How to care for abdominal pain

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Sorry I’m advance for my bad writing.
I had a bad interaction with a more logical thinker and I was wondering if the problem is their logical personality or if it’s just them being an asshole. Similarly some people have disorders but it doesn’t make them bad people. But I think as infp’s we naturally care more about emotions and how others “feel,” so I sometimes find things disrespectful or manipulative that a logical person cannot really perceive. Sometimes they play with innuendo, ego and informal bashing without even realizing it, and they hide behind and are blinded by facts and literal understandings, unaware of their immoral “shadow” impact.
I find this is frustrating about being an infp. We are very conscious and perceptive of the underlying language of “feelings.” I hate it because other types can just brush things off, live without justifying but we are plagued by moral inconsistencies, and underlying pain. We are deeply in touch with feeling over the simple act of doing, and while I think it has it’s importance, it is undeniably frustrating. But I think even more logical personality types engage in all the same human emotions but aren’t as consciously aware that they engage in them and thus have a more implicit impact and less conscious control of their feelings.
It’s annoying because I was in a situation where this logical woman was technically being manipulative and I was trying to explain it to her, but she kept saying “name one thing I said” and I’d instantly go blank. She would then point at a literal problem, like “you yourself said you were ignorant so I’m only stating a fact.” When of course she took it out of context. I think it was manipulative but she didn’t realize she was doing it. And I’ve seen many people do this. Some will say “I’m not insulting this person I am only stating a fact that they are stupid” when the underlying emotion is clearly a insult in a cultural sense. However the literal understanding is neutral in a vacuum. This makes a lot of people egocentric, condescending and sometimes assholes, despite being progressives, egalitarians, scientists and religious leaders, like yes ultimately they can be good or neutral on paper, in a very literal logical and way, but their motivations, interactions and impact plays a game of innuendo, underlying thoughts : motivations that is human and emotional.
In this case she was condescending, and condescending is a great example because it is like implicit racial discrimination and gaslighting, it is very hard to prove and you may even be wrong in certain instances, which only helps their case… And when you try to explain it to someone they can easily deny it. Especially if you’re talking about tone, choice of words that are actually neutral in a literal sense yet not in a cultural / informal way… I guess this is an issue I’ve often had as an infp. How do I navigate this and get someone to understand how they hurt me or how I hurt them?
She kept denying that anything she said could have upset me and would say in a mocking way “oh do you’re upset about me asking you a simple question,” which again hides behind the literal.
Anyway I’d love to know your thoughts and experiences with this. Being upset at this clearly isn’t strictly an Infp thing at all, but I do think we are burdened with empathy. We can’t let anything go and we want things to be fair. We want to understand, work through and change people and genuinely resolve issues.
Sorry if some of this doesn’t apply to every info to the same degree I am speaking generally.

Been wearing a splint for a week. Whenever I have my splint off and try to bend my wrist back its usually fine, but sometimes during the day that bending motion (like you would bend your wrist during a pushup) feels like theres something there blocking it and it hurts. If I massage my wrist and bend/flex it I'll feel like a popping/grinding and it'll go away and I can bend again with minimal discomfort, it's just a little tight. Does this sound like a sprain or should I go to the Dr again? Its not really getting much better than it was a week ago. Ive completely stopped going to the gym and stopped any kind of heavy use of that arm as well.
I don't know how this happened. It started to hurt when I was doing american ninja warrior stuff at a local gym 2 weeks ago so I took it easy and called it quits early that day. I returned to the regular gym a few days later with no pain but a few days after that it started hurting like it is now and thats when I went to urgent care. They did xrays and didn't see any kind of break or fracture.
Thanks.

Some context:

• I (36M) (throwaway account)
• Wife (45F)
• Daughter (3.7 yo)
• Married since 2017, we were together since 2008 (the year we first met)
• I did the big/huge/monster mistake to continue this relationship despite this obvious problem that you're going to read about. I think I did that because I was deeply physically attracted to her, she was the first love of my life (girlfriend then wife) and because I always believed I could bring back the person she was in 2008, where she was so present, so in touch with me, always available to talk and have deep discussions (but that was just the honeymoon phase of a first love and I didn't know this because it was my first experience)
• I think that with the baby's arrival all the things that didn't work before the arrival, only exploded because of the amount of stress we went through
• I'm not searching for advice or anything, I just want to share my pain with you

--- The letter ---
Dear Wife,
It is with great sadness that I write this letter, but also with great joy for having finally understood what is wrong between us and what the definitive solution is.
Every single day of my life, from July 2009 to today, I have spent time trying to establish a dialogue with you and get your attention without success.
You are always there in body but never in mind.
When I'm able to talk to you, you are present for only a few moments, briefly respond, and then retreat into your beloved thoughts to converse with yourself instead of with me, or to do something else (important or not).
I have tried hundreds of times to express to you how all this makes me feel, how much it hurts me, how I long with all my heart to be in contact with you like we were in 2008, but there was no way to make you understand.
Thus, for all these years of our life, the following scheme has gone on:

1. I try to establish contact with you multiple times during the day.
2. You don't pay attention / you respond with monosyllables / you are not involved in the conversation / you respond rudely.
3. I feel rejected because you don't want to talk to me; I understand that I can't talk to you, I'm not important to you, and by necessity, I shut down because there is no communication and sharing (what you call a long face). You notice the long face and do everything to get me out of it because you hate it, but not what you should do (i.e., insist on asking what’s wrong to establish the contact that was not established before, and then be available to talk the next times). Lately, your solution has been to attack me verbally or physically to force a change in me (e.g., "Enough with these damn long faces! Smile, damn it! Don't sit there like a fool"). This is devastating for me because not only can I not talk to the person I love, but I am also insulted when I expose the problem.
4. When you want to spend quality time, as you call it, on weekends when you are calmer and more relaxed, you are fine, but I am devastated and no longer want to spend quality time with you because I don’t feel well and am upset with you.

If by chance I manage to start a conversation, after a few interactions, you are already back in your head thinking about your things.
This has existed since that July of 2009, as I was telling you, look here: (some email screenshots from 2011) Further examples below (other screenshots)
These are some of the emails I’ve recovered.
It’s useless to say:

• Now there's the baby.
• Before it was work.
• Before it was something else.
• Before it was another thing.

The lack of communication from you towards me is invariant to the things that have happened in our lives.
Look the other day:

• I gave you 1 hour to rest asking you if we could talk.
• I start talking and you get up to take your medicine (because in your head it’s always "oh, he's talking, so meanwhile I can take care of something else"), and after I start talking about this problem, you start telling me "With all the damn problems we have, you have time to talk about this nonsense?" and then told me "Don't you know that people can do other things while you're talking and still be present, hear you and have a conversation with you?"

I have studied it all for a long time, meditating on everything, and I simply believe that, besides no longer being interested in me, you have a mind that works as follows:

• You are perpetually distracted, absorbed in your head and your thoughts, you have a much deeper level of introversion than mine from which you can't easily emerge, you create situations, conversations, battles, etc.
• You think in terms of projects and things to do: in 2011 (I remembered) you were working respectively on 3 different projects (a crazy amount). Obviously, I was getting the leftover attention from this combo. Now there’s the baby, and I am just a satellite orbiting around the two of you, only useful to procure food and necessary things.
• You get very stuck on things and don't want to let go of your fixations. It's likely that you have the hyperfocus of people with ADHD, read more about it here in detail. Regarding the last point, I'll copy and paste the most relevant parts: Hyperfocus in an adult with ADHD allows one to concentrate attention on a single task, often achieving extremely high productivity at the expense of everything around, such as a family member talking or a pot on the stove.

How you mismanaged things with me in the past:

• Manipulation: "Oh, come on, you're the one who's fixated, of course we talk, what are we doing now, excuse me?"
• Insult: "These damn things again? Do you want the truth, Husband? You're a pain in the ass."
• Ultimatum: "If you want, you change, I won't change" "I'm going to the lawyer"
• When cornered: sex and that's it

The only times you are mentally present are when we argue, then you are definitely there.
The only moment I feel connected to you is during sex, but that's 20 minutes every how many days? Does that seem normal to you? When we're older and without sex, won't we even look at each other anymore?
With the baby's arrival, all this has come out like a frog from a boiling pot. Our Daughter sees it, senses it, perceives these dynamics, and it hurts her.
I'm sorry but I have reached my limit.
You are the only person I can't talk to, but with whom I desperately want to talk, share ideas, opinions, thoughts, etc., even 24 hours for 30 consecutive days (like we did in 2008).
You are the only one who brings out the long faces; my best friends, my grandmother, other friends, and former colleagues bring out smiles, jokes, the best of me.
This is our main problem.
If you had managed to maintain communication with me over time as in 2008, you would have a very close person, who would treat you like a queen, who would do everything to keep you happy, but you continuously reject and despise me.
Besides all this, in recent years, there have also been:

• Heavy insults
• Constant threats
• Spits in the face
• Kicks and slaps

You have no respect for me anymore, zero.
The affection has totally disappeared; I'm writing now after more than 8 days without receiving a kiss, a cuddle, a caress from you (yes I count them).
Wife, in a loving couple, this has no place, it’s not normal, it’s not a demonstration of love. It’s totally out of the question. There has never been a time when you said: Wow Husband, you're right, I sincerely apologize, now for the next 2 hours I will put down the phone, this, that, and talk to you. NO.
You don't even think of that.
I am telling you that for me, we have reached the end. You don't listen to me and don't talk to me.
You don't care about the problem; everything is okay for you, and I have to solve it on my own.
I have been fighting for years; in recent months, I have written over and over again, but nothing.
As Biden in February 2022 left no room for compromise with Putin regarding the Ukraine issue, forcing him to proceed, I do the same.
I want divorce and I do not want to live with you anymore.

"Explain your past, Musa" the gov'ness walks at my right, shielding my from the piercing sun as we walks with the caravan. After the trench was dismantled, we are walking by foot to reach the capital, as the trench-line have been pushed far into our homeland.
"I was a cook when the war started, gov'ness" and now I am left wondering why did she chose me from anyone else in the caravan, there's the sergeant, the whom she asked to see earlier today.
"You have been trusted to cook rations for your company, as early as the war?" her baroque companion, similarly donned in her armor, walks close by ours, but never overtook us.
"No, gov'ness, I was a 10 years old when the war started, the war went for seven years and I fought for the last two" before she came, with weapons of the stars that could've decimate my trench instead of theirs
"Such a young man you are, seven years ago, the Emperor grants me audience, revealing that I was his progenitor"
This talk about an "imperium" across the stars and the deified emperor has gotten me worried. Is that her reason for talking to me, to ease my pain before sending me to the stars far from here? Or simply an act of pity?
The meager town came into view, and was it not for the ancient structure, we would've thought this was anywhere but the capital. Gray skies and beaten earth have become the synonym for the heart of Nagorow.
"I must say, this was not our expectation when your leader came into contact with my ship, begging for salvation" the gov'ness depart from me, and my instinct was to follow her, but who am I to her? And so I stay put and follow the rest of the caravan back to the main camp.
"You're lucky to have an audience with the Lady, runt" one of gov'ness' companion knocked me to the dirt, assuming that he's doing it out of spite and jealousy. I can see him walking to gov'ness
"I apologize for my companion's doing" another of gov'ness', as he extends his fingers that allowed me to stand to my feet "Lucius was indeed jealous, he was our best melee combatant and our Primarch haven't even bat an eye for him"
"Is that a rare thing?" Lucius and the gov'ness seems to enter the structure, doing their business there. I quickly glance at my watch, the gray sky seems to be forever, and it shows 1641. And I quickly look back at the gov'ness companion
"It is, perhaps Mother saw something within you, perhaps yours was interesting at the moment" the giant release his helmet, letting his bronze hair free from the confine "I am Rylanor, pleasure to meet you, Musa"
"As is mine, gov'nor"
The Sejm was delightful in seeing Fulgrim and her companions, as well as the news of the apparent victory on the frontlines. Such delight warrants them to spent their moneys on a grand feast right at the capital, inviting everyone within range to attend, with the guest of honor being the gov'ness herself.
"I would have thought you are with Mother, Musa" Rylanor brought two plates in his palm, the plate whom was enough for me was made miniscule by his hands, each contained meager food they could thrown
"Thanks, gov'nor" the feast gives us chair to sit, yet here I stand with him, outside of the building. Somehow the gov'nor chose to make a companion out of me, whilst gov'ness over there busy herself with her empire in the suns.
"I almost forgot what a food taste, Musa, back in the campaign, we would be served liquid ration with occasional starch" I took a look at him, and his plate was already cleaned
"You should try my cooking then, I cook better"
We let a simple laugh from the situation, from a soldier to another, from a human to another too. The door barges open and whom I thought to be Lucius emerge, escaping the feast.
"It's obnoxious inside, Rylanor, if you wish to see me, then don't, I'm heading to the nearest landing coordinate" and went he goes, somewhere place only he, gov'nor and gov'ness know. Something that I would not understand no matter how much gov'nor taught me.
"I have to agree with dear Lucius there" and speak of the gov'ness, and she shall came, looking at the horizon "they barely separate the nobility and the peasant"
I didn't mean to stare, but gov'ness wore something fine, something you'd see from paintings high in temple's ceiling, an ascendant of man. Looking carefully, it seems she wore old Nagorovian dress and modify it to suit her stature, or rather, her figure. She need not a corset, it seems.
"The food is delectable, Mother" Rylanor already took my plate without my knowing, something that I relent
"Every food is delectable when you are starved of them, dear Rylanor"
We all watched as a star suddenly rose at the horizon, perhaps something to do with Lucius and his departure. I suppose this is our future, being shackled by another uncaring emperor to fight the dangers of mankind.
"Say, Rylanor, but does that star seems approaching us?" and behind Lucius' ascend, a second star indeed looks as if its getting nearer. Just before I respond, nor gov'nor did for that matter, the air raid sirens blare and screech
"It is too late to dodge the missile, Mother, and I am the only one still wearing my armor, I would suggest taking a shield behind me" Rylanor easily stood and tower over us. I didn't even wait as I quickly take cover.
"Don't be ridiculous, Rylanor, these brutes couldn't even muster the technology to weaponize simple nuclear reaction" Rylanor didn't wait and cover me with his entire figure, and I just prayed that whatever nuclear is nor what reaction it cause would not be as devastating as I'd fear.
The moment of impact was blurry, but there was an apparent pain riddled to it, as the temperature rose akin to a sun blasting us with the heat. Like what was drilled into my head, I quickly wrap my entire face with anything, covering up the assuredly loud aftermath and the shrapnel flying around. I couldn't hear
And I wish I wouldn't hear
By the time the air around began to cool, my throat was hoarse, as if I have been shouting the entire time. It wasn't until I noticed the spasmic movement on my mouth that I realized, I have been barking around.
"At ease, gov'nor, at ease lads" I chanted
"It seems it was a nuclear explosion, Mother, albeit a primitive version of it" Rylanor seems to ignore my rant, addressing the gov'ness instead. He then release me, before coughing up liquids right at my face "apologies" he mumbles
"Be damned your humor, Rylanor" I hear the gov'ness, rasping in breath as I slowly gather my senses "Musa, you lived it seems" my eyes were blinking rapidly, due to the heat and the dust it caused "oh Rylanor, I apologized for your condition".
When my eyes fully recovered, I saw only desolation. No Man's Land was gentler than this, water and mud found refuge within them after all. But what I saw was beyond it, ruins and dry earth, trees and building charred, and people would likely evaporate. Peoples, on whom I was fighting with and fighting for, for two damned years. I couldn't take it anymore, first Maria and now this? Fate was far too cruel
Liquid barge through my mouth, followed close by every air in my lungs and waters in my eyes. There was no rythym, only that I was doing it in instinct, lying on all fours at the stairs near the gov'nor and gov'ness.
Only then did I brave to stand up, looking at them and the impact it caused. Gov'nor seems to be stuck in his place, unable to move as his hair rotted away and flesh melts to his armor. Now I understand why did he puke. The gov'ness was way less impacted, as her clothing burnt with the flesh on her skins, with her lying on her back.
"Cease your staring, Musa" she quickly commanded
"Yes ma'am" I quickly slap my cheek, a soldier need to finish his duties until the bitter end, and the enemy was no better after all "orders, gov'ness?"
"You're waiting for my orders?" she slowly sat herself, throwing out blood from her mouth while her arms sizzle and creates smoke "so it seems, help me get to one of landing coordinates" when she did sat, she saw her own legs, crushed from the debris of the railings and burnt to crisp "it seems I would have to relegate the matter of combat to you"
"Private Musa at the ready, gov'ness" so soon to serve this faraway empire, and my first duty is to escape the chaos that will ensue. And first, I need to find a cart or I will be carrying the giant on my back
"Musa, before you go" Rylanor rasp and wheeze as he reach for something, before he carved it with letters and numbers "you are familiar with latitudes and longitudes of your planet, I assume, and if not then you can ask Mother for direction" he gave me the knife, on which he have engraved numbers.
"And what will happen to you, gov'nor?" I took the knife and pocket it, then looking back at the gov'ness
"I will be fine, Musa, all I ask is that you deliver Mother there to the place, and rest assured that you will be awarded"
I ignore the last part, something about the futility in wealth and glory that I realized, living as a cook my entire life before becoming a soldier taught me that. I quickly strip my clothing, and though I have to face the cold soon, finding the gov'ness means of transportation is more valuable. I quickly wrapped the gov'ness legs with a shirt, then I cut another of my shirt into pieces before I wrapped it at her so I can carry her off, my suspender helped in holding her together too
"Something tells me I won't enjoy the journey" Fulgrim murmurs as she rest on my shoulder
"Be safe Mother, I pray that Musa will be sufficient to you"

