Ear muscle withdrawal

Link to serial master post for other chapters
It was difficult to find the right moment to ask Marcus about any past escape attempts. Madeline was very conscious of how much she’d already asked of him — something that Billie’s constant teasing definitely wasn’t helping with. She was also nervous about being overheard. If the wrong person noticed her asking questions, she could only imagine the trouble it might get her in — and the trouble it might get Marcus in. That was if Marcus wasn’t the wrong person himself.
So she kept putting it off. After all, it wasn’t like they were in a huge hurry. There were still so many people to ask after in here — so much more to learn and pass on to their allies outside.
But all practical excuses Madeline could come up with couldn’t silence the voice whispering at the back of her mind. She was being selfish. She didn’t want to do anything that could jeopardise her upcoming visit with Liam.
It was getting close now, and she was counting down the days.
Every second she spent working in the fields — mindlessly harvesting potatoes by muscle memory alone — her thoughts were full of imagined meetings. What would it be like to see him again? Would he have grown? Would he be as pleased to see her as she was to see him? Would he blame her for him being captured? Would he blame her for leaving him behind — even if it had been at his own request?
When Marcus finally came to tell her that the day had come — her free day tomorrow — she thought that she might explode with all the nervous excitement.
She hardly slept that night, keeping Billie up with all her wriggling and shifting, and she was up and out of bed as soon as the morning light blared on.
Breakfast was barely touched as her mind raced with more important things. Whenever Billie tried to talk to her, the words were muted and garbled to her ears, as if underwater. After the first couple of attempts to start up a conversation, they stopped trying. Her leg bounced up and down as she sat, waiting on the bottom bunk.
The wait was agonising. It was as if, the closer she got, the more each second dragged on and on and on.
Her eyes remained fixed on the door, heart jolting every time it opened. Soon, she was cursing the comings and goings of her roommates.
Until, finally, it opened onto Marcus’s familiar face.
Madeline leapt up and ran towards him. “Is it time?”
She felt a presence at her shoulder as Billie caught up.
Marcus beamed. “It’s time.” He looked between the pair of them. “Are you both ready?”
“Yes!” Madeline knew she sounded impatient, but she didn’t care.
“We’re ready,” Billie confirmed. “As I think you can tell, this one,” they gestured their head towards her, “has been ready for a loooong time.”
The young guard chuckled. “Yeah. It’s good to have someone so happy to see me for once — even if it isn’t actually for me.” He beckoned. “Come on then. I’ll take you to the visiting room.”
As they walked down the corridor, Madeline silently willed Marcus to speed up. Soon, she was glaring daggers at the back of his head, wondering if he’d always been this slow. Then, she was not so silently sighing and tapping her fingers together to let out her frustration, but it didn’t nothing to speed up the journey. The walk dragged on and on and on. Down endless corridors. Through endless buildings. Waiting for Marcus to unlock endless doors.
By the time they reached the visiting room — one final door for the guard to unlock — Madeline was ready to burst, a scream boiling up inside of her as Marcus fumbled with his keys.
But all that melted away when the door swung open, revealing a familiar pair of large blue eyes staring at her. Liam.
All the anger and frustration couldn’t survive that wide-eyed stare. All the circling thoughts and worries and woes. All the questions and regrets. Gone.
All that was left was a warmth swelling in her chest, yanking her towards the small figure waiting in the room.
She barged past Marcus, stumbling on trembling legs as she hurried forward and dropped to her knees to embrace the boy. As Liam’s arms closed around her too, it was like a piece of her that had been missing was finally found. The hollow in her chest had been filled. She was whole once again.
Somewhere, far from her concerns, she heard shuffling footsteps, followed by the door clicking shut.
She and Liam held each other like that for Lord knows how long, without a word passing between them. Words weren’t needed now. What they needed to communicate went much deeper than words.
It was only when the weight of a familiar hand settled on her shoulder that she finally drew back from the embrace — and even then, only enough to glance up at the only other person in the world who held such a strong claim on her heart as the boy in her arms.
Liam shifted too, feeling her movement. His eyes widened as he took in the unfamiliar face, pulling back further to glance at Madeline.
She gave him her best, reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “This is someone I’d like you to meet. Do you think you could manage that?”
He nodded.
Taking care to never lose contact with him fully, Madeline let her arms drop from where she held Liam, grazing down an arm to his hand before she turned around to face her friend — her love.
“Liam, this is Billie. I look forward to telling you all about them and how wonderful they are.” She smiled up at them. “And Billie, this is Liam. I—”
“I’ve already heard how wonderful you are!” they said, crouching down to be on the same level as Madeline and him. “And any friend of Madeline’s is a friend of mine. Now I just can’t wait to get to know you for myself!”
Madeline looked back at Liam, hoping that this wasn’t all too much at once for him.
“Nice to meet you, B-Billie.”
Her heart soared.
Author's Note: Next chapter due on 26th May

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It was difficult to find the right moment to ask Marcus about any past escape attempts. Madeline was very conscious of how much she’d already asked of him — something that Billie’s constant teasing definitely wasn’t helping with. She was also nervous about being overheard. If the wrong person noticed her asking questions, she could only imagine the trouble it might get her in — and the trouble it might get Marcus in. That was if Marcus wasn’t the wrong person himself.
So she kept putting it off. After all, it wasn’t like they were in a huge hurry. There were still so many people to ask after in here — so much more to learn and pass on to their allies outside.
But all practical excuses Madeline could come up with couldn’t silence the voice whispering at the back of her mind. She was being selfish. She didn’t want to do anything that could jeopardise her upcoming visit with Liam.
It was getting close now, and she was counting down the days.
Every second she spent working in the fields — mindlessly harvesting potatoes by muscle memory alone — her thoughts were full of imagined meetings. What would it be like to see him again? Would he have grown? Would he be as pleased to see her as she was to see him? Would he blame her for him being captured? Would he blame her for leaving him behind — even if it had been at his own request?
When Marcus finally came to tell her that the day had come — her free day tomorrow — she thought that she might explode with all the nervous excitement.
She hardly slept that night, keeping Billie up with all her wriggling and shifting, and she was up and out of bed as soon as the morning light blared on.
Breakfast was barely touched as her mind raced with more important things. Whenever Billie tried to talk to her, the words were muted and garbled to her ears, as if underwater. After the first couple of attempts to start up a conversation, they stopped trying. Her leg bounced up and down as she sat, waiting on the bottom bunk.
The wait was agonising. It was as if, the closer she got, the more each second dragged on and on and on.
Her eyes remained fixed on the door, heart jolting every time it opened. Soon, she was cursing the comings and goings of her roommates.
Until, finally, it opened onto Marcus’s familiar face.
Madeline leapt up and ran towards him. “Is it time?”
She felt a presence at her shoulder as Billie caught up.
Marcus beamed. “It’s time.” He looked between the pair of them. “Are you both ready?”
“Yes!” Madeline knew she sounded impatient, but she didn’t care.
“We’re ready,” Billie confirmed. “As I think you can tell, this one,” they gestured their head towards her, “has been ready for a loooong time.”
The young guard chuckled. “Yeah. It’s good to have someone so happy to see me for once — even if it isn’t actually for me.” He beckoned. “Come on then. I’ll take you to the visiting room.”
As they walked down the corridor, Madeline silently willed Marcus to speed up. Soon, she was glaring daggers at the back of his head, wondering if he’d always been this slow. Then, she was not so silently sighing and tapping her fingers together to let out her frustration, but it didn’t nothing to speed up the journey. The walk dragged on and on and on. Down endless corridors. Through endless buildings. Waiting for Marcus to unlock endless doors.
By the time they reached the visiting room — one final door for the guard to unlock — Madeline was ready to burst, a scream boiling up inside of her as Marcus fumbled with his keys.
But all that melted away when the door swung open, revealing a familiar pair of large blue eyes staring at her. Liam.
All the anger and frustration couldn’t survive that wide-eyed stare. All the circling thoughts and worries and woes. All the questions and regrets. Gone.
All that was left was a warmth swelling in her chest, yanking her towards the small figure waiting in the room.
She barged past Marcus, stumbling on trembling legs as she hurried forward and dropped to her knees to embrace the boy. As Liam’s arms closed around her too, it was like a piece of her that had been missing was finally found. The hollow in her chest had been filled. She was whole once again.
Somewhere, far from her concerns, she heard shuffling footsteps, followed by the door clicking shut.
She and Liam held each other like that for Lord knows how long, without a word passing between them. Words weren’t needed now. What they needed to communicate went much deeper than words.
It was only when the weight of a familiar hand settled on her shoulder that she finally drew back from the embrace — and even then, only enough to glance up at the only other person in the world who held such a strong claim on her heart as the boy in her arms.
Liam shifted too, feeling her movement. His eyes widened as he took in the unfamiliar face, pulling back further to glance at Madeline.
She gave him her best, reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “This is someone I’d like you to meet. Do you think you could manage that?”
He nodded.
Taking care to never lose contact with him fully, Madeline let her arms drop from where she held Liam, grazing down an arm to his hand before she turned around to face her friend — her love.
“Liam, this is Billie. I look forward to telling you all about them and how wonderful they are.” She smiled up at them. “And Billie, this is Liam. I—”
“I’ve already heard how wonderful you are!” they said, crouching down to be on the same level as Madeline and him. “And any friend of Madeline’s is a friend of mine. Now I just can’t wait to get to know you for myself!”
Madeline looked back at Liam, hoping that this wasn’t all too much at once for him.
“Nice to meet you, B-Billie.”
Her heart soared.
Author's Note: Next chapter due on 26th May

It was difficult to find the right moment to ask Marcus about any past escape attempts. Madeline was very conscious of how much she’d already asked of him — something that Billie’s constant teasing definitely wasn’t helping with. She was also nervous about being overheard. If the wrong person noticed her asking questions, she could only imagine the trouble it might get her in — and the trouble it might get Marcus in. That was if Marcus wasn’t the wrong person himself.
So she kept putting it off. After all, it wasn’t like they were in a huge hurry. There were still so many people to ask after in here — so much more to learn and pass on to their allies outside.
But all practical excuses Madeline could come up with couldn’t silence the voice whispering at the back of her mind. She was being selfish. She didn’t want to do anything that could jeopardise her upcoming visit with Liam.
It was getting close now, and she was counting down the days.
Every second she spent working in the fields — mindlessly harvesting potatoes by muscle memory alone — her thoughts were full of imagined meetings. What would it be like to see him again? Would he have grown? Would he be as pleased to see her as she was to see him? Would he blame her for him being captured? Would he blame her for leaving him behind — even if it had been at his own request?
When Marcus finally came to tell her that the day had come — her free day tomorrow — she thought that she might explode with all the nervous excitement.
She hardly slept that night, keeping Billie up with all her wriggling and shifting, and she was up and out of bed as soon as the morning light blared on.
Breakfast was barely touched as her mind raced with more important things. Whenever Billie tried to talk to her, the words were muted and garbled to her ears, as if underwater. After the first couple of attempts to start up a conversation, they stopped trying. Her leg bounced up and down as she sat, waiting on the bottom bunk.
The wait was agonising. It was as if, the closer she got, the more each second dragged on and on and on.
Her eyes remained fixed on the door, heart jolting every time it opened. Soon, she was cursing the comings and goings of her roommates.
Until, finally, it opened onto Marcus’s familiar face.
Madeline leapt up and ran towards him. “Is it time?”
She felt a presence at her shoulder as Billie caught up.
Marcus beamed. “It’s time.” He looked between the pair of them. “Are you both ready?”
“Yes!” Madeline knew she sounded impatient, but she didn’t care.
“We’re ready,” Billie confirmed. “As I think you can tell, this one,” they gestured their head towards her, “has been ready for a loooong time.”
The young guard chuckled. “Yeah. It’s good to have someone so happy to see me for once — even if it isn’t actually for me.” He beckoned. “Come on then. I’ll take you to the visiting room.”
As they walked down the corridor, Madeline silently willed Marcus to speed up. Soon, she was glaring daggers at the back of his head, wondering if he’d always been this slow. Then, she was not so silently sighing and tapping her fingers together to let out her frustration, but it didn’t nothing to speed up the journey. The walk dragged on and on and on. Down endless corridors. Through endless buildings. Waiting for Marcus to unlock endless doors.
By the time they reached the visiting room — one final door for the guard to unlock — Madeline was ready to burst, a scream boiling up inside of her as Marcus fumbled with his keys.
But all that melted away when the door swung open, revealing a familiar pair of large blue eyes staring at her. Liam.
All the anger and frustration couldn’t survive that wide-eyed stare. All the circling thoughts and worries and woes. All the questions and regrets. Gone.
All that was left was a warmth swelling in her chest, yanking her towards the small figure waiting in the room.
She barged past Marcus, stumbling on trembling legs as she hurried forward and dropped to her knees to embrace the boy. As Liam’s arms closed around her too, it was like a piece of her that had been missing was finally found. The hollow in her chest had been filled. She was whole once again.
Somewhere, far from her concerns, she heard shuffling footsteps, followed by the door clicking shut.
She and Liam held each other like that for Lord knows how long, without a word passing between them. Words weren’t needed now. What they needed to communicate went much deeper than words.
It was only when the weight of a familiar hand settled on her shoulder that she finally drew back from the embrace — and even then, only enough to glance up at the only other person in the world who held such a strong claim on her heart as the boy in her arms.
Liam shifted too, feeling her movement. His eyes widened as he took in the unfamiliar face, pulling back further to glance at Madeline.
She gave him her best, reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “This is someone I’d like you to meet. Do you think you could manage that?”
He nodded.
Taking care to never lose contact with him fully, Madeline let her arms drop from where she held Liam, grazing down an arm to his hand before she turned around to face her friend — her love.
“Liam, this is Billie. I look forward to telling you all about them and how wonderful they are.” She smiled up at them. “And Billie, this is Liam. I—”
“I’ve already heard how wonderful you are!” they said, crouching down to be on the same level as Madeline and him. “And any friend of Madeline’s is a friend of mine. Now I just can’t wait to get to know you for myself!”
Madeline looked back at Liam, hoping that this wasn’t all too much at once for him.
“Nice to meet you, B-Billie.”
Her heart soared.

