minutes- having the Butcher's full attention is never a good thing. If you hear a scraping noise, this is the clearest sign that you should leave: It is the sound of the Butcher cleaning her teeth with a talon, which she normally does if she is considering having another meal. If you aren't finished, prioritise removing the biggest chunks of smother-root and leave within the timeframe. If she feels it wasn’t sufficient, she will just ask for Mabel to send someone out again next week.
13. If you finish while the Butcher is still away from her tree, wait by it until she returns. If you are wandering through the woods during her hunt, you will almost certainly catch her attention as a large moving target.
14. When you are ready to leave, tie the sack containing the smother-root firmly and collect the empty prey sack. Inform the Butcher that you have finished and will be leaving. If you couldn’t clear most of the smother-root, she will rather curtly dismiss you, but she usually thanks the rangers who did a decent job. I think despite how difficult she makes our visits, there is a part of her that is grateful and she knows how important those words can be for humans.
15. Very rarely, usually when a ranger has done a thorough job clearing the smother-root, she will offer a ‘present’- a freshly torn-off morsel of the larger animal you brought with you. The good news is that this means she likes you, and will make future visits a little easier, possibly even having the shrikes guide you safely through the Larder. The bad news is that she expects you to eat it, there and then. My best advice is to use your water canteen to wash it down. Once you’re away from the Larder, try to induce vomiting and when you return of the cottage, find the blue bottle in the medicine cabinet containing large black seeds. Swallow two, and you should be safe from any parasites in the raw meat.
16. Leaving the Larder is the same as entering it, although you’ll want to get out fairly quickly since the Butcher will grow aggravated if you poke around too much. You can exit the Larder from any point, but make sure to step clean over the barrier (as before, if you get scratched, ingest a brown pastille).
17. When you arrive back at the cottage, put the whole smother-root sack in the firepit. Set it on fire, and keep the fire burning until the whole thing is reduced to ash.

Previous Entry: Entry 40, The Strawberry Fête Introduction and basic guide to surviving in Raifee Wood

TW Lots of swears - also long and pointless
Today I 28 F 28 weeks pregnant got home and my husband wasn’t back from clinicals yet, so I made dinner and took the dogs out, whatever. Then all the sudden I call him to find out if he is on his way home and he hits me with the I feel so sick, with a headache and the feeling that is about to start vomiting any second. I’m a nurse, but I fucking hate vomit. So I am scrambling trying to get a little best together for him. A bucket, ibuprofen, cold water. I removed my blanket from the bedroom because there is no way I’m getting infected with whatever craziness is going on with him while pregnant.
Then, as I’m scrambling, I see that one of my dogs puked on the carpet while I was cooking, and then I’m scrambling again to attempt to clean that up because it’s within my makeshift quarantine zone. At this point I am starting to lose my temper because we are moving this coming weekend, and my husband thought it was a good idea to pack all of the cleaning supplies? So I had to use fabric stain spray (if you aren’t familiar with dog bile-puke it’s like canary yellow and hard as fuck to get out of beige carpet) and say fuck it, as I’m getting my quarantine room finished, my dead looking husband pops up looking shaky and feverish and just says that there is a lot more corn in the parking lot than there was before. I am losing my temper, so I’m just like don’t fucking tell me that. My next mission is to get the dogs to eat (to avoid future dog vomit) and of course the dog who threw up is an anxious shit and has picked up on my rage energy and won’t eat and is looking at me like I just walloped him. I didn’t - for context lol.
Sorry if this is a lot and doesn’t make sense, I’m tired, I have been at work all day seeing patients, and then stressed over countless things regarding moving and whatever, and my husband being randomly puke sick was the straw that broke the camels back. I have been trying to hard to not lose my shit when overstimulated like this to practice for the baby.
But I failed today.. of course I don’t blame anyone but myself, I just feel like a terrible person for losing my cool over such dumb stuff, literally felt like I wanted to both tear all of my hair out, and punch a wall at the same time, which is stupid.