I'm uninstalling deadass. 75$ a month for fios $50 a year for expansion pack NSO and I DC from a 333x for no reason. I ran a diagnostic and my internet connection is perfectly fine. Game is just ass. It's also an overly time consuming monotonous grind for rank and chunks and forces you to play a certain way (motion) or stay bad and I don't like fucking twerking and getting wrist pains. Garbage shit game and I'm legit done with it. I like the concept of the squids and shit it's mad cute but nah the game is just beyond frustrating and not good.
2000 hours of this shit, so much practicing and for a bit things were looking up. Got S+/X and I won a 333x for Keyboard. But lately I was starting feeling like this game wasn't worth my time anymore because of how bad the netcode and matchmaking are not to mention the grind and absolutely fucking GARBAGE maps, but now I'm just convinced. This game has absolutely zero respect for my time and I've lost all respect it. It's an inaccessible dysfunctional and poorly designed fucking Fischer Price abortion and I'm not buying Splatoon 4 or playing next season.
Say whatever ya'll want idc skill issue or fix your internet or whatever you want idc I'm not replying to anything. I just needed to vent my anger and feel this game is is trash now and anyone who disagrees is just too addicted to see it or care but I acrually respect myself and my time so I ain't putting any more of myself or my time into it. I can just be playing a single player game with actual fucking content and not get punished for my prefererred control options or just because they game feels like disconnecting me for no damn reason.
GGs tho ig and I'm sorry to Adrian, bladeBlitZ, and ~Kraken☆~ for randomly DCing. That's honestly what's pissing me off the most. Homies probably got spawn camped in a 333x after winning the first minute in a half cuz they're teammate randomly vanished. Mad sorry brothers game is just so fucking garbage and doesn't work.

Am starting of by saying that this might turn out a rant but I wld suggest you please read it
Where do I even start by writing this idk cuz am filled with pain right now.
I have a very abusive family. Straight up narcissistic parents. Drunkard father who almost everyday beats and talks shit to my mother. My room is quite close to theirs so it's nearly I possible for me to not hear their rant. Father always speaks shit and is always vulgar to me This is not something new to me. For information I (15M) currently passed my 10th and got pretty good grades (according to me). All this shirt has been going around from the time I was ig 2-3 yrs old. From the time I was a kid I had always been put as the reason for everything. Listening to my mother saying that, 'you shouldn't have been born' is also quite usual. I seldom try to listen to whatever they spit bout me but things haven't been such good now. I just want leave all this place and run away. Call me the God's favourite child, not good at a thing, learnt a lot of skill but never got any appreciation for anything in my life. Am drowning to the point where if any bad thing happens to me I don't even feel bad or cry about it cause, not a single good thing has happened in my life.
My parents have deliberately chosen for me to study through allen digital while I wanted to go to an offline coaching. I do have good devices like a laptop, tablet but this was not what I wanted to do. I have been struggling to study with their shouting always in my ears. Even though I got 89.8% in boards they are not happy with it and called me a disgust. Like how to am I supposed to study they were even fighting when my boards were there. Always throws the food on the floor and I have to daily clean up the mess. Fight for my mothers side so that he can stop arguing with him. And what I get for all this? He yells at me saying, "tujhe to mai sadak pe bheekh mangwaunga".Translation: "I'll make you beg in the streets".
I just wanted someone to love and take care of me. I liked talking to a girl and was kinda interested in her but she just replied with dry texts but oh boy rather did I know what was supposed to happen. Was going puberty so sent very cringe texts and posts to her which I am embarrassed of now. Later I found out that all my texts were leaked to her friend group as her situationship had been texting me the times when she was not around and had access to her insta. I felt so bad that I deleted my insta and snap accounts.
Cherry on top I was sexually assaulted when I was 4-5 as someone friend of my father used to make me Suck his Dick and Lick his ass. This trauma isn't leaving from my head cuz there are only blurry images of what he used to do to me. (I was too young to understand and haven't told this to my parents yet)
Am lost completely as he's even ruining my summer vacations and I got to study for jee too( I want to have a career in astronomy ). I seriously don't know what to do with my life. I can't even kill myself as it's super lame and my momma's gonna be sad. If anyone's got any help and hopium for me please share. Am writing this with eyes full of tears.
Also thanks for listening to my rant🫶. Hoping for a good life for y'all

Hi everyone, title.
My boyfriend’s senior dog was hospitalized last night, after series of tests it was found that he(the dog) has a tumor in his spine, which explains his imbalance and difficulty in moving. My boyfriend is absolutely devastated cos the dog has been with him for 13 years and is his bestfriend, that dog got him through a lot of difficult times. Due to the dog’s advanced age, it’s possible that my boyfriend will be asked to put him down, which I know my boyfriend will do to ease the pain but will absolutely hate. I can feel how heavy it is for him. He is completely not himself, he’s been quiet and just been keeping to himself. Which is understandable.
However, as someone raised in a family of non-pet people and farmers, I can’t seem to relate. Don’t get me wrong, we had pets before and loved them as actual family members but we don’t get attached as much as the others since we know that they live shorter than us. I had a dog for 8 years and I was sad when he passed but not as sad as how my boyfriend is.
I don’t know what to say or how to support him right now, aside from the fact that I’m treating his dog as if it’s a person whom he actually lose. I listen to him talk about the dog, their memories, and all his stories. Just giving him a safe space to let his pain out while also making sure that he still takes care of himself. I’m thinking of getting commissioning someone for an art of the dog or something to immortalize and remember him. Also, we’re currently in ldr so there’s only so much I can do right now.
Any insight or help would be nice, please be kind. Thanks

tw:miscarriage ok i have been with my bf since 18 we’ve been through a lot, slept on the floor for months, slept in cars and ate cheap ramen once a day just to be with him. he’s hurt himself a lot over me, he’s always been rude and taken his frustrations out on me and when i get upset he thinks im fighting and will go crazy and call me all kinds of names and talk a lot of shit. for instance he likes to call me a whore as he knows this hurts a lot because of childhood trauma even tho he knows he is the second man ive been with. anyways i was recently pregnant 10 weeks and unfortunately 2 weeks and 3 days ago i had a miscarriage, it was a terrifying experience im young and i didnt realize how painful it would be. i threw up a lot and was laying on the ground i couldnt move my cramps were so bad and i was alone. i also seen a huge clot come out and i just watched it for a while crying, that night he cried and comforted me but the next day he wanted to freestyle. i was in so much pain still i just wanted to be held and have someone close to me. when i shut down because i was so upset and didnt wanna talk to him he started a fight yelling at me so much and again talking shit. he left and i cried at home for hours by myself after that to avoid fighting ive just been pretending to be ok. truth be told my cramps have been horrible the last two weeks, ive been extremely upset and having a horrible nightmare about it since but i cant even talk to him about it since he wouldn’t empathize. hes also taking care of the financials so i feel wrong to complain. we had sex a week after my miscarriage he just kept trying and i gave in now im having a lot of discharge, my cramps have come back worse, there was a little blood in my discharge and a very strong smell from my vagina. i also threw up a lot of bile i have an appointment tomorrow so honestly i was just gonna wait to see whats going on then however i need emotional support. he isnt that and never has been i have sat here crying and begging for his kindness and respect for just shy of 2 years. im not perfect ive hurt him too i just dont wanna abandon him.. he’s a hardworking loyal man and says i should be grateful for that which i am but when i think of the man ive always wanted its someone who thinks we’re equal, a gentleman that respects me, is romantic (not necessarily money just little things) but most importantly calm and kind. i told him last night i didnt wanna be with him tried to grab my things and he threw them everywhere i “slept” in the bathroom. he thinks im evil for wanting to leave him and honestly he’s making me think i am too. is it wrong for me to wanna leave him?

I see a lot of "I was blindsided by boyfriend" threads that get a lot of support. But men don't really blind side. Men suffer in silence and it is quite clear when he's suffering. He's suffering for 1 simple reason: lack of passionate sex. Disclaimer: This thread is not for high libido women with low libido men, this is for the classic situation.
Head to the lowlibidocommunity and dead bedroom pages. For most men in most relationships, the man is typically the high libido. Now I know what's coming from you ladies, "no one is owed sex", "he didn't get me in the mood", "he was distant and I need an emotional connection".
Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is for a man to come home after a long day at work, just wants to get laid and relax, but he has to go 17 different steps to get there he didn't need to go through when you first started dating. You know how he gets back to that? A new girlfriend. If your man is distant and cranky and you feel a break up is coming, ask yourself if you're taking care of his sexual needs.
"Well he needs to communicate", that's not for men to do. Men wants to feel like a conqueror and his women lusts after him. If he has to constantly talk you into the bedroom, it loses its magic. Communication is so unsexy for men. Eventually you know what happens? He gets distant then soon enough he "blindsides" you and says the spark is gone. You just became way too much work when he can do an easy exit and get a new younger girlfriend who will take care of him. The new girlfriend is easy, she doesn't need much to get going. She doesn't nag him. She's willing to try things he likes.
If you feel "sex is not a need" and he "needs to communicate issues around sex" you simply don't understand men and probably got "blindsided".
The other issue is the starfish sex. Women think a man will be satisfied with passion less sex once a month. "What are you talking about, I gave him sex". Did you lay there like a starfish, with the lights off, and kept asking him when he's almost done. Lol. A new woman will give him the passion he needs without being a nag to be around.
In the deadbedroom subreddit there are women who don't understand why their husband left them when everything was "fine". It wasn't fine. He was suffering in silence. It probably killed him inside to have to bring up the issue and he was given a 17 part list of things he needs to do to get laid. Then he just stayed silent and planned his exit.
If he's cranky and distant and "won't communicate". Just check if he's horny lol. Give him some hot passionate sex. I bet after he treats you like a queen again when you took care of his needs without giving him a 20 part Quest to slay a dragon there. If you say "well him being cranky doesn't make me horny", don't say you were blindsided when he dumps you for another woman.