I've been having health problems for around a month and I just feel extremely overwhelmed. It feels like my entire body is turning against me.
I've had headaches (tension & pressure types) for a while now, so I've been taking ibuprofen (I suspect it's a sinus infection, I'm getting a CT scan done tomorrow). I believe that the ibuprofen has messed up my stomach, because I had 3 instances of acid reflux in a single month. I'm currently having one of them now.
I made the mistake of eating meat before going to bed. It started out as mild chest pain and a sense of shortness of breath, like I couldn't fully breathe in. Then it started burning in my lower chest area. The next day, my throat was sore and I also had pain in my ear when swallowing. I've also been burping constantly, excessively. Sometimes I even burp up to 20 times in a single minute. It feels like there's a huge air bubble in my chest that I can't get out no matter how much I burp. Sometimes I even get heart palpitations, it feels like my heart is beating too fast and it's about to pop out of my chest.
I don't know if I have GERD, I plan on testing for helicobacter pylori. But I don't think I can ask my mom to go to yet ANOTHER doctor.
I've been to an eye doctor, ear-mouth-ears doctor and will be going to a neurologist soon. All in a single month. I feel like I'm crazy. My mom wouldn't react well if I told her I also wanted to get my heart & digestive tract checked.
My eyes also feel irritated & itchy and hurt sometimes, I don't know if that's just the pain from the headaches though.
I'm just tired. These symptoms feel very unrelated to eachother and I don't know how to address them anymore.
I feel physically & emotionally exhausted. I don't know if the chest pain is from muscle soreness or the esophagus still healing or something else.

I met Luna on a train two years ago. I’d just escaped from a toxic relationship, so romance was the last thing on my mind, but then she sat across from me in the carriage and asked about the book I was reading. She had a copy in her bag and wanted to know if it was any good.
I'd never felt such an instant, effortless connection with anybody before. I took a chance and asked her to dinner, and by the time the waiters cleared away our desserts, I already felt comfortable being vulnerable around her. So we went on a second date. And a third. And next thing I knew, we were planning our second anniversary.
In all that time she never gave off any 'creeper' vibes. Until a few months ago, when I stayed the night over at her place...
She'd gotten up early to use the bathroom. I grabbed her laptop off the side desk so I could catch up on some work e-mails, and the incognito tab was just sitting there. My first thought was: either she's having an affair or she's got a secret fetish.
What I found instead was a Google account with a photo album called ‘Michael’s EX’. In it, there were 427 photos of my former girlfriend turned psycho stalker, Sadie. This included shots of ‘Sadie the stalker’ with her family, screenshots of her passport—the works. On Facebook, Sadie's latest post said Moving to the Philippines, and since then she’d become a social media church mouse, so how did Luna keep her under surveillance? And how did you even get PERSONAL ID from a person halfway across the globe?
Down the hall, I heard the bathroom door swing open. Quickly I closed the laptop and pretended to be asleep until Luna planted a kiss on my lips. “Wakey wakey Bugs.”
I faked a stretch. “Morning Lola."
(At school, the other kids christened me ‘Bugs’ because of my cartoonishly large front teeth; I called Luna ‘Lola’ because of her blonde bangs and heart-shaped face.)
“How about we grab a fry for breakfast?” Her smile didn’t seem genuine, more like she was wearing a mask.
“Crap. I forgot I’m doing overtime today, I’ve gotta get to work.” With that, I shot out of there faster than a bullet train to Tokyo.
Because I didn’t wanna believe the worst about someone I cared so deeply about, I didn’t contact the police (not that anybody could’ve guessed what Luna was up to) and made excuses whenever she asked to meet, delaying the decision whether to end our relationship.
At night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time a hedge rustled outside, I’d run to the window and pull back the curtain only to discover a black cat skulking around the garden. I put this down to my previous relationship leaving me with a mountain of unresolved PTSD.
Sadie the stalker also seemed normal until we moved in together. After that she started picking fights if she caught me talking to another woman, even just distant relatives or childhood friends. The screaming matches went from weekly to nightly, only ever ending when I conceded to her every wish and gave her full access to my phone and social media accounts. I literally needed to grab my clothes into a bag and run away one night, and then I started hearing noises outside my new apartment. And although I never found any evidence, I was pretty sure she’d broken in at one point because the books on my side table were suddenly out of order one day. What hurt the most was Luna knew all this and still acted the way she did.
Right as I reached my lowest point, my close friend Gertrude called and said, “The universe is telling me you could use a sympathetic ear.”
I told her the universe didn’t know the half of it.
I’d met Gertrude—aka my surrogate mother—on a flight to London. Passing over Wales the aircraft hit heavy turbulence, and the grey-haired hippie in the seat next to mine squeezed my hand so tight that my fingers turned blue. After we levelled off, she apologized and said, “So what’s calling you to London?”
“A job.”
A few glasses of wine from the service trolley later, she blurted out, “You know your aura is strikingly similar to my husbands.”
“Uhh, thanks. Where is he now?”
“Oh, he burned to death in a house fire.”
Gertrude’s eyes started welling up. To take her mind off the subject, I said, “I lied earlier. I’m going to London because I fell in love with a Londoner.” I pulled up pictures of Sadie (back in her pre-stalker days) on my phone. “We met in Italy. She looked flustered trying to read a map book so I offered to help. Next thing I knew, we were planning a trip to this place called Orvieto.”
“Michael, I need to know how this story ends. Gimme your number.”
Since then, we’d met two or three times a year.
I laid the whole mess out over pizza. It was the first time since finding the Google account I didn’t feel hidden eyes crawling all over me.
Just as I wrapped up the story, over in the corner booth, a family burst into a chorus of happy birthday. A waiter appeared carrying a chocolate cake, capped by a giant candle that looked more like a flare. Gertrude tensed up.
“So what do you think about all this?” I asked.
She looked back at me and said, “It’s possible your reaction has been a touch on the dramatic side.”
“DRAMATIC??”
“Well consider things from Luna’s point of view. Your last relationship lasted for, what, three years? Maybe she felt threatened.”
“I don’t believe this.” I grabbed a cigarette from my pocket, but Gertrude snatched it away.
“You know how I feel about you poisoning your lungs, Michael.”
“Don’t you start. I got enough of that crap from Luna.”
Gertrude always encouraged me to work through my romantic problems. Ultimately, I decided her love of fairytale romances clouded her judgement and ghosted Luna instead. But I couldn’t escape her shadow. She always felt close. In fact, it got so bad that at a friend’s costume party several weeks later, my eyes kept compulsively scanning the crowd as if she was there in disguise, ready to pounce.
I stood off to the corner until, over the sea of heads, I spotted a beautiful stranger dressed as Jarlath the Goblin King. I took a shot of liquid courage and made a B-line towards her.
Halfway across the crowded room, beer splashed across the front of my Ziggy Stardust outfit.
“I am so sorry,” a female pirate said, patting me dry.
“Don’t worry about it.” Every time I tried circling her, she moved to cut me off.
“I am such a klutz. Why don’t you come into the kitchen so I can clean up this mess?”
I put my hands on her shoulders and steered her out of the way. “It’s fine. Trust me.”
Approaching Jarlath from behind, heart slamming against my chest, I said, “Well this is awkward. One of us is gonna have to change.”
Jennie had bright blue eyes and dimples impossible to miss. Ten minutes into our debate about David Bowie’s greatest album, I said, “You know Absolute Bowie are playing the Half Moon next week. I could take you?”
“Sorry. I’m going with my boyfriend,” she said with a sympathetic smile. From beside the buffet table, the pirate stared daggers in our direction.
“No worries,” I replied, despite the fact I was brimming with jealousy.
The next day, as I jogged off my hangover, a brown-haired lady cut across my path and we both went spinning to the ground.
“Flip, sorry.” I rushed to pull her up by the hands. “I’m like a bloody zombie lately.”
She did a doubletake. “Ziggy, right?”
There was no mistaking those eyes. “Jarlath?”
“Well, Jarlath or Jennie. Eithers fine.”
“Right. Well, sorry again. Enjoy Absolute Bowie.”
Before I could jog away, she said, “Hey, so that guy I was seeing? Turns out he’s a total prick.”
Jennie and I went for coffee. Coffee morphed into drinks. Drinks morphed into a steamy make-out session on my sofa.
But as she covered my neck in soft kisses, my stomach turned. It felt like cheating. So, I put the brakes on things and said, “I can’t do this. I’m really sorry. You’re amazing, but I just got out of a serious relationship…and…it’s just…”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.”
We agreed we’d let our connection blossom in its own time.
Jennie had a playful mystique to her. Within a handful of dates, we’d developed inside jokes and could tell what the other was thinking. But Luna’s imprint was hard to shake, to the extent I almost mixed up the two ladies’ names multiple times.
To detox, I suggested Jennie and I spend a romantic weekend in the Lake District, because after two days of hiking and kayaking my ex would no doubt be a spec in the rearview mirror.
Hours before we set off, however, Luna’s mom called. She wanted to meet and wouldn’t accept any excuses.
“Look, it’s obvious why I’m here,” she said, sitting across from me in Starbucks. “Ever since you and Luna broke up, she’s been acting…different.”
“Different? Different how?”
“I call but she hardly answers. I go over to her place but she’s never there. Now she’s telling me she needs to find herself. Says she’s moving to Australia.”
Her fingers tightened around her cup. “I need to know what happened between you two. And I don’t care if that paints anybody in a bad light. I’m just worried about my daughter is all.”
I told her about the Google account.
“Did you confront her about it?”
“Hell no. I ghosted that crazy bitc—” I cleared my throat. “I mean, I just…stopped seeing her.”
She started crying so loudly customers at nearby tables paused their conversations. I touched her forearm, promised I’d call if I remembered anything else, then set off for my romantic weekend.
But while Jennie and I enjoyed all that fresh air and pub food, a thought nagged at me. Luna adored London, so why move to Australia? It seemed so out of character. Back at our rented cottage, I was so fixated on the thought I needed a smoke, badly.
“What the hell is that?” Jennie demanded, as she stepped onto the front deck.
I glanced at my hands. “Uhh, a cigarette.”
“Michael! Don’t be sarcastic. You know how I feel about those things.”
“…Do I?”
“Uhh, well it’s the same as anybody else. Quit poisoning your lungs and put that thing out.”
“Alright alright, geeze. Sorry Luna.”
“That’s okay.”
A knot formed in my stomach as she went back inside. I’d called Jennie Luna by mistake. And she hadn’t noticed. In fact, her reaction to me smoking was identical to Luna’s—even the snappy way she said the ‘poison your lungs’ line.
I followed Jennie into the lounge, where she’d curled up on an armchair with a Colleen Hoover novel. She was hiding something. What else did she know about Luna? Maybe I could trick her into revealing some details…
From behind, I started massaging her shoulders. “Sorry for being rude before. I know what you said came from a place of love.”
“That’s okay.”
I waited until her eyes drooped shut, then said, “It really is perfect here, huh? Maybe we should stay forever.”
“Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
Her little groans of pleasure, the rhythm of her breathing, it all felt so familiar. I waited until the tension in her neck dissolved, then I pushed my lips against her ear and whispered, “So how about we take this into the bedroom…Lola.”
“Hmm. Sure thing Bugs.”
My hands froze. Jennie jumped up. “Uhh, that felt so good, why’d you stop?”
“What did you just say?”
“What did you just say?”
“I called you Lola,” I replied, my arms frozen in midair. “And you called me bugs.”
“Like the cartoon, right? I thought it’d be a cute nickname. Anyway, I’m tuckered out.” She forced a yawn. “Why don’t we get some sleep?”
As her hand laced with mine, an image of me waking up drugged and gagged and tied to the bedposts flashed before my eyes.
I said, “Sure. I just…need to use the bathroom first.”
The second the door shut behind me, I flew out of the house, climbed in my car, and sped away.
Within seconds my phone started blowing up with calls, followed by texts. Where are you going? Is everything okay?
No, I wanted to reply. I’m onto your sick little game. Whatever it is, I’m onto it.
Luna stalked my stalker, now Jennie somehow knew Luna and I’s nicknames. How? Did all women take turns drawing straws and whoever picked the short one needed to become my girlfriend?
I couldn’t go home. For all I knew, my exes would’ve been there burning effigies of me. I needed a safe place. Somewhere I could lie low until I got all this straightened out.
“Of course you can stay,” Gertrude said over the phone. “I’m out with some friends, but I’ll meet you later. If you hop the side gate there’s a spare key under the kissing gnomes out back.”
Gertrude lived in a detached house in Wembley. It took a bit of foraging to find the gnomes hidden beneath the weeds in the brown, patchy garden.
I needed to shoulder the door open. Inside, a mountain of letters and flyers had piled up on the welcome mat.
Down the hall, a huge archway connected the landing with a lounge, where a bar sat against the far wall, surrounded by upholstered sofas, a low table, and tie dye sheets strung over the filthy carpet. Everything had a real elegant vibe, despite the musty air.
I’d drained two glasses of whiskey before Gertrude arrived.
“Looks like you’ve had a rough evening.”
I said we could talk in the morning.
“Not a chance. You can’t take negative energy to bed. Come on, confession is good for the soul.”
She sat on the sofa and patted the empty seat next to her. So, with a weary sigh, I shared a tale of deranged exes.
“Crazy,” she said.
“I sure can pick ‘em, huh?”
“No, I mean you’re crazy.”
“What?”
“Think about it. What’s more likely: that your ex’s are secretly in collusion, or you’re being paranoid? Look how bloodshot your eyes are. When’s the last time you got a good night’s rest?”
She made a great point; teenagers on the street occasionally shouted ‘Bugs’ or ‘Thumper’ at me. Jennie might’ve come up with the nickname herself. I pinched the bridge of my nose, groaning.
“Look, sleep here tonight. Tomorrow we’ll brainstorm ways you can make it up to Jennie.”
I fumbled through my pockets for a cigarette.
“Really?” Gertrude said. “If you insist on poisoning your lungs, can you at least do it away from my home?”
“Well if I can’t smoke, I’m gonna need a refill.” I shook my empty glass.
On my way toward the bar, a wave of wooziness hit me. My first instinct was to blame it on the alcohol, but there was something else.
It was her reaction to the cigarette. My finger ran through the thick layer of dust along the bar’s countertop. Why was it like the place had been abandoned? Why did Gertrude always pressure me to stay with my psycho girlfriends? And how come she always reached out, as if on cue, whenever my relationships hit problems? It couldn’t be coincidence…
I poured two glasses of whiskey and carried them to the sofa. “So, you’re really against the whole smoking thing, huh?”
“Of course. It’s a filthy habit.”
“Yeah. Plus, there was that mess with your husband. House fire, right?”
“I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Sure, sure.” I ignited the lighter with a roll across my trouser leg.
Gertrude grabbed a cushion and hugged it. “What are you doing?”
“Alright, cut the crap. What the hell’s going on? Have you been sending your friends to date me?”
“What are you talking about?”
I wrestled the cushion from her and held the lighter beneath it. “I want an explanation right now or I’m torching this place.”
This was an empty threat. I wasn’t some pyromaniac—I just wanted answers. Inch by inch, I raised the flame. “Last chance. Why are the women in my life acting weird?”
Gertrude grabbed for the lighter. As I swatted her wrists away, we both got scorched, and for a moment her skin went wild with spasms, a sensation I can only compare to reaching inside a bucket of wet, writhing maggots. My gaze whipped between her face and her hands, which vibrated like plucked guitar strings.
Before I could scream, she yanked me up, clamped a cold, wrinkled palm across my mouth, and forced me against the wall. I thrashed around, unable to move. For a lady old enough to collect a pension, she was crazy strong.
She waited until I ran out of breath, then said, “Michael, please. I’m not going to hurt you. Open your heart and listen.”
What else could I do?
“You were right before. I have been keeping a secret from you. The truth is, I’ve been in love with you since we met. I’d never flown before. And you were so so sweet. You started talking about this other woman, but I knew our energies were perfect for each other. And it’s like I always say, love makes us do crazy things. You can’t begrudge me that can you?”
She looked as if she expected me to respond, so I shook my head.
“But I think we’ve reached a point where our connection is so deep we can be completely transparent with one another.” She took a slow, steady breath. “Michael, all your ex’s, Luna, Sadie, Jennie. They’ve all been…well, me.”
I stared at her, confused.
She sighed. “It’ll be easier if I just show you.”
Out of nowhere her hand wriggled again, then her face tightened, as though the skin was being stretched over the bone. Wrinkles smoothed out and colour bled into her grey hair, turning it brown, and within seconds I found myself face-to-face with Jennie. Even her vintage clothes morphed into a green blouse and white slacks.
“See?” she said in Jennie’s voice, her now blue eyes locked on mine.
I screamed into the soft flesh of her palm.
“Sssh, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Watch.”
Her entire body jerked and twitched, the muscles spasming as she shifted from Jennie to Luna. “See? Think of these as costumes”—from Luna to Sadie—"the important thing is what’s underneath. And you’ve fallen in love with what’s underneath three times. Now I’m going to let go, but I need you to promise you won’t overreact. Understand?”
On the verge of a panic attack, I nodded furiously.
The second she pulled away I made a break for the exit. The thing posing as Sadie grabbed me and hurled me backwards against the wall.
Like a disappointed teacher, she put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been so patient with you, Michael. So very, very patient.”
She blocked off any hope of escape. I sidestepped around the outer edge of the room, towards the bar.
“All those years moulding you. Trying to grow you into the man I know you can be. I really thought we had it this time. For the record, I wanted to do this the easy way. But drastic times...”
I was so scared I slammed right into the cabinet and yelped. Glass bottles chattered together, and then something wet ran down the back of my shirt. It was whiskey, leaking from the overturned bottle onto the carpeted floor.
Speaking more to herself now, Gertrude said, “I’ll just have to keep you here until you love me as much as I love you. Of course, that means posing as you so nobody gets suspicious, but that’s no trouble. I’ll tell your dad you’re moving to Italy. You always loved Italy.”
Pose as me? She'd been killing my ex's and taking their place, I was just the latest in a long line. She’d keep me as a personal sugar baby if I didn’t escape, but how? She was impossibly strong, and the only thing that seemed to scare her was…
Snatching the bottle, I doused the remaining whiskey all over the carpet and furniture. As I flicked the lighter open, Sadie’s hands shot up.
“Bugs…darling…what are you doing?”
I took three slow, steady breaths. “Breaking up with you, you crazy bitch.”
I tossed the lighter forward. Within seconds flames sprung up all around us, spreading as far as the sofa. Sadie’s shoe caught fire, and as she stamped around, unintentionally fanning the blaze, her body writhed again, starting with the ankles. Fat boils climbed up every inch of exposed skin, milky white and with the consistency of frog spawn, like she’d had a killer allergic reaction to poison ivy.
She dropped to her knees, wailing like a wounded animal. This was my chance.
I made a break for the exit, giving the creature as wide a berth as possible. But as I got one foot planted in the hall something clamped tight around my ankles. My chin hit the floor, then I started sliding backwards.
I twisted onto my back. Where Sadie’s left arm should’ve been, a tentacle-like appendage stretched across the length of the room, a distance of over twenty feet. It reeled me toward her like a fish on a line. Whatever that thing was no longer looked human. It melted like an ice statue, with no bones or connective tissue inside, its lips nose and mouth becoming hideously elongated before dripping off in huge globs like melted candlewax. A fire alarm started wailing as the tentacle dragged me through the flames, scorching my arms and legs.
The loose mass of skin reached out and encased me like a mother bird sheltering its eggs.
“WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME?” all my ex’s voices screamed at once. Whichever direction I looked, silhouettes of faces rose and fell, as if trying to burst through. Parts of them dripped inside my mouth, disgustingly warm with a bitter taste worse than Vaseline.
I put everything into clawing my way out if there. What was left of the beast had the consistency of wet clay and came apart just as easily. I tore away chunks until there was a hole large enough to squeeze through. Then, I crawled along surrounded by black smoke.
At the far side of the room I risked a glance back and saw a bumpy, uneven hand reaching out of a puddle of ooze. Soon I was crawling over the bristly welcome mat, then fumbling for the door. All I remember after that are paramedics wrestling me into an ambulance…
A specialist officer came to see me at the hospital the next morning. They’d been unable to contact the homeowner, Gertrude Huyton, and through his line of questioning I could tell they hadn’t found her ‘remains’ inside the charred house. Like the wicked witch of the West, my stalker had melted. I told the officer she said I could stay the night, and that I probably started the fire by dropping a cigarette.
“In that case, we’ll keep trying to reach her.” He walked to the curtain surronding my bed and paused. “Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, her cat is missing.”
“Her...cat?”
“Yeah. The little black one. One of the firemen pulled it out of the wreckage. The poor thing had burns over its legs but it ran off before anybody could take it to the vet.”
I swallowed a gulp and thanked him for telling me.
And now I’m still sitting here listening while nurses rush back and forth, terrified any one of them might be Gertrude…

