I have this fantasy, y'know. of having some sort of secret admirer. maybe a stranger, maybe a friend. he would just slowly get to learn things about me and I would grow into his heart like that. no sexual motivations, no interest in getting to know me so they can manipulate me into their laps. one day, he knows my favorite color, the names of my cats, he knows what I do when I'm alone and what I doodle when I'm bored and he just realizes he might be in love with me.
I think my wish is to be loved the way I love. everytime, it happened like this. like when I overheard a guy tell his friend he learned to crochet with his granny and when I talked to his friends he made sure I was being heard despite being a quiet talker and I've been heart-eyeing from afar ever since. or the one who was an acquaintance to my acquaintance, sat next to him and cracked jokes non-stop and I couldn't stop smiling. he told us about his mom, his dad, his brother and sister, about his childhood mischief. he made weird, nonsensical and off-putting questions and jokes but I would just feel so happy when he looked my way first to check if I was having fun. and then I had to fight every cell in my body to not follow his around like a puppy just so I know a little more, spend some time more around him. of course I'll see a guy pass by me and think "oh, he's cute" but it's a fleeting thought, not even close to infatuation.
I wish I could have someone to like me like this. not like just some piece of meat served on a plate, you eat away and throw the bones and the skin off once you had what you want. it feel so fucking impossible. it seems like too little men can even differentiate love and lust. have you seen how they talk about us? what they think of us? incels say women only care about looks and if you're not on the best half of the bunch you're not even acknoledged by women, and all women go after some weird ideal man who looks like this and that. hasn't it been historically the exact opposite? seriously, how many men do you know have married someone uglier than them in opposition to someone more good-looking?
for the vast majority of men is all about the sex, the looks. it's all about mentally ill pussy feels the best. it's all about having the old guy having the barely legal girl not because he likes her but because she's barely legal and thus better than any woman his own age or a bit older. it's about the male fantasy of the hot, servile latina/black wife, the male fantasy of the submissive and impressionable asian girlfriend, the innocent virginal blonde, the sensual redhead. this is all projection. after they're done crying about how they're not 6'0 or whatever, turn around and moan about how fucking disgusting would be existing next to a fat woman. if feels so incredibly gross to be in their circles and see what they say.
and I guess that's where I fucking enter. I look and act good enough to fulfill a male fantasy. sure, I guess I could go and pick a random to hook up with me. he will eventually get bored of the novelty, realize I'm not a sex toy and they don't actually like anything about me but sexual favors. suddenly I'm used goods.
at the same time, this is all there's left for me. because the good ones, the ones who care, the ones who are respectful and interested, don't want me. maybe I'm just not interesting enough, maybe I'm just too fucking broken to be deserving of being loved and love back. they have better options, because they always do. god, when was the last time a guy sat next to me and asked about me? not my name or year. me. I can't recall.
I crave love so bad it crawls under my skin, it enters the pores in my bones, between the cells of my muscles, it runs my faces. I feel it with my whole body, I track the smallest sign of love like a hungry dog in everywhere I go, in everything I hear and see. I lay down and let my mind wander to the phantom sensation of a body over mine. my hand running on soft locks of hair, counting freckels and tracing marks, running my thumbs on dark circles. I dream of being clingy and affectionate and it's not annoying or something I should be ashamed of. I dream of movie dates where the movie actually matter, back rubs, gift exchanging. I dream of cooking something good and seeing eyes light up. I dream of hugging the hurt away after an argument. I dream of getting along with his family and him getting along with mine. I dream of a running toddler giggling their way to our bed. I dream of sitting down with a heavy photo album, reminiscing as we turn pages.
and then I realize all there's gonna be for me is being a male fantasy. something flimsy, fragile and bound to end. a toy you get for christmas and by easter it's in a donation box. someone to practice on before they find the one they want. that's all people like me get. and if I gain some pounds, cut my hair and stop giving so much attention to my acne and body hair, trying so hard to be funny and agreeable, probably not even that. ha.

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

Hi,
I am trying to make a new note type in Anki for the first time but I am struggling. What I want is something like this:
Card
Field 1: Picture of a cadaver or diagram with an arrow pointing to a muscle/structure, or in some cases image occlusion (if the picture already has the name of the structure)
Field 2: Name of the structure (example: m. biceps brachii).
Field 3: Origin (example: Tuberculum supraglenoidale (caput longum). Processus coracoideus (caput breve))
Field 4: Insertion (example: Tuberositas radii)
Field 5: Innervation: (example: n. musculocutaneus)
Field 6: Action (example: Flexion and supination of the forearm at the elbow joint, weak flexor of the arm at the glenohumeral joint)
Field 7: Extra (for example a diagram, some clinical relevant points, etc.).
When I have created this card and start studying I would like it to work something like this:
The picture of the structure is shown and it asks me for either name, origin, insertion, innervation, or action. When I press the spacebar it shows the answer + the extra field. Then it show the next question, for example action, I press spacebar and are shown the answer + the extra field.
I know that I could do this by using cloze deletions but I am trying to make it a bit more fancy.

Hello, one and all. Been lurking for a while. Thought I'd share my experience thus far. I'm a 45-year-old female who herniated L4/L5 in early January. I'm, therefore, four months, two weeks post-injury.
It's a mild-ish protrusion pressing on nerves and causing sciatica. I have never had back pain. I'm a Brit. I plan to get over this conservatively and do not intend to have any injections or surgery. Note that I have some trouble lifting my left foot and walking as normal on that side, but everything is functional. I am able to lift my toes and heels, and I have full sensation everywhere.
From my scan, disc height is compromised only a tiny bit (I have juicy discs). I have a very wide and spacious nerve canal. No other issues aside from a transitional disc below (born with more bone than disc at L5/S1, very common, and I'm luckily in the "won't cause pain" camp) and a slight bulging disc above, which isn't pressing on anything. The transitional disc is likely to have led to this injury. But moving house finally pushed me over the edge, lifting things the wrong way.