I don’t know where to start with this. There is so much and I’m pretty sure this is above reddits paygrade. I just don’t know where to turn too. I (38f) have been with my fiancé’ (38m) for almost 4 years now. I love him but I think I want out of the relationship. I can’t imagine being with someone else but I also cant imagine doing this for my entire life. There is so much to go over but I’m pretty sure at the end of this I am a huge double triple huge asshole for how I feel. I won’t make excuses. All I’ll say is that this has been happening long before we got to here. There is a lot of context but the first thing I guess I should address is that we both have chronic health issues. His is much more life threatening if not maintained but for the most part is healthy. He rarely gets sick but when he does it’s pretty bad. He has a rare form of anemia that is only treatable by lifelong steroid use or bone marrow transplant. I always keep up with his health and his hemoglobin levels are good but I don’t schedule his apps or attend all visits. He does all that. About a year and a half ago transplant talk was put on the table and he was vehemently against it. But after about a year he realized there wasn’t a choice his meds aren’t working anymore. I’ve always asked if hes in pain or struggling he makes it very clear he is fine and that he would tell me if he wasn’t. I am super aware of when things look off, or if he looks really pale. I always ask questions and when I do go to the doctors apps I pay attention.
I have an autoimmune disorder. It varies from being annoying as fucking hell to down right painful and I can’t walk. He has been less than sympathetic to just down right making fun of me. He’s told me I need to live in a bubble to you’re always sick, to what doesn’t hurt on you. Not much dude. Not much. To be clear I don’t whine, I don’t miss work unless is unavoidable, I went to work with Flu A, B and covid before I almost out right couldn’t set up. I’ve had full blown asthma attack on the bed and in-between breathes asked for him to get the nebulizer because I didn’t have a rescue inhaler anymore. My daughters cat laid on me because I was so sick and doing the treatment and while most cats love me, I’m not this cats favorite but even he was like mom needs me. He looked annoyed and thought I was being dramatic. It wasn’t until the doctor told me I was super mega sick that he relented. Im on immunosuppressants and I have two small school age kids who are walking petri dishes, I catch a lot. Its not for a lack of trying no too. One of the biggest I have a bad tendency to get yeast infections, its chronic and not entirely unavoidable. Sex is a huge factor in this and it’s a snow ball effect, it starts with a yeast infection that blooms in to a full on UTI then my lichen Sclerosis flares, and lots and lots of sex exacerbates these issues. He likes to bring up the first year we were together that we had a lot of sex but we didn’t live together and had to many days apart. I spent 100s of dollars on yeast meds and suppositories. I still ended up in urgent care for a UTI that caused a fever so high they were convinced I was septic. I wasn’t but I felt super awful. When we moved in together the sex things seem to bother him more. He had issues with all the things wrong and I tried to explain and give him things to read but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. We fought about it constantly. We had full blown arguments over sweatpants and sexy clothing. To when he actually told me unless I wore sexy panties sex didn’t matter to him. He apologizes after but I know that he meant what he said. I’ve never lied to him about any thing, I’m not an overly sexual person and not usually open about being attracted to someone but I have tried to meet him halfway. I knew my illness was causing a lot of problems so I tried so hard to be better. I had gained a lot of weight from steroid use so I went and got help to loose the weight, Ive lost like almost 80lbs. Ive gotten down to only one suppressant medication. But the skin issues still linger. I was told there wasn’t much I could do about it. I’ve gone to the doctor multiple times just for this issue. I’ve tried supplements and boric acid suppositories. Its helped but not enough to really notice. We just had to make changes to the way we have sex, we are still having it 2-3 times a week but we have to have days in-between and we have to minimize sperm contacting my skin. I was also diagnosed with seminal plasma hypersensitivity which is common with my skin disorders and it is an allergic reaction. But I have to put a huge wall up for spontaneous sex which is a huge bummer and he is 100% reliant on me being the one that’s spontaneous. Which he doesn’t think is fair. I understand all that but I’ve explained if sex hurt him or caused the issues I’ve had you’d understand why I have to do it this way. There have been times where I’ve had issues and had to abstain for sex or a week but It’s never been much longer than that and he’s constantly asking if its better or if we can do it. He rushes care and a lot of times I’m reinfected or I just never went away cause its never had time to heal. The only time he doesn’t press as bad is when I’m on my period and even then he makes comments about putting a towel down. He talks about sex constantly, asks for blow jobs when I can’t and insists on trying to lick me when I’m not in the mood. When someone has a yeast infection they aren’t thinking about anything going anywhere near this vag, they are uncomfortable and wished they could rip it off and throw it away. I have counted how many times hes brought up having sex in an hour and the most he’s done it is 23 times the least is 8. He can’t have a conversation with me without bringing it up. I could be talking about something completely different and he’ll go we doing it today? Completely off topic. ITs so much worse now that hes going to have to have transplant and has to go at the very least 30days with out sex. The first questions he asked whenever this was happening had nothing to do with will I live it’s been when can I have sex? He’s willing to risk my health and his health for it. I just can’t anymore. His main concern this entire time is don’t find someone else and don’t fuck anyone else. Not I love you and all of our kids, its’ been just about this and that he’s going to be ugly after the transplant. To which I could give a fuck about. I want to be clear I love him, I love having sex with him but this is just really hard to deal with. I’ve tried talking to him Ive tried expressing that this isn’t normal. He gets super defensive that why are you in a relationship for if you aren’t going to touch them and the entitlement to just grab at me has more than once sent me on edge. I’ve tried to explain it just devolves into fight where he just shuts down and says I just won’t fucking touch you period. Then spins it as I’m the one making a big deal. Its just sex.
These aren’t the only issues, we both have children from previous relationships my kids are much younger and hes jealous of the attention they get, hes so worried about me and him he doesn’t even pay attention to his own kids who are now teenagers. During this whole transplant talk hes made comments that he can’t wait to be alone and have a break from work and no kids around. His kids have heard him. All 4 are taking this super hard, he doesn’t care, he just says my kids are clingy and can’t do anything on their own. My kids are 7 and 5. I can go into more details but this would be so effing long if I did. And to be clear about this he has had these behaviors probably for the past 2 years way before we had the transplant conversations.
I know that I’m supposed to be one of his carers after the transplant. His mom will be primary as I am the main caregiver of my bio children and he will be located about 3 hours away. We were gone to testing this week and things were pretty fun we played and best friend game and for once no topics of sex came up. And it was like I got a glimpse of the person I fell in love with. But the next day it was right back to talking about sex every time he looked at me. When were seeing doctors, I had to excuse myself at one point because I realized if the roles were reversed he wouldn’t do this for me. If I lost any part of my beauty or ability to have sex this would be over. IT was so sobering and I was devastated. I tried talking to him when we got home and it caused a fight that we are still currently in. He says I’m not interested in sex every and he doesn’t try anymore cause Im never in the mood. Ive explained that constantly talking about it ruins it. Ive showed him time and time again if you just stop you get more from me. He doesn’t care. I don’t want to be his carer anymore. And I know that makes me a horrible person. Please excuse typos I am on voice text.

Hi everyone,
I'm considering making a significant career change and could use some advice from those who have experience or knowledge in the field of ecology. I've been working as a physiotherapist for the past five years and hold an undergraduate degree in kinesiology and a master's degree in physiotherapy. I’ve recently realized that I just cannot continue with patient care of people in pain and the emotional and physical burdens that play a part in my time during and away from work. I have always had a passion for the environment, and spend most of my free time in the Northern Ontario woods, and am now seriously thinking about transitioning into a career in ecology.
I have read past posts to try and gain insight on others who have tried a career switch, but there aren’t many examples specific to Canada, and even more specifically from a healthcare field. Given my background, what would be the best academic route to take to make this switch? I'm open to further education if necessary, but I'm not sure where to start. Should I be looking into another undergraduate degree, a master's in ecology, or perhaps specific certifications or courses?
Any insights on how to leverage my current skills and education, potential challenges I might face, and any recommended programs or institutions would be greatly appreciated.
Thank you!
TL;DR: Physiotherapist with a background in kinesiology and physiotherapy seeking advice on the best academic path to transition into a career in ecology in Northern Ontario, Canada.
Additional Context:

• I'm particularly interested in conservation, wildlife management, and environmental policy.
• Open to both practical and research-oriented roles in the ecology field.
• Would appreciate any advice on how to make my transition smoother, including potential job shadowing or volunteer opportunities to gain relevant experience. -I also own a flower farm so I have experience working with native plants, and am not afraid to spend significant time working outdoors.