“Are you really that afraid of the basement?” My boyfriend was busy putting on his blue buttoned shirt as he asked me casually. I glared back at him. “You’re seriously going to bring this up now? I’m busy getting ready for dinner” I said grumpily, pulling on my bra. He shrugged apologetically, “Look, I’m sorry okay, I just want to know why, especially if it’s such a big issue. We can talk about it whenever you want. But I would really like to talk about it eventually.” His tone was calm and filled with sincere concern. I sighed. Timothy had been so great. We’d been living together for over a year now and he’d been very patient with me and my phobia of dark places. I don’t just mean I’m afraid of the dark, I mean I go into full on panic attack mode and start tearing the walls apart with my bare hands and finger nails and teeth if it gets even close to dark in any room I’m in. It makes going out at night or doing anything normal like going to the cinema, or planetarium or club or bar very difficult. I also cannot enter a bathroom that has no natural light and nothing but motion-sensor based lights. If they go out for just a second my heart races, my blood boils from fear and my lungs burn from panic. I scream and run, crying usually until I’m back in the light.

I slowly sat on the edge of our bed “Okay Tim, I’ll tell you why. Right now actually if you’d like. I’d rather just spit it out. We have a few minutes and it’s not a very long story anyway”. Timothy quickly pulled on his last sock and came over to sit next to me. I looked at him and then looked back down at the bed. “I’ve – I’ve never told this to anyone. But the reason I’m so afraid of the dark. Of being alone. Is because of what happened to me in the basement when I was ten years old.” I paused and Tim took my hand. His fingers were rough and warm. “I’d never had issues with the dark or the basement or anything like that ever before. One day my mom asked to go down and fetch the laundry from the dryer. So, I’ve been down in the basement of this house a billion times and I think nothing of this at all. The door creaked loudly just like normal as I opened it. I lazily walked down the steps and was busy messing around with my new Walkman when I suddenly heard the door slam behind me. I was plunged into darkness and I thought I’d gone blind.

I groped in the darkness for the light-switch and heard it click as the lightbulb buzzed to life noisily. The basement was not large and was nothing but bare concrete. We used it to store some old furniture and photo albums. Of course we kept our laundry down there too. A bit spooked by the door slamming, I decided to get the chore over with as fast as possible. However, as I my foot left the last step and touched the cold concrete floor the lightbulb glowed brightly and burst. I was plunged into darkness yet again. I breathed heavily and moved in the direction of the laundry. I waved my hands in front of my face but could see nothing. I knew that there was a flashlight in the drawer of the desk next to the dryer. I took a few tentative steps expecting any minute to feel bright pain explode threw my hip as I bumped into the desk. But I never did. So, I started taking bigger steps. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I realized that something was horribly wrong. I should’ve been on the other side of the room by then. A few steps after that I should’ve been on the other side of the wall! Before I knew it I was running. Sprinting! Hoping to be lucky enough to slam hard into the wall. To prove this nightmare a fake. But the wall never came. I ran through cold darkness. Then I heard a voice. A soft whisper at first. Then it became louder. It was the voice of a man. There was nothing abnormal about his voice at all. But it gave me goosebumps. He – he warned me never to return to the dark. He warned me never to tell another living soul about where I had been. I shook. Trembling with fear and incredulity. How could this be possible? Where was I? Suddenly, light sprung to life in front of me. I yelped and shielded my eyes because it was very bright and I suddenly felt really cramped like the room had just shrunk. Then strong hands were grabbing me and lifting me and I found myself being pulled from a well. We still have no idea how but some men had heard a noise and once they’d seen me they rescued me immediately. They found me in a well that was hundreds of miles from my house. From that damn basement.”

I paused briefly as I rubbed my temples with the tips of my fingers, “I had to go to therapy and no one could ever explain anything. Like I said before, I never mentioned what really happened to anyone. I didn’t know whether I was more afraid of people thinking I was crazy or if I was really more afraid of that – voice. All I said was that I blacked out on my way down the stairs. Ended up being in all the papers and my family and I had to move to a whole new town. After that it was just kind of swept under the rug and people stopped asking questions. My parents never bring it up. They pretend it didn’t happen. I like to do that too. So now that I’ve told you I don’t want to hear another word about it. And if you tease me or prank me, so help me God I’ll dump your ass.” I was trying to make a joke to help break the tension but I could feel myself shaking as I recounted the story. It had been some time since I’d thought about that traumatizing day. I felt tears form in the corners of my eyes but quickly blinked them away. Tim sat silently and still, his expression one of sympathy and concern, “Wow, I had no idea. that sounds really horrifying my dear. I completely understand your fears now. I’m feeling a bit less fond of the dark too now myself.” He kissed me lightly on the forehead and rubbed my arm. “You still okay for dinner with my folks? We can always reschedule and get McDonald’s or something. Watch some Ducktales?” I smiled at him and chuckled. “That’s tempting but no. No, we’ve booked a table and everything. Besides it’s too short notice now to cancel. Let’s get going soon. I feel okay. It was a long time ago.” Tim glanced at me in a way that showed he was wholly unconvinced, but he yielded. “Okay my dear, I’ll just take the trash down quickly. Meet you downstairs.”