The first month

The first month was obviously painful. Terrible sleep; sciatica was awful (burning in my left calf and left foot with some right foot tingling), and I was very stiff and leaning forward most mornings. Doing McKenzie cobras in those early days helped massively. And amazingly, I kept up with walking and averaged 15,000 steps daily. It wasn't painful. But I was taking Ibuprofen and paracetamol. I believe a lot of my sciatica has been caused by inflammation.
Back then, I was seeing a physio and doing some basic pelvic tilts, bridges, calf stretches, cat/camels, and – like I mentioned – cobra poses. Otherwise, I would mostly lie on the floor, on my front, resting. Or walking outdoors. It would take me three hours just to pluck up the courage to shower. And I could only stand under the hot water for less than a minute before lying on the floor again. Sitting was impossible. I couldn't use the car. I couldn't sleep on my left side. I would crawl down the stairs each morning after barely any sleep and go straight to the drugs. I couldn't make breakfast or do anything. But as each day wore on, I'd become less stiff and more upright and be able to walk for miles.

In search of a silver bullet

I tried everything in February and March. Acupuncture, physio, McKenzie stuff... They put me on Amitriptyline initially, but I hated it. And so they gave me Gabapentin. This helped with sleep and dialled down the pain significantly (I was on 300mg three times a day). I vaguely remember a crazy day when I walked into my local town, sat, and had cake and tea with an old friend. Still to this day, I can't figure out how! Boy, those drugs worked!
By the end of March, I discovered Egoscue and began posture therapy. I did it religiously for six weeks and even began working with a therapist. But it wasn't helping. And I didn't see any improvements. I also decided to come off the Gabapentin during this time (I would later go back on it, as I was in a lot of pain), as I felt totally off my face and hated it.
Around February, I also discovered Dr Stuart McGill. And read his excellent book, Back Mechanic. I learnt about spine hygiene and loads of other helpful stuff. Gradually, little by little, turning in bed got easier (brace that core) and getting up out of bed and off the toilet became pain-free, too. But I just wasn't seeing massive improvement.

Finding the right approach

That's when I decided to see a Master Clinician under McGill. Wow. It was the best money I had ever spent, and I'd spent more on acupuncture!
He went through my scan, was the only one to tell me about the transitional disc, and asked what I'd been doing thus far. He recommended that I give the posture therapy and the walking a break, just for a few weeks, to see if we could calm the inflammation down. And so I did. I rested. I mostly lay on the floor on my front or back and only moved around the house. No outdoor walking. No McKenzie cobra poses (which I've since discovered do more harm than good long-term and adopt a gentler version McGill recommends and says is just as effective). That was back in early April. And following his advice alone? I saw immediate improvements. In fact, the very next day, I was pain-free for seven hours. I couldn't believe it – just by resting.
I only rested for three weeks, and then I decided to try walking outdoors again. My gosh. The difference after the break! I could barely do ten minutes around the block without pain. It was too much. (I could never walk first thing before either – only later on in the day. But it would usually be fine.) But my back specialist wanted me to try walking three times a day, starting small. So, I persisted. He told me to stop if walking made things worse, though. Thankfully, it's been three weeks since I began walking outdoors again, and I'm making great progress. I can now get up from bed and walk immediately (I had to give it an hour before I ventured out of the house). And I can walk for half an hour, too. Three times a day. I find that a morning walk is crucial. I am stiff and a little sore at first, but it eases. And sets me up for the day. I also enjoy two or three hours of no pain when returning home.

Finally seeing progress

Since early April, the improvements have been gradual but almost daily. They're so small sometimes that you hardly notice them! It's only when you look back that you realise how far you've come!
In the six weeks since I worked with my back specialist, I have seen the constant burning sciatica in my foot and calf mostly disappear. Initially, I had a lot of fuzzing. That has now subsided, and since then, it's gone from fuzzing to cold water feelings and tingling... with occasional burning again (mostly only in the top of my calf), but that goes quickly. Now and again, I'll get a random ten minutes of a burning foot again, but it soon disappears.
A few weeks ago, I started getting new sharp and painful jolts in my left hip. That's apparently blood returning to the nerves. For the last week, I have barely had any foot or calf issues—I mostly have sharp pulling nerve pain on my left kneecap and similar symptoms in my hip. Only in the last month have I occasionally started to get a bruised feeling in my lumbar spine.
The morning stiffness and leaning forward? Gone. I am bolt-upright every morning and feel pretty good, posture-wise. Funny enough, since I quit doing the posture therapy. Go figure!
My glutes are very tight and constantly holding themselves. I'm trying to teach them to relax, but it's tough, as I know they're protecting themselves. I've been using heat to relax them—just a microwaved wheat sack some mornings.
Under a week ago, I came off Gabapentin. And I also quit Ibuprofen about five weeks ago. The only meds I take now are paracetamol – just one dose in the middle of the night to calm my (good) right hip that gets sore from only sleeping on that side.

How far I've come

Here I am, four months and two weeks post-injury. I still can't sit on a soft surface (I use a special sciatica cushion on a dining chair), I can't sit in a vehicle for the same reason, I can't sleep on my left side, and I still have some mild foot drop but am walking better.
On a positive note, the pain symptoms are changing daily, which is apparently a good sign. I am starting to feel some back pain for the first time, too. Centralisation is perhaps occurring. Instead of lying on the floor for several hours before breakfast, I now find better relief in standing and moving around. I can also sit for short spurts on my dining chair first thing in the morning, whereas before, I'd only be able to do that from midday.
I'm sleeping better. Six or seven hours a night. It's a tad broken, but I feel rested. And when I get up in the morning? Whereas before, my left leg and foot would go crazy with fuzzing and burning, now? Nothing. A mild tingling some mornings, but otherwise, fine.
I spend more of my days moving around, standing, walking, and occasionally sitting than "resetting" on the floor. And when I do feel sciatica getting worse, a brief rest on the floor makes the pain go away. It's never 100 per cent pain-free, you understand. It's mildly uncomfortable and feels like it could get worse at any moment, but I'm good.
And I'm finding that if I overdo it, any flare-up I might have is brief and easily overcome. Whereas before, it might've been five days to recover, now it's an hour resting on the floor.
If I stand at my standing desk for too long, my lumbar ache begins. It's not painful. It just feels weird—bruised, almost unstable, like I can feel it stacked. I lie down, reset, and then I'm good to go.