What’s in the closet, Kirsty?
He knew I hid a secret.
I smiled, tried to look confused.
He waited, crossing his arms.
I worried that he'd already seen. He had.
What else could he think about the pile?
His wife’s a cheater. She has another life. Another husband. Children.
He’d never believe the truth: I’m not a cheater; there’s no other life; no other man; I don’t know who the children are who visit me at night.
But I did have a secret. And maybe it’s fair to say another life, even if was smaller and against my will.
I should have destroyed those frames, burned the photos within. Now it looked like I saved them, cherished them. The truth couldn’t be farther. I feared to touch anything to do with… whatever they are…with one exception.
“It started last Halloween,” I said to George, my husband, my real husband.
He stopped packing for a moment, working out the impossibility of this statement. “I’m taking the girls to my parents.” He resumed the tossing of shirts, pants, etc. into our big suitcase.
“It’s true,” I said, but weakly. The children in the picture are at least six and four respectively. They were born six months ago.
“They’re not… my kids,” I said of the boys in the photos. They’re not kids is what I almost said.
George stopped and squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Kirsty,” he said slowly, “there are baby pictures. I saw them.”
“That’s-”
He quickly raised his finger, exasperated, angry, done.
“The first picture is you holding a newborn, and…” He swallowed painfully, his throat gone dry. It always does when he’s upset. “And the father in that picture, with his arm around you, isn’t me.”
When I couldn't deny it, he nodded like he knew all along our marriage would end.
We were happy. We really were. George and I had managed to overcome the typical breakdown that often comes with raising children. Only since last Halloween had distance been made by me.
I should have told him as soon as it started.
“Girls!” he called as I followed him down the stairs to the front hall of our lovely home. We’d scrimped and sacrificed to buy and keep this place, our dream by the lake. He’d been so proud. I couldn’t tell him I wanted to leave the first night sleeping there.
Cara and Ella protested through play, ignoring the adults, continuing to jump on an old box they’d long since flattened. Rays from the western sun placed my daughters into an inspired, hallowed light, and I started to cry. He was going to take my babies away.
George opened the door, intending, I’m sure, to drop the suitcase in the car before returning to physically carry the girls out.
But he hesitated in the doorway.
“George?”
The suitcase fell with a solid thud on the floor. “There’s no way,” he said.
“What?”
“There’s no way,” he said, with emphasis on the last word, “you would have had time for…this…”
Not defining "this" as cheating was progress. “Yes!”
He glared, quieting my desperate enthusiasm. I wasn’t off the hook. “Tell me. The truth.”
“I can’t.”
He reached for the suitcase.
“No, not because I don’t want to,” I protested. “I don’t know what’s happening!” I sat on the carpeted steps and stared through blurred vision at my trembling hands. The shriek I’d filled the house with - “happening!” - had put a halt to the box's obliteration. Cara and Ella hesitated for a few seconds before leaping into action.
Cara, the oldest, six, punched her dad in the buttocks. “You have to be nice!”
Ella, four, sat beside me and patted my trembling hands. “It’s okay, mummy.”
Such lovely daughters. Nothing like the boys in those photos when they were this age.
George grasped Cara's wrists and gently walked her back into the house, using his foot to kick the suitcase from the swing of the front door.
"It's alright, girls," he said with weak resolve. "Go and play."
"No!" Cara shouted. She kicked at her father and he pulled her close into a bearhug. Gradually, the girls calmed and were convinced to return to the box in the front room.
"Kirsty," George said, "you have to tell me." He sat down on the step beside me. "Please." I would do anything to take away the hurt in his eyes. "Please."
"I can't. But… I can write it down. Maybe." I took out my phone. We shared Google Drive. When I made a new document, he reluctantly started his phone. The man was a dream. He watched his screen, and waited patiently for my words to appear.
Without preamble, I returned to the awful moment when it all began: a strange and disturbing dream. Words came like an infection from beneath a torn scab. The wound had been opened. Nothing could stop this now.
Sex with another man has never been a desire of mine. I love George. He loves me.
Plus, the man in my dream was a stranger, and not particularly handsome. He has a plain face set to unwavering boredom and unkempt male pattern baldness. Our dream sex felt obligatory, just something we had to do.
I awoke on the wrong side of midnight. November 1st and I was craving ice cream instead of the girls' gathered candy. The freezer left by the previous homeowners came with unopened ice cream. Freezer burned or not, I wanted some.
After retrieving a spoon from the kitchen, I intended to destroy a brick of neopolitan. He waited in his flannel pajamas, barefoot on the concrete floor. His arms were crossed.
"Cravings?" he said.
I dropped the spoon. It clattered down the basement steps. Before I could run away, he disappeared like someone had erased him from head to foot in one clean sweep.
Had to be a dream. That's what I told myself. The spoon stayed in the basement until daylight. Ghost or nightmare, there was laundry to do the next day.
I crossed the concrete floor fast and only felt safer when I'd closed the door to the more modern laundry room. Never thought builder's grade tiles and track lights would make me feel anything but sad.
His voice caught me sorting.
"Kirsty!"
I dropped the cup of detergent all over the floor.
"Shit."
I came out of the laundry room, figuring George had been looking for me in uncharacteristically rude fashion. He hated speaking between rooms. Shouting throughout the house was highly impolite. It must have been important, I figured.
As soon as I stepped onto the bare concrete, however, deep sadness, the kind that seems to physically leech the strength from your body, dominated the room.
"Hello?" I don't know why I said that. The basement is a low ceilinged rectangle. There are no hiding spots except for the laundry room I'd come from. After a deep breath, I walked briskly to the stairs.
"Any day now," a raspy voice breathed into my ear. I jolted and slipped forward, falling and clipping my chin off a step. It made my teeth click painfully. Nobody there, of course. I ran upstairs and George had gone outside with the girls to play hide and seek.
I wanted to tell him. He looked so happy. It's hard to convey in words the kind of smile he showed me through the window. Imagine contentment mixed with unreserved joy and hope. Yes, it's difficult to picture. So few of us can ever have such a moment. Sort of like finding a natural view completely untouched by humanity. Beyond rare and precious.
I’m rambling now to avoid writing about what followed. The point is I couldn’t tell him. I hoped it’d go away and stop.
But, of course, it didn’t, and things got much worse.
I awoke in a great deal of pain. Having already given birth to children, the feeling was familiar. Despite getting up and gasping, George continued to snore in our bed. He’s a deep sleeper, but a quick and early riser. I’ve never heard him complain about getting out of bed either, especially when there’s an emergency.
I might have woken him up but I was disoriented and confused. Part of me believed I was still pregnant with Ella. It wasn’t until I’d gone all the way to the kitchen to avoid waking up the girls, that my brain caught up: Girls. Plural. Ella was asleep in her bed upstairs.
“Ohhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiit.” I knew the signs of labour. This couldn’t be happening. “Ohhhhhhhhh.”
I was definitely going to wake everyone up if this continued.
My phone was upstairs by my bedside table. We don’t have a landline. I should have called 911. I should have woken up George.
Instead, I went downstairs where I could vocalize pain without disturbing anyone. Such a pathetically passive response. But that’s how I was raised. Keep it down, don't you frown.
His hands seized mine as soon as I descended the last step. Serious and bald without dignity is how to best describe his physical appearance. Cold and cruel is what he is. The lights turned off and, in the perfect darkness of the basement, he was all that I could see.
He produces a red light from his body somehow but his touch is literally frosty.
"Kristy, it's time," he said. No joy there. Just straight facts. Something was coming. I was going to give birth to it. In the dull red glow of his being, the first boy came.
"His name is Hadad," the man said, placing a large, infant boy with a lot of hair and, I swear, a hint of beard, on the bare concrete. Hadad looked like a three month old they use as newborns on TV. He didn't cry. He hardly seemed to breathe as his dark eyes roamed the darkness. His light resembled the man's, a less intense red.
I felt another contraction, and winced.
"She comes next," the man said.
I felt so weak. "Who are you?" I asked him.
At last, he smiled and I wished he hadn't. It made me feel small, insignificant, and beneath his concern. "You know who I am," he said. "I'm your husband."
Pain wracked my entire body. Something didn't feel right. The birth of Cara and Ella had been without difficulty.
"Push," my "husband" ordered. "She is upset with you, and will kill you if you don't get her out now."
"It has to be a nightmare," I told him. Sweat poured in streams down my face. The unborn "she" in question writhed and damaged my insides. I screamed. I couldn't help it.
"Push!"
I obeyed and the second boy spilled onto the bare concrete, coated in blood and dust.
"It's a boy," I said.
The man looked displeased. "The body is male. She is Hebat. No wonder she is angry." Like the other infant, Hebat appeared aware of her surroundings and had far too much motor control for a newborn. The light pouring from her body was dull silver. Her eye sockets were two pits of concentrated despair. I had to look away.
The babies were pressed into my arms.
The man stretched out beside me. "Open your eyes and smile." I resisted. "Do it. Now." What choice did I have? The flash from his cell blinded me. They were all gone by the time my sight recovered. Only the sweat remained as evidence of the ordeal.
It had to have been a hallucination. Some very bad food poisoning maybe. The source could be as simple as an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. I had been stress eating since we'd moved in. I stood up and took some comfort in a Charles Dickens' reference.
"More of gravy than of grave about you," I said. My words seemed consumed by the dreadful weight of the air. "Whatever you are."
Whatever you are: something bad in any case. At best, I'd hallucinated prolonged and traumatic labour and needed medical attention. Yet, when I limped up the basement stairs, all thoughts of waking George vanished. There on the kitchen island sat a propped frame containing the photograph taken only moments ago.
The man looked happy. Only Hadad appeared in this picture, which meant another one was somewhere. I didn't panic. I worried more about what George would think if he saw the photos. I had to find them all.
Hebat and his father and I were mounted in a dark wood frame by the master bedroom. It'd be the first thing anyone saw if they woke up. I plucked it off the wall and, together with the first photo, tucked it under some blankets in the dresser we'd shoved in the small walk-in closet.
You might not believe this, but I went straight to sleep after. I climbed under the blanket in my sweaty pajamas, shut my eyes, and didn't have enough time to deny what had happened. I was unconscious until morning.
George placed a coffee on my nightstand. That's what I remember. He rubbed my feet while I slowly awoke. The girls were watching TV downstairs, munching on apple slices. There was forty minutes still before we had to seriously consider getting ready to take Cara to school.
George would drop her off on his way to work downtown. He chose his hours and always chose convenience for his wife and kids. Ella and I planned to spend the morning gardening. Then we would nap much of the afternoon away until George and Cara returned. A life so perfect is so very rare.
I didn't want to spoil things with a very convincing nightmare. Besides, I felt fine. Not so good that I wanted to look in the dresser to see if those photos really were there, but not ill. So I remained silent again.
November started fine. Idyllic days and nights filled with laughter and joy and television. Just as I started to believe in the dream we'd made, they came again.
The wail of a child's hunger is a powerful call for a parent. When it's a chorus, even of two, it cannot be ignored. Only I awoke to Hadad and Hebat's cries for their "mother" from the basement.
Half asleep, I drifted into the kitchen and searched for their milk bottles. When no bottles could be found, I remembered they were newborns. Milk swelled in my breasts and made my nipples ache. Just like when Cara or Ella would awaken in the night. It was a relief to feed them.
But what the fuck was I doing?
I was acting like the man in the basement and the devil babies were mine. It'd been less than a week since Halloween and that horrible nightmare illusion. I had already taken on the beleaguered newborn mother role without question.
Their cries intensified and flayed the weak resistance of exhausted reasoning.
Don't wake George. Don't wake my babies, my real babies.
"What took you so long?" the man critized, his voice monotone, the question unrhetorical.
"I… was sleeping. I went to the fridge first." Under his severe gaze, I stopped in the midst of the dark room. Hadad had quieted. Hebat cooed as if laughing at her own joke. I couldn't see them because the lights were off. They liked the dark better. Somehow I knew that about them and him.
"You should sleep down here," he said. "A mother should always be close to her babies."
The statement was nonsense but not altogether wrong. I wanted to be close to my babies, the daughters sleeping in bliss upstairs, away from the evil fermentation in the basement.
"Kirsty," he said. "Are you listening?" His hand touched the small of my back. The gentleness surprised me. I squawked and flinched away. "What’s wrong with you? They're hungry." He pressed on my shoulders until I sat on the cold floor.
They came from the shadows, already walking. I wanted to go, but I knew he wouldn't allow it. He pulled my cat t-shirt off over my head and their fierce mouths suckled, relieving the pressure of excess breast milk quickly. It felt physically good and psychologically alien.
I looked down at them once and immediately regretted it. Their emanated light had intensified to a point where perception of them hurt.
Each time I blinked my eyes were drawn to some isolated part of their bodies. The vision got closer to the point of disgust. Everything is gross if you're close enough. There is no beauty under a microscope. If you think there is then you're not using the right magnification.
Hebat's eye drew me in. At first, I saw the dark sphere, and then the strands of her eyelashes. Her gravity kept pulling until the creatures that live in eyelashes were revealed: Demodex folliculorum. I looked the microscopic horrors up.
The babies had more parasites than any child should. They wanted to show me and could somehow do so.
I asked him about it. "Why are they showing me these worms?"
He smiled, contemptuously as usual. "Trying to impress mother. Neither of them understand your horror and insignificance. You are the ant who knows they're an ant. Lucky you. They think you will be proud of the life their corporeal forms produce and host. Give them a few hours. It will pass."
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"I'm not sure what you mean. We're married. Now, prepare to smile." His cell reappeared and I noted the lack of features; it might have been a singed rectangle of spent firewood. He frowned when I failed to smile. "Smile, Kirsty. These are your children."
I managed to stave off the tears and hold the babies close. The smile was more difficult. In the inevitable aftermath of their sudden disappearance, the frames depicted an exhausted, wrinkly woman smiling painfully. It took a second to recognize myself.
The things in the basement sapped my strength. I looked dehydrated, beleaguered. The scale in the bathroom said I'd dropped six pounds. I'd weighed myself the morning before.
"Whoa, you've lost weight," George noted, thinking I'd be pleased. "This place has been so good for us, eh?'
To produce another smile proved as draining as the previous night. "Y-yes," I stuttered too late for him to ignore.
"Hey," he said, touching my forearm.
I flinched.
"Whoa, you okay? What's wrong?"
I should have told him. "Nothing. Bad sleep. A nightmare. I'll be fine."
A lie is an agreement. George wanted to agree, I think. He wanted life to be fine because he was happy for once. We struggled so hard before we came to Bridal Veil Lake. It was supposed to be our dream.
Guilty if I told him the truth. Guilty because I didn't. I began to resent his happiness, though he had done nothing but be the wonderful man he'd always been.
To Cara and Ella I became a body in motion, No brain left to guide them away from harm or answer their questions about nature and the universe.
"I don't know." That's what I told them often.
So they began to treat me like a kind of butler.
"Can I have some juice, please?"
"Sure, sweetheart."
"Mommy, can I have a snack?"
"Of course." And I'd run off to fetch it.
"Cookies."
"Yes, dear."
When Christmas came, I had two and they induced the same level of joy. Visiting the basement to feed and nurture Hebat and Hadad became a nightly occurrence. I'd learned to awaken, if I could get to sleep at all, and go quietly.
He berated me severely if I missed a night, and there were subtle threats made casually.
"I may have to squash you yet," he said, his tone as deep and cold as always.
"It won't happen again," I promised. "They’re getting big." In fact, they were no longer infants. Both had grown to the approximate age of six or seven in a few months. Still, they never spoke. Their dark eyes watched me as they ate food from the kitchen upstairs, food I'd hidden from my family.
"More meat," the man demanded.
"Of course." And I ran to the freezer and gave them frozen sausages in the package. They never complained or demanded the food be prepared a different way. No objections from my "husband" either.
Hebat tore the styrofoam and plastic wrap away and flattened the row of sausages stuck together between powerful molars. Hadad contented itself with licking them like a popsicle.
I'd stay until the photo. Then they'd release me by vanishing. Always with an exhausted breath, I'd trudge up the stairs and search for the frames and hide them in the same place.
They only smiled in the pictures. At no other time did they express any kind of emotion unless indifference counts.
My own children and husband weren't doing much better. Their concerns about my fatigue and ruminating slowly ceased as I repeated the excuse: I’m just tired. It'll pass.
Of course, I did not know when the nightmare would stop.
"When will it end?" I asked him one night, while Hebat and Hadad exercised like they had a mission.
"What do you mean?" he said.
I was surprised he answered. He usually didn't. "This. This. When can I go back to normal and not come down every night? I'm so very tired."
He frowned and I thought some punishment must be coming. Instead, he looked more confused. "I don't understand. You aren't happy? Your children grow into power and strength and will take their place in the world. They will be great and you - you, of all the tiny things, made that happen. Ask yourself what you want out of life, and see if Hebat and Haddad aren't your answer."
Too many words, all at once, for an exhausted mother. I didn't speak for the rest of the night. The infernal trio vanished, and the latter moments of the ritual I carried out with his challenge in mind.
I want my children to be strong, happy, and safe.
"Juice," Cara demanded the next morning, a Saturday, while she watched cartoons.
"Get it yourself!" I hissed, from tired to angry in a second.
"But I can't," Cara accurately pointed out. She didn't look away from the TV. Looking at me wasn't safe, and she knew it. Her and Ella held hands and sat a little straighter. It broke my heart. What had I done?
George came downstairs, attracted by my shouting. "What’s going on?"
Empathy became sadness, and the constant burden rekindled to anger swiftly. "Just children treating me like a servant."
He smiled. "Ah, yes, and how are the royal princesses this morning?"
His levity irked me. "You would know if you didn't sleep in so much."
The smile vanished from his face, and instead of the fight I seemed to want, he mumbled a quiet apology and joined the girls. They climbed onto him as he wrapped them into a cuddle.
"What are we watching?" George restarted his smile, his calm, for the girls. I hated myself. It had to end. Tonight.
After another dreary day of going through the motions, and the girls and George had fallen asleep, I went to the kitchen and chose the knife I thought sharpest.
"Kirsty," he said, his voice a whisper rising from the depths of the house.
"Coming," I whispered back.
"Mom," said another voice, a girl's, and I knew that Hebat had, at last, found herself and the wholeness of her being had been corrected.
I started to cry. I went downstairs and there she was with her brother and her father. He looked tired but some of the grimness had cracked to allow the first real contentment I've ever seen him express.
"Is that for the cake?" he asked. "We already have one."
I remembered the sharp knife. "Meat," I said. "There’s ham in the freezer."
He nodded, seeming to accept the answer.
"Mom," Hebat said, "Do you think I'm…" She gestured to herself, her face, and her body, and I understood the question, born from doubt and a desire to be validated.
I pulled her close. "You are the most beautiful girl in the whole world." We cried together. Hadad cut into a poorly made, asymmetrical cake by the light of his aura. No one cared that he did so on the floor. I brought out the ham from the fridge and we ate slices with our hands.
"It's almost done," he said. "They’re nearly grown. They are strong, and they are happy. You've done a good job, Kirsty." He watched our children fight to smear icing on each other's faces. "I'm sorry if I was mean. Or cold. I've never done this before." And he meant raising children. "It was the hardest, scariest thing anyone can try. I shouldn't have blamed you for… Hebat… It wasn't your fault."
Before I could pat his hand, he and the kids vanished. Darkness so familiar couldn't extinguish a new fear. I went upstairs and found the last frame. I held my daughter in the photo, my beautiful Hebat. He must have taken the photo without my notice.
I took it upstairs but couldn't bring myself to hide it.
I didn't see that one, George wrote into the document.
I forgot he was watching.
He typed again: Are you saying there is something in the basement?
Yes, I replied.
He stirred in the living room. I hadn't moved from the stairs, but I could tell by his stomping how angry he'd become. All of his negative, violent traits he saved for those in the world who would harm his family. George the Protector was fearsome to behold.
But he had no chance against my other husband.
"Come out! Come out you coward!" George bellowed. At first, nothing happened. The moment before calamity, even when the specific consequences aren't known, is still in slow motion. He carried on shouting. The girls rushed into the hall and didn’t hesitate to investigate.
"No!" I shouted. "Cara! Ella!"
Their feet padded down the steps. A violent commotion followed, screams and raging voices, both deep and childishly shrill.
The most unsettling quiet followed.
I chewed through the fear and the horror tearing me apart and finally moved.
No evidence of violence could be seen from the top of the stairs. The concrete looked bare and dusty and the light revealed nothing more. They were gone, all of them.
"Hebat," I whispered. "Cara? George?"
Him, I thought of, the nameless husband and felt no hint of his presence. He'd always been there. I know that now. It had nothing to do with the house. His absence was felt more than his insidious presence. Yet, I felt no relief. George and the girls were gone. I sat on the floor and cried for all my missing children.
When I finally emerged from the basement, the whole house had been filled with night. Their photos were everywhere. The others were upstairs. I gathered them on the kitchen island. How could I explain any of this to the police?
I needed help. I called my parents. It took twenty minutes before my father picked up.
"Kirsty? What's wrong?"
"Dad," I whimpered. "George is gone. Cara. Ella."
"What? What did you say?"
"They’re gone, dad. George. The girls are gone."
I heard his bed springs protest as he rolled out of bed. My mom said something I couldn't hear, and he shushed her.
"Kirsty," he said, "are you alright? Are you hurt? Are you in danger?"
Why was it so hard to understand? "Dad. George is gone."
"Kirsty, who the hell is George?"
It was my turn to be confused. "He's my- you know him. My husband…"
"Kirsty," he said very slowly, "are you on drugs? Did you take something?"
"No. Are you?"
"Excuse me?"
I hung up.
I have their photos. I have all of their photos. That's what I brought to George's parents before the sun rose. They wouldn't open the door and spoke to me through an intercom.
"George is gone," I said.
"We'll call the police."
"This is your son. These are your granddaughters."
I heard my mother-in-law say, "Who is she?"
"We don't have a son," my father-in-law said. "Go away."
I left.
Back to the house. Our dream sat empty and I live there, but none of the people in my family photos are my family.
I remember but the world never does. My parents think I'm ill and that I used AI to create the family I apparently never had.
How did I buy the house without a job or income? With deep concern for my mental health, they showed me a news story. I had won the lottery the day I turned eighteen.
His influence there, payment for services rendered.
A lie is an agreement.
What had I agreed to? I'm afraid I know the answer: I never wanted a family.
God help me. God help them.
I don't know what to do with these pictures.