A few minutes later I had my makeup on and was waiting downstairs on the ground floor. Tim had left ahead of me to take the trash to the refuse bins in the basement and I had expected him to be waiting for me already. But he wasn’t there. I frowned, confused. Is he still downstairs? Why is he taking so long? I tried to keep my panic in check but as the minutes ticked by my heart began to thump loudly. “No, no, no. There’s no such thing as the dark-place. There’s no such thing as the monster in the basement” I stammered to myself softly as I tried to force the panic back down into the recesses of my stomach. “He’s just - he’s – “ I couldn’t end that thought without the ending being dire. My blood was electrified with terror as I made a small step towards the basement. The stairway to the basement was curved so the basement door was hidden. I craned my neck and peered around the corner. The large, metal basement door was shut. “Tim? Tim, is everything ok?” My voice shook slightly as I spoke but it was firm and loud. Silence pressed up against my ears. I took a step forward and started to descend. I halted after three steps. I felt dizzy now. “Tim? Tim this isn’t funny. I’m really freak – “, then I heard him. “Cara! Cara! I tripped and hit my head”. I heard him groan in pain, “I think I twisted my ankle. I really need some help.” My fear instantly dissipated. Tim was hurt badly! His voice sounded really worried. If he’d been unconscious this whole time he’d need serious medical attention. Shit! Why had I waited so long to check on him? Of course there’s no such thing as monsters. He needed me and I couldn’t let my fear get in the way. I hurried down the stairs and ripped the door open. As soon as I stepped through the doorway I knew I’d made a huge mistake.

Complete, utter darkness pressed up against my eyes and I felt an unnatural coldness in the air. I turned to leave but the basement door slammed into me and knocked me back so hard I felt myself leave the floor. I hit the ground hard and yelled with fright, pain and surprise. “What the hell?” I stammered, my head swimming with confusion. “Tim? Timothy!” I whimpered in the pure darkness. I was sitting on the hard, dusty floor which was the only other thing I could sense besides the horrendous cold, my soft sobs and the musty smell. Then a gloomy light bloomed to life.

My jaw dropped open in horror. It couldn’t be possible. There, many yards in front of me, too far for the size of this basement to be possible, was hanging a single lightbulb. Its light was cold and small. It looked almost exactly like the light from my old basement. As I looked down I yelled and began to wail loudly. Lying in the light of the bulb was the mutilated, bloodied corpse of my dear, sweet Timothy. The man who I had wanted to marry. The man who always made me feel safe. The man who knew exactly how I liked my coffee and pancakes. Oh my God! He was dead! That thing had got him and it was all my fault. Guilt, terror and pain of all kinds washed over me. Tears poured down my face and I yelled incomprehensibly, pleading for someone to help. Suddenly, another identical lightbulb popped to life before the first. Then another. Then another. Soon, hundreds of lights sprung to life. The line of lights made a beeline toward me and the final lightbulb flickered to life in front of me. I heard the sizzle and hum of its electromagnetic field as it hung above me. I was frozen from fear. I had no idea what to do. My eyes burned with tears and I squinted because of the bright fluorescent lights. I shouted from fright as I heard a lightbulb suddenly explode. I gazed down the line of lights and saw the silhouette of a man standing beneath the broken bulb right at the end. Then the next bulb in the line burst and the man instantaneously stood beneath it, now one light closer to me.

With a loud pop the next bulb blew. Then the next. Suddenly, all the bulbs were exploding one after the other louder and louder. I saw the silhouette get closer and closer, as swift as a shadow. I stood to run, vomit making its way into my mouth as my heart screamed from panic. As I turned to face the dark behind me a cold hand grabbed my throat. I felt myself lift into the air. The cold hand squeezed ever tighter. As I sputtered, unable to breathe, I heard a soft, raspy male voice say, “We warned you”.