What has really helped

I now know what to do to avoid triggering pain. I can tie my shoes with my foot on a bench and lunge in. I have a shoe horn – a game-changer! I also use a strapped-on ice pack when I need to calm my nerves. Less so these days. And heat on my ass when the glutes feel too tight. I only take paracetamol in the middle of the night to help me sleep. Oh, and I find going to bed with an ice pack on sometimes really helps!
The meds definitely helped in those painful early days; but I need feedback. Once I felt I could, I stopped taking everything.
During this time, I also hired a cleaner (fortnightly) and a gardener. I've not stopped working (I have no choice; I am a freelancer). And I have no kids. So I don't have to commute anywhere. I stay at home and rest, and the only time I leave the house is to walk. I also invested in a new mattress, a game changer (John Ryan Artisan Luxury, if anyone wants to know). I am very lucky in all of these respects, I know.
The walking really helps – but it was only when I stopped, rested, and allowed by body to heal that I noticed a difference in my symptoms.

Not out the woods yet...

Pain is still an issue. Evenings are the worst. I go to bed around 9pm and lying there brings relief and I have no issue going to sleep. I only wake after about three or four hours due to sleeping on the same side every night. And then easily fall back to sleep, with only a few brief waking moments. I roughly get around six or seven hours a night. And thankfully, sciatica isn't really present at night (maybe a little harmless fuzzing). Just the evenings before bed – that's when it can get intense and the burning in my calf and foot can come back tenfold. Sigh.
Mornings are my best friend now. Pain doesn't usually become an issue until much later in the day. I'll have little episodes. But I can swiftly reset myself and move on. It can get harder to reset the later in the day it becomes, too. Some days are worse than others. The good days are starting to outweigh the bad. When I have an awful day, I do feel disheartened. But then I remember how far I've come, and try and stay strong.
I don't always do my three walks, either. If that evening walk doesn't feel right, I won't do it. I'll rest. I'll ice my back and lie down. I absolutely am trying to avoid drugs. But I have ibuprofen in my cupboard, just in case!

What's next?

I'm nowhere near ready to begin strength training. And I've avoided all physio and stretching of late. I am just doing what my back specialist recommends. Some mild cat/camels to get the blood flowing, walking, resting. I take magnesium, turmeric, vitamins D and B12, omega-3. I try to avoid sugar and alcohol (I don't always succeed on that one). I'm not ready for longer walks yet. And there's no way I could take a bath, sit up in bed, or sit on the sofa.
But I am healing. This has been quite the journey, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm excited for the next phase of recovery: rehab! And boy, will I be taking it seriously—for the rest of my life! It's down to us, after all. No one can do it for us.
There are some big life events coming up that I know I'm not ready for. When they get closer, if I'm still not better, I will call my GP and ask for advice. Ibuprofen might be brought out again. Perhaps even something stronger. But if I'm one of the lucky ones, I should be seeing further progress in the coming weeks and months.
I rate my ability to function normally when I can sleep on my left side again, drive my car and when I can sit on the sofa, too! I won't mind if there is some residual pain and weakness. As long as I can function without having the crux of a floor and yoga mat nearby.

Key takeaways

• Sleep is everything. Prioritise sleep. Get a new mattress if you can. Lie on your side with a pillow between your knees or on your back with a pillow below your knees.
• Read Back Mechanic by Stuart McGill as soon as possible – learn how to avoid pain triggers.
• Take the meds when you need to. But remember, they are masking a lot of pain. So go easy!
• Drink lots of water. Stay hydrated for your spine.
• Take some supplements but do your research. I take magnesium (muscle), turmeric (anti-inflammatory), vitamins B12 (nerves) and D (bone), and omega-3 (joints and bones).
• Ice when trying to calm the nerves; heat when trying to relax the muscles.
• Try and avoid sugar and alcohol – they cause inflammation.
• Walk when you can. Start gradually. Once in the morning – as soon as you get up; once after lunch and once after dinner. Start at two minutes if you have to. Build to half an hour each time. Once you can do this with little to no pain, try some longer walks. Take long strides, swing your arms from the shoulders, and keep a good neutral posture.
• Listen to your body! Rest when you need to.
• Stay positive. Create fun little rituals throughout your days. Start a new hobby. Keep mentally strong. Call friends and family. Get people to visit you if you can.
• Only do what's essential. Sod the housework! Get food shops delivered. And develop a more relaxed attitude to everything – do you really need to sort the ironing?
• Buy some comfortable loungewear. Game-changer!
• Most of all, time is the biggest healer. These things can take up to two years to settle. The average is apparently six months. Everyone is different.

I am more than happy to answer any questions. I hope this has helped someone. It's certainly helped me to get it all on screen. And I wanted to thank this community for all I've learned this year. I hope you're not in too much pain.

So I have very specific question that could help me eliminate a possibility that my cat was shot accidentally. I do realise it's likely impossible to calculate without more details.
Assume average co2 powered BB gun shooting metal BBs, ball penetrated skin, abdominal muscle, both intestines and lodged itself in the abdominal muscle on the other side, travelling probably 6-8 cm, 10 at most, through the body.
I hope the combined brainpower of the people here can help bring justice to an awful person.

Hi, I’m almost a week into my second dose of methotrexate for my ectopic, and I’ve been having some muscle cramping/burning and have felt pretty overall sore in the arms. I’ve tried to get a model of where exactly is shoulder tip pain (I know the name is self explanatory), but I just want to know if the pain I’m having is actually in the shoulder tip. I out a diagram, to my knowledge shoulder tip pain should be where I marked “B”, and I know that others have said it’s like a super weird and distinct area to have pain. I’m currently having pain in the “A” and “C” regions, but the “A” region is concerning me because I haven’t really ever had pain there except for after an intense arm workout. I had the pain this week and had an ultrasound with the doctor who said everything looked good, but for those who experienced the shoulder top pain if you can tell me where exactly you felt it that would be really helpful.