I strangled my ex husband. I don’t know how long for and he’s very strong but has never been physically abusive. He cheated on me and gave my baby an sti that could have killed him. We divorced and it’s been a year but he picked up the child and I started asking questions which I haven’t done in a long time. I don’t know if he likes to see me vulnerable and upset but he told me about kissing his coworker too and I just couldn’t handle it. Our baby was in the next room in the stroller and couldn’t see. I strangled him and I don’t think it was very hard as he wasn’t struggling to breathe but I let go and started crying when he hugged me and told me I have done nothing wrong and was nothing but a good person to him bla bla. I can’t believe anything he said anymore but I let him hug me and I felt numb. He told me not to tel anyone what I did but I said I don’t care if he does as I am not a liar like him. I feel stupid and confused and regret getting so upset. I just feel like I have tried so hard to be the ‘good person’ and walk away knowing I tried so hard to stay true to who I am , only to do that now. What should I do? Tell the police? He didn’t seem to be in any pain etc but I don’t want this hanging over my head. I tried to google it but can’t seem to see any experiences about women doing this to men. Obviously the men who do it are told they’ve got issues and shouldn’t be in the relationship. Is this who I am? Am I just as bad as him now? And who should I tell? I don’t know if it matters but I am 5’4 and 130 lbs and he’s 5’11 and about 170lbs? I have no idea tbh but he’s very strong and in my mind I didn’t think I could hurt him but wanted to hurt him ‘a little’ but violence especially this kind is never warranted and I have deep regret and confusion about what to do.

