Constant pain in legs lymph

Does anyone else feels their twin's pains? Idk how to explain but it's weird I would fall sick all of sudden at very random times. These days due to winter I have been feeling right shoulder pains I never hurt my shoulder, it's like very chronic pain. The thing that made me go like, wtf? was this week, I woke up feeling sore and cramps in my thighs and I was like, it must be from my dream as I had a dream that night and I was running behind someone. I told my friend and she laughed off like I am insane, moments later somehow as twins you all know we keep on getting information downloads somehow 🪄I found out he is going running early in the morning for 6kms 🙂 Wow 👏what a great way to make me suffer, I am already very tiny,I'm just 46kgs man, and here I'm still massaging my legs and thighs. 🥲There's few other incidents when I felt these triggering pain and emotions. Is there anyway to help myself??? anyhow it all makes sense now, why I always felt different, annoyed,sad,moody, sick, lost, floating, drowning, and what not. What a blessing in disguise this journey is?

I've seen all sort of strange ideas, starting from getting spine surgery to fix your dick.
TL;DR: Fixed HF by developing muscle and strength in all the right places.
Symptoms:

• retracted penis
• gold ball feeling in the perineum
• penis always in a purple state
• extreme penis coldness
• numbness
• premature ejaculation
• pain in the glans that also radiated in my left toe
• absolutely no blood in the CC, veins always proeminent

What I did:

• fixed extremely tight hip flexors
  • very important as the hip flexors (yes, psoas included) have direct control over your sphincters (bladder included) and those actually cut blood flow as well
• heavy squats
  • i mean heavy, not bodyweigth squats, the kind of heavy where you can only do 6-8 reps per set at the gym
  • this helped after the first 5 days of tightness, as a new pool of blood now rushed around my pelvic floor
• dedicated glute day at the gym
  • not leg day, but glute day, one whole day for the glutes
    • lunges, kickbacks, hamstring curls (helps indirectly)
• calves raises with a lot of weights
  • indirectly, if enough weights are used, you will feel a burn between the glutes and hamstrings
    • that is called pudendal nerve flushing
    • helps a great deal
• kegels
  • a lot of them, 2 dedicated days a week, not on the same day with squats
    • erect, in a deep squat position
  • none of the reverse kegel crap
    • stretched for 3 years, they never did anything for me
• started eating carbs again 30 minutes after I woke up
  • the days I don't do this, i can feel my cardiovascular system not working properly
• stopped coffee, sodas, chocolate, anything that might have any trace amounts of caffeine
• abs workout, every day
  • really important as that reflex of pulling the core inside which were contracting my PF went away
  • started with athlean-x videos
  • could barely do one 5 minute workout when I started
• fixed rounded sholders
  • this was keeping my back muscles unused
  • created tension in the upper abs
  • helped a lot with relaxing thoughout the day

​
Took about 3 months.
I am now in almost as big flaccid as I am erect. Always been a grower before.
By far the most important out of all of those were fixing hip flexors, getting out of APT and heavy squats.
Make of this post what you wish, it's your life and your decision.
But even contemplating on the concept of getting spine surgery, or any other woo-woo crap that I've seen posted here is just crazy.
If you're already hitting the gym heavy, then look into your hip flexors. A lot of people don't think they have APT because that's how they lived for their entire life.
If looking into a mirror on your side, and squeeze your glutes as hard as possible, if the pelvis move into a neutral position, you have APT. Hip flexors and quads pull it forward, abs can't pull it back, glutes as well because of your body position.
Good luck guys.