Hi my name is Gina and I’m fundraising to help my family while I’m obtaining treatment for Graves’ Disease.
Earlier this year, I was diagnosed with Graves’ Disease, an autoimmune disorder that results in hyperthyroidism. My employer terminated me due to my illness and while I’m pursuing legal action/a settlement via a law firm working on contingency time is not on my side financially. Thankfully while Graves’ Disease is not fatal, it is a life long, chronic condition, that can have a wide range of effects on the body. In my case, breathing has become increasingly difficult, especially when trying to sleep, along with difficulty swallowing any food or liquids, thanks to inflammation in the neck and throat. Between barely being able to eat and barely being able to sleep, my life has ground to a halt, the prospect of job hunting, or maintaining myself financially through freelance and independent art work made impossible, due as well to other symptoms of the disease, such as muscle cramping and tremors. This, combined with anxiety and panic attacks further fuelled by increased thyroid hormone production, along with a host of other minor afflictions Graves’s Disease carries with it, has made life a living hell.
Thankfully, there is a simple treatment, medication and a full thyroidectomy, that can reverse these symptoms and let me lead the productive and creative life I once had. And even better, the surgery is covered by the Canadian healthcare system, but that surgery isnt until June 6, until then, and for the recovery time after, I am unable to support myself financially, or to afford the accompanying medications I will need to take for the rest of my life.
I need your help to get through this dark time and reach the other side.
Currently, my cashflow runs at a deficit of $1,200 - $1,600 a month, expected to continue another 4-8 months as I recover from surgery. To get through this time, to survive so I can later thrive, I need between $4,800-$6,400 (based on 4 months recovery) to $9,600-$12,800 (based on 8 months recovery).
Any help will be greatly appreciated. Please, give generously, so I can get my life back. if consumerism is more your taste than donations, you can peruse and arrange to purchase my art through either my Instagram @paint_splattered_cats or if you prefer art on products you can find my merchandise on Redbubble PSCats.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-gina-in-her-fight-to-get-her-graves-disease-controlled