Sorry if this is all over the place. So yesterday I was out in the heat (was riding bikes with my friends at the park) and ofc in the Texas heat I began to sweat. I then got into the car and blast the AC not realizing it could make me sick. Fast forward I wake up this morning and my body is very sore and I have a slight fever with little to no sweating here and there and a baaaad headache, get worse when I stand up to do something. I’m slightly warmer than usual. I recently got my second dose of MTX about a week ago. Been bleeding lightly since then. Checked my hcg about four days ago and it went down to 2,458 from 5013 within a week. I have little ting feelings on my right side where the ectopic is. My question is had anyone had a slight fever with ectopic and was okay?

I have a cold, maybe bronchitis too given that my colds always develop into that😅
I don’t feel n at the moment thankfully, but have not really had an appetite. I’ve made sure to eat something though! I have been incredibly achy the last few days but have noticed that has improved today hallelujah
I have a cough which is hurting my neck and throat, I’m ridiculously snotty and I did have a fever at first. My head feels all fuzzy too
Apart from rest etc, what do you do to help you feel better? Being sick is miserable for anyone but for someone with emet it’s making my anxiety go through the roof

Dear Mom and Dad:
I wish I could know if you actually wanted me when I was born. Maybe you did? Or maybe I just wasn't what you had hoped for and envisioned.
I'm sorry that the bet you placed on my birth hour didn't win you the big money. I'm sorry for being born later than the doctor predicted. At least you had better luck with my sister's birth timing. I just wish I had started off with a better first impression for you instead of losing you money.
I wish I hadn't been so lonely, so sensitive, and so scared as a child. I'm sorry I was severely underweight and pale. I'm sorry I had speech problems. I'm sorry I was terrified of the doctor, the dentist, haircuts, dark, the basement, bridges, rabid raccoons, and being left alone. I'm sorry I couldn't stop crying and worrying about these things. I just wish you could have told me that I could have come to you for a hug when I was scared. Or that your could have held my hand when I was scared to walk in the driveway at night. I wish I would have known I could have asked you to hold me when I was having a panic attack during shots at the doctor. I just assumed life meant you sat across the room from me and observed me as the nurse had to hold me down to draw blood.
Dad: I wish I had been more fun, more outgoing, more athletic.I wish I had known how to catch a baseball so we could have played catch. I wish you had taught me how to play baseball so I could have joined little league and you could have coached the team. I wish I had been more like my cousin who was good at sports. And I wish you had taken photos with me like you took with him. I would have loved to have a picture with you where you looked happy to be with me and proud of me.
Mom: I wonder if you actually asked dad to do a father son activity with me like I pleaded with you to ask him.
Mom: I wish you would have taken me to the playground each time I asked. Or pushed me on the swing set in the back yard just once. Or played a game at least once with me. I know I kept asking. I'm sorry if it was annoying, but I would have loved it.
Mom and Dad: I wish you had told me you were going to put my dog to sleep when I was at school. I wish you would have told me before I noticed he was missing. And I wish you would have hugged me instead of letting me run off and cry in the corner. I wish someone could have talked with me about it afterwards.
Dad: I wish you would have come down from your office sooner to see me during my class field trip to your work. I wish you had spent more time meeting my class instead of just walking by and tipping your hat. I'm sorry I was looking for you and hoping you would appear. I'm sorry I was sad and hurt when you came home after work. I wish you had talked with me and hugged me instead of shouting at me that you had to work and what did I actually expect you to do.
Mom and Dad: When I was scared of the dark and I begged to sleep in your room, and you finally agreed, I wish you had let me sleep closer to your bed instead of in the back corner by the closet on a floor mat. I'm sorry I talked to much that night and annoyed you with my voice.
Dad: I'm sorry I made too much noise jumping up and down on Christmas Eve. I'm sorry that I disturbed you. I just wish you hadn't shouted at me to go into my room and stay there till bedtime.
Mom and Dad: I wish you had let me sleep in your bedroom during the hot summer nights with your nice window air conditioner. I wish I had more than a small fan to cool me down as I stuck to my bed sheets soaked with sweat as my room reached the 90s-100 degrees. I wish I had nice wallpaper like my sister did in her room instead of the ripped peeling leftover wallpaper in my room. I wish I had a clothes closet like my sister, instead a closet used to store sleeping bags, tents, and old muddy camping equipment.
Mom: I wish you would have stopped the dog from knocking me over and then dragging me around the yard in circles by my scarf and choking me to nearly passing out. I wish you had helped me instead of clapping and laughing.
Mom: I wish you had taken me to the doctor after the dog bit my face and left a cut cheek and black eye after I swatted an ant on the floor.
Mom: I wish you hadn't made me take scalding hot baths that made she shake and scream. I wish you hadn't made me take swimming lessons each week that left me with blue lips, blue skin, and chattering teeth. I wish you would have listened to me when I told you how cold I was. And I wish you had let me wear a towel on the way home to warm up. Or get to take a shower before my sister so I didn't have to sit in the hallway chattering and shivering.
Mom: I wish you would have let me say goodbye to my friends before you abruptly made me change schools in kindergarten. I wish you had let me see my old friends again instead of telling me I would never see them again. I wish you hadn't pushed me away in the hallway on the first day of the new school. I wish you had not allowed me to just stand in the hall sobbing and wondering if you were ever coming back.
I wish someone would have realized how lonely I was when I spent almost every day at school with my head down on my desk crying. I wish someone would have noticed how sickly, pale, hallow, sad, and malnourished I looked.
I wish someone would have told me that my parents could have hugged me when I was scared. I wish someone would have listed to me just for a few minutes and assured me I didn't have to face the world on my own.
I wish my parents could have smiled when they saw me. Or looked happy to take a photo with me. I wish my parents would have wanted to spend time with me. I wish my mom or dad would have come upstairs to visit me at least once while I sat in my room.
I wish my mom and dad could have let me know that I wasn't a failure because of my speech problems. Or that I wasn't broken because I had trouble pronouncing the letter R.
I wish my dad had been proud of how I tried to rake instead of telling me I held the rake the wrong way.I wish my dad had wanted to see my plays instead of telling me he didn't want to see them. I wish my mom hadn't told me he slept through my play.
I wish someone would have come into my room to ask if I was ok the night I couldn't stop coughing. Or for my dad to have not gotten mad that my coughing was disturbing and annoying him.
I wish when I had a bad dream and called out to my mom and dad they would have come in sooner than having to yell their name 7 times. And I wish my dad had been kinder when he stormed and scolded me to go back to bed and that it was too late for this type of stuff. I wish my dad hadn't thrown his dinner plate across the room and threw his chair when I accidently interrupted him at dinner to ask my mom to pass the bread.
I wish my parents could have acted like they actually wanted me and actually loved me. I wish my parents had shown me what it meant to be loved and appreciated. I wish I had a voice when was little. I wish someone could have let me know that my thoughts and feelings did actually matter. I wish I could go back and help the sad boy I see in all the photos. I wish I could ease the pain and sorrow in his eyes. I wish I could actually hug the little boy in those photos and show him the world is more than fear, sadness, and loneliness.