I’ve been struggling with this disorder since before I was even a teenager.
I’m nearing my 30s,
I. Can’t. Take this. Anymore.
I’ve done literally everything I can.
I’ve tried every diet when I was young, then every lifestyle change that was realistic for me. I became vegan for a year and a half and lost 80 pounds, gained it back, lost some again, gained back. And the past few years has been me constantly losing 10-30 pounds and gaining it back. I’m not vegan anymore, and don’t want to be. And I can’t muster up the energy to do it again anyway. But it wasn’t about the vegan food, it was my commitment and will power.
Now it’s worse. My eating disorder has seemingly gotten worse in some ways and better in others.
A few months ago I got a gym membership and was also reading “brain over binge” and my eating had never been more balanced in my life. No calorie counting (which I still believe is helpful, but I was happy I didn’t feel like I needed to do it) no restricting every single thing I ate, no off limit anything. Just adding healthier foods, eating adequately, and working out.
But then I got a cold, I was sick for two weeks and couldn’t go to the gym. Which spiraled me into eating fast food too often, gaining a ton of weight quickly, and giving up entirely.
Then I gained so much weight and kept trying to control it that I got so sick of myself because I binged an entire bag of Doritos and a whole box of donuts, for the first time in 12 years I actually chose to restrict myself entirely and only eat foods that helped my eating disorder and physical and mental illnesses.
5 days later, I started eating like shit again, shocker. And it’s been a few more days, and I’ve binged again now.
I CANT FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!????!!!!!!! I’m sick to death of having no control over myself. I’m sick to death of the weight, the side effects of the food, spending any money I ever have on this. I spent 63 dollars in the past not even 24 hours on take out. I want to die. I give up.
Edit: also I ordered myself two small pizzas, a slurpy, donuts and candy all in the same night and when a family member came home I ate the food that was offered to me. Which was mozzarella sticks, chips, and a pretzel. Also cake and cookies. Which I ate some of each. I was already so full.
The other day when I binged and decided to restrict, it was also because the amount of food physically made my spine ache and pain medicine wouldn’t even take it away.
The food was pressing up against my FUCKING SPINE. I fucking hate myself and this disorder.

5 years out and dealing with consequences.
High pth levels since 2020
I'm 35 female and my recent blood results are concerning me. I have an appointment on Thursday with my surgeon. I had the duodenal switch in 2018. Since then I've had polyoplastic surgery, blind loop surgery and hernia repair surgery and surgery to lengthen my common channel because I was unable to eat without my blood sugar tanking and throwing up/running to the bathroom.
Going back to 2020 my pth levels have been around 100. Just got my results back and it's 213 vitamin d levels are 10 but calcium is normal. I was in kidney failure years ago due to sepsis but it's been resolved after I recovered.
My bun and creatine levels are low and I've had kidney stones since 15 with a current stone on my left kidney for the past few years.
The past 6 months I've dealt with fatigue, bone pain, worsening mental symptoms and painful leg feet and toe cramps. I've lost 7lbs in less than a month and I'm down to 110 which is still normal weight for my height but I feel so unwell guys.
It looks like now I have secondary hyperparathyroidism because of my vitamin d deficiency. I take Dr vitamin d supplements and I'm just at a complete loss of where to go from here.

This has taken me so long to write in this group because I don’t know where I belong
I have been given a temporary diagnosis of progressive solitary sclerosis, I have one lesion on my brain stem, but the location is so rare and so devastatingly positioned, it is progressively deteriorating my left side of my body, my memory the right side of my face. My left arm curls up like a claw and feels most comfortable when it’s curled into my armpit which looks so unnatural. It’s painful when i use it for periods of time, my left leg… I don’t even know how to explain it feels absent. There is some feedback missing. I walk with like a limp I can’t explain, it just doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do??? and my back, hip and leg hurts so much because of how I walk. Over a year since my first batch of optic neuritis, it has gotton so much worse over the last year, I’m scared to think what I’ll be like in another years time. They said my case is very rare, I have tried baclofen and paxam and neither work. I have had a one treatment of rituximab which stopped my constant flare of symptoms but they won’t give me anymore until another lesion occurs. I’m constantly being put in the too hard basket from fleets of neurologists I don’t know what I am or where I belong, all I know is that I’m deteriorating and my neurolgy team don’t care because they don’t know what to do. It’s hard to get support because I don’t have a formal diagnosis. I’m a mother, a wife and a 2nd year teaching degree student. I’m not willing to give up everything I worked so hard for but I’m so depressed lately I feel like my memory and my body is worsening slowly everyday and nobody cares. I’m sick of crying in front of my kids, I’m sick of taking 10 minutes just to urinate, I’m sick of not being heard, I’m just sick of everything. Is there anyone else like me out there?