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

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Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
Chapter 241: Until Now
The doors to the Hartzwiese Adventurer’s Guild opened.
Before, the sound of raucous laughter could be heard flooding the street outside, filling the quiet of a spring night with all the debauchery the local drunkards had to offer.
Despite the halls of adventurers not being formal drinking establishments, those within were ready to compete in boisterousness with all the taverns, inns and pubs of the town combined. And also win. Handily.
And yet–
The moment the doors parted and I stepped within, a hush as quiet as any grave fell over its inhabitants.
A woman balancing with her derrière upon the head of another became still, the alcohol in her cup the only movement as it dribbled onto a stunned face below her.
A man slurping from the communal cauldron stared wordlessly, the stew pouring in, and then out of his mouth as the muscles of his throat forgot the means to swallow.
A bartender asleep upon a row of kegs quietly rose, the sudden din of silence waking him where the sound of debauchery and those drinking from the taps beside him had failed.
Here, there, and everywhere, eyes widened as the sudden silence was filled with the sounds of my footsteps as I strolled past, my loyal handmaiden and my brother’s attendant in my wake.
And also–
Mreow.
Mrewowow.
Meww.
Cats.
Tabby cats.
Calico cats.
Ragdoll cats.
Cats with twirly whiskers. Cats with puffy faces. Cats with slightly rounded ears.
Behind me, skipping around my legs while taking turns to sit upon my shoulders and very occasionally my head, were a legion of cats of various shapes, sizes and colours.
But no matter the springiness of their whiskers, the shine of their coat or the liveliness of their tails, one thing to bring them all together was the anarchy they caused.
This was no neat line of ducklings following after their mother.
This was a barbarian horde.
With no sense of organisation other than a shared drive to claim everything as their own, they immediately skipped amidst the stunned adventurers, scavenging for all the copious scraps while still turning their noses away from the alcohol forming sticky traps upon the floor.
Saying nothing, I allowed their demanding cries to fill up the hall as I swept forwards, pausing before a wall plastered from end to end with faded notices and requests long gone unanswered.
One by one, I systemically tore every request featuring a crudely drawn image of a cat, gathering into my arms a pile of parchment large enough to reach my chin.
Then, I made my way to the wooden desk.
A receptionist waited with a smile at the ready.
“Greetings! Welcome to the Hartzwiese branch of the Adventurer’s Guild. I see you’ve removed several notices from the–”
Poomph.
Silenced but unperturbed, this latest clone watched as I dropped the stack of requests onto her desk, before promptly topping off the stack with a copper ring.
“Do what must be done,” I said, my voice defiant. “I am ready.”
The receptionist answered me with a smile more permanent than the wall the notices were torn from.
A moment later–
“[Identify].”
A green hue appeared in her clasped palms as she assessed the ring.
“Juliette. B-rank. Your registered branch is Reitzlake.”
The sound of several cups clattered against the floor.
“Welcome again to Hartzwiese. I see from your commission history that you have an extraordinary amount of completions for recovering lost cats. May I assume the significant number of cats now roaming the branch hall relate to the notices removed from the wall?”
I pursed my quivering lips.
“Maybe.”
“Wonderful. And how many cats is it that you’ve rescued?”
“... Lots.”
“I see. Please give me a moment while I confirm the requirements of our commissions.”
The receptionist swiftly retrieved a stack of parchment from a drawer.
As she flicked through, her eyes simultaneously went to every cat roaming, napping and clawing in the hall. A skill not even monstrous overseers from the abyss with their dozens of eyestalks could match. But that’s only to be expected.
Wherever these receptionists were found, it was from a level deeper than any monster dared roam.
Eventually, she gave a nod.
“Thank you for waiting. There appears to be an excess of cats in relation to the number of commissions we have available. We’ll endeavour to ensure that every cat is rehomed at the earliest opportunity through our partner agencies and charities. But unfortunately, I can only provide official acknowledgement for cats rescued through a formal commission.”
I sucked in a deep breath, hoping that patience was one of the things I accidentally inhaled.
“Fine. And how many commissions does that end up being, then? … 10? 15?”
The receptionist flicked through her bundle of parchments once more.
“94.”
“... Excuse me?”
“I can confirm the successful completion of 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions. Congratulations. This is a new record, breaking what appears to be one earlier set by yourself. A remarkable achievement befitting a B-rank member of the guild.”
The receptionist’s professional smile never wavered.
I thought that would be the worst of it.
But then–
She slowly brought her hands together … and started applauding.
It was the leak which broke the dam.
At once, she was joined by all who were present to witness this crowning moment of regret.
I turned around in time to see a riot in motion.
“W-Wooooooooooo!!!!”
“In … Incredible …”
“A new record … I … I heard it was broken in Trierport … to think I’d witness it broken again!”
“A B-rank adventurer … ?! Where … Where did she come from … ?!”
There was no polite, respectful applause here.
It was the wild cheering of a crowd at a tournament. The whooping cries of theatregoers calling for an encore. The acclaim of my father as he elbowed others to delight in the poetry I’d written when I was 6 and thus now regularly attempted to burn.
Everywhere I turned, I saw and heard the acclaim mixed with shouts of horror as mugs of alcohol were spilled on purpose and by accident. The layabouts stomped on the floor, doing their best to murder decorum under the strain of unbridled emotion.
Only a few falling teardrops formed any hint of more dignified revelry, the glimmer of admiration running down cheeks as sniffles were hidden amidst the raucous cheering.
And then I bore witness to the most morbid sight.
Like a tidal wave of soiled clothes and snotty faces, they suddenly came as one, hands reaching out for me with dripping mugs still in their grips. Horror struck at my soul. And unlike a farmer who’d scarpered into the night, I had nobody who could heal a wound caused by hooligans accepting me as their own.
“A-Amazing!! Take my drink! Take anyone’s drink!!”
“So many cats rescued … even my allergies can’t believe it!”
“My gods, it’s a legend! An adventurer among adventurers!”
This.
This right here.
This was the lowest point of my life … were I not an unparalleled genius.
“Oho … ohoho …”
At once, the wave halted.
Faces which were lit up in unabashed delight turned to looks of mild confusion against the tinkling music of my laughter.
They needed to cycle through the expressions until they reached horror and shame.
“Ohhohohohohohoho!!”
… For I was no drunkard seeking to join their ranks!
No … I was Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea!
And that meant every action I took, every word I spoke, and every cat I saved was for a reason beyond the hopes and dreams these hoodlums had of wanton debauchery and rusting swords!
Indeed!
A lesser princess than I may slink away into the night, cowed by the utter shame, humiliation and disgrace of completing so many F-ranked requests that I somehow broke a record I’d only just set!
But I was made of greater things!
Of schemes and subterfuges so deep that it would take too long to explain! The plots I weaved were a silken web more intricate than any cogs which made up Coppelia as she doubled up, desperately trying to stop herself from succumbing to more pain from laughter!
And that meant with every cat request now denied to these louts … they would finally do some work!
“Ohoho … ohohohohoho!! Behold and be afraid! Witness before you the coming of a new dawn, here to lift you from your days of boundless reverie! Unfurl the shutters and gaze upon a radiance so pure it brands your dallying minds! The scorching sun has come to test the snail’s back, and all that your bleary eyes see is a great salt lake to devour you whole! Shrivel as you cling upon the sweat which drips upon your brow, for that is the proof you’re yet alive!”
A sudden silence met my proclamation of their coming ordeal.
And then–
“Wooooooooooooooooooooooo!”
“I don’t understand! But what a speech!”
“If she can do it, so can we!”
I raised a hand to my lips, barely covering my smile.
“Ohhhohohohohohohoho … !”
Here it was!
Operation: Gainful Employment!
An entirely new strategy, as bold as it was uncharted!
By removing what was surely the vast majority of missing cat quests available to the adventurers of this town, they would have no choice, utterly none whatsoever, but to engage in actual work! The type of work adventurers openly advertised themselves as doing!