I have had a feaanxiety of not being alone in my home especially at night for a long time. I would fear of a serial killer, monster, etc lurking, waiting to leap out at any moment. It had already killed my family silently and was coming for me too. I told myself that it could not get me if my light was on, if I was upstairs, or if I was in my bed. This was just to stop me from freaking out, tho it was just as irrational as the fear itself. However, I was usually able to convince myself I was safe. Until last night.
It was about 12:30pm and I had been reading some manga while listening to music. I always felt conflicted by how perfect the characters lives seemed. Eventually I turned out the light and stopped reading and took off my headphones. It was quiet and I began to shiver a little tho it was not cold. Under the blankets it felt too warm and I was shivering and warm at the same time. I ignored it tho bc it was not really cold at all. Eventually sitting there in the dark i became increasingly aware that i was not alone. There was something or someone else in my home that had not been there short hours ago. It was different this time somehow it was no longer a fear of something singular, like of a monster hunting me down. (Most commonly recurring being a creature mostly unchanged through time with a long bony somewhat humanoid body [something out of alien] that lurks in the shadows, and once you see its sharp yellowed teeth it's already too late). It became a multitude of things: a rabid police dog, a man with a knife, a hungry mountain lion, etc. I was afraid to move, what if the thing saw me. I began crying, though silently. I was scared enough to avoid breathing. Usually when it gets this bad I tell myself if the thing wants you dead you would be dead by now. But somehow this logic did not work this time. I was afraid to open my eyes to see the creature creeping forward (I would rather die ignorant). Yet, at the same time I did not want to close my eyes and see my own imagination, the horror I had implanted into my senses.
I would like to take a brief pause to explain that I think I am somewhat of a coward. I am the type of person in a movie who if I am walking down a darkened corridor lined with doors and an elevator at the end would not stop. For example, if the character hears something behind a door they would check it out. Me? nada, nope, I'm getting out of there I don't care in the slightest. Maybe I am the ignorant type but I would rather be ignorant and alive, than knowing and dead.
Then the fear began manifesting as something unplaceable, irrational, and peculiar. It was strange as I have never feared death before. It started as something impossible. I thought of being choked by spiders, bitten by a rattlesnake, or drowning, but I was safe in my bed I could not drown, that was not even an option on the table. It didn't make sense any longer the fear did not even seem to be self serving it seemed like an attack. The scenarios kept playing out in my head each ending with my brutal/gory death. But I could not make the intrusive thoughts end. I began to shake uncontrollably and to hyperventilate while crying. It was like my brain was doing it on purpose against my will tho that is a selfish thought I guess.
Eventually I realized that sitting here waiting to be scared once again by the constant ideas popping in my mind was not getting me anywhere. I had a plan. To think of happy things. However puppies quickly became wolves and butterflies became hornets stinging and biting. I did not know what to do the thoughts would not quit coming to me and I felt myself being sucked into believing them.
As a last effort, I pictured a fawn sitting in a meadow, dappled with sunlight. I felt my muscles relax. I saw the mother deer and felt a sense of safety. My mind tried to tell me that a car ran over the the fawn as well as me and we were rotting, stuck to the asphalt. I told this voice to shut up. I moved on and then the voice insisted that a bear had ripped us all to shreds. I ignored it cuz it was not true. I built out further seeing a farm in the distance and pictured the inhabitants. The negative voice followed attempting to adapt to the scene I created. However it failed, each time getting quieter, until it faded altogether. Finally, I was able to relax and go to sleep.
I Don't know the cause of this or how long it was, I just know it hasn't happened before this and likely won't happen again. I have never experienced an anxiety attack of this nature (if it can be classified as such). Maybe too much Stephen king? Or the fact that I buried a dead bird in my yard that very day. Though I don't believe in that kind of thing.
Thx for reading and sorry for the awful grammar lol. Anyways I was wondering if I'm the only one to experience this or to have this fear. In the meantime I'll listen to Saturn by Sza on repeat lmao