I was a busboy at the Cocoanut Grove. That Saturday, the place was a heaving mass of humanity. Soldiers on leave, couples on dates, socialites, and gangsters—the club was their playground, and I was just an invisible part of the scenery. The air was a haze of smoke and alcohol, thick enough to choke on.
It was around 10:15 PM when I first saw him. A man in a dark, heavy coat, standing by the service door near the kitchen. Odd attire for such a warm, crowded club, but what really caught my eye was his face. His eyes were black pits, empty yet somehow full of a cold, malevolent hunger. His smile was a razor-thin line, cutting through his face like a wound. He gestured for me to come closer, but before I could move, he slipped into the kitchen.
Seconds later, the lights flickered, and fire erupted in the Melody Lounge. The flames didn’t spread—they leapt, as if alive, cutting off exits with a terrifying, unnatural precision. Panic ignited, and the crowd became a stampede. I tried to guide people to safety, but the fire seemed to anticipate our every move.
As I fought my way toward the kitchen, hoping for another way out, I witnessed horrors that will forever be etched into my memory.
The first was a young woman in a red dress. She had been dancing with her boyfriend moments before the fire broke out. When the flames began to spread, she tried to run, but the crowd was too thick. She stumbled and fell right in front of me. In the chaos, no one stopped to help her. The flames reached her, and her screams pierced through the cacophony. Her dress ignited, the fabric melting into her skin. I watched in horror as her flesh bubbled and peeled away, revealing raw, charred muscle beneath. Her eyes locked onto mine, pleading for help, before the fire consumed her completely. I couldn’t do anything but keep moving, the image of her agony seared into my mind.
Further ahead, near the bar, a middle-aged man, a regular at the club, was pounding on a locked door that led to the staff area. His hands were bloody, and his face was contorted in sheer panic. The smoke was thickening, making it hard to breathe. I saw him drop to his knees, clawing at his throat as he began to choke. His skin turned a sickly blue as he suffocated. The fire found him next, wrapping around his legs and creeping up his body. His screams were a mix of terror and pain as the flames cooked him alive, turning him into a grotesque statue of blackened bone and seared flesh. I wanted to help, but the fire was relentless, and I had to keep moving.
Near the back exit, which had been illegally locked to prevent people from sneaking in without paying, I saw a young couple—newlyweds celebrating their honeymoon. The husband was trying to shield his wife with his body as they pounded on the unyielding door. The fire closed in, and I heard their desperate cries for help. The flames licked at their legs, their screams merging into a single, horrifying wail. The husband’s back blistered and burst, his skin sloughing off in sheets. The wife’s hair ignited, and she clawed at her scalp in a futile attempt to extinguish the flames. They held each other as they burned, their bodies fusing together in a grotesque, charred embrace. I was frozen in place, unable to look away, until a surge of heat pushed me to keep moving.
I fought through the flames, dodging falling debris and stumbling over lifeless bodies. The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Finally, I found a side door and burst into the alley, gulping in the cool night air. As I looked back, the building was fully engulfed, the screams of the trapped mingling with an unholy laughter that echoed in my ears long after.
The official reports blamed faulty wiring and overcrowding, but I know better. The man in the dark coat—he wasn’t human. He was something ancient, something that revels in chaos and feeds on fear. Since that night, I’ve been plagued by dark dreams and even darker realities. Doors in my house creak open on their own, whispers drift through the night, and I see shadows moving just beyond my vision.
Every anniversary, the nightmares get worse, and I feel his presence more acutely. It’s as if the fire forged a bond between us, a bond I can’t break. I’ve tried to tell my story, but no one believes me. They think I’m just a traumatized survivor, driven mad by the horrors I witnessed.
But I know the truth. And now, so do you.
If you’re reading this, I’m begging, heed my warning. On the anniversary of the Cocoanut Grove fire, stay away from dark, crowded places. If you see a man in a dark coat with eyes like voids, don’t approach him. Run, and don’t look back.
Because once he marks you, there’s no escape. The flames will find you, and Hell will claim its due.
Tonight, as I write this, I can feel the heat building, the shadows lengthening. He’s close. I can hear his whisper just beyond the door. I don’t know if I’ll survive another anniversary, but if I don’t, remember my story.
Remember that some fires are more than just flames. They are gateways, and some doors should never be opened.