High pth levels since 2020
I'm 35 female and my recent blood results are concerning me. I have an appointment on Thursday with my surgeon. I had the duodenal switch in 2018. Since then I've had polyoplastic surgery, blind loop surgery and hernia repair surgery and surgery to lengthen my common channel because I was unable to eat without my blood sugar tanking and throwing up/running to the bathroom.
Going back to 2020 my pth levels have been around 100. Just got my results back and it's 213 vitamin d levels are 10 but calcium is normal. I was in kidney failure years ago due to sepsis but it's been resolved after I recovered.
My bun and creatine levels are low and I've had kidney stones since 15 with a current stone on my left kidney for the past few years.
The past 6 months I've dealt with fatigue, bone pain, worsening mental symptoms and painful leg feet and toe cramps. I've lost 7lbs in less than a month and I'm down to 110 which is still normal weight for my height but I feel so unwell guys.
It looks like now I have secondary hyperparathyroidism because of my vitamin d deficiency. I take Dr vitamin d supplements and I'm just at a complete loss of where to go from here.

The old family home stood at the edge of town, its once grand facade now weathered and worn by time. The town's whispers about the house had reached my ears many times throughout my childhood, but I had never given them much thought. Now, standing before the creaking gate that led to the overgrown path, I felt an inexplicable urge to discover the truth.
I had inherited the house after my great-uncle Nathaniel passed away, a man I barely knew but whose presence seemed to linger in every corner. The dusty heirlooms and musty bookshelves hinted at a long and storied history. It was a history I intended to uncover.
The first few days were uneventful. I spent my time clearing out cobwebs and sorting through old papers, most of which were mundane—bills, letters, old photographs. But then, tucked away in a hidden compartment of Nathaniel's desk, I found a bundle of letters tied with a faded red ribbon. The letters were old, the paper yellowed and brittle. They were addressed to my great-grandmother, Beatrice, from someone named Arthur.
The letters spoke of forbidden love, betrayal, and a pact made in desperation. Arthur's words grew increasingly frantic as he described a dark secret shared by the family—a secret that, if revealed, would bring ruin upon them all. My curiosity piqued, I read on, unable to tear myself away.
One letter in particular stood out. Dated December 3, 1923, it detailed a horrific event: a fire that had claimed the lives of several townspeople. Arthur confessed to starting the fire, claiming it was necessary to protect the family from something far worse. He mentioned a cult, dark rituals, and a promise made to an entity he referred to only as "the Shadow."
The more I read, the more I felt an unsettling presence in the house. Shadows seemed to move on their own, and whispers echoed through the halls at night. Determined to understand, I ventured into the basement, where Nathaniel's journals hinted at more hidden secrets.
The basement was damp and cold, the air thick with mildew. Shelves lined with jars of strange substances and dusty books filled the room. At the far end, behind an old trunk, I found a small door. It creaked open to reveal a narrow staircase leading further down into darkness.
With a flashlight in hand, I descended, my heart pounding in my chest. The air grew colder with each step, and a sense of dread settled over me. At the bottom, I found a chamber filled with symbols carved into the stone walls. In the center was an altar, stained with what I could only hope was old wax.
As I examined the room, I found more letters, these from Nathaniel to someone named Margaret. They described rituals performed to keep the Shadow at bay, sacrifices made to ensure the family's prosperity. Nathaniel's last entry was a chilling plea for forgiveness, confessing that he had failed to uphold the pact and that the Shadow was coming for him.
Suddenly, the flashlight flickered and went out. Panic set in as I fumbled to turn it back on. When the light returned, I saw them—figures standing in the shadows, their eyes glowing with an unnatural light. They whispered in unison, a low chant that sent shivers down my spine.
"Blood of the betrayer," they intoned. "Blood of the guilty."
I tried to run, but my legs felt like lead. The figures closed in, their hands cold as ice as they grabbed me. I struggled, but it was no use. They dragged me to the altar, their chanting growing louder.
As they forced me down, I realized the truth: my family had been protecting a dark secret for generations, a secret that had now claimed me. The last thing I saw was a figure stepping out of the shadows, its eyes filled with malevolent glee.
The pain was sudden and all-consuming. My scream echoed through the chamber, blending with the chants. And then, there was nothing but darkness.
The house stood silent once more, its secrets buried deep within its walls. The townspeople still whispered about the old family home, but no one dared to venture inside. They said the shadows moved on their own, and at night, if you listened closely, you could still hear the whispers of the past.