Just another fun little story idea I had. I am still working on Humans are the violent ones but I like to bounce around and experiment with ideas to see what I really like. I also suck at writing more casual stories, as they give me severe writer's block as I try to map out how to make a scene feel genuine in my head, but I promise I'll update that soon. If you like this story and want to see more, then like and comment. I'll gladly continue this series as well.
Start of Personal Log
Humans don't like being told what to do. They don't like being commanded, put in their place, or snubbed. It was an inexorable, inalienable trait of humans, at least any noteable humans, to go against any authority that they believed was against their interests.
Humanity would not fit amongst the stars. Few ever did. It was a trait of most successful species to be willful, ambitious, and to desire more. But once they reached the stars the new (and simultaneously very old) pecking order either quashed any spirit such species had or simply eradicated them. Countless tomb worlds and diaspora served as painful reminders of what became of the nails that chose to stick out. The hammer of order would always strike. There could be no compromise, the very soul of the authority that held the Jurisdiction together relied on a show of unmatched power, or at least the illusion of item.
In reality, the Jurisdiction was an old, fat, and lazy beast. It filled its belly on the corpses of empires far and wide, and sated its bloodlust on the shattered dreams of hopeful cubs. It had every right to, for none could challenge it: there were no new frontiers to explore, nor were there any other enemies to conquer. The Milky Way, as humans had so strangely dubbed our cradle galaxy, as well as Andromeda, had long since been warred over and settled for millennia before humanity had arrived, bright-eyed and with familiar yet otherwise foolish dreams of cooperation and prosperity. The Jurisdiction did not cooperate, nor did it ensure prosperity. Oh, it claimed it did, but in reality it simply took. The rest was just the peace that came with not being the direct target of the biggest fish in the pond. The humans didn't like that, but they had no choice.
Slavery was a common tribute. The Jurisdiction had no use for other resources: it simply took. No, it wanted those who could facilitate that unequal exchange, those raised in a world where the only morality was the one set by your lord. The Jurisdiction was held together by expectations, obligations, and dury more than any kind of shared dream, so when you were ordered to take you did so without question. Humanity was new: they had no niche or value that set them apart, but they had a penchant for killing and taking, so the Jurisdiction gave them a taste of how the galaxy worked. They killed and they took. The humans didn't like that, but what choice did they have?
Humans were strange. They learned, but not in the way most species learned. Most species learned to adapt in a passive way, to adhere to the world around them. They flowed like water, moving past and around obstacles and confirming to the boxes they were assigned too. Humans didn't confirm, nor did they adapt: they made their circumstances fit their desires. They would not move around obstacles, but rather smash through them, and they refused to stay in one box for too long. The Jurisdiction merely saw them as a particularly loud nuisance, but those who faced their wrath knew better.
It is said that when a beast seeks to make an example, it shall humble its rival by killing it's cubs. Children were one of those universal constants that brought entire communities together: the Sok’klar saw their hatchlings as gifts, shaped by the fruitful currents of the universe in perfect harmony. The Yarrack saw each and every newborn whelp as an uncut gemstone, ready to be shaped into something magical. Humanity oftentimes referred to their offspring as angels, or spirits of unbridled good sent by the gods themselves. Children were seen by most of the galaxy as gifts.
The Jurisdiction saw them as a lever to inflict suffering. It had become quite effective at enacting psychological punishments on those that stood up and spoke out. You dare to disobey? You believe you can speak out? Your gifts shall be taken from you, and you shall be without joy.
Humans didn't like this, but the Jurisdiction would have their pound of flesh, and humankind would kneel. And they did. But humans were patient creatures: most species who retained that trait of willful spit also lacked patience.
I had long since become desensitized to the Jurisdiction’s actions: it was simply how the universe worked now, as if it were a constant akin to gravity. Cruelty was the unspoken rule of this seemingly unending age, where our lives never appeared to move forward or backwards, only lay dormant. The Jurisdiction had been the unyielding authority that ruled the galaxy for thousands of years, venerable yet feared all the same.
And for the longest time I was just another cog in its wheel. My name is Kalnuracht Sedjuur-Noumar VII, and was the scion of the noble house Sedjuur-Noumar. I was born into what most would describe as veiled apathy, living a life that could be attributed to the privileged class of feared scribes that enacted the will of those above. I was an administrator and nothing more. And now I am doomed to be far less than that in the eyes of my former constituents within the endless administration. I am the only scion, as is tradition, and without an heir I am the last of my house, our name to be scrubbed from the records, worthless, meaningless, and forgotten.
I am merely Kalnuracht, nothing else and nothing more. I have seen from their eyes, the eyes of the downtrodden, and it makes my crimes of association with the Jurisdiction feel all the more damning on my worthless soul. I am worthless to the world, and this is my story.
End Personal Log #1
Start of Neural Lace Narrative Log #1
They came from the black like carrion birds in the night, encircling our convoy as if it were a dying animal ready to be picked clean without remorse. There was no warning, no list of demands sent out as civilized peoples did, nor was there either any requirement for unconditional surrender nor chance to parlay, as was done so under letter of marque: this was an unmistakable call for violence and nothing else. They sought to reduce us to slag and scavenge the rest.
So, as one would expect, the entire bridge of the ship was nearing a panicked state. This was not the actions of those practicing civility, but rather the common behaviors of despoiling barbarians, the kind that tore their way through the dark reaches of the galaxy as if they owned it.
“Wayfinder, what do your probes see?” Shouted the ship’s sovereign. He was an older Kar’Rowmach, an amphibious cephalopod species with a venerable history within the Jurisdiction going back thousands of years. Normally one such as him would be above me if it weren't for the fact that I was under the authority of the Jurisdiction’s seal of office. He didn't like me very much, but most of his kind shared the same sentiment.
“All dark, honorable Sovereign: the sensor arrays are wailing but the feedback we're reviewing is beyond incomprehensible,” the wayfinder replied with a certain restrained temper in his voice. The Sok'klar wayfinder swayed gently, his tentacled limbs grasping different metallo-liquid braille output arrays, the liquid gallium flexing and reshaping unnaturally to allow him to to take in multiple different sources of sensory output at once, with the primary navigation computer plugged into the cybernetics surrounding his opaque, gelatinous head and plugging directly into his tube-shaped brain.
The Sovereign cursed in Loskat and pointed to his bridge crew while I simply sat in the back, near the Sovereign’s symbolic throne. “Prepare countermeasures and spool up the warp drive, we cannot allow the amanuensis to be taken! He carries sensitive information that only he can translate and transcribe!”
As the bridge crew nodded and began fiddling with their own systems, I preened my feathered hide anxiously. I wasn't a fighter: us nobles of the cloth were the educated minority above all else, not those who waged war or partook in hard labor. Special cybernetics in my brain allowed me to translate triple-encoded messages that usually took a ducal signet codekey or above to parse, but even without that I was a skilled mathematician and logician. I had terabytes worth of knowledge stored within the hardware installed in my head, all well protected of course, but if I were to die it would still be a waste. I could only imagine the damage any malcontenders could do with it if they were able to get their filthy hands on me.
Suddenly, the ship rocked, and the gallium overhead display began to form crescendos like I'd never seen before. “Sovereign, decks A-3 through C-12 are venting atmosphere and our coolant systems have been obliterated,” the Wayfinder spoke in an almost serene voice, as if he was completely unconcerned by current events. I knew they were simply incapable of tonal displays, but it was unnerving nonetheless. “Once we jump, we will not be able to risk another until the vacuum of the void can reduce temperatures to acceptable levels within the plasma capacitors.”
“Damn them,” the armored nautiloid hissed, his barbed feelers coiling in frustration, “May the currents take them. What are our options? what can we see? This fleet cannot fall to the void today, not with such vital cargo.” My hackles rose lightly at the Kar’Rowmach referred to me as some object rather than an esteemed amanuensis of the Jurisdiction, but I bit my forked tongue. Now was not the time to squabble with the sovereign over who was what and what titles I deserved, not while he was so desperately attempting to keep what semblance of order within his fleet that he had left.
I could not blame the crew for being panicked either: wars were practically mythologized now, having been long since rendered obsolete with the rise of the Jurisdiction, and that felt like an eternity ago. Now, either being levied into or joining a ducal naval force was simply another career, more akin to serving as an officer of the law rather than a fully fledged soldier. Minimal training was required, most of it being the technicals of one's duty rather than any kind of combat conditioning, so expecting a fleet to actually be prepared for a combat scenario in a universe where peace was the norm was laughable.
“We are practically blind, Sovereign,” stated the Sok'klar Wayfinder, “our probes are offline, and shipboard graviton displacement sensory arrays have been rendered unreliable at best.”
“What about the particle emission array? Has there been a spike in radioactivity where we were hit?”
The Wayfinder seemed to think for a second, his gelatinous form flexing and morphing a bit before answering. “Affirmative, a jump from negligible to forty billion becquerels along decks A through E-5 on our starboard side.”
“Torpedoes…” the Sovereign hissed, stroking his barbed feelers, “Human Torpedoes. Only those primitives would rely on crude nuclear warheads.” He then turned to his militant leaders on the ship. “Noddos, Rel’ads: organize your phalanxes and prepare to repel boarders. We are bound to be assailed by those rancorous primates, and I want their skulls piled at my feet if they dare set foot on our ship.”
“Your wish is our command, Sovereign,” the two militant commanders spoke as one. Noddos, a large bipedal with multiple sets of curved spines running down his back, a pair of graceful horns sprouting from his head, and multiple rows of sharp teeth in his snout, bowed first, followed by Rel’ads, a marsupial with long saberteeth and thick fur. They both must have been fierce warriors in their own right to each lead a phalanx. They wore thick, semi-powered armor and held dueling polearms alongside their usual plasma casters, and seemed completely unfazed by the situation we were in. As they stomped out of the brightly lit bridge, I let out a quiet squawk of discontentment. “Sovereign, why haven't we jumped again? We are wasting precious time.”
“I am working on it, you spineless beaurocrat!” He warbled back, his feelers tensing in anger, “besides, it's not as if you're the one who will be spilling blood today, amanuensis, so flatten your wretched beak or I shall weld it shut with a plasma torch.
I was about to reply with something indignant, but the ship rocked again, this time causing the lights to flicker and the air to become… thick. The skin under my feathers began to blister, and I became lightheaded and confused. “Seal the damnable vents, initiate radiation scrubbers, and activate secondary life support!” Shouted the Sovereign, “Their nuclear weapons are rendering the ship inhospitable!”
I coughed up magenta blood accidentally, and I could feel more seeping from under my eyes. Some of the crew was in a similar position, but others were more resistant to radiation than I. The Sok'klar seemed completely at ease as he ran his tentacles across his morphic braille arrays before calmly announcing the ship’s status. “I've regained some control over our probes: ten, twelve, and seventeen are active and fully functional, the rest are either still malfunctioning or permanently inoperable. A rapid rise in localized radiation is also interfering with the detection of graviton displacement; we can't sense photon redirection, thus readings will remain inconclusive.
“Wayfinder, damn you, get me some kind of out here! We're easy prey until we can respond in kind!”
“Negative, something has gone awry with our processing hub, I am attempting to troubleshoot-”
And with that, the Wayfinder’s bulbous head exploded in a cascade of opaque lavender blood, covering the front half of the deck crew like a morbid art piece. Some of the crew screamed and shouted in terror before removing their cranial adaptors and choosing to interact with their displays manually. Others died just as quickly, unable to unplug in time as their brain stems fried or their blood boiled. It was a horrible way to go, having your insides neutralized by your own cybernetics, so I was glad I wasn't connected to the system.
“Cybernetic warfare! All systems are to be considered compromised, switch to manual settings or you'll be killed!”
The lights in the bridge flickered again, and the displays went haywire. The bridge crew, which obviously weren't acquainted with working without being hard-linked into the mainframe, moved at a much slower pace.
“Launch missile pods A through F and set to self-target after five hundred kilometers, then rely on their ballistic coordinates to begin firing broadsides! If we can't see the humans due to their meddling, we'll just have to feel them.” Shouted the Sovereign, “and got me a detailed report on the ship’s diagnostics readings. I need to know if this flagship is still capable of escaping or if we'll have to scuttle it and retreat on another.”
“Acknowledged, Sovereign, launching now,” affirmed another deck officer as he swiped across his own gallium output array. I could hear the dull thunk, thunk, thunk of missiles pushing out of their pods before racing off to their intended targets, then the mechanical whirring as the pods rotated to be reloaded by slaves in the lower decks. I was regaining my bearings as the many horrible sensations of being overwhelmed by radiation poisoning were beginning to subside, but I still felt as if I had been microwaved. The air was stale, the crew was horribly sick as well, and even the sovereign himself seemed to be on his last leg. I was beginning to believe that I might die here.
“Sovereign, a message from the lower decks,” shouted a communications officer, his chitin scraping against itself as he turned quickly, “they're requesting reinforcements, something about being overrun.”
“Impossible,” the Sovereign hissed out in a vain attempt to exude confidence, “We must outnumber the humans, they always go for bigger targets out of arrogance.”
“I've received reports that it's not just humans: the primates seem to make up only a third or so of the assailing force, along with some Phaeldaer and Vrex.”
The commander slammed his clawed hands down on his own output array in a fit of rage, obviously overwhelmed by the circumstances, “Then this wasn't just a typical assault, but something more sinister!” The nautiloid warbled, blood seeping from his shell as the full effects of the radiation took hold, “Get Rel’ads on the line, have him divert all spare lances to the lower decks or else we'll lose the only offensive capabilities we can use.”
“Rel'ads has gone dark, Sovereign, his vitals are critical.”
“Then either get me Rel'ads tail-leader or get me Noddos!” He screamed in rage, “don't give me this nonsense! If we don't pick it up we're all going to die, is that what you want?”
“No, Sovereign, I'm simply overwhelmed-”
“We're all overwhelmed! By the tides, I'm dying of radiation poisoning you nincompoop! Get me something I can work with!”
The officer didn't even acknowledge the Sovereign after that, simply turning back to his display. Eventually, the Sovereign was able to get Noddos on the line.
“Sovereign, two thirds of my phalanxes have been decimated by combat with the primitives and the radiation, the rest are in shambles. We must retreat and fortify elsewhere!”
“Then the ship is compromised! Rel'ads is unresponsive and the lower decks are swarming with intruders. We must evacuate the amanuensis to another ship.”
Just as the Sovereign spoke, I heard several gentle thumps rattle against the bridge’s door, and it made me uneasy. Some of the bridge crew seemed to feel the same, as they looked incredibly nervous and some even drew their sidearms. Just as the sovereign turned to give further orders, the door blew inward with a deafening explosion, followed by shouting and gunfire. Several of the bridge officers were dispatched quickly, brain matter and blood splattering against the delicate electronics. Others were shot in the legs, the torso, or in any other exotic yet non-vital body parts. The humans poured in, brandishing primitive ballistic firearms and jury-rigged energy weapons while wearing scavenged, legion-grade powered armor.
The Sovereign was the next to go, but he wasn't afforded an honorable death. He was shot along the arm with a particularly potent plasma caster, burning off his clawed hand and cauterizing the wound, the acrid smell of roasting chitin filling the already hot and cramped bridge. He fell back against his output array, the gallium reaching new highs and lows as more diagnostics and casualty reports were delivered, and he clutched his stump angrily. “I'll burn every last one of you in the foundries! I'll tie you to stakes, cover you in wax and set you alight! Your screams will be broadcasted all over the galaxy!”
One human warrior stomped up and slammed the butt of his rifle into the sovereign’s face, shattering his facial plates and causing blue blood to splatter across his section of the bridge. “Shut the fuck up, you mutant lobster,” the human said before dragging him by both antennae towards the center of the bridge and receiving a stained breeching axe from one of his comrades. “Emmanuel, start recording. We need proof.”
The other human nodded and pressed a button on his armor before lifting up his gun again. The rest of the humans fanned out, holding everyone else at gunpoint. I tried to get up and sneak out, but a human grabbed me by my neck and nearly wrung it out as he forced me to my knees and pointed a sidearm to my skull. “Get down, you piece of shit, before I blow your brains out too.”
“Damnable primate,” I hissed, but he bashed me in my skull with the base of his sidearm’s grip and sent me sprawling, making my already pounding headache worse. Another human shouted at him in a language I didn't recognize, but he sounded furious. The first brought me back up to my knees again, and I complies with a hiss and a groan, blood still leaking from my eyes and mouth and my world was spinning.
The Sovereign struggled, but he was weak from the radiation poisoning and he couldn't exactly resist on account of his lost arm. The human with the breaching ax kicked the Sovereign down and forced him to kneel before lifting up the breeching ax and splitting his chitinous head down the middle with one powerful swing, sending more blood and brains across the floor. “Execution confirmed, take his antennae just in case and we've got ourselves a bounty. Now all we need is that ugly cat’s teeth and the fat hedgehog-thing’s grimy spines and we'll be in business. Although, they do have skulls… we might as well just take their heads.”
The real horror of the situation dawned on me at that moment: they were going to kill us all, or maybe worse. They mentioned a bounty for the commanders, and multiple of the higher ranking ship officers were already dead, their brains splattered against the walls or their bodies torn apart by gunfire. I wasn't dead yet, but that didn't mean much since I wasn't an immediate threat.
“Alright, round them up and bring all the grunts to the hanger bay, then kill the rest,” the leader of the humans said in such a lackadaisical manner that his complete disregard for life almost made me sick… almost. I had seen worse from the Jurisdiction before, but usually that was from me delivering some kind of ordered judgment on a world that had sinned against order. I might have simply been the messenger, but I had seen many of the outcomes. “And make sure to collect whatever proof of bounties you can, we'll need to deliver them to the office to get cashed out. Don't let this be a repeat of last time where Juarez fucking forgot to take a few heads and it ended up cutting our profits in half, the fucking retard.”
Some of the humans chuckled at that as they dragged more of the senior officers away, out of the room and into the hall,where I heard gunshots. The rest of the bridge crew froze in place, different fear instincts kicking in. The remaining Sok'klar corralled together into what seemed to be a singular, semi-congealed mass as if to try and trick the humans into believing that they were much bigger and much more threatening than they actually were. The one Thei’chi on the bridge, an ensign who had clearly thought this would be a simple mission, bore her curved fangs at the humans and growled as they approached, her hackles completely vertical and her eyes dilated. They quickly muzzled and bound her before beating her over the head with a gun stock, sending her sprawling onto the ground. Many others simply cooperated, eyes wide and yet simultaneously empty, as if they couldn't quite process that the ship had been taken and the commanding officers were being executed as the rest were escorted to the hangar.
“Get the damn messenger down to the hanger as well, we need whatever data's in his ugly lizard head, then we can decide on what to do with him.”
I spat at him in spite, as if to try and seem brave, but it was clearly an empty gesture. “You won't get anything, primate! You couldn't possibly crack the encryption!”
The human holding me seemed to wind up for another swing, but the commanding officer simply held up his hand to stop my tormentor before strolling over to me. He knelt down and removed his helmet, revealing a beige-colored face covered in scars, wiry black hair cut down to the scalp, and multiple tattoos. “You're really fucking mouthy for a hostage,” he said before punching me across my beak faster than I could register. I heard a sharp crack as his fist connected, and my head spun again as the metallic taste of blood pooled into my mouth. “I'd advise you to shut up, but I'm sure you won't listen: you aristocratic types are so full of yourselves. Maybe I should have you flogged in the public square until your vocal chords give out once we rip those cybernetics from your head, huh? How's that sound?”
“It won't matter… it won't change anything… the Jurisdiction will hunt you down.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it will happen for some time: they really suck at doing anything that requires effort, even when they're mad enough. They just keep sending their rabid lapdogs to try and smoke us out, and they always end up full of holes,” the human officer said with a smirk, his yellowish-white teeth and green eyes sending shivers down my spine as he drew his knife. “They're just horrible at their job, you know? You've all gotten so lazy and incompetent after being able to just take what you want without resistance, and now that you've met people who are angry and crazy enough to fight back you act as if we're committing some grave injustice,” he placed the knife against my throat, the flat just underneath my now bent beak, “No, we just took a few pages out of your book, ‘cept we've got standards. No kids, for one…” he seemed to look off into the distance as his sneer deepened, “but it's more than that, we don't attack the defenseless in general and we still win against you all in fair fights.”
I went to say something else snarky, but he quickly grabbed my thin tongue with his fingers and yanked it out, blood from my mouth pulling to the floor as he held the blade of his knife against it. “No no, none of that. Say one more thing and I'll cut that rancid little tongue of yours out of your mouth and feed it to you,” he hissed at me, pressing the blade down just hard enough to draw blood. “Do you know what it's like to see a planet turn into a tomb?" he asked me, gritting his teeth, “Do you know what it's like to see everything you've ever known crumble to ash and glass, all the life and the green stripped away leaving nothing but bones? I do. I've seen it happen to countless worlds, and my grandfather always told me stories of how you bastards did it to Earth. He still prays in its direction five times a day, to Mecca, but he knows the Kaaba is gone now, or maybe it's still there, buried in the bones of those who sought refuge there.”
I didn't care for the human’s nonsensical beliefs, but I did care to correct him. “I've seen it before, and I'll see it again. And so will you, it's inevitable. The Jurisdiction will always have its judgment fulfilled, there is no alternative.”
“One day, I hope we can rectify that,” he said, then he sheathed his knife and slammed my head against the metal floor with enough force to nearly knock me out. As I lost consciousness, I could hear him speak. “Take him to the Chop Doc, and make sure the cybernetics don't get damaged: they're supposedly more valuable than any bounty on this ship.”
Warning: Severe radiation poisoning detected. Flush system immediately.
Warning: Neural Lace removal detected, chance of neurological damage high. Proceeded with caution.

Sorry in advance since English is not my native language.
A few weeks ago I was returning from some errands because my cat had died so I was a little numb. However, regardless the situation, I'm always hyper aware of the traffic and also drive a 100 cc scooter. I was exiting a traffic circle - or rotunda, I don't know how you call that, but they are very common in my city - and the car in front of me reduced to stop and since there is a school nearby, I'm usually very careful and I began to slow down until... Another scooter crashed behind me and I flew away! At the time, I was confused and the adrenaline was rushing so I didn't feel much pain. The young lady behind me was full of bruises and very scared of the situation too. Even though she crashed behind me - and since I was really depressed because of my cat -, I tried to be nice and console her. Also, the military police was right behind us and they helped us to get our scooters out of the way and some lady from the restaurant nearby helped us. In my country, the military police does not take care of the traffic law thing, so they asked if they should call the traffic police or the ambulance. Since, for me, it was very clear that it was the other person's fault and she was very easygoing about that, we agreed that it wasn't needed. BIG MISTAKE.
Then her fiancé and future father-in-law arrived. The FIL was very nice and fiancé was very angry. She cried as soon as she saw him. Maybe relief? I'll never know. So... Since she was being taken care of, we exchanged numbers and I ignored my pains and went back home. The next day was a holiday and my body began to hurt. I thought it was just the impact and at night I asked my boss to work at home the following day.
Then while working I felt pain every time I sat down or stood up... Uh oh! I went to the hospital and guess what, my coccyx was fractured. The doctor from the emergency room sent me home with some prescriptions, told me to do a MRI and schedule with a specialist. So I did that.
Hospital bills are not a problem and even though I live in a country with free healthcare, if possible, we do have insurance because private hospitals are less crowdy. And that was the kind of hospital I went to. My insurance covers part of the hospital bills, but do not cover for medicine or health accessories used outside the hospital and those are EXPENSIVE!
So I contacted the young lady and told her what happened. I sent her the mechanic and the medicine bill and she refunded me. A week later I went to the specialist and he prescribed more pain medicine and a coccygeal protection cushion. I sent another message to the young lady and she told me to speak to the fiancé. Then he told me aggressively that they would refund me this time, wouldn't refund the next medical bills and I should go to use the free universal healthcare. I didn't answer to that and then sent him the bills a few days later. He got angry again and told me that he would refund only half of it and only next month.
For more context, I bought everything the cheapest place possible and I'm not even charging the part of the insurance will charge me. I could go to court for that but I'm the kind of person that avoids conflict. Also, I'm not really sure, but I also noticed my financial situation seemed slightly better than theirs and that amount of money isn't going to destroy my budget. So, AITA for asking for refund?