I was a busboy at the Cocoanut Grove. That Saturday, the place was a heaving mass of humanity. Soldiers on leave, couples on dates, socialites, and gangsters—the club was their playground, and I was just an invisible part of the scenery. The air was a haze of smoke and alcohol, thick enough to choke on.
It was around 10:15 PM when I first saw him. A man in a dark, heavy coat, standing by the service door near the kitchen. Odd attire for such a warm, crowded club, but what really caught my eye was his face. His eyes were black pits, empty yet somehow full of a cold, malevolent hunger. His smile was a razor-thin line, cutting through his face like a wound. He gestured for me to come closer, but before I could move, he slipped into the kitchen.
Seconds later, the lights flickered, and fire erupted in the Melody Lounge. The flames didn’t spread—they leapt, as if alive, cutting off exits with a terrifying, unnatural precision. Panic ignited, and the crowd became a stampede. I tried to guide people to safety, but the fire seemed to anticipate our every move.
As I fought my way toward the kitchen, hoping for another way out, I witnessed horrors that will forever be etched into my memory.
The first was a young woman in a red dress. She had been dancing with her boyfriend moments before the fire broke out. When the flames began to spread, she tried to run, but the crowd was too thick. She stumbled and fell right in front of me. In the chaos, no one stopped to help her. The flames reached her, and her screams pierced through the cacophony. Her dress ignited, the fabric melting into her skin. I watched in horror as her flesh bubbled and peeled away, revealing raw, charred muscle beneath. Her eyes locked onto mine, pleading for help, before the fire consumed her completely. I couldn’t do anything but keep moving, the image of her agony seared into my mind.
Further ahead, near the bar, a middle-aged man, a regular at the club, was pounding on a locked door that led to the staff area. His hands were bloody, and his face was contorted in sheer panic. The smoke was thickening, making it hard to breathe. I saw him drop to his knees, clawing at his throat as he began to choke. His skin turned a sickly blue as he suffocated. The fire found him next, wrapping around his legs and creeping up his body. His screams were a mix of terror and pain as the flames cooked him alive, turning him into a grotesque statue of blackened bone and seared flesh. I wanted to help, but the fire was relentless, and I had to keep moving.
Near the back exit, which had been illegally locked to prevent people from sneaking in without paying, I saw a young couple—newlyweds celebrating their honeymoon. The husband was trying to shield his wife with his body as they pounded on the unyielding door. The fire closed in, and I heard their desperate cries for help. The flames licked at their legs, their screams merging into a single, horrifying wail. The husband’s back blistered and burst, his skin sloughing off in sheets. The wife’s hair ignited, and she clawed at her scalp in a futile attempt to extinguish the flames. They held each other as they burned, their bodies fusing together in a grotesque, charred embrace. I was frozen in place, unable to look away, until a surge of heat pushed me to keep moving.
I fought through the flames, dodging falling debris and stumbling over lifeless bodies. The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Finally, I found a side door and burst into the alley, gulping in the cool night air. As I looked back, the building was fully engulfed, the screams of the trapped mingling with an unholy laughter that echoed in my ears long after.
The official reports blamed faulty wiring and overcrowding, but I know better. The man in the dark coat—he wasn’t human. He was something ancient, something that revels in chaos and feeds on fear. Since that night, I’ve been plagued by dark dreams and even darker realities. Doors in my house creak open on their own, whispers drift through the night, and I see shadows moving just beyond my vision.
Every anniversary, the nightmares get worse, and I feel his presence more acutely. It’s as if the fire forged a bond between us, a bond I can’t break. I’ve tried to tell my story, but no one believes me. They think I’m just a traumatized survivor, driven mad by the horrors I witnessed.
But I know the truth. And now, so do you.
If you’re reading this, I’m begging, heed my warning. On the anniversary of the Cocoanut Grove fire, stay away from dark, crowded places. If you see a man in a dark coat with eyes like voids, don’t approach him. Run, and don’t look back.
Because once he marks you, there’s no escape. The flames will find you, and Hell will claim its due.
Tonight, as I write this, I can feel the heat building, the shadows lengthening. He’s close. I can hear his whisper just beyond the door. I don’t know if I’ll survive another anniversary, but if I don’t, remember my story.
Remember that some fires are more than just flames. They are gateways, and some doors should never be opened.

I was a busboy at the Cocoanut Grove. That Saturday, the place was a heaving mass of humanity. Soldiers on leave, couples on dates, socialites, and gangsters—the club was their playground, and I was just an invisible part of the scenery. The air was a haze of smoke and alcohol, thick enough to choke on.
It was around 10:15 PM when I first saw him. A man in a dark, heavy coat, standing by the service door near the kitchen. Odd attire for such a warm, crowded club, but what really caught my eye was his face. His eyes were black pits, empty yet somehow full of a cold, malevolent hunger. His smile was a razor-thin line, cutting through his face like a wound. He gestured for me to come closer, but before I could move, he slipped into the kitchen.
Seconds later, the lights flickered, and fire erupted in the Melody Lounge. The flames didn’t spread—they leapt, as if alive, cutting off exits with a terrifying, unnatural precision. Panic ignited, and the crowd became a stampede. I tried to guide people to safety, but the fire seemed to anticipate our every move.
As I fought my way toward the kitchen, hoping for another way out, I witnessed horrors that will forever be etched into my memory.
The first was a young woman in a red dress. She had been dancing with her boyfriend moments before the fire broke out. When the flames began to spread, she tried to run, but the crowd was too thick. She stumbled and fell right in front of me. In the chaos, no one stopped to help her. The flames reached her, and her screams pierced through the cacophony. Her dress ignited, the fabric melting into her skin. I watched in horror as her flesh bubbled and peeled away, revealing raw, charred muscle beneath. Her eyes locked onto mine, pleading for help, before the fire consumed her completely. I couldn’t do anything but keep moving, the image of her agony seared into my mind.
Further ahead, near the bar, a middle-aged man, a regular at the club, was pounding on a locked door that led to the staff area. His hands were bloody, and his face was contorted in sheer panic. The smoke was thickening, making it hard to breathe. I saw him drop to his knees, clawing at his throat as he began to choke. His skin turned a sickly blue as he suffocated. The fire found him next, wrapping around his legs and creeping up his body. His screams were a mix of terror and pain as the flames cooked him alive, turning him into a grotesque statue of blackened bone and seared flesh. I wanted to help, but the fire was relentless, and I had to keep moving.
Near the back exit, which had been illegally locked to prevent people from sneaking in without paying, I saw a young couple—newlyweds celebrating their honeymoon. The husband was trying to shield his wife with his body as they pounded on the unyielding door. The fire closed in, and I heard their desperate cries for help. The flames licked at their legs, their screams merging into a single, horrifying wail. The husband’s back blistered and burst, his skin sloughing off in sheets. The wife’s hair ignited, and she clawed at her scalp in a futile attempt to extinguish the flames. They held each other as they burned, their bodies fusing together in a grotesque, charred embrace. I was frozen in place, unable to look away, until a surge of heat pushed me to keep moving.
I fought through the flames, dodging falling debris and stumbling over lifeless bodies. The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Finally, I found a side door and burst into the alley, gulping in the cool night air. As I looked back, the building was fully engulfed, the screams of the trapped mingling with an unholy laughter that echoed in my ears long after.
The official reports blamed faulty wiring and overcrowding, but I know better. The man in the dark coat—he wasn’t human. He was something ancient, something that revels in chaos and feeds on fear. Since that night, I’ve been plagued by dark dreams and even darker realities. Doors in my house creak open on their own, whispers drift through the night, and I see shadows moving just beyond my vision.
Every anniversary, the nightmares get worse, and I feel his presence more acutely. It’s as if the fire forged a bond between us, a bond I can’t break. I’ve tried to tell my story, but no one believes me. They think I’m just a traumatized survivor, driven mad by the horrors I witnessed.
But I know the truth. And now, so do you.
If you’re reading this, I’m begging, heed my warning. On the anniversary of the Cocoanut Grove fire, stay away from dark, crowded places. If you see a man in a dark coat with eyes like voids, don’t approach him. Run, and don’t look back.
Because once he marks you, there’s no escape. The flames will find you, and Hell will claim its due.
Tonight, as I write this, I can feel the heat building, the shadows lengthening. He’s close. I can hear his whisper just beyond the door. I don’t know if I’ll survive another anniversary, but if I don’t, remember my story.
Remember that some fires are more than just flames. They are gateways, and some doors should never be opened.