Monster subjugation! Crime prevention! Fetching artifacts from hidden dungeons and then succumbing to their wounds at the entrance while the Royal Treasury pocketed the treasure!
Yes, this was clearly a highly experimental tactic.
But what was I, if not a bastion of creativity?
At the very least, I utterly refused to accept the status quo! An organisation dedicated exclusively to rescuing lost cats or elbowing into my kingdom’s sovereign affairs was no good to me!
Thus … I could not cower like some towngirl nauseous from the smell of their revelry.
Instead, I would squeeze the Adventurer’s Guild dry until the day I replaced them with an army of trained poodles. Until that joyous day, I could never tear my eyes away when they waited to be robbed.
To do so was more than a dereliction of duty …
Why, I’d be an accomplice to their drunken escapades!
My vow remained unchanged. For my goal, I would brave any indignity. The ring I was hoping the receptionist would forget to return was proof of that.
And thus–
I stood tall as a summer reed, proud in the knowledge that I had no need to feel even an inkling of embarrassment over completing 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions! …
“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft.”
“S-Stop at once! You are not to laugh!”
“Pffffttt~”
“C-Coppelia!!”
Clearly not seeing the angel of self-sacrifice who I was, Coppelia held one hand tightly around her mouth. Even so, she failed to stop either the sound of her amusement or the tears falling from her eyes.
My only salvation was that it came at significant cost to her. Even now, she careened between laughter and painful regret.
I decided to offer both her and myself mercy.
Turning to the receptionist, I found a modest pouch already waiting upon the wooden desk. As well as a copper ring waiting beside it.
“Thank you for your service to the Adventurer’s Guild,” said the receptionist, her professional smile undaunted by the commotion. “Your total remuneration is 102 gold crowns, 7 silver crowns and 9 copper crowns. I’ve taken the liberty to compile all your separate payments together.”
I took the pouch and ignored the ring.
The receptionist pushed the ring forwards.
A long moment later, I collected it, uncertain what a receptionist would do if I tossed it into the communal cauldron, but knowing it would somehow still end up on my finger regardless.
With my head held high, I bravely ignored the chorus of voices unknowingly cheering for their own hardship as I swept past. Renewed tears and applause filled the hall. A few cats attempted to follow me. I stopped to shoo them away.
And then I was outside, the door closing behind me.
“... Goodness, that was quite the sight,” said Renise with a bemused smile. “It reminded me somewhat of the inns of Reitzlake’s docks. I wonder if all the halls of adventurers are like that, or merely those which you frequent?”
“Please don’t insinuate I’m responsible for the debauchery which occurs wherever the Adventurer’s Guild is concerned. That’s something I can claim no credit for.”
“You say that … but to me, it seems that you caused quite a stir. That really is a remarkable number of cats you rescued, after all. Even I can tell that 94 simultaneous F-ranked commissions–”
“Miss Renise.”
The maid’s smile wavered against whatever fatigued expression I was making.
A moment later, it fell away entirely as she switched to her role as my brother’s attendant and the leader of whatever scoundrels he’d charged her with herding.
“... Yes, I suppose there’s time for idle conversation later. There’s a guardhouse nearby. We should report on all that’s happened tonight.”
I gave a nod of agreement.
Hopefully, the baroness hadn’t woken from her stupor yet. But if she had, I was certain the single portrait of myself I’d returned to the wall of her gallery to smile down at her gagged and bound state would calm her nerves.
Renise hummed towards the direction of Hartzwiese’s centre, before returning her attention to me.
“If you wish to keep your identity incognito, I can see guards sent to where they’re needed using my own authority, and arrange for the appropriate seizure of the goods and crowns we’ve discovered.”
I beamed at once.
My, so prudent! It’s little wonder she was chosen by Roland!
“A judicious offer. And one I’ll accept gladly, providing the burden isn’t too severe.”
“This is merely an administrative task, and little burden compared to what both yourself and Miss Coppelia regularly perform. In any event, it is only efficient. I expect I’ll be spending a significant amount of time at the baroness’s farmstead. It is quite extensive. If possible, I would like to make use of it for Rose House. I imagine having such a facility close to the Granholtz border would have its uses.”
I nodded, already forgetting the barn’s existence.
“I encourage you to use your discretion as required. My brother has put his trust in you, and so I both expect and know that you shall not disappoint in furthering the kingdom’s prosperity.”
The young woman smiled. One filled with appreciation, but also lacking ambition.
Good.
An excellent combination as far as retainers were concerned.
“Thank you. Although I worry you place too much trust in my abilities. In truth, those like Baroness Arisa would have made for a greater asset to the kingdom. Her resourcefulness must be acknowledged.”
“It is not resourcefulness my kingdom requires. It is loyalty. And hers is a pit so empty it drains others.”
“That’s true. But at least we were able to acquire some useful things from her nonetheless.”
Renise pulled out a tiny vial from the belt around her thigh.
A golden liquid was stored within, glimmering with an unnatural light.
“These were in her chamber,” she said, her eyes lacking emotion as she surveyed the bright liquid. “When we met, she actually attempted to purchase my loyalty with this.”
“A suspect vial. How quaint. And what miracle did she promise?”
“One that would wake my parents from their curse of eternal slumber.”
“... And is it?”
“I don’t believe so, no. This is one of many identical vials I found in her chamber’s desk drawer. All prominently labelled with instructions to only drink as required to stave off the effects of bloating.”
Renise returned the vial to her belt with a slightly embarrassed smile.
“It’s still useful,” she admitted. “But just not for what I require.”
I gave a simple nod as my reply.
Nothing else needed to be said.
She hoped to see her parents wake from their prison of dormancy. An understandable wish. And one I wasn’t required to supplement with the comment that no pair named the Smuggler King and the Smuggler Queen were likely to receive as light a sentence as their daughter.
I could not speak on behalf of Roland. Although I imagined that as a kind man, he would prefer not to pass judgements which were total. But as the Crown Prince, he did not have the luxury of kindness.
It would take much to change their fate.
But perhaps that’s why Renise was here, still proving true, and not accepting stomach ailment potions from a baroness.
A moment of silence followed.
Renise gave a short sigh. And that was that.
She set her eyes on the task ahead–at least until whatever words she’d parted her mouth to say were interrupted by Coppelia’s humming instead.
“Sooooooooooooooo … you just want to wake up two people eternally sleeping, right?”
A small smile met her optimistic voice.
“If a cure were readily available, I’m certain I would have found it by now. I believe one might be possible, but it would take skill and ingredients beyond any apothecary I know of.”
“Well, sure, you could go that way. But what about going straight to the source instead?”
“The source?”
“Sure. They’re asleep, right? So just ask the one in charge of where they are now.”
“I’m … not quite sure I follow?”
Coppelia clapped her hands together and beamed.
“The Spring Court is the realm of dreams. Chances are, they must have shown their faces around a few times by now. If you ask the Spring Queen nicely, she might do you a favour.”
“The Spring Queen? … The fae?”
“Mmh~ luckily, we have someone with connections here!”
Renise was startled out of her reply.
It was nothing compared to me. The one being pointed at.
“Coppelia!” I said, truly aghast at the suggestion. “The fae are not to be taken lightly. Why, I still have nightmares about my conversation with the Winter Queen! I learned a side to royalty that day which I shall never forget … and I’m quite poorer for it!”
“You met … the Winter Queen?” asked Renise, her eyes suddenly wide.
“Unfortunately, yes, but I had zero intention of meeting her, and I’ve just as little intention of meeting any other fae as well. Including the Spring Queen.”
I waved away the coming query to declare what was just as important as my lack of enthusiasm.
“Besides, I’ve not the foggiest idea how I would even hope to use these supposed connections I have.”
“Oh, that’s the easy bit,” said Coppelia, her casual disregard for what counted as ‘easy’ more terrifying than any lout I’d met today. “The hard part is getting them to do what you want. But meeting them? The fae are creatures of stories. If the time is right, they’ll speak to you–one way or another.”
“Then they must book an appointment. One which I can formally reject.”
“I mean, I don’t think you have much choice. You didn’t last time, right?”