There is some potentially triggering content in this story
Did you know that memories aren’t real? No? Not really, you can misremember or change a memory without ever knowing you have. It’s a sinisterly important fact for me, some would be worried but I find it freeing, I can share this memory without fear or shame. I most likely haven’t remembered what happened as it happened, and considering what happened on the 9th of May all those years ago, I’d say it’s likely I don’t remember. It’s a relief really that memories aren’t real; I have always hated talking about my memories, about myself in general. In my experience, people are not interested in what I have to say, unless it relates to them or it makes me look less than them. Maybe it’s all in my head, everything is really. I’m not the most people friendly these days, I think you could call me a cynic, I call myself a cynic, but I’ll try and keep true to this memory, without the influence of hindsight and my cynicism.
It’s about that puddle and the 9th of May. Why the specifically the 9th of May? Well I don’t actually know why that day, it could have easily been the 8th, the difference is hours. I do wish I could change the setting; it’s almost poetic, I could always be misremembering, it was a long time ago, and I have been told many times since that I have a flair for the dramatic. A dark and rainy night, with the wind howling, well that’s a backdrop I can enjoy.
I’m sorry. Let me start at the beginning for the sake of clarity, otherwise I’ll never finish what I start to say, and I’ll never say what I need to say.
Once upon a time I went to a party. I enjoyed drinking back then, a healthy amount for most people, but for me, a dangerous amount, I had a tendency to get inside my head when I drink.
No again I’m sorry, that’s not the memory I want to share, I want to tell the 9th of May, I think this memory will be harder to tell than I first thought.
It was a birthday party for a friend, well a friend of a friend, I knew two people there, I was speaking my wisdom at the party, normally people would just nod and slide away from that kind of wisdom, but this was during the university days, everyone is intelligent, insightful and understanding at university. We few were the self-proclaimed leaders of the future, and so understood all, my green wisdom spewed with no start or finish was always well received. I remember some of what I said, you can walk into any pub or club and listen to the drunkest person in the room, they would have spewed the same wisdom, wisdom that I thought at the time was original and wise, but really was just old sentiment repeated with new words. Despite what I wanted at the time, wisdom comes with age, not self-assurance.
But this time was my spring years, that sweet age just before I faced reality, the real harsh reality of life, I had just begun to explore the world inside my bubble, and my exploration lead me onto the well-trodden path of clubbing and drinking, the respectable rebellion. I began as I always did, by talking, talking of going to some event, a lecture, a monument, an underground pub, of all the things I could do that evening, the places I could go, I and the other future leaders of the world, the potential was ours to squander. This ended as it always would, in that night club, the very same one I would always go to, my slice of reality.
Apologies my dear reader, I have a cynical mind, it’s hard to keep at bay, I’ll admit that I haven’t really tried to keep it from being an influence here, I can’t seem to help myself, but this next part of the memory is less clear, but I can relay it with a real, shame filled joy. This part of the memory feels more like a dream now, I don’t have the energy to do what I did that night, I don’t have the energy for much these days, I think that makes the memory more fond to me, drinking, dancing, worry free. Maybe fond was the wrong word to use here, jealous is more fitting, jealous of the innocence and time I wasted. The power of a drink back then was incredible; I miss the feeling, that burn in the mouth, the after taste, the saliva, the heat in your chest, and that feeling of being unstoppable. Of course drink has more than one effect, and while I’d like to believe my cloudy memory is caused by false and misremembered facts, or by the merging of a hundred single nights into one endless night, that’s too poetic. No, the memory is clouded by the amount I drunk that night, and many years after as I tried to forget this very memory.
Yet despite this, even now, the fragments still makes me smile, whether it’s because I enjoy the memories of the innocence I held then, or I’m jealous of them I cannot say, I’m a self-proclaimed cynic, not a philosopher or a psychologist, I’ll leave the analysis to better men than me. Instead I’ll try to give you an idea of what happened in the club without my opinions bleeding through. This night in the club was no different from all the others, they all start the same. Moving around the club in a daze, my head feeling big and unsteady, but also incredibly light and empty, my fingertips warm, my feet numb, I remember dancing to songs, dancing on tables, screaming out lyrics, smoking outside, stealing a bottle of champagne, fixing my hair in a mirror, buying a round of drinks, the lights flashing, the bass thumping, fog spewing, standing on my own staring at the old chandelier, crawling on the floor looking for money, I remember walking out the club and how quiet everything seemed in comparison while I tried to keep standing in the night air, looking at my hands, how bright the lights were, how blurry the world seemed and how beautiful the moon was that night.
Here, here the memory starts to come back into focus, the bright street lights and night air always helped me to sober up at night, plus I’ve always enjoyed being outside in the dark night or under the moonlight, I find it comforting to stand under the moon, it’s as if I’m suddenly alive.
As I came to my senses my memory sharpened, but that’s all, my drunkenness remained. I was with a couple of friends, some who I had been at the party with and some who I met in the club, we got food, and we spent such a long time talking, our conversations were mixed, some happy, some sad, all just more green wisdom. Much later on, me and my friend, maybe the one I went to the party with (it might have been someone else, who’s to say?), walked back towards our homes not because we wanted to walk as we said over and over to our screeching friends, but because the taxi was expensive and we couldn’t afford it, we lived in different places but close enough that we could walk together. Its funny to think of this moment, back then I had the money for a taxi, but I wouldn’t spend it on a taxi, now that I’m a poor man, I’ll spend money I don’t have on taxis I don’t need, apparently the youthful idiot I was, was wiser than I am now in some regards after all.
I don’t remember walking with my friend, or rather, I know where we went, how long it took and what we probably talked about, I had walked this walk so many times before this night, and so many after, they are all the same memory to me now, I enjoyed the walking in the night, the exhilaration of that has stayed with me more than the company on those walks. I always used to break it down into three segments, and so that’s how it comes back to me now. Leaving the club, past the library, past the race track, over the river across the bridge, up the steep hill, past the first university gates (which were actually the back gates), round the campus on the public roads, to the second gates (which are the main gates), a long walk with company, a painfully short one with alone. He was still living on the Campus my friend, I lived about ten minutes away from the campus, I said goodbye and goodnight, we agreed to speak in the morning if we survived. He went through the back gates and headed towards the halls, I continued on my way, onto the second segment of the walk past the gates. I was on my own for the rest of the walk; this happened a lot, both during my university days and many years after. I lived on the opposite side of the campus to most of my friends so this part of the walk was always mine alone, even when I started the night with the people I lived with. I didn’t mind, it was nice to enjoy the feeling of being drunk without having to show I was drunk, a few assured moments of peace under the moon light. I never deviated from my path, round the outside of the campus, opposite some housing estates, till I got next to a little shop that sold cheap, bottles of spirit. I would always stop for a moment to wish that shop was open.
Then it was down that straight road, the final part of my walk, big houses on either side, well-lit but not busy. It looked like it was a five minute walk but once you started it felt like it was never ending, and at the end of the night, in the night air, it was never ending. Sometimes I would run, sprint to see if I could make it to the end of that road without stopping, something to break the monotony of walking, other times to tire myself out so I could fall straight to sleep, and sometimes just because I wanted to run. Nearly every day for two years I walked down that road to go clubbing shopping or studying, to go for a meal, see a film, meet a friend, it was a constant part of my life, an unwanted companion and witness. Walking down that road, reader I don’t think I’m able to describe how I hated that road, but I always walked down that road, there were other ways I could walk, quicker ways, but I always took that road.
This particular night, actually at this point I suppose it was the morning. I was walking down that road in the rain and dark between the streetlights, bitterly cold staring straight into a street light walking on the right hand side. I’d always walk on the right hand side, I’m not sure why, whenever I walked on the left I had a bad day. Except for on the 9th, the 9th is the one exception.
I have no clue where the car came from; I didn’t see it until after the jump, just a blurred headlight, a door, a wing mirror. The driver, the make, the model, even the color is a mystery. It appeared and left like a phantom. There was no thought, I moved forward, but I don’t recognize that I was the one who leapt forward.
I remember the fall. I fell backwards. As if my strings had been cut and I fell limp into the puddle, there was no splash as I landed in that puddle.
The feeling I felt in that puddle, it was something I had never felt before or since, an overwhelming pull I was powerless against, I pray to never to feel it again.
Should I describe it? How to describe it? I have to describe it. I can describe the fear it inspired, but not yet, it’s easier to describe fear, but this isn’t meant to be easy, this memory never is. No the actual feeling, that’s harder, It wasn’t a happy emotion, not a powerful emotion, not a sad emotion. Hopelessness? Yes it was hopelessness. Nothing more, nothing less. No hope for the future, no point to anything, I think it is possibly the only time I felt hopelessness. You can’t live without hope.
I couldn’t stand could I? No, I wouldn’t have laid there if I could, to begin with I didn’t want to, didn’t care to, my legs wouldn’t move, arms were like stone, every muscle in my body cramped, I could feel everything. My eyes were open, rain hitting them, rain dripped from my lips to my chin, it tickled. The fingertips were warm, hair moved, stand by stand off my face. Puddle water lapped against my cheek, socks soaking up water, shirt getting tighter and heavier, jacket sleeves filling up with water, keys and wallet resting on my leg. I just lay there staring at nothing, seeing nothing.
I think to begin with I was gone; that everything I held myself up to and was trying to achieve, had suddenly left me, except my memories, memories that weren’t real. For the longest time that’s how I was, empty, even down to my emotions there was nothing I laid there empty. I could feel my body, but I couldn’t move it, I wasn’t welcome, I felt awkward, out of place. I’m not sure how long I lay there, dead (I had to be dead because I had no hope), it could have been a minute; it could have been hours, days or years.
The light was wrong. It was dark, only the light seemed to come from a streetlight, the sky was empty, the moon had left me.
Some portion of my mind came back, I started crying, I had failed, failed at even this simple task, I lay for a long time waiting, waiting for something else to come, I should have gotten up, but I just lay there waiting, I was muttering my secret . If that had been my mind for the rest of my days, I would have spent those days in that puddle unmoving; declared brain dead on the spot. The moment raises such disgust in me, I grieved my most important failure, hated my greatest success.
I’d like to lie here, to say anything other than the truth, to save myself the pain and the shame, but I said I would try to tell this memory as it was, not as I wish it, so while I’d like to say I had a vison, a burst of strength, that hope returned to me, I can’t, because in reality it was two words that saved me.
Two words. The Two words that cut through it all. I’m still not sure if I just heard them from somewhere else, said it myself or imagined it afterwards. “Get up” it was angry, disgusted, the words were almost spat out, “Get up”.
Those words have burned themselves into my mind, and affected me every day since. The fear and inspiration it awoke in my mind, throat pricked and butterflies in my stomach, anxiety. Next to the hopelessness it seemed like life had spoken, with a voice that wielded fear.
I took control of my body then……
No dear reader I didn’t…. I am almost finished, I have to be true to the memory, I can’t spare myself now, it’s too late for me to take it back.
I didn’t take control, I wasn’t there yet, it took me such a long time to regain control again, but it gave my eyes back to me for I had seen nothing long before the fall. I watched as fear drove me, took the strings of my life and moved them, dragging my shell in the dust, screaming.
I cursed everyone and everything, hated myself for what had happened, Oh and the fear, fear of the voice, fear of dying, the fear that someone would see me at this moment, see me and misunderstand me, I didn’t want to die,(I don’t want to die now) I was terrified that I had tried to die, terrified I didn’t know where that urge came from, that moment of energy and intention that was actioned without the consent of my mind, that I was powerless against.
Fear drove me, commanded me out of that puddle. I’d gone insane, truly, completely, utterly mad, I was dragging myself to the curb, screaming, crying, laughing, I ripped my finger nails out, shredded my palms and hands into bloody messes my knees into bruised pulp, my head and face cut by being dragged along.
I heaved up that curb fucking curb, shaking. I started to stand and scramble forward, to escape that spot, that puddle on that road. I stood up hunched and bent, buffet by the wind, laughing, crying, waving my hands in all directions spitting, shouting, wiping blood on my jeans, I was staggering side to side shaking, soaked to the bone, I was mad, insane, disgraced and humiliated.
Why say more? I won’t go further, there is so much more but to understand it…. This was not the place for such memories. That moment all those years ago, was not the eureka moment, the next day I turned this into a joke, a story to tell.
To this day, I cannot tell you what really happened that night all those years ago, as I sit here writing and rewriting the words over and over. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it. I wonder what would happened if I could relive that night again, doing everything again now. This was the time that my bubble began to burst and the real world hit me like a wave. Perhaps it was just a moment of growing pains. I’ve said it before, I’m only a cynic, all I have left is the memory of the 9th of May, a memory I visit daily.

i started having extremely painful peeing for the past few days. it has progressively gotten worse. i have an infected hair follicle on my labia so i thought the pain was the pee touching the sore of that.
i went to urgent care and they said it was a uti and told me to take some nitrofurantoin and that the pain while peeing would stop within a day.
ive had uti's before but nothing this painful. i can hardly even pee because of how much pain im in. its so bad that im actively avoiding going to the bathroom because i know how bad its going to be.
the antibiotics aren't helping, azo isn't working, and the urgent care told me to go to the emergency room if it doesn't get any better but i know the emergency room isnt going to care and push me out.
i dont know what to do. i dont know what it could be.
has anyone else experienced burning pee so bad that you stop peeing and start crying?