Nature of Humanity Ch 67 A NoP fic
Under Pressure Part 10
A Fanfic of u/SpacePaladin15’s work “The Nature of Predators.” Thank you for the story!
___
Memory transcription subject: Silvera, Factory 13 Manager
Date [standardized human time]: November 4th, 2136
If it wasn't for the clearly artificial sky above my head someone could possibly convince me I was outside in a new park. The neon blue screen with a white dot to represent the sun was nothing like the actual pale gray visage a mile above. Yet, it did have an enjoyable warmth to it.
A smooth artificial wind swept through the saplings ensuring that they would develop healthy stress wood. It also pleasantly cooled the fur of anyone in here, providing a nice little respite from the heater simulating the sun's unbearable hatred of us. Fuck you fake sun!
Any flora used to decorate the park would be exotic to Frozen Mountain, even if it came from the nearby tundra, but my humans decided to do something interesting. While they had covered most of the ground with a soft short-growing Terran clover, they chose to make the rest of the decorative plants functional. All of the saplings were different types of fruit trees that, when mature, would be free for anyone to harvest as much as they want. Even the decorative topiary isn't hardy tasteless plants, but berry bushes that would provide a variety of sweet treats relatively soon.
Agurcorp was more than happy to allow its failed startup out here to be turned into a local park. Well, so long as they didn't have to pay for this expensive mistake of theirs. The Mayor was all too happy with this, especially since my humans were happy to let him have all the credit so long as they got to design the park. With voting season right around the corner, the Mayor that ‘Brought life to this blighted land’ was a shoo-in to get re-elected. Or would be if he also wasn't ‘The idiot who allowed predators into the city.’
With everything that's happened I am still a bit surprised at everyone currently enjoying the park. A small herd of Venlil are exercising in the open field. A family of Gojids are walking along the cobblestone path. All the while, some humans are playing a very weird game of throwing a round plastic plate into chain nets. It's almost as if this city didn't have two separate riots on the same day.
The sound of wheels traveling across a bumpy path caught my attention. I glanced across the way to see an embarrassed-looking John driving an electric wheelchair over to me. His eyes locked onto mine before quickly switching to the ground. He tried to laze in a chair designed to enforce good posture and looked rather silly as he adjusted himself.
He came to a stop just a foot away from where I sat, “Hey Silv… I, uh… I don't actually need the wheelchair but Mikvia threatened to break my legs if I didn't use it, so I'm just humoring her.”
Oh, don't freaking tell me. Why are humans like this… “John… you were hospitalized with a punctured lung. Sure, doctors have some miracles they can perform these days, but you know you shouldn't be stressing yourself by walking.”
He huffed, “Please, I'm fine. Really. It wasn't as serious as everyone is making it out to be.”
I thumped my hind paw against the ground, “John.”
He threw his hands into the air with a huff, “I'm in the damn wheelchair ain't I? Gawd…”
He grasped his nose before calming down, “I apologize. Shouldn't have raised my voice like that. I mean… I am using the wheelchair and not lifting stuff. Doctor's orders. They even said getting out in this park would be fine. Said it might even help!”
We let out a deep sigh together. I hopped down from my bench and back up onto his lap, “Let's go for a ride… while we figure… us out…”
I could see John's guard drop as the exhaustion crept back onto his face, “...alright...” He pressed his controls forward, and we slowly began our first lap of the park.
John wrapped one of his lanky ape arms around me like a fleshy seatbelt and I laid my head on his chest appreciating the contrast of his warmth with the cool artificial breeze. I could have slept like this. The beating of his heart was rhythmic, and his deep breaths sounded a bit like waves washing up on a shore.
I even heard his heart quicken as I cleared my throat, “So… we aren't really dating are we?”
His exhaustion was quickly replaced with unease as he started to fidget a little, “I'm sorry…”
I held his hand and stared into the ocean blue eyes of his, “Don't be sorry. I think we were both drunk when we agreed to go on a date…”
He shook his head, “I still should have said something before then.”
It wasn't like I couldn't have taken the initiative and talked to him sooner too, “I know you were going through a lot. Actually, I know you still are… I'm really only able to guess but… Are you one of the types that thinks Xeno-dating is weird?”
He looked ashamed as he scrambled to smooth things over, “I- No- well, yes- but- it's just… ok. Let me start over… alright… yeah… so… uhm… the thing is… how do I put this… it sounds bad… well, it is bad… it’s just…”
My tail wagged involuntarily at the rather cute display of embarrassment radiating from John. I leaned in and let him have a doey-eyed look to help heap the embarrassment on.
It felt like John tried to stop the next words from rolling out of his mouth, “Sometimes I have trouble thinking of you all as people.”
John came to a complete stop as I just stared at him wide-eyed. My brain struggled to grasp what he was saying and the implications of it. He cringed and covered his face with his hands, “Gawd, that sounds horrible. It's just… It's not as bad with you and the others… I talk to y’all a lot. It's easier for it to click that you are people too.”
I was desperately trying to see this from his angle, “Wha- why does this happen in the first place?”
His hands drug down his face trying to drag the flesh with it, “I think it’s cause you are always naked. Like your back brace helps a little bit, but still everything else is… That and I hear your voice and the chip in my head then gives it meaning. Like its disjointed. Then it's the way your body language works and- and- fuck. Just…. Fuck me man. I don't even think that's all that's wrong with me. It’s just… like you look, sound, and smell like animals. It's just not really what my mind had in place for aliens. So- like- ugh! Why can't I just explain it!?”
It's difficult to explain, but his words connected to a deep sad memory, “It's like everything is just too… slightly wrong…”
It felt like I had been whisked back decades to my own childhood. I could still smell the bleached halls of the Venlil orphanage on Nevis. My heart whimpered when the Sivkits who came to adopt me shuddered with fear and disgust. Their strange voices sounded slow as they spoke a strange version of Klipic. Like hearing a pale imitation of yourself, try and pretend to be just like you.
My eyes locked with his as I carried on “It’s like you look at them and a part of you knows what they are, but your brain just snaps back to… to what you think reality is.”
I could see a glimmer of hope well up with his tears, “Y-you know? I-Iv've felt like such a monster! How can I- How can I look them in the eyes when they took me in and say- say- that I can't see them as people sometimes!? After everything they've done for me?! They want to adopt me and I- I- I can't even!”
I wrapped my arms around his neck as he buried his face in mine. It felt like he could crush me with his arms, yet they held me gently. What was causing me pain was this damn back brace. The blasted thing was trying to force my arms down while it hunched me over. I wiggled out of John's embrace and ripped the freaking thing off and chucked it as far as I could before burying myself in his embrace again.
We held each other as he drew in shuddering breaths and let his emotions flow out. John’s grip eventually began to loosen and we both took a moment to calm down. I gently tugged at the shirt covering John's torso, “So… Us not wearing clothes constantly is… disconnecting for you?”
He nodded his head, “Y-yeah… It’s like… every person I have ever known wears clothes. Animals never wear clothes and at most wear like a collar or harness if someone owns them. Then a few months ago, a bunch of nudist aliens show up and… well, my brain lops them into the animal category and the translator isn't helping.”
I glanced down at my body and suddenly felt… exposed, “So now that I am no longer wearing clothes…”
He cringed, “You look more like a large rabbit thing than a person… when you had the brace on it helped a little, but you were on all fours… When you were wearing your weather suit and had your hood off, It felt like you were a person, just different.”
An idea crossed into my skull, “Ok then… so your brain attaches personhood with a level of nudity, body plan, and familiarity… take your shirt off and give it to me- Don't give me that look! I know you’re male and are far less sensitive about people seeing your nipples. So gimme.”
He begrudgingly took off his shirt, revealing a pelt of fur that caught me off guard. I shook off the confusion as I slipped his shirt overhead and stuck my arms through the sleeves. It immediately tried to slip down my body and off. Mostly due to how large the hole for his head is, but also due to my utter lack of true shoulders. Another gift of my freak mutation. The ability to walk upright as well as sprint on all fours like a fucking Arxur.
I bunched up the collar and knotted it on itself, solving the slipping issue. With a small twirl, I spun in a circle, “So how is this?”
A smile formed on his face, “You look adorable!”
I happily flicked my tail, “Is that girlfriend adorable or pet animal adorable?”
His grin beamed with happy, mischievous energy, “Little sister adorable.”
I stomped my hind paw again, “Wha- why?!”
He held out his arms and I hopped back into his embrace, “Its cause it's my shirt. Jamie would wear my clothes sometimes, and they were so baggy on him, and well… on you that's practically a sundress! … you’d look really nice in like… a yellow sundress with like a straw hat.”
My mind tried and failed to make an image to match his description, “Hrm… well… I wouldn't know where to even start getting a… sundress.”
John carried on like clothes shopping was a normal intergalactic thing, “You would have to go to a tailor and have it custom-made. Like you already had to adjust my shirt cause you don't have shoulders like we or the Gojids do.”
We sat in a comfortable silence as John started the wheelchair back on its path. I almost fell asleep in his arms before I asked, “So… Are we dating?”
John didn't hesitate to bend over and freaking bite the top of my head! I, rather fruitlessly, slapped my paws against his face as fast as I could and only managed to elicit a laugh from him. Jumping up, I got a mouth full of his cheek in my teeth.
I made sure not to crush as I mimicked what he had done to me back, “Ah! The turns! They've tabled! I'm sorry! We're dating! Augh!” I spit out the lump of flesh between my teeth and sat down rather proudly.
It was only then I looked around to see most of the nearby groups staring at us. As well as three silver suited flame whack jobs walking our way. One of them held up his paws to try and seem as big as possible, “YOU! PREDATORS! DON'T MOVE!”
John growled at them, “YOU FUCKING IDIOTS. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”
The trio froze in their steps and reached for weapons they didn't have. The boldest one took another step forward and shouted, “SHUT UP PREDATOR!”
John held his issued jacket up, letting the reflective emblem of the guild shine for all to see, “I WORK WITH YOU NUMB NUTS! I'M JOHN! ADOPTED SON OF YOUR FUCKING CHIEF! RING ANY BELLS?”
The trio halted in their tracks and the most skittish of them turned a one-eighty on their paws and began to walk away. The boldest one’s paws slowly dropped, “J-John?! I- I've never seen you without the mask or artificial pelt… wait! You're supposed to be in the hospital!”
Johns voice grew cold, “They said I could go out around the park so long as I mostly stayed in the chair. If it pleases you, you can talk to Loke. He's right over there with his wife and two kids. I bet he'd be thrilled to learn you three are going around accusing people of being predators.”
The bold moron took a fearful half step back, “D-d-d-d-don't twist my words! You bit her and she bit you back! I have witnesses! That's predatory!”
John leaned back and stroked the fur on my cheek, “No, it’s erotic.”
I could see the gears turning in the bold one's head grind, “What.”
John pressed his lips into my neck, “Ya know… sexy. It’s like… gently grooming your significant other's neck from behind but more playful.”
They looked revolted, “That's disgusting.”
John cocked his head to the side like a confused Gojid, “That’s odd.”
The look of revulsion quickly transitioned back to confusion, “What?”
A smirk grew on John's face as his fingers massaged into the sore muscles on my back, “It's just, that’s exactly what your mom said last night, but she grew to like it.”
I slapped my paws to my mouth to avoid laughing as the rage flared up in the bold one's eyes, “WHAT!?”
I let out a happy purr as John began to work at my sore muscles and utterly humiliate the idiot bothering us, “Yeeeeah. You weren't supposed to find out like this, but I'm your dad now.”
Their ears pinned back in rage, “You're lying to me.”
John waved a hand at our surroundings, “We are in a hermetically sealed park. There is no way for any significantly threatening animal to get in here. You are only here looking for trouble and I assure you, this will be looked into. Go clean your nose and keep it clean. Understood?”
They both tucked their tails, “Understood, sir.”
John nodded his head and calmed his tone, “Dismissed.”
As the trio of troublemakers left, we sat in relative silence as John continued to work away at the stress in my muscles. If you proved this was how humans prepared their food before eating it, I would argue that it's still worth it.
His rough voice messaged my ears, “Hey Silv?”
I stretched and enjoyed the pops my spine made as it took its natural shape, “Hrm?”
A hint of curiosity hung in his voice, “Why did you understand what I meant? Shouldn't… You've lived with aliens being a part of everyday life for… Like… ever right?”
I slumped against John and thought. Dredging up old memories that I almost wished I didn't have, “It was… a very long time ago. My doctor told me I was making up false memories to cover up a traumatic event and make it to where I was normal and everyone around me were the weird ones…”
I could hear John doubt my doctor's claims, “That sounds… fishy.”
Despite John's odd word choice, the meaning still fit perfectly, “It feels like it, but I just have no proof. I swear to you, I remember running along a beach, with my parents on two legs. Every Sivkit I knew as a child walked on two legs. It’s like… well…”
I grabbed John's hand to stop it from distracting me, “One day I woke up, and I was unbelievably cold. I thought I was a corpse. There was this strange… tentacle thing with bulgy eyes standing above me. His words didn't match his lips, but I understood him. It was terrifying.”
“He scooped me up and started running. Said I was in grave danger, and he was going to keep me safe. I didn't trust him one bit. He jumped into some strange ship and told me I had to be very quiet. The bad people would attack us if they heard either of us talking.”
“Eventually, he crashed the ship into something and pulled me out of it. I was surprised to see we had been on a submarine that entire time. That and the sky was the wrong color. I didn't even have an opportunity to think about it as he carried me to a weird looking vehicle that once again surprised me as a giant wall turned into a window.”
“I had never even heard of spaceships before, and I watched as we went up and just moved into space like it was nothing. He tried to calm me down, but he told me my parents were dead. I- just remember sobbing in his tentacles for hours. Eventually, I calmed down enough for him to play with me.”
“For a few days it was just me and him. Then we met up with another ship, and he left that one to drift in the void. He said we were meeting his friend Aylin on Nevis… a Venlil colony not too far from here, actually. I got to meet more aliens on that ship but Kalova- sorry that was the name of the Kolshian who took me out here. Kalova didn't want me to talk about anything to anyone. Said to just say I was his adopted daughter, and he just got a job on Nevis managing the new colony.”
“He never saw it. I didn't know what they were at the time but the Arxur attacked. They were trying to raid the colony and the Gojids and Venlil where desperately trying to protect it. I remember the alarm going off the second the ship’s captain announced we were leaving FTL. Kalova sprinted through the ship carrying me. He placed me in an escape pod just before that terrible lizard spotted us. He pulled the lever and my pod jettisoned down to the surface.”
“I was in that pod for three days before the Venlil found me and put me in an orphanage. Every time I met other Sivkits… they made my skin crawl. There's something wrong with all of them. I swear to you, we Sivkits are supposed to walk on two legs. We also aren't supposed to be that… stupid. Between how they talk being just… off, and the fact what they said was often either retarded or downright wrong, I couldn't ever feel like one of the so-called Grand Herd.”
“Eventually, I aged out. Graduated college, top of my class. And started working out here when they began to rebuild my plant after it burned down. That’s all there… Well, there is more, but It's not actually relevant to your question.”
John leaned down and kissed the top of my head, “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
I groomed the tip of his nose in return, “You're welcome. … Hey John?”
I could see a small bit of… hope in the back of his eyes, “Yes Silv?”
“Can you tell me about your past?”
He frowned as memories came back to him, yet he smiled still. “Yeah… it’s not a happy story either.”
I pressed myself into him, “Well… we can both be sad together, at least.”
John's hands began to absentmindedly work through my fur again, “Yeah… That doesn't sound as bad.”
___/\___
Important question, do you want a chapter dedicated to John retelling his story? Or would you like it smash cut out in favor of more of their first real date? I am not sure how I want to do it and am happy with both, so please let me know.
John and Silvera finally had the relationship talk! Woooooo! John's confessed something he'd rather never bring up, but knows he needs to address to start living a happy life with his new family. Aaaaand, It's time for Silvera’s tragic backstory! (Trademark pending). Strange names though, right? Kalova… weird how John's old boss has a missing brother with the same name as an alien Ivan the Arxur knows! And Aylin… strange they share a name with Talen's dead wife! Man that's just weird!
Special thanks to u/JulianSkies for proofreading! Seriously it felt like my eyes were melting out of my skull and your feedback was everything I needed!
___/\___
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I am currently 24 years old. I never had any jaw problems until 2020 as during lockdown my jaw became locked and I couldn't open it fully, I went to A&E and it went back to normal on its own without them manipulating it, however, it hasn't stopped clicking daily and getting a little stuck from time to time since then . Every time I open my mouth (eat, talk, yawn, etc.), it clicks and I can feel something move (pop) near my left ear. It doesn't hurt much but it is very uncomfortable and I can feel a lot of tension in my jaw especially when I get up in the morning so I think I have bruxism. I've been thinking about getting Botox injected into my masseter muscles as I've read that they relax and relieve tension, and I also suffer from migraines so it might help with that too, but I wanted to know if other people who have had it done have had good experiences. or if they know of any better treatment. Thank you in advance!

I received a mouth guard by my dentist that was designed for me after having some TMJ issues. My issues were enlarged masseter muscles, pain in those muscles, mild headaches (im not a person that usually gets headaches) and then the teeth grinding to a point that some of my teeth were damaged. My dentist told me that the guard was for protecting my teeth and to reduce my TMJ symptoms, I’ve had the mouth guard for two months now and my TMJ has gotten so much worse, my jaw hurts really bad when I open it, headaches behind ears and temples, sinus headaches, masseters keeps growing. I always use the guard at night and I never clench, chew gum, chew chewy or hard foods like I used to during the day but my symptoms are still getting worse. Any ideas or advice on what’s going on? Thanks in advance🙏 Botox is not an option at the moment

Hi! Does anyone get similar symptoms?