“The last time, I was sat beside the Winter Queen’s crown. I see no fae artifacts to hook me away. And that means utterly no scenario in which I could be abducted without my express–”
I suddenly stopped, clasping my hands around my mouth.
A moment later, I raised my arms in a martial art I’d just invented, turning repeatedly on the spot.
Renise blinked at me.
“Excuse me, but what are–”
“Shhshhshh!!”
I paused, gazing intently around at the quiet, dark streets of Hartzwiese, all the while ignoring Coppelia’s giggling at my near miss.
That … That was close!
“O-Oho … oho … I almost invited something terrible. Truly, it’s perhaps best not to needlessly voice things which Fae Queens and their deviant brand of magic could use …”
Coppelia nodded at me, as proud as she was clearly disappointed.
“You’re lucky. If the Spring Queen had a sense of humour, she’d have snagged you right there and then.”
“No. If the Spring Queen had a sense of humour, she’d wait until–”
Click.
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This happened last year, in November.
So, I was up early in morning, i found out I didn't have work that morning. And I decided to meditate, just visualizing meditating in my astral body in outer space. A being somehow approaches me from the backdrop of space, asking to connect, so I did, and I felt that this was a very tall, skinny, pale, kindly and intelligent being, taller than the Greys i know. I asked what this being was curious about, and the being humbly asked me for some data.
He Said; "I would like to see human interaction with their pets, if that's alright?"
And gestured to my cat near my body. I looked at my kitty, and the being said;
"yes!"
Emphatically, as there was some communication errors between us. So I pet my cat, and conveyed to the being how i understand my cat's cues, and how we share space and affection for one another. The being was very pleased.
He said; "It is the same! We call our dear animal companions differently, but the relationship dynamic is the same as humans have for their 'pets'. This is good data. Thank you for sharing."
He was very grateful to me. And I was happy to help, I decided to ask him if I could have information from him in exchange for my help, and he agreed easily, saying; "Ask anything of me."
I first asked to see him more clearly, and he agreed readily. I teleported to his location with my astral body, and sensed I was on a dimly lit ship of some kind. I was immediately struck by his appearance. He was easily double my height(I'm just over 5ft tall) and white other than his eyes. Not like a white human being, he Glowed white. his skin shined a white color, and he had a bright, emanating white aura about two to three inches from his body. his eyes were dark but I didn't get a good look at them. He was however, tall and lanky akin to the Greys i normally met(6ft-7'6ft tall).
I then asked him about his group, in the context of how it relates to other groups in space, around earth at that moment. I told him that alot of humans on earth were confused about the dynamics of different beings around earth, and that if he could give me any clarifying information to communicate with my fellow humans, it would help alot because there is alot of confusion there.
He agreed eagerly, and said; "Oh i can help with that easily."
He showed me a circle, and said; "Imagine, that this circle, represents a defining line, separating the inner part, where ETs that are interested in all earth has to offer are, and the outer area outside the circle where ETs that have no interest in Earth at all are."
I visualized the circle, and he added that the line itself, is what separated the groups, noting that groups inside the circle, but closer to the line, would be less interested in earth, than groups farther into the center of the circle.
Then he said; "Now visualize a very small circle, in the center of the large one, that is earth."
And I did that. Then he projected the circle high above me, with the earth circle still inside it, he made it huuuuge, like a planetarium projection/display above my head. He said; "Now I will add groups."
And the large circle representation filled with a bunch of small ovals, representing ET groups, some clustered near earth, others clustered to the outer area of the big circle, even more, were outside the circle.
I asked him how many ovals(groups) were outside the circle. He laughed and said;
"A truly endless amount, there is no end to all that are out there to be found."
So, I looked at all the ovals, and I asked him about the ones clustered around Earth, marked by a line from Earth to them, and he said;
"The ones close to Earth, communicate that they walk the Earth in some sense, or have outposts on Earth, or otherwise interact with humans in some direct or physical way."
I asked about one oval that overlapped with the Earth, and he said; "Those are the 'reptilian like group' native to Earth, they overlap because Earth is also their home."(The phrase is in parenthesis, because he was borrowing my terminology for them, 'Saurians.')
Then he said;
"Now, I will show you categories to distinguish groups."
He created 4 distinctions, and made the whole representation a 3d transparent sphere within a sphere with 3d ovals in my mind's eye;
(1)'ETs interacting with humans for humanity's benefit,'
(2)'ETs interacting with humans for their own benefit'
(3)'ETs interacting with or studying Earth life other than humans'
(4)'ETs studying or interacting with the Earth itself.'
He then projected these distinctions onto the big sphere, and the majority of the 3d ovals were sorted in these categories, from closest to Earth to farthest, with the most of them being between the first two distinctions.
He showed that a sizable amount of groups were still, not even here for humans, but just for animals, plants, the earth, etc.
He also showed that some groups were in several or more than one distinction at the same time.
I asked him what group was his, where did his group fall?
And he showed me that his group existed in the distinctions between 1 and 3, halfway from Earth to the outer sphere.
I asked him how his group was that way, and he explained, that, in his civilization, it is known that all living beings occupy niches and environments that overlap with the surrounding lifeforms.
He explained that in a forest, all creatures overlap areas and lifestyles around each-other, and that in encountering and approaching or seeing each other, intrinsic boundaries are communicated between lifeforms.
He taught me that every interaction with other creatures is actually a valuable communication that teaches other lifeforms my boundaries, even if I haven't realized or haven't intentionally tried to do that. So he continued, that his civilization, in being aware of that, lives harmoniously with many other lifeforms on their planet. He explained that humans, are actually already very close to living in harmony with other animals, since so many animals already share urban environments with humans, even if humans don't like that, or don't see that. He explained that his group's goal, his goal, is to learn enough about humans, and Earth animals, to teach and show humans how to live with, and how to maintain living with, other creatures in a safe, harmonious, and non-polluting, natural, way.
And to that end, he is learning about humans and their pets.
I dwelled on the sphere graph/diagram he was still showing me, and I asked him why, some, but only a small number, of 3d ovals inside the circle, didn't fall into any of the distinctions he made. He laughed, and explained that some ETs are here to study ETs, not humans, and not the Earth.
I was very surprised by this, but he laughed again, and said, some beings, or civilizations, just don't prioritize humans, or studying humans at all.
I understood him, and I remarked how surprising that was.
He said I was right to be surprised though, since these groups barely ever interacted with humans, and humans would only, if ever, see these groups, in the backgrounds of ships, interacting with other ETs.
I asked him what type of things these outlier groups are studying, and he replied; "Some of what(things) they are here for, are/is so abstract, you physically cannot imagine it, even if I tried to show you."
I shared my amazement with him for that, how incredible that they study or interact with things I cannot comprehend, only vaguely related to Earth in any way.
And he agreed with me, explaining that it is an inevitable situation for a civilization as young as humanity.
I conveyed my gratitude to him, and i asked him if I could know his name(if he had one), to honor him and this knowledge he shared, and give other humans a future possibility of meeting him.
He showed me a concept of some kind of physical principle or constant, that keeps separation between distinctly different things, like matter, vibrations, complexity, etc.
I didn't quite understand, so he looked through my memories, to see what I knew, and he said his name, was "Surface Tension". I thanked Surface Tension for his time, and he thanked me for mine, and both he and I let the connection end.
​
Feel free to ask any questions, i really enjoyed meeting him, and I will enclose approximate drawings of what he showed me(i am no artist) in my comment.