My ex married about 1 year after she dumped me. We were together for 2 years and we were planing to get married. She once said I was the man of her life. Sure. It was quite painful breakup 'cause she blamed me for everything. That I was insecure, that I did not know how to dress/talk/walk. And she would talk behind my back to our friends about all that. You name it. When we broke up I insisted she told me why she ever loved me. She told me she loved me because I had a good job and was funny. Good thing we broke up because I got fired from my job ( company downsized) shortly after she got married and took me some time to get another one. Anyway, some years later, I saw an obituary on a telephone pole in my neighbourhoud. In the country I live, it is customary that deaths are announced by placing an obituary on a public place besides the normal way of announcing them on social media or in the newspaper. I have been to plenty of funerals (to my parents' and other older people in the neighbourhood) but the obituaries were simple. Just announcing the death and the place (the church) where the funeral will be held. But the obituary of my ex's father had written something explicit. It said: "who ever wants to pay tribute and offer condolences is welcome to come". On the obituary the names of all the relatives were printed as well the name of her husband. A friend of mine told me if I thought about going. I just gave it a thought and I got scared. For example, I could not bear the thought of looking at her, at her relatives, shaking the hand of her husband. Her father was a good person (before the breakup) but once I ran into him downtown and he did not even speak to me. A year before, my mother had died and there was complete silence from all her relatives. Not that I was expecting anything. Why would I ever want to go to my ex's father funeral. For some damn reason, the name of her husband was on my mind for some time and I looked it up. It was so stupid. I just typed it and his facebook page showed up which was not private. I just saw where he graduated from and I just remembered one day my ex preparing some copies from her classes back in college to give some "guy" who had finished the some school. I remember her mother telling her about this guy who needed help with good copies as she was a good student. I just wondered back then, was he so useless that he could not write his own notes? But I just remembed, that after that meeting with him, she became cold and distant. And now, it all fell into place. I don't know. I have become so negative. Maybe I thought after years being gray and all, we could ran into each other along with our spouses and just acknowledge each other (being civilized and polite) but this thought just angers me. Anyway, once I heard she got married, I changed my number and deleted all my social accounts because I wanted to go full no contact. I still have no social except this private reddit account and linkedin. And I hope I never run into her. I moved on with my life but this thought sometimes lingers. It's like having this fright/flight moment. So strange. I guess it's better to let past be buried in the past.