• burning and other nerve pains in the whole occipital area, it’s worst at the back but can extend behind my ears, all over my scalp to the forehead. Sometimes it hurts most behind my ears, sometimes even temples.
• squeezing feeling like my scalp is super tight, like it’s being tightened all the time, trying to relax deliberately is pointless because it tightens by itself right back up, I can see and feel it move, with this comes pins and needles feeling. Sometimes the squeezing is even in my face (nose, eyelids) or throat but less often (I know it’s different nerves)
• my trapezius and occipitals are super tight but most recently also scms and shoulders started bothering me, can’t relax any of the muscles even though I keep trying to release the knots, pressing the knots causes referred pain so it feels like tension is the cause of my symptoms but no way of relaxing them; basically it feels like everything from the armpits back and front is affected, tight, burning
• head pressure, hate this, it also moves like the pain
• when in a bad flare I also feel like I am a bit off balance, feel like somebody is pulling me but it’s just a sensation (no actual movement of these muscles or maybe something subtle not visible to the naked eye)
• burning and tingling goes down my neck, shoulders and even arms, but is worst at the back of my head
• sometimes I feel like it burns deep inside my head and neck, not just skin
• I can sleep well but the moment I wake up it’s back
• being upright makes it all flare up (especially the pressure and pulling sensations) I am better lying down

I am wondering if it’s ON or maybe fibromyalgia just affecting my head. My doctors are useless so wanted to ask for others’ experiences.

Xue Feng Though the modern medicine has limited knowledge of human bodies, what we have known is enough for us to admire the excellent human body structure and functions. Each system and organ in the human body is designed by the Greatest Creator. Even those trivial body parts have great functions. For example, there are several types of hairs on human bodies with distinct forms and functions. The head hair is designed to protect and beautify the head. It can grow long. According to the Bible, “But if a woman has long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering.” The eyebrows can divert sweat and rain, preventing them into the eyes. That’s why they are lined above the two eyes. Eyelashes can prevent the dust and other things from entering the eyes. That’s why they are lined on the sides of the eyelids. Also they stand forward in a special curve because it wouldn’t hinder the eyesight or pierce into the eyes when closing the eyes. If the eyebrows and eyelashes are too long, they will hinder the eyesight. That’s why they wouldn’t grow as long as the hair or beards. The nasal hairs can filter the inhaled air. That’s why they grow inside the nostril and stand sideways and outwards. If they stand inwards, the other things will find it easy to come into the nostrils and difficult to go out. The armpit hairs can prevent the partial friction and help the sweat evaporate. Without the armpit hairs, we have to raise our arms. Otherwise the skin under the arm will become inflamed because of the friction and moist. Required by the function, the armpit hairs cannot grow as long as the head hairs, or as short as the eyebrows. Besides, they are soft and curving. If they are rigid and coarse, they will hurt the skin. And cilia grow on the intestinal epithelium. The cilia grow downward and vibrate together. The vibrating waves move downward from upward to help move down the intestinal contents. Cilia also grow on the airway and bronchus epithelium. However, they grow and vibrate in the opposite direction as those on the intestinal epithelium. Only in this way can they move the sputum upward to the throat and spit them. If they grow downward, the airway and bronchus would get stuck by the sputum and the humans would die from it. Now I wish to take two simple reflections of human bodies as an example. When foreign matters enter the nostrils or airways, they will arouse two protective reflections, sneeze or cough, which is designed to repel the foreign matters. But due to different situation, these two reflections differ in their approaches. The foreign matters in the nostrils are not urgent so the sneeze reflection can be prepared in a composed way. First, inhale slowly; open the mouth, and the soft place move upward to block the nostril. Then breathe in enough air through the mouth, and the pleural body contracts sharply to emit the air in the lungs quickly. When the emitting reaches its peak, the tongue rises abruptly to block the mouth to repel the air to go out swiftly through the nostrils. In this way the foreign matters in the nostrils are driven out. However, if the foreign matters enter the airway, it is an emergent situation. If the foreign matters are not driven out timely, the life will be put at risk. The inhaling is strictly forbidden because it will make the foreign matters go deeper and cause suffocation. So the cough doesn’t include the inhaling. Instead, the glottis closes immediately. At the same time, the pleural body contracts suddenly and adds the lung air pressure extremely. When the pressure is at its strongest point, the glottis opens suddenly and the lung air sends out explosively, compelling the foreign matters in the airway to the throat via the glottis. At this time, the soft place rises to block the nostrils. The foreign matters are spit out through the mouth. If the tongue and the soft place perform the same way as in the sneeze, the foreign matters emitted out of the airway will enter the nostrils, causing another trouble. In these two reflections, the body parts must cooperate closely. Any failure in the coordination will lead to the failure of the reflection, causing serious consequences. So these activities are not done freely. Instead, they are done as required by their functions and set procedures. These procedures are not learnt or practices. The program has been rooted in our brain nerve structure (nerve nucleus) when we are born. Otherwise, the babies will not survive. The advanced computer science has made it possible to simulate these activities. However, the simulation requires 3 conditions: 1. Device simulating the inhale and exhaling of human mouth, nose, throat, pleural and the sensing device; 2. The central control equipment simulating nerves and body system (compute, input and output devices). The above two devices are hardware. And software is also needed, namely (3). A program composed in strict compliance with the requirements to control the performance and procedure of each link, and arrange them in perfect coordination. All the three conditions are imperative. Otherwise the reflections can’t be realized. The program itself is not a substance structure. Instead, it is a smart use and spiritual result. There will be no such a thing as the program without the smart use. So we have to ask, the program is composed by the humans and stored in the computer, how about the control program in the human brain. Is it also composed by someone and stored in the human brain? Sneeze and cough are the simplest examples. There are numerous automatically controlled physical, bio-chemical and pathological human body activities, which are even more sophisticated than reflections of cough. Even today, some of them remain mysteries to us. So how are these sophisticated control programs composed? And where do they come from? Now let’s have a look at the sensory organs on human bodies. Why do we have two ears? The reason is that one ear is not able to identify the direction. With the ears lying on two sides of the head, the sound reaches the ears in sequence of time. Based on the slight receiving time difference, the brain can judge where the sound comes from. The auricle is the most outward component of the ear. It can introduce the sound into the external auditory canal. Within the auricle there is a thin layer of cartilage helping to retain the form of auricle, giving it wonderful elasticity and protecting it from the clashes. Without the cartilage, the auricle is just two useless pieces of skin hanging on the head side. If the thin bone is inside the auricle, it will break easily even if when you are sleeping on your side, damaging the auricle. There is fuzz on the outer segment of the external auditory canal preventing the sand and dust. The inner segment secretes cerumen to prevent insects. When foreign matters enter the external auditory canal, it will trigger head shaking, instead of sneeze or cough, to get the matters out. Because the external auditory canal is a blind passage, it is impossible to repel the foreign matters with air. Why don’t the foreign matters in the nostrils arouse the head-shaking reflection to repel them? That’s because the nostrils of humans almost lie in the middle of the head. The shaking is not able to produce enough centrifugal force. Besides, the human nostrils face downward and it is improper to repel the foreign matters by shaking the head. The sound is produced by the mechanical vibration of objects and is transmitted by the air fluctuation, or the sound waves. The human ears are actually working like a precise mechanical vibration monitor. In the inner ear there are a number of keyboards with different sizes, producing nerve impulses produced by echoing with corresponding frequencies. The brain, in accordance with the features of these impulses, identifies the strength, tunes and timbre of the sounds. We must note though there are many sensory organs in human bodies, only the inner ear is protected by the most solid and firm bones. In fact, it lies in the cave part of the temporal bone. Of all the sensory organs, only the ears monitor the mechanical vibration, which needs a relatively fixed position. Otherwise, it is not able to monitor the sound. If the inner ear lies in the soft tissues, when the sound wave arrives, the inner ear will vibrate with it. Thus it can hear nothing. Now the inner ear lies in the firm bone and it can’t sense the air vibration. So it is imperative to reduce the density waves to the mechanical vibrations before sending them to the inner ear. And there is such a reduction device at the middle bottom of the external auditory canal, which is called the eardrum. The eardrum has enough space to receive the air pressure. It is thin enough to vibrate when the sound wave arrives. Meanwhile, the eardrum is strong enough to push the transmission device. The long handle of the middle ear cartilage is attached to its inner side, the tensile force of which makes the eardrum sink inside slightly to maintain certain tension. This allows the eardrum to accurately reduce the arriving sound waves into the mechanical vibrations. No matter what the temperature is, the vibration function is not impacted. After the sound waves are reduced into the mechanical vibration, some rigid objects are needed to transmit the vibration to the inner ear. Of all body tissues, the most rigid objects are the bones. However, the bones are heavy in general and covered by the soft tissues, which are not suitable for the audio vibration. However, in the tympanic cavity between the eardrum and the inner ear, there are three unique tiny bones with delicate forms measured in millimeters. They are almost completely exposed to the air in the tympanic cavity. These three tiny bones are connected by ligament and form a transmission chain in curve with excellent audio vibration function, able to transmit accurately the vibration of the eardrum to the inner ear. The transmission device can properly multiply the weak vibration and reduce the strong sound wave. All of these structures are the super designs required by the acoustics. There are even smarter designs in the hearing organ. For example, to make the eardrum vibrate freely following the arriving sound waves, the two sides of the eardrums must be exposed to the air. As a result, there is a tympanic cavity full of air in the middle ear. If the cavity is filled by liquids, just as other cavities are, the eardrum is not able to vibrate because the liquids can’t contract. Besides, the cavity does not only need to be filled with air, but also needs to be connected to the outside world with a proper passage, to balance the static air pressure in the cavity with the outside air pressure. Otherwise, the air in the cavity will gradually be absorbed, causing the eardrum to sink excessively or damaging it. When the outside air pressure changes, (such as in mountain climbing, diving, the airplane takeoff or climate change), it will arouse uncomfortable feelings or lead to hearing malfunction. But the middle ear can’t be opened to the outside world directly, just like the external auditory canal or nostrils can. The reason is that the direct exposure will make the arriving waving sound reach the two sides of the eardrums at the same time via the external auditory canal and middle ear passage, counteracting the sound pressure. Thus the eardrums will not vibrate at all, unable to produce the hearing. So it is a difficult problem to connect the middle ear and the outside world. However, the human body, with a smart design, solves this problem. The middle ear is opened at the two sides in the upper rear of the pharynx via a half-opened passage (the so-called auditory tube). The auditory tube is locked in common times and only opened temporarily when taking the swallowing actions, balancing the air pressure in the middle ear shortly. After the swallowing action is over, the auditory tube is locked again. Apart from eating, human body would regularly take swallowing action unconsciously, even when he or she is sleeping. Thus the air pressure in the middle ear can be adjusted from time to time and avoid the hearing from being hindered. Besides, when swallowing, the swallowing segment and the soft palate will definitely rise, blocking the mouth and nostrils against the outside world. So on the moment when the ear and throat are opened shortly, though the air in the throat can enter the middle ear, the sound waves from the outside world are blocked against the middle ear. As a result, the hearing will not be interfered and can receive the outside sound and voice. Only the throat in the body can meet the special demand of the hearing organs. The throat is originally designed as part of the digestion and breathing system, it does not belong to sensory system. However, it can cooperate so smartly with the hearing organs. We have to admire the extremely delicate body-wise design. The vestibule in the inner ear controls the balance of the body. In the vestibule there are 3 semicircular canals. When the body loses balance, the mutually-vertical semicircular canals produce the balance impulse, which triggers the corresponding reflection via the balance center in the medulla brain. Why are there 3 semicircular canals instead of 2 or 4? And why are they mutually vertical? The reason is apparent. Humans live in the 3-dimensional space. There are 3 mutually-vertical movement directions, namely, front and rear, left and right, upward and downward. So the 3 mutually-vertical semicircular canals can monitor the movements. The number less than 3 or more than 3 would be insufficient or redundant. We can see the delicate and smart structure and function, and the supreme wisdom in them. They can’t be the accidental results. As the most important perception of human bodies, vision provides more information than that provided by all other perceptions. The vision is the perception of image and space and the visual organs must have the most precise and accurate structure completely different from other sensory organs. As a result, in the perspective of the embryo-genesis or neuro-anatomy, the main structure of the eyes is not just the common receptor. Instead, it is part of the cerebral cortex. The so-called optic nerves are completely different from other cerebrospinal nerves. In essence, the optic nerves are inner structure in the brain, transmitting the most sophisticated visual information. The eyes function like a precise camera. The retina composed of the photoreceptor cells is just like the films. The crystal, iris and the cornea works like the lens, diaphragm and the filter. However, the precision and automatic adjustment of the eyes is no match of any high-quality cameras. For example, the lens in modern cameras is made of special glass or hard plastics with fixed focal distance. When taking pictures for the landscapes with different distances, the lens position must be adjusted. Otherwise, the image will not be produced on the films. But this is an awkward approach. Imagine when the eyes are watching landscapes with different distances, the eyeballs have to protrude or recess alternatively, which looks ugly or damages the health and function of the eyes. However, the crystal in the eyes are transparent and elastic colloid, which can adjust automatically the focal distance in accordance with the distance of the objects to make sure all the objects can be imaged on the retina, without changing the position of the crystal. Such automatic adjustment function can’t be fulfilled by any camera. If we observe the eyes in the perspective of modern TV technologies, the eyes are more like the television camera, but thousands of times more precise than the television cameras. The TV image is composed of dense pixels (the mixed dark or brilliant light spots). Till now, the best TV image only contains less than 1 million pixels. However, the human eyes can produce image containing 20 billion pixels. Only the eyes can see the details of objects. No matter how clear or accurate the image is, it is still a plan view image. Then how the eyes can provide the dimensional image is a key issue of providing the complete vision. But it is not an easy task at all to convert the flat view image into the dimensional one. For a long time, people have been puzzled by how the conversion is done. Of course, we later knew the smartness and delicacy of the human body shown here. The two eyes send the flat view images they receive into the same nerve center, which contrasts and analyzes the images and judges the distance of the objects based on the slight visual angle difference caused by the position difference of the two eyes. Thus the dimensional image is produced. That’s why people have to have 2 eyes to establish the complete vision. Based on such understanding, humans have invented the dimensional movies. But the above is only the external process of how vision is formed. People have little knowledge about how the visual center works inside. We have to admit that the mysteries of human body structure and functions are beyond the intelligence of mankind. As a matter of fact, the distance judgment with two eyes is the triangulation technique which is precise and automatic. The accurate measurement needs two premises. First, the two eyes must focus on one object at the same time. Otherwise, there will be double vision, which means the one objects will be seen as two objects. As a result, the complete neuromuscular system is equipped on the outside of the eyeballs, making the eyeballs the most flexible and accurate organs. The ciliary muscle inside the eyeballs can adjust the conversion rate of the crystal at any time to focus on the object and form the clearest image. Second, the retina of the two eyes must be strictly symmetrical. Otherwise, the image contrast of the two eyes will become impossible. Furthermore, the images received by the two eyes must be transmitted at the same time to the same visual center for contrast and analysis. There are two visual nerves on the left and right side of the brain, supervising respectively the two sides of the vision field. The objects in the left of the vision field are reflected, via the eye pupil, on the retina of the right sides of the two eyeballs. The corresponding images in the two eyes, via the visual nerve, are sent to the visual center on the right side of the brain. The objects in the right of the vision field are reflected, via the eye pupil, on the retina of the left sides of the two eyeballs. The corresponding images in the two eyes, via the visual nerve, are sent to the visual center on the left side of the brain. The two visual nerves contrast the corresponding images coming from the eyes and produce the full-field dimensional images. The pairs of human parts are often symmetrical on the outside. Only the retinas are symmetrical in the same position. Namely, the left side is symmetrical to the left side and the right side symmetrical to the right side of the two retinas. That’s because the light rays come in directly. Otherwise, the visual centers can’t receive the corresponding images or get the coordinated vision. The structural symmetry of the retinas in the two eyes must be accurate to the utmost. Otherwise the images in the two eyes will not comply with each other and the ambiguity will occur. Besides, the corresponding images from the two eyes must be sent to the same visual center. Thus the optic nerves must have the corresponding special structure to realize the cross-transmission of the images. This is the unique “chiasma opticum” unique to the optic nerves. This function is not possessed by any other nervus cerebrospinalis because they don’t handle the information of images and space. If we use the computers and monitoring cameras to simulate the process of human vision, the input network of the computers has to have a similar chiasm. No other design can do it. Judging from the above, we can find all the human organs, structures and functions have shown the supreme wisdom. And these are the ways they should be. Some people think that human body has some useless organs, such as the thymus gland, appendix, tonsil and coccyx, in order to prove the human structure is imperfect. Some people used to believe that these organs were not that useful. Instead, they tend to arouse diseases such as appendicitis and tonsillitis. If these organs are cut off, it will not have much impact on the human body. In the past, people used to classify spleens and other organs into the useless organs. There was a list of useless organs in the past which included over 100 organs. But the list was long not because these organs are useless but because people at the time were ignorant. As more we know about the organs, most of them have been deleted from the list and there are only a few still remain in the list. Some people think that these organs are the leftovers of human evolution, which are called the “waste back organs” and use them as one of the evidences of evolution theory. This is a complete misunderstanding. Till not we have understood there are no such things as the “obsolescent organs”. It is simply the lack of knowledge of these organs. Take the thymus gland as an example. In the past, people didn’t know its function. Now we have understood it is the warning device of the human body against the inner and outer infection sources. As a result, the thymus gland contributes a lot to the human health. Another example, if the coccyx fractures, it will cause serious functional disturbance. So the coccyx is also an imperative part of human body. Some people might say these organs can trigger diseases. Then all human organs can lead to diseases, even brain and heart are of no exceptions. Why don’t we say the brain and heart are useless? Some organs, though they are not as important as the heart and brain and wouldn’t endanger life immediately when eliminated, are also useful. Just like if the hands or feet are lost, though not fatal, the human body is handicapped. After knowing the supreme and smart design of human structures and functions, you might want to know how they come into being. Who has designed and made such sophisticated and precise organs? We cannot avoid the question. Any truth-seeking person would admit that the extremely delicate organs and structures are not produced naturally or accidently. For instance, if someone gives you a top-class camera and tells you it is a natural one without designer or manufacturer; do you think his words are scientific and acceptable? The human body, which is even more delicate, accurate, flexible and practical, must have a supremely wise and capable creator behind it. On a spring Sunday morning in 1954, I saw a young stranger sitting in the chamber of a Church. When we started to talk, I knew that he was a student at Peking Union Medical College. He said to me, “Since I studied anatomy and physiology, I have felt the human body is really a wonder. It is not possible to understand it unless we interpret the wonder with a God.” He came to the church to seek an answer. The wonder of this young man is not the only example. I remember that when I was studying anatomy and physiology in school, some students surrounded our physiology teacher and kept asking him questions. Finally, the teacher, annoyed by so many questions, told us, “Please stop the questions because they will lead to religion in the end.” Because of the special political background at the time, the teacher’s warning silenced all the students. But his warning impressed me deeply and remained in my memory till today. My thought at that time was that the teacher was right because all the things were created by the God. Though he was not a Christian, he had to admit the truth and the further probe into the human body mysteries (part of the Universe mysteries) would definitely lead to the existence of the God (religion) in the end. Otherwise, it would be impossible to explain the wonders of the human body. The Bible says, “For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse.”(1:20 Romans 1) Was the teacher demonstrating his scientific spirit? No. The scientific spirit means the truth and boldly pursuit of the truth without avoiding any controversy. The teacher knew very clearly that one more step forward would lead to the God but he dared not move onto the path towards the truth. Instead, he asked his students to stop there. It has shown that many people refuse to admit the existence of God not because they don’t have the scientific spirit but because of the social pressure, individual consideration for their interest and prospect, just as what the teacher was doing at that time. Nevertheless, the existence of the God would not change. And we cannot live in such considerations for the reality forever. One day in the future, when we have to face the ultimate choice, we will have to face the supreme master who has created the Universe and the human beings. The Bible says, “And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.” If we don’t accept the immoral God now, we have no excuse when it comes to the day. When we talk about the origin of all things in the Universe, some young people often ask, “You have said the humans are created by the God, then who has created the God?” The analogizing logics seem to be reasonable. But it is not true. Because the God is the creator instead of the created, you can’t link these together. The table is made by the carpenter. But you cannot say the carpenter and the table have the same origin. Human benings’ understand of the God is only limited to the enlightenment from the God to the humans. Otherwise, humans cannot understand the mystery of God’s nature. The God says, “I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, saith the Lord, which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty.” (Exodus 3:14 and Revelation 1:8). For the God, there is only the eternality, and there is no time, beginning or ending. Even in the scientific field, too many analogizing questions won’t be tolerated. One scholar was talking about the belief in the God with his students. One student asked suddenly and proudly, “Where does the Universe come from?” The scholar answers, “The Universe is created by the God.” The student continued to ask, “Who has created the God?” The scholar answered, “The God is Alpha and Omega and I am not created.” The student said, “This is not scientific at all.” The scholar then asked the student, “Where does the Earth come from?” The student answered, “The Earth comes from the Sun.” The scholar continued to ask, “Where does the Sun come from?” The student answered, “The Sun comes from the Galaxy.” The scholar asked again, “Where does the Galaxy come from?” The student hesitated and answered, “The Galaxy comes from the nature.” The scholar continued to ask, “Where does the nature come from?” The student couldn’t answer this question and said in anger, “The nature is the nature and comes naturally.” The scholar then laughed, “This is not scientific at all.” So we can conclude that the “scientific” answers are not scientific. Another example is that the sciences tell people that substances are composed of the molecules. Then what are the molecules composed of? The molecules are composed of the atoms. But what are the atoms composed of? They are composed of the electrons, protons and neutrons. Then what are the electrons, protons and neutrons composed of? Till now, we cannot find an answer to this question. The atomic physicists are now working hard to find the “elementary particle”. They are called “basic particles” because the scientists don’t expect the substances to be divided limitlessly. So they believe that one day they will find the ultimate component, the “elementary particle”. Of course, the scientists will not ask such question of “what is something composed of?” This is the extremity and everything ends here. The materialists claim that the Universe is limitless and that the materials are eternal and can be divided limitlessly, etc. They are simply the groundless conclusion of the philosophers. And there is an extremity in their logics, the materials. They say that the materials are Alpha and Omega but can’t tell where the materials come from. Now let’s have a look at the math. All numbers come from 1, followed by 2, 3…. You can’t ask what the 1 is because 1 is 1, and not other numbers. It means that 1 is the origin of all numbers. The Greatest Creator has created all things and the Greatest Creator is the origin of them. It will be meaningless to ask where the Greatest Creator comes from.