Years passed, and the house remained untouched, a dark mark on the edge of town. Then, one evening, a young couple, unaware of the house’s history, moved in. They had bought the property cheaply, charmed by its antique allure.
Their first night in the house was uneventful. They laughed, unpacked, and made plans to renovate. But as the clock struck midnight, the atmosphere changed. The house seemed to come alive with a malevolent energy. The husband, Peter, heard a faint whispering. At first, he dismissed it as the wind, but the whispers grew louder, forming words.
"Blood of the betrayer... Blood of the guilty..."
He followed the sound to the basement, where the narrow door stood ajar. Against his better judgment, he descended the stairs. The flashlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The chamber at the bottom was as I had left it, but now there was something new—a fresh inscription on the altar: "He who seeks shall find."
Peter turned to leave, but the shadows moved. Figures emerged, their eyes glowing with the same unnatural light. He screamed for help, but the basement door slammed shut, trapping him inside.
Upstairs, his wife, Emily, heard his screams and rushed to the basement door, but it wouldn't budge. She pounded on it, calling his name, but the house seemed to swallow her cries. Desperation set in, and she ran to the phone, dialing the police.
The police arrived quickly, but as they approached the house, they felt an unnatural chill. Inside, they found Emily, frantic and pale. She led them to the basement, but when they opened the door, the chamber was empty. There was no sign of Peter.
Days turned into weeks, and Peter was never found. Emily moved out, leaving the house abandoned once more. The townspeople spoke of the curse, of the family’s dark past, and warned newcomers to stay away.
But the house never stayed empty for long. Curiosity drew people in, and one by one, they disappeared, claimed by the shadows. The whispers continued, a never-ending chant of betrayal and guilt.
One stormy night, a group of ghost hunters arrived, eager to uncover the house's secrets. They set up their equipment, cameras rolling, as they ventured into the basement. The air was thick with tension, the shadows seemed to watch, waiting.
As they explored the chamber, the leader of the group, Sam, found the old letters. He read them aloud, his voice trembling. The whispers grew louder, the shadows closing in.
"Blood of the betrayer... Blood of the guilty..."
The cameras captured everything—the figures emerging from the darkness, the screams, the terror. But when the footage was reviewed, all that was visible was the empty basement, silent and still. The hunters were never seen again.
Years passed, and the house remained a dark legend. No one dared to enter, the whispers and shadows a constant warning. And yet, on moonless nights, the townspeople could see faint lights flickering in the windows, hear the faint whispers carried on the wind.
It was said that the house was a gateway, a place where the past and present intertwined, where the sins of the ancestors demanded atonement. Those who entered were lost, their souls trapped in a never-ending cycle of horror.
Then, one day, a young historian named James arrived in town. He was fascinated by the stories and determined to uncover the truth. Despite the warnings, he entered the house, armed with his knowledge and a sense of purpose.
He found the letters, the journals, the hidden chamber. But as he delved deeper, he uncovered something no one had seen before—a final letter from Nathaniel, hidden behind a loose brick. It spoke of a ritual to break the curse, to free the trapped souls.
With renewed hope, James prepared for the ritual, following the instructions meticulously. As he began, the house seemed to tremble, the shadows stirring violently. The whispers grew to a deafening roar, but he pressed on.
The final step required a sacrifice, a willing soul to take the place of the cursed. As James completed the ritual, he felt a searing pain. The shadows enveloped him, but he continued to chant the final words.
Suddenly, the whispers stopped. The shadows receded, and the house fell silent. The townspeople, watching from a distance, saw the lights go out and heard a final, blood-curdling scream.
The next morning, they found the house empty. The letters and journals were gone, the chamber sealed. James was never seen again, but the curse seemed to have lifted. The house stood silent, no longer a source of fear.
Years later, the house was sold and renovated. Families moved in and out, but the dark history remained a distant memory. The whispers and shadows were gone, but on stormy nights, the faint echoes of the past could still be heard, a reminder of the darkness that once lurked within.
And so, the legend of the old family home became a story told to children, a cautionary tale of curiosity and the consequences of uncovering secrets best left buried. But some say that on the darkest nights, if you listen closely, you can still hear the faint whisper: "Blood of the betrayer... Blood of the guilty..."