First: apologies if this isn’t the right place but this was the only physical therapy sub that’s active with a decent population. If I need to take this elsewhere, please let me know and I will.
So, I currently work in graphic design and marketing. I work at a non profit that takes care of retired working dogs. While I LOVE my place of work and our mission, I feel so empty and bored doing my day to day tasks. A while back I did PT for some back pain from my days in the army and I ended up LOVING everything about it. I genuinely looked forward to my appointments especially getting to learn and talk about different things with the body. The PTs and PTAs often mentioned I knew a lot and picked up on all the details quick. I believe my understanding comes from I have a bunch of friends that are fitness trainers and medical professionals so I spitball ideas with them, plus all my years of different fitness and sports training. (Note I do NOT think I’m special in this regard by any means, just felt like this was a part of my explanation so I included it)
During my PT sessions I often wondered if I could go to school and become one of them. I felt really inspired. I kept putting it aside in my mind, but it keeps coming back. So I’ve spent some time looking into programs and watching basic PT videos to expose myself to it all more. And the passion has stayed, I really do think I want to do a career switch to the PT field.
I’ve tried applying to some part time physical therapy aide positions to get my toes in and some basic experience before applying to a school to study it - nothing yet there. On that note, I have GI bill benefits left over from finishing my associates (general studies) so I’ve already been looking at going back to school anyways.
But, really I’m lost on how exactly to go about this? And how viable? I’m not old, but I’m also not young. I haven’t been in a college classroom in almost 10 years. Is this a fools errand to chase? I realize if I stay on my course now I’d make plenty of money as I grow, however, I feel so empty and want to do something else. This field has really peaked my interest and the thought of getting to help improve other people’s lives really sparks something for me.
Thank you for taking the time to read all this. Again, sorry if this isn’t the correct place. I’ll gladly delete it if it’s inappropriate for here.

Hi everyone, title.
My boyfriend’s senior dog was hospitalized last night, after series of tests it was found that he(the dog) has a tumor in his spine, which explains his imbalance and difficulty in moving. My boyfriend is absolutely devastated cos the dog has been with him for 13 years and is his bestfriend, that dog got him through a lot of difficult times. Due to the dog’s advanced age, it’s possible that my boyfriend will be asked to put him down, which I know my boyfriend will do to ease the pain but will absolutely hate. I can feel how heavy it is for him. He is completely not himself, he’s been quiet and just been keeping to himself. Which is understandable.
However, as someone raised in a family of non-pet people and farmers, I can’t seem to relate. Don’t get me wrong, we had pets before and loved them as actual family members but we don’t get attached as much as the others since we know that they live shorter than us. I had a dog for 8 years and I was sad when he passed but not as sad as how my boyfriend is.
I don’t know what to say or how to support him right now, aside from the fact that I’m treating his dog as if it’s a person whom he actually lose. I listen to him talk about the dog, their memories, and all his stories. Just giving him a safe space to let his pain out while also making sure that he still takes care of himself. I’m thinking of getting commissioning someone for an art of the dog or something to immortalize and remember him. Also, we’re currently in ldr so there’s only so much I can do right now.
Any insight or help would be nice, please be kind. Thanks

I've been reading this subreddit for quite a while, and a MEF subreddit for a bit (only recently did I learn about the existence of this term). I thought I was AGP (or a transvestic fetishist with a particular kink), but now I'm wondering if I'm not that much of an AGP.
Since childhood, I've had the strange peculiarity of associating bare feet with shame. I was very ashamed of exposing my legs, and especially feet. To this day, I don't expose my legs or feet in public. I remember one day in childhood when I suddenly put on shorts and sandals and went outside, and how aroused I was because of the perceived shame I felt. I would feel about the same today if I transitioned and dressed in a particular way as a woman, but back then I could feel like that as a boy, wearing a socially acceptable outfit. [So this aspect was not AGP back then.] I never repeated that again, but I found joy in self-bondage, in which I bound my feet and did certain things to cause myself a certain kind of pain to get off. When puberty came and body hair began to grow, and it was a taboo for me to shave it, my psyche had to find an alternative. Because a manly, hairy, non-soft and non-fragile kind of being didn't pair well with the idea of humiliation, and because the idea of humiliation started to become sexual with puberty, I reframed the image of a humiliated being from a barefoot boy in shorts to a barefoot girl in a miniskirt. Because of the ingrained body shaving taboo, I didn't even think about cross-dressing and thus doing my self-bondage sessions in that image. Also, cross-dressing would've been another ingrained taboo, so I only started to shave legs and cross-dress when I was 27.
I cross-dress only for the purpose of getting off from self-humimiliation. But when I'm cross-dressed, I don't think of myself as of a man, probably more like as of a woman, or someone gender-undefined. In other words, thinking of my gender during my cross-dressing sessions is probably not too important to me. What's more important is just what I look like, without clear labels being attached. I feel humiliated only when I dress in a certain way. I need to look feminine and vulnerable, but I don't care about breasts, though I would do something to conceal my willy. This is how this chain works: clothes, makeup, hair, self-bondage (now usually before a mirror), certain kinds of pain, postures. For some time I also used to insert some items, as an additional layer of deep humiliation. So, just until recently I would think that I'm AGP, but only for the purpose of self-humiliation, and only in a certain kind of outfit. Even before doing any self-bondage, just the process of cross-dressing and applying makeup makes me feel aroused in a very peculiar way (not necessarily accompanied by an erection), and already makes me feel kind of humiliated. But again, this has to be a particular kind of feminine outfit, for otherwise I won't feel as excited. So, is this AGP or MEF, or both?
I don't remember what kind of emasculation or humiliation trauma I might have gotten in my childhood. Could it be that it's burried somewhere in my subconcious, and is it possible to get it to the surface?

These past 2 years have been brutal, it's been L after L with no break.
I feel like a mouse in a maze that every time it approaches the exit is dragged back to the start by a hand from the sky.
It doesn't matter how much I try, the outcome is always the worst possible one.
I've gone from agnostic to full on believer because I don't think someone can be this unlucky without some almighty being involved in it.
I now fully believe God exists and either:

1. He is actively punishing me
2. He has left me stranded

   
Will keep it short since I know you hoes like reading this kind of shit:
 
Around 2 years ago I was leasing a horse, and giving it my all, I was earning an entry-level salary in a comfy remote work living with my parents. Keeping the horse was costing me pretty much my full salary. I didn't go out and did anything except lifting, running, riding and working.
For almost a year I was the happiest I had ever been, I literally jumped out of bed excited to live the day, I would work 8-4, lift in my home gym and go visit my horse, either riding, or just being with him, during the time I had him I didn't go a single day without seeing him.
Of course living like this means that I don't have the most social life or friends circle, but I didn't care since every hour of my life was busy.
My plan for the year was training and competing and then in September changing jobs and buying the horse, but in July the horse was injured, I didn't get the best veterinary advice and didn't know what to do, I was being drained for a horse I couldn't even ride or enjoy, after all those months of hard work and discipline, for some reason the owner got mad, and petty sold him behind my back.
During this time, my highschool best friend started regaining contact and started meeting with me and his gf, they gave me a lot of support during those weeks, against all odds, I nailed an interview for a high-paying job that would've allowed me to buy the horse and maintain it comfortably.
I was still too hurt from what had happened, so I just chilled for a few months, saving money, and hanging out with my friend and his gf, and lifting and running, I was at my physical peak, I was lifting heavier than ever, running faster and longer, I was optimistic for the future, I just needed time to heal and I had the means to do so, social life, earning money and physical activity.
 
Fast forward to December and I receive a cryptic message from my friend's GF saying that she wasn't going to be here for my birthday (we met the previous day) because my dumbass friend just broke up with her.
That basically destroyed my little social life since they were living in the city, and my friend disappeared to be with his new GF.
I tried to comfort her and be there for her (wasn't attracted and even if I were it wouldn't be right to take advantage of the situation).
The months of just working and lifting allowed me to save enough to start looking to buy my own horse, I was still hurting from the whole situation, and being alone, but still I was just lifting heavy, running, walking my dog, keeping myself busy.
In February after trying and vetting some horses, I found one that seemed promising. I bought a very expensive veterinary exam, and he passed it, allegedly, I buy the horse.
 
Long story short, barely 3 weeks into ownership, I started noticing pain and weird stuff that shouldn't be happening since I started with very soft work, a few weeks of going through 3 different vets, and basically the horse had a life-long injury that the first vet didn't catch in the exam, and basically it was done for, I was devastated, I tried some solutions but they we're not effective, it was over.
During those months, my friend's ex-gf started coming to visit me, we slept together (no sex), we talked every day, I gave her presents, one would say what I did was love bombing her, but to me It was just being there giving support, for her it turned into a situationship.
I still had the horse, I couldn't selling him while he was untrained, and I still had a bit of faith in the vet's advice, and then, suddenly, my knee started hurting, I was lucky that in my new job I had private insurance, so I could immediately go to the orthopedist and do an MRI without the long ass waits of the public health care (up to a year for the MRI), and lo and behold, torn meniscus, it rapidly went from "pain while running" to "some days I can't even fucking walk", I had to stop riding, paying my trainer to ride my horse since I needed to sell him, I had to stop running, I had to stop doing any leg gym exercises.
I didn't want to do the surgery since what I read online was very contradictory.
 
Because shit can always get worse, one day I was alone with my parents (we also live with my brother and grandma), and I notice the vibes being off, I ask “what the fuck is your problem?” and they confess that my father doesn’t like my mom anymore, well, not to get into too much detail but since then I’ve had to endure watching my mom cry, they get into arguments all the time, just awful, thing is I was already so drained from my personal bullshit that after the initial shock, It didn’t pain me too much, they just keep living together, although I hear them arguing from time to time.
During those months my ex-friend’s ex-gf kept catching feelings for me, and my autistic ass couldn't really read the situation so I made it worse. Finally she asked me if I was going serious with her or if she could go on about her life. I said that I didn't see her as my partner, and since then she got a boyfriend and our friendship went to shit.
 
I finally sold the horse, my life got extremely bored.
I decided to do the surgery since I couldn't do any of the things I enjoyed, running, riding, whatever, but I had a trip in January with her so I had to postpone it until then, for those months all I could do was going for walks like an old man, and hit the gym (all chest no legs), I was going kinda hard tho, since I knew that during the months of recovery I would lose a lot of muscle and I wanted to go in my best form, during those months I acquired my best physique ever, for the first time, after years of being constant, I liked how my body looked.
The trip was a mistake, she nagged me every minute of it, I could tell she had only gone because it was already paid for, I had postponed the surgery 2 months just to have a horrible weekend.
 
I did the surgery and the first bad news came, they couldn't fix the broken part of the meniscus, so they took it out, this was the worst possible outcome since it would mean a shorter recovery, but the probabilities of arthritis in the future were higher, off to a good start.
2 weeks later I start going to rehab, during those weeks nobody came to visit me, well, my friend did, only to talk shit on his new coworker (during those months he would only message me to talk shit about coworkers or work), nobody else, not the situationship, not my trainer, nobody.
Speaking about the situationship, after the trip, she stopped messaging me, and even replying at all. I thought, well, there it goes, I’ve lost “not being an unopened chat” privilege.
Some boring months of rehab, working the job that I started to dread, and doing the boring ass knee exercises at home, and then, suddenly a glimmer of hope.
 
I start being treated by a “new” physio, but turns out she had been on sick leave for the same reason as me, she tore her meniscus, during those first 3-4 sessions we talked and talked for the whole hour, she was just perfect, around my age, funny, cute, was active, played sports, had a nice body, she lives like 5 minutes walk from my house.
I immediately fell in love like I had never before in my life, and that’s when it came to me, this was it, every bad thing that happened to me has come to this, to meeting this girl, everything made sense, If I had my surgery earlier I would not have met her because she would be on sick leave. My broken meniscus, my lame horse, every bad thing that had happened to me had led me to her.
So I take my autistic ass, and since I felt like we had something cool going on I ask “Hey, I think you’re very interesting and cute and would like to know you better, can I have your number so we can meet and go for a drink some day?” and she actually did give it to me, I asked for her number instead of her IG because I didn’t want to play any game, I thought she wouldn’t give me her number unless she was interested in me, I was ecstatic.
I start texting her and after refusing to meet a few times (with actually convincing excuses) I ask her “Hey if you don't want its fine I won't bother you anymore, just tell me” and she basically told me that she didn’t want to break the physio-patient barrier, I didn’t understand anything but I didn’t want to make it weirder since she is still treating me so I just accepted it.
 
The thing is, I know where she lives, I have to walk past her apartment whenever I go for a walk, drive to town, I get reminded constantly, moving on is very hard, I really thought she was for me, I thought she was finally the reward for all my suffering, but turns out she's just part of the punishment, I legit had a religious revelation, every single bad thing that had happened, God made it so I went and met her, my knee injury, having to sell the horse, losing my friends, no way it was a coincidence.
 
Now that I know that she is not for me, not even as a friend, I have nothing, the knee recovery is not going well, I was supposed to be a-ok in 6 weeks, It’s been 3 months and I still can’t even go for a walk without swelling and pain, I can’t workout because the knee exercises take a long ass time and I feel like they’re not doing shit, I don’t have friends to meet and take my mind off it, every few weeks I have to see my mum weeping around the house because my father is a piece of shit.
 
And to top it all, I just started having similar pain in the good knee, so there is a possibility that even If I hadn’t done shit, it may be injured too, this shit just doesn’t end, it just fucking never ends.
     
TLDR: Everything that has ever given me pleasure or made me happy has been taken away from me. I went from getting out of bed full of hope and enthusiasm to sleeping through my alarms because the only thing I can do is sit in front of a screen. I’ve been having the worst day of my life every day for the past 2 years, after everything I’ve worked hard for and all the sacrifices I’ve made.