i had an acoustic trauma event 7months ago. At first it was very bad. Insane tinnitus and crazy nerve pain in ears and face.
7 months later and I still have these annoying symptoms:

• Ears sometimes feel like a rice crispy bowl. Cackling and popping randomly. Im just now sure how to describe it but it kind of feels like my ear canal is dancing and then a jolt every so often occurs like my ear canal is clicking. Almost feels like i have ants in my ear canal or something and they are crawling around. Its not sore but it feels like it has a mind of its own
• Nerve tingling/sensation on face and around ear. This was much worse where my entire face was tingling at once and even my lips were spasming. Now its more tingling around my ear and my forehead starts tingling when i relax
• Face/head muscles feel tight- My entire face feels tight. It feels like something is pushing down on my eyebrows and kind of resisting me when I try to raise my eyebrows. Super weird
• Fleeting tinnitus every so often - nothing special about this. The intensity of fleeting episodes has definitely reduced over time though.

My analysis is that I still have significant nerve damage or something hence all these weird symptoms. Just seems weird to have it still after 7 months
Anyone else have this? My T has improved over the 7 months.

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

I have the ea500, delci, and tangzu xuannv. I'm coming from open-back headphones to see what IEMs are all about, so I picked up 3 of what Iooks like the budget all-rounder picks in 2024. I also threw in my akg k712 in the mix, to see what switching between over ears and iems do for me.
The easiest to notice is the tone. This kind of ended the fight pretty quickly, the EA500 sounds more natural and correct. The Delci isnt as detailed, has more muscle. The Xuan was surprisingly unnatural, it's just not as pretty even though it is more technical and balanced than Delci.
The presentation of the Delci is kind of oldschool, with the bass being more on the outer position with more boom than slam. It lets you push the volume, which I think is pretty important for an IEM to be as good as over-ears. The EA500 sounds modern, the bass is tight with more slam less boom. A bit shouty and crammed at high volume. The Xuan's bass is so light and rolled-off, another surprise. It does have a satisfying image, the scale of things is pretty refined where the ea500 might sound zoomed in.
The EA500 takes it handily, it's really great for the price. Xuan is a great performer, but the tone sucks and its too bass-light. I can see why the LM is legendary, Im probably gonna return all of these and just get the LM or SM4.
Lastly, I compared the iems to my k712, a controversial headphone that often doesnt get a proper review. I think it's good but weird, like a better SHP9500. Sound quality wise, the ea500 is actually better lol. But it doesnt sound great with more volume. Open-air cans do offer something to the experience, and overall for me is still more satisfying for home use.

i just stopped taking luvox (tapered from 150-100-50 then stopped & replaced with 10mg prozac) and this is genuinely the worst withdrawal i have ever been through (and i’ve taken effexor). i’m not sure what i want out of posting this i think i just want to feel less alone & get reassurance that there’s nothing super wrong with me😭 i’m feeling so weak and shaky, my body just hurts like all my muscles are sore, the brain zaps and my sleep are just terrible. and on top of all of that i feel this weird dissociation where everything around me just feels nightmarish and unfamiliar. does anyone else experience withdrawal this shitty? should i be worried or is that just my ocd talking LOL