Just as the title says. I’m 18 and I feel like endometriosis has taken so much from me already and is just continuing to take more…
I’ve missed school field trips and dances because I was in too much pain to move, let alone enjoy myself. I’ve been to the ER with doctors thinking I had appendicitis since the pain was so bad. I’ve gained 40+ pounds in the last 5-6 years I’ve been on birth control to control the cysts I get because of this, and I can’t lose that weight no matter what I do, and not taking the medication just isn’t an option. The nausea after eating ANYTHING. I’ve been a half step away from needing infusions in the past because I bled so much with my cycle when I still had one. And my 19th birthday is still only 3 weeks away.
I just am CONSTANTLY jealous of everyone who doesn’t deal with this, and am really struggling with the thought of “why don’t I get to do these things without struggling?” And “what did I do wrong that made me deserve this?”. I’ve been dealing with these struggles since I was 12, and even now while waiting on scheduling to call for me to pick a date for my laparoscopy, it just feels like this is all bubbling up.

I've been chronically sick before and avoided seeing my doctors for over a year now. Recently got blood results back and now I'm at a loss of what to do.
High pth levels since 2020
I'm 35 female and my recent blood results are concerning me. I have an appointment on Thursday with my surgeon (who looks after and treats my malabsorption) I've had quite a few abdominal surgeries including duodenal switch and blind loop correction for my small intestine so I malabsorb fat sol. Vitamins.
Going back to 2020 my pth levels have been around 100. Just got my results back and it's 213 vitamin d levels are 10 but calcium is normal. I was in kidney failure years ago due to sepsis but it's been resolved after I recovered.
My bun and creatine levels are low and I've had kidney stones since 15 with a current stone on my left kidney for the past few years.
The past 6 months I've dealt with fatigue, bone pain, worsening mental symptoms and painful leg feet and toe cramps.
Is this all because of secondary hyperparathyroidism? Should I be seeing a specialist beyond my surgeon for this? I feel like recently I've been feeling so much worse and I'm concerned about how to fix it. Would contacting my primary and giving them the results be the next step or should I wait to see what the surgeon says?

Title says it all I (m21) went and broke my fucking leg. 2 breaks in my tibia when I twisted my ankle on a hill and put all of my weight on it. I was babysitting my little sister who is only 8 so I had to get an ambulance ride out of there and go to the ER who splinted it (which was its own special brand of hell as they had to realign my foot with my leg. Of course since I broke it on a Saturday i can’t go to an orthopedics for a cast or get surgery until Monday
I am in so much pain, the drugs they gave help but my entire lower leg feels like one big painful throbbing meat slab. Any slight twitch and it feels like I’m breaking it all over again. I’ve never had to use crutches and i’m terrible with them, I almost fell flat first on my face using them…
I’m grateful for my family catering to my every whim but i feel so ridiculous. i’m peeing in medical urinals because of how much of a chore it is to go to the bathroom. I got barely any sleep because every time I doze off I get a an intense hypnic jerk that seems localized in my foot.
My work and my coworkers has shown near zero sympathy, I just want it (the pain) to end

High pth levels since 2020
I'm 35 female and my recent blood results are concerning me. I have an appointment on Thursday with my surgeon (who looks after and treats my malabsorption) I've had quite a few abdominal surgeries including duodenal switch and blind loop correction for my small intestine so I malabsorb fat sol. Vitamins.
Going back to 2020 my pth levels have been around 100. Just got my results back and it's 213 vitamin d levels are 10 but calcium is normal. I was in kidney failure years ago due to sepsis but it's been resolved after I recovered.
My bun and creatine levels are low and I've had kidney stones since 15 with a current stone on my left kidney for the past few years.
The past 6 months I've dealt with fatigue, bone pain, worsening mental symptoms and painful leg feet and toe cramps.
Is this all because of secondary hyperparathyroidism? Should I be seeing a specialist beyond my surgeon for this? I feel like recently I've been feeling so much worse and I'm concerned about how to fix it.

Hey,
​
This is gonna be long-winded and probably incoherent, but I just need to get this off my chest and if you have any insight regarding why it's constantly happening to me I'd love to hear it.
I consider myself a pretty introverted guy, but I've generally had no issues talking with girls and getting dates, more so recently of course, since I've been growing more comfortable in my own skin. I'm definitely a romantic, I never understood the attitude of guys that treat girls like trash, that just doesn't compute in my head. If I love something, I'm going to take care of it to the best of my ability.
I think we have all had that experience of "the one that got away", well mine was no different. The girl I met when I started uni was special, she was drop dead gorgeous, completely my type, witty and cracked jokes like I would, we finished each other's sentences, we had the same ideas and ambitions. Everything was going great, I was on cloud nine and I never even thought about this like that, but this girl made me think that she's the one I'm gonna marry. We were celebrating new year's at a mutual friend's house and we hooked up, it was phenomenal. Literally 2 days later she ghosts me out of nowhere, I panic. I reach out to talk to her face to face to see what's going on. She obliged reluctantly and word for word said "I'm sorry it's not going to work, you are too good for me".
Now, I've had my heart broken a few times by this point, but this... This was devastating.
I went to a dark place in my own mind, stopped talking with everyone, started doing drugs and generally engaging in self-destructive behavior. It was really hard accepting the fact that my best was never enough for her, I blamed myself constantly, I cried dozens of times alone outside. Whenever a song came up on the radio that reminded me of her my whole mood changed, even if it was jolly prior. I generally am able to keep a cool and straight face when I'm around family as I never want to talk about my own problems, mostly because I know that if I do I will fucking meltdown so I steer clear, I never want them to feel sorry for me, but even they thought something weird was going on and kept asking me questions.
It took me a good 3 years to accept what happened and start trying to move on, as you can imagine my confidence was shattered for that whole time and my self-worth was at an all time low. I started dating again, but not to find love, I don't believe in that anymore, just for sex and to feel wanted. I would tell girls what they wanted to hear, hook up and bail. Hell, sometimes they only wanted sex too, that was optimal. If I didn't get intimate with a girl on the 2nd date I would just look for someone else, I never wanted to put in any effort into actually cultivating anything meaningful or fulfilling. I would always feel like shit when I would pump and dump, because deep down I know what I was doing and that it wasn't me, but I also craved the satisfaction. Looking back, I was definitely perpetuating my own trauma.
Now, I used mainly dating apps, sometimes just start texting people I knew. But a few weeks ago I was at the supermarket and just on my phone walking, when some girl just ran in front of me at speed and knocked me off balance for a moment, she just glanced back at me and I saw how pretty she was, it sent a shock down my body. She was hurrying to get some beer, which I respected and admired. When we were on our way out I approached her to talk to her, told her she caught my eye and asked for her number. She gave me the digits, but she was so flabbergasted it was really funny and cute. We went on a date the next day, she's amazing, we mesh so well together. She's smart and responsible, takes care of her parents same as I do, we found a lot in common. I was thrilled, I never approached anyone like this and the time I felt that I had to do it - it paid off in a big way. I was falling for her and she was for me.
We went on dates, we had fun, talked and walked a lot. I bring her lunch to work, flowers sometimes. She was celebrating a sister's birthday one evening and I had taken her from the place to her apartment, she said she wanted me to stay the night, so I did. It was glorious, we both had a great time.
After that she ghosted me, she doesn't text me first anymore. I have to show all the initiative now, whenever I try to set up dates she's busy. To be fair she is pretty busy, she has 2 jobs and she's one of those people like me that don't pull out their phone when hanging out with someone, just not that attached to technology which I really vibe with. She spends a lot of time with her family, she has sisters and cousins that are all the same age and they hang out in the evenings at her place or at her sister's place and I trust that she's not lying. I've met her cousins, they are all really sweet. But I just feel like she's lost interest in me, I keep trying to get something going but her response times are getting longer and longer.
Honestly I've never seen a switch flip so suddenly, it's like she's a different person now. We used to be so intimate, not only in a sexual way but she would sleep on my chest, hug me in her sleep, squeeze me and not let me go, now she barely gives me any attention. It feels like I'm a burden on her right now. She told me that she has always had trouble with relationships because she's so busy with work and it never worked due to this, but I also feel like she could make time for me if she wanted to, but just chooses not to. I feel like I'm about to get my heart annihilated again.
I don't want to lose her, she made me believe in love again. I truly love this girl and want to build my future with her. I keep fighting the urge to reach out to her and try to make it work, but I think that pulling back might be the best play, however painful it might be right now.
Why is it that always when something good happens to me it never lasts.. Always disappointment after disappointment. What is wrong with me?