I am so insanely ungrateful...
... for you planting in me those thoughts of not being worthy of presenting myself to others, of taking myself seriously, of recognizing my needs as important. So important that the impulse would arise in me to act for myself, to take care of myself. To see myself as a valuable person, at least as valuable as everyone else.
My ingratitude also for you not making it obvious to me to take care of myself. That I don't take myself seriously. Because what others feel was always more important.
... and for smiling for others instead of myself. Why did I have to make sure everyone was okay?
Why was I not allowed to disappoint anyone? Why did you make me believe I was responsible for others' disappointments?
Why was I not allowed to have "negative" feelings? Why were those feelings equated with ingratitude (since one should always be happy for what one has, always keep in mind that others have it much worse!) "Eat your greens, especially broccoli. Always remember to say thank you (especially for the things you haven't had)!"
... That I don't take myself seriously or endlessly question myself when I feel bad. Am I even allowed to be sad about the things that were done to me? For the things that were dismissed, or withheld from me? Am I allowed to get help when I'm not feeling well?
That you didn't recognize or didn't want to see (so you wouldn't be blamed) how much my environment stressed me, despite signs like biting my nails, withdrawal, gaining weight etc. Why didn't you move away with me from that place, as you had considered...
... for never discussing feelings, my feelings, my condition, or our relationship. And conflict/argument was always avoided like the plague. The difficulties of talking about feelings and interpersonal relationships with others run like a thread through my life. What was so difficult about talking to me about emotions?
Then I often have to ask myself: Were my feelings even justified? Or just manifestations of my (of course undesirable!) (hyper)sensitivity? Was I only sad because I took everything too seriously? Because I wasn't grateful enough for this normalcy? Grateful for not having it much worse?
That it turned into me not being able to confide in anyone, because I'm actually ashamed of feeling like a victim of your treatment, or feeling anything at all. Of needing something. Useless things, like closeness and security. Help, sometimes.
That I only felt understood in music, felt held, not alone with my feelings. That sometimes I can even express myself better in English about myself and my feelings because of it.
Why did you leave me alone so often? At the inn? In my room? With my toys? While you got drunk? You praised me for my independence, for making myself so small and inconspicuous and keeping myself busy. Yes, I confirm that boredom also breeds creativity. Guess I should be thankful for that, too.
That I now feel constantly lonely, inwardly longing. Always searching for love from people who cannot give it to me. I searched for deep emotional connections, even as a child, and if I hadn't had Grandma, I would be completely lost today. Not just emotionally. So as not to be run over, one must keep up... be overlooked, step back. Why didn't we cuddle? Why was there so little physical closeness? Why did you never say you love me? It felt so weird and wrong to say it to someone else later in life even though I felt it...
My heartfelt ingratitude also for constantly telling me that self-praise is vain. That one should not be too proud of oneself, not think too highly of oneself, not be too convinced of oneself, but rather be modest. “Too much praise is bad for children, then they think they are something special, something better.”
Now I don't really know anymore when I'm allowed to be happy about myself. When I'm allowed to be proud of myself. After all, I am special, and in some ways even better than others; as everyone can do something special or better than others.
My many talents, which I could be proud of... why do I always feel unworthy and inferior? Why are my paintings, my songs, ... never finished? I always feel I have to apologize for alleged mistakes in my art.
//
But the poet says defiantly: My whole art is one single mistake, born out of wounds. That you inflicted on me. It lives to defy you! To disturb you! To show itself to you! Why should I hide all the wounds I have survived, despite your treatment? They are not my weaknesses! They are not my fault! They are nothing I should be ashamed of. Instead: they are your hindrance to my perfect being. Your fault. Your shame. Your responsibility.
My songs will ring in your ears and echo and tell you what you don't want to hear! Because it reminds you of your own vulnerability, which you deny, which you hide from. My paintings as your mirrors. My words as your death sentence!
I am angry for you, little inner children, for being treated like that and for being asked to put your feelings and needs aside like that. For not even being allowed to be sad about it. I see you and now I'm sad for you. You deserve to be heard, to be comforted, to be freed from the garbage that was served to you. For this garbage, we can all be truly ungrateful from the bottom of our hearts!
I shouldn't be ashamed anymore for all the things that developed in me, because you are superficial, neglectful, insensitive, intrusive, spiteful people. I now know that you should be ashamed, not me.

Now that I discovered this community I am pretty confident what is happening to me is all tied back to this lovely little jaw muscle. I see my GP Monday 8am . Hoping for any advice - better details - corrections on my wrong assumptions or statements and ultimately a little reassurance and validation from yall , That what is happening to me right now is all connected and I am not crazy.
10 months ago I had my last 2 upper molars pulled the "ol fashioned" way with the wiggling and the tugging and the ripping and the "Okay now you're going to feel a bit of pressure" followed by the feeling that your jaw is in fact being ripped out of your mouth.
Things started mild 6 months ago intensified around the 3 month mark and now these last 3 weeks I can barely function. I feel the definition of "Malaise" hits perfect. I'm afraid to leave my house the head pain / brain fog has me feeling like I could blackout any second, And the whoosh / vertigo / world spins has me terrified of driving.
So here is what I'm feeling in order of how they hit , everything is on the left side if that matters
Shoulder Blade - Everything is felt along the bottom of the blade.
Jolt of fire and burning on the skin -- A tearing and ripping under the skin on the muscle - Starts to vibrate a tingling fire sensation outward in a semi circle
When I put my tens unit on there the flexing caused pain on the top of shoulder and collarbone.
Always strongest when I lift or carry, random bursts when I'm sitting doing nothing and now even the weight of my phone sends it to 11
Muscles Weakness and Tremors
When the blade pain is bad, I can barely grip anything with my hand, Hands tremble and different arm muscles randomly will twitch and flex.
My jaw is now (2 weeks) shivering / chittering (IDK wtf it is) as if im cold. Digging my fingers into the facial knots will stop it. Always hits when I first get out of bed, then a few times during the day no pattern in the trigger
Eyes/Ears
Couldn't keep my contacts in more than half day , left only felt cloudy hazy blurry - They are brand new lenses and Ive been use the good "eye juice" with no changes. Tried yesterday had to take em out within an hour.
Sharp twinge zap inside the ear - cold trickling sensation down the canal - ends with a punch of pain behind ear on the thick neck tendon
The Whoosh (Is this brain fog? Something else?) Zap / Jolt of electricity on top of my brain but under my skull - The whoosh when i see everything spin a 360 for a second - And ends with me "off kilter' for minutes to hours, As if there is a delay between what my eye sees to when my brain processes. During the spell ill feel "wonky" "Out of body" "tunnelly vision"
The Exploding Head
Its a constant feeling / sensation that my head is filling with sludge.
Forehead & eye have waves of intense dull aches, This part is killing so bad right now, even with NSAIDS it never stops having pressure just relieves it slightly. When it kicks hard and throbs my eyes go really fuzzy and that im going to blackout feeling hits. I have not actually passed or blacked out thank god - my cats would eat me alive in a day -
Jaw/ cheek & gums are twitchy with tightness/fullness and pointy pain shockwaves. The M in the TMJ is a ball of rubberbands and it is so very tender. My face does not appear to have anything swelling outwards from here but poking around in there i find tons of lumps I can break up.. Opening and closing i have full range I think and right now no popping or pains when i do. The area by my ear where the bones connect is so tender, but I dont feel lumps much here. I feel such relief when I hit here with my point tool.
Side of my Neck has small mushy lumps just under the skin and some big daddies deeper in and these ones get stabbyy pains that pulse with my heart.
Back of my neck the bottom half is gravel I can break up pretty easy but I think 3 more come back in their place.
Base of skull I have golf balls burried deep,. They dont throb but when I rub them it is painful but in the best way because I feel such release everywhere else but then they hurt for days. When I rub them to hard and deep oh man sore for days.
All this ends at my upper back and this area is awful. It burns on the surface level 24/7. Icy hot tricks my brain for about and hour. I did some scraping massage here and it sounded like rice krispies and I think hese are adhesions vs knots. .Deeper is full of thick knots, I have the trigger point hook to dig in there and sometimes magic happens and the ache everywhere else gets better for a bit.
The floating bone
It was mild discomfort, odd feelings of tightness inside my actual throat, tingles and a dry feel. It started wiggling around on its own pretty often and when I felt that first water balloon pop inside yikes I was scared AF. Now it just moves whenever it wants. I barely touch it and it "shoots" to the other side. Massaging in here hurts so GOOD! Looking all the way up and feeling from chin towards throat I have many bumps all different sizes. And lastly when I move my head certain ways it feels as if there is a leak happening and almost mucus-y like I could cough but usually dont need to
If you are still with me many apologies this got longer than I thought it would. Today has been my worst day so far, all the pains I mentioned are now hitting at once. Today I was sitting here sobbing in pain it because I was at 13 / 10 and wouldn't ease no matter what I pressed on . 3 Naproxen with 3 ibuprofen gives me about 3 hours of refief right now. I know posture is a part of my pain levels and ive aready ordered some tools so I can correct.

Has anyone else had almost every medication they’ve tried cause muscle twitching in various parts of their body?
Or have intolerances to medication and the side effects are bad?
When Im not on any psych med, my muscles in my body don’t twitch. As soon as I start psych meds and continue taking them, my muscles twitch. The twitching is similar to as if I just did a full body workout out, but I haven’t.
It seems every drug I try, causes EPS/a movement disorder. Latuda caused my eyelids to twitch and facial tics. Serequel caused muscle twitching throughout my body.
Caplyta makes me physically ill and have flu like side effects that don’t go away. Im currently on the lowest dose (dropping from 42mg, to 21mg, to 10.5mg), and it still makes me feel shitty and isn’t even therapeutic anymore.
Lithium really messes with my thyroid and landed me in the ER.
Mood stabilizers for me don’t work because of the birth control interaction. I have endometriosis, and without birth control, I am constantly in debilitating pain. I don’t want to get an IUD because of how incredibly painful and traumatic it is to get one inserted, and the side effects. To be fair, my current oral contraceptive amps up my depression a lot and has side effects. But I can’t mentally handle being in excruciating pain all the time and not able to move. I also can’t mentally handle this depression either. Having to decide which to deal with — being in debilitating pain and be on a mood stabilizer to help my mental health or have a very bad mental state and not be in physical pain is a truly shitty decision to have to make as a woman. There is no winning if you’re a woman. (I do want to state that being in excruciating pain all the time DOES NOT help my mental health, regardless if Im on a med or not)
I’ve already tried Lamictal, while being on birth control. Lamictal made the BC ineffective and made my hormones not be stable and go up and down everyday, and I was in hell. And the BC made the Lamictal not effective.
Depakote is the only mood stabilizer that doesn’t affect birth control, even though birth control makes depakote less effective. Depakote makes my arm muscles twitch, and makes my leg muscles twitch more than they do now. It’s only 250mg of depakote too, so not therapeutic. I did run a lil experiment. I stopped the depakote for a week to see if some of my muscle twitching subsided.. and it did. My arm muscles no longer twitch. My leg muscles still do and it drives me INSANE.
I just.. I don’t get why my body is like this. There was a point when I was on 200mg Lamictal, 60mg Latuda, and 100mg of Serequel and the muscle twitching was so bad. My whole entire body was constantly spasming and moving.
Prior to July, I tolerated psych meds really well! Until a psychiatrist (who can rot in hell), cold turkey cut me off of a very high dose of klonopin. I went through a 2 month withdrawal and couldn’t get water or food down for at least a month and lost 30 pounds in 3 weeks. My body has never been the same again, and I now have severe GI issues because of the trauma my stomach went through during withdrawals.
After being cut cold turkey off of benzos.. my body and brain do not tolerate psych medications at all. experience EVERY side effect and they don’t go away, on top of movement disorders.
Im desperate for a medication to work and Im hopeless currently. Everything that seems to help me somewhat mentally, makes my muscles twitch and jerk!
I don’t know what to do and how long I can last with my current mental health! I don’t know if anyone would have advice or have gone through similar things? Has anyone else experienced numerous psych meds causing movement disorders?

I am a 22 year old Female, I’m 1,6m tall and I weigh around 90kg.
Since February 2024, I have been feeling dizziness, more than usual. My vision will be blurry or I see spots when I wake up. Around two weeks ago I have started hearing sounds in my left ear. A loud sounds as though it’s the wind blowing through. It changes in volume if I turn my head to the left, bend down and if I press a certain point in my upper neck. Now I have pains around my neck and it causes these numbing headaches. I feel like because I listen to music a lot, it might have been the cause. The whooshing sound also corresponds with my heartbeat or if I get too anxious it gets worse.
I also panicked when I saw a semi dark line up my belly. I am also panicking that I might be like pregnant. I had unprotected sex around October and I did take an after pill the next morning. My periods have been a little regular but I can’t be sure because we are so poor that we don’t eat well and sometimes I will be eating bread for days. My last period was on the 21st of April and lasted for three days and the bleeding was very light. I have only felt nausea when eating too much or not eating and only when my period has started or about to start.
I have also been diagnosed with Major Depression Disorder two years back and I took antidepressants for a year till I let go. I have had three suicide attempts and was this admitted before getting diagnosed. I also had my jaw lock twice and was admitted to the hospital for it. For a year and a half now, my jaw would always pop like when I’m stretching. I was also given something else well to help with the mild anxiety I had. I had withdrawals end of 2022 and in 2023 I felt good.
I have also struggled with constipation and diarrhoea. When I was eighteen (last year of high school), I found out I had high blood pressure but it went down after I completed school and got into university.
I don’t sleep too well and I often will sleep a lot or for short periods of time. Being home does have me on the edge as I know how irritated my mom can get for not doing things around the house or sleeping in too much. I have a job that doesn’t pay too well as well as my mom. So we don’t have money, not even a ride to the hospital. We don’t eat well due to this and I am terrified to tell my mom all this because she will tell me it’s because of the phone and listening to music. Please help or advise I’m scared my right ear will follow.