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've been dealing with scabies for about two months, i've done two rounds of permetrin (so 4 applications), and though the itchiness is getting better, i'm still pushing my GP to give me ivermectin (they say policy is to not give it until after 3 rounds of permetrin but my last treatment was so painful, it felt as though my skin had been burned and i got painful rashes on my legs and feet)
anyway, i've noticed these dots/blisters under my skin that i haven't really seen in any other photos?? are these mites?? mite droppings?? eggs?? they aren't burrows i think... seems so weird to me, anyone else have this?

High pth levels since 2020
I'm 35 female and my recent blood results are concerning me. I have an appointment on Thursday with my surgeon (who looks after and treats my malabsorption) I've had quite a few abdominal surgeries including duodenal switch and blind loop correction for my small intestine so I malabsorb fat sol. Vitamins.
Going back to 2020 my pth levels have been around 100. Just got my results back and it's 213 vitamin d levels are 10 but calcium is normal. I was in kidney failure years ago due to sepsis but it's been resolved after I recovered.
I can't absorb vitamin d from food and I take dry vitamin d supplements but apparently they're not helping.
My bun and creatine levels are low and I've had kidney stones since 15 with a current stone on my left kidney for the past few years.
The past 6 months I've dealt with fatigue, bone pain, worsening mental symptoms and painful leg feet and toe cramps.
Is this all because of secondary hyperparathyroidism? Should I be seeing a specialist beyond my surgeon for this? I feel like recently I've been feeling so much worse and I'm concerned about how to fix it.

High pth levels since 2020
I'm 35 female and my recent blood results are concerning me. I have an appointment on Thursday with my surgeon (who looks after and treats my malabsorption) I've had quite a few abdominal surgeries including duodenal switch and blind loop correction for my small intestine so I malabsorb fat sol. Vitamins.
Going back to 2020 my pth levels have been around 100. Just got my results back and it's 213 vitamin d levels are 10 but calcium is normal. I was in kidney failure years ago due to sepsis but it's been resolved after I recovered.
My bun and creatine levels are low and I've had kidney stones since 15 with a current stone on my left kidney for the past few years.
The past 6 months I've dealt with fatigue, bone pain, worsening mental symptoms and painful leg feet and toe cramps.
Is this all because of secondary hyperparathyroidism? Should I be seeing a specialist beyond my surgeon for this? I feel like recently I've been feeling so much worse and I'm concerned about how to fix it.

High pth levels since 2020
I'm 35 female and my recent blood results are concerning me. I have an appointment on Thursday with my surgeon (who looks after and treats my malabsorption) I've had quite a few abdominal surgeries including duodenal switch and blind loop correction for my small intestine so I malabsorb fat sol. Vitamins.
Going back to 2020 my pth levels have been around 100. Just got my results back and it's 213 vitamin d levels are 10 but calcium is normal. I was in kidney failure years ago due to sepsis but it's been resolved after I recovered.
My bun and creatine levels are low and I've had kidney stones since 15 with a current stone on my left kidney for the past few years.
The past 6 months I've dealt with fatigue, bone pain, worsening mental symptoms and painful leg feet and toe cramps.
Is this all because of secondary hyperparathyroidism? Should I be seeing a specialist beyond my surgeon for this? I feel like recently I've been feeling so much worse and I'm concerned about how to fix it.

I'm 35 female and my recent blood results are concerning me. I have an appointment on Thursday with my surgeon (who looks after and treats my malabsorption) I've had quite a few abdominal surgeries including duodenal switch and blind loop correction for my small intestine so I malabsorb fat sol. Vitamins.
Going back to 2020 my pth levels have been around 100. Just got my results back and it's 213 vitamin d levels are 10 but calcium is normal. I was in kidney failure years ago due to sepsis but it's been resolved after I recovered.
My bun and creatine levels are low and I've had kidney stones since 15 with a current stone on my left kidney for the past few years.
The past 6 months I've dealt with fatigue, bone pain, worsening mental symptoms and painful leg feet and toe cramps.
Is this all because of secondary hyperparathyroidism? Should I be seeing a specialist beyond my surgeon for this? I feel like recently I've been feeling so much worse and I'm concerned about how to fix it.

A few days ago I started to feel itching around my vaginal opening, as well as on the labia minora and between the labia majora and minora next to it. I scratched the area with a towel which seemed to anger the itching and leave me in pain for the whole rest of the night, then I scratched in the morning and was itchy the rest of the day as well. That night I slept without pants or underwear with my legs open and didn’t scratch and that greatly reduced the itching the next day.
However, I started scratching again the day after that and was left again in pain. The itching has also seemed to spread to the labia majora and mons pubis, where it feels like thick coarse pubic hairs irritating the skin. Today I scratched to the point where I made my labia bleed a little bit. I’m scared that the cuts could get infected when I pee.
I have no other symptoms other than itching, no weird discharge or burning or anything. I tested negative for STIs before I started seeing them. I shared a vaginal sex toy with a vagina-having partner without washing it, but they have not shared bodily fluids with anyone else but me so it is unlikely that they have an STI. I haven’t gotten my period in two months, if that’s worth anything.
Is this just a case of initially mild vaginal itching made worse by further agitation, or could it be something else?

I always come across social media posts saying how much stress creates disease.
It a massive trigger because I am so fucking stressed constantly, so easily triggered.
I just spent a week on holiday with my mum who I love, but there childhood trauma there. I often felt suffocated and I'm just realising how triggered and extreme levels of stress I've felt on and off every day.
Now it the last morning of the holiday and I for some reason decided to try see what's going on inwardly.
I'm holding so much stress and pain in my diaphragm and trying to release it to no success
.Trying to find some sources of how to release and just keep coming across how deadly stress is and it a real head fuck.
Because I don't think most people know just how much stress we are constantly in and have been in for large portions and for me all my life.
Makes me really scared of getting something awful.
The I start feeling an overdrive of OK. Got to start ramping up my self treatment of trauma because no one else is going to. Got to start doing this everyday and really take this even more seriously.
Need to make progress fast so I dot die of some horrible disease or have a shitty long illness, or die really early.
I have therapy once a week but I feel like I need it everyday and all kinds, from external guidance.
There's so much stress there even on the most beautiful glorious days on a holiday