Over the course of my 4 year marriage to my partner, I have arrived at the position that I was abused, manipulated, and functionally enslaved to a mentally ill partner.
In simplest form, the progression is apparently observable. She was diagnosed with cancer in October of 2019 while we were engaged. Due to the diagnosis, we moved up our actual marriage date (our wedding was still set for mid-April) to December 1, 2019. Her surgery was December 13, 2019. In my compassion for her, I agreed to move our wedding date up to offset her anxiety around who would be responsible for her if things went south with her surgical treatment.
Our first month of marriage was straightforward; she was on pain meds recovering from surgery, so the main engagement that occurred was me walking her up and down the hospital hallway as she recovered and trying to meet her base physical needs of hygiene, food, and presence. We stayed in the hospital for 2-3 weeks (with recurring hospital visits for complications).
Quickly after we figured out our marital living situation in her small 3-bed apartment with 2 roommates, our relationship devolved. Specifically, she was irritable because of the pain she was in, causing her to lash out at me with regular frequency for small things. If I didn’t put clothes away in the right place, didn’t anticipate her needs (without her communicating them), or ate the wrong food in front of her she would shout at me and decry me for my thoughtlessness.
These small, critical engagements were wounding and created a distance between us – and there was no upside. She was never kind, never paid mind to needs I might have, and started down a path of cultivating a root of bitterness in her soul. She quickly revealed herself to be venomous, hateful, and vindictive when she felt like she was wronged — and any observation of concern about our marriage resulted me in being accused of being mean or insensitive, even if I spent hours or days calculating the best way to share my concern (and I have a master’s degree in communication where I focused in studying disagreement — I know how to carefully package concerns).
During this time, I worked hard to provide for us, foreseeing a significant time period where I would have to be primary financial provider and caregiver. I increased my income each year we were married by around 25%, finishing our marriage at >$80,000 in yearly income, compared to starting our marriage at a modest $42,000 salary (including dramatically improving our healthcare). Frankly, I increased my income to provide for us in spite of the lack of support at home.
But to be clear: I don’t think it would have been particularly difficult to provide financially if I had an ounce of support at home.
However, the relentless criticism and expectation of mind-reading continued through the years. I rationalized this abuse for the first year of our marriage because of all the excuses to be cruel, she had a good one – she had cancer. I hung onto a hope that it would stop. Contrary to my hope, as the years went on – and our expenses climbed – and I continued to work myself to the bone – she continued to relentlessly critique and even started being more emotionally demanding, expecting me to take responsibility for her inability to cope with her emotions – I was drowning. She was asking too much of me. There was no deliverance from her abuse.
I was exhausted. In the peak of the abuse I endured at her hand, I was working multiple jobs, sleeping 10+ hours a night and napping frequently during the day around meetings and work, then coping with alcohol to numb myself to the abusive dynamic and fall asleep with no support from her. The only time I could approach her sexually was when I was intoxicated, with inhibitions lowered. The only time I could have a conversation with her was with a counselor in the room. Without something to mitigate opportunity for her to be cruel to me, either a mediator or self-medication, I was scared.
I lived at home in a constant state of alert and cognitive fatigue. No matter how I tried to make sense of my home life, I couldn’t. When she looked at or touched me, I would recoil in fear, anticipating some sort of incisive critique or demand expressed. Then she would criticize me for not responding warmly to her, exacerbating the cycle.
I couldn’t meet her needs – I was utterly exhausted. When I would tell her of the exhaustion I experienced in marital counseling, her responses were typically something along the lines of not believing me, denying what I was saying was true, or calling my exhaustion an ‘excuse’. I could interact happily with my friends… why not her?
I did not deny her demands were legitimate; rather, I expressed my inability to meet them because of how fatigued I was. I said ‘I can’t’ so many times. I realize her demands were small; affection, saying ‘i love you’, complimenting her. But it’s disorienting to be consistently berated and belittled by a person and then asked to compliment them and tell them you love them.
The push and pull of abuse is exhausting to a person who is not mentally because it does not make sense.
Further, in counseling I realized that I have forgotten that I have needs. I have lost the tools to even evaluate what my needs might be because, implicitly and explicitly in my marriage, I was told my needs don’t matter.
My marriage made no sense; I was obviously drowning, exhausted with the demands our life imposed on me. I was doing everything I could to get straight. I was in individual therapy, marital counseling, pastoral counseling, trying different antidepressants (4 in total – all with no effect), changing eating habits, trying to reduce my drinking, getting medical tests to see if I had health issues causing my fatigue, and being vulnerable in my friendships in an attempt to invite others in to process and move forward and figure out my marriage. I desperately shared everything I could about my marriage, hoping someone else would crack the code where I couldn’t.
None of my efforts worked. I could not get out of the exhausted state I was in. It’s worth noting here that within weeks of separating I almost completely cut out alcohol, got into a regular sleep schedule, was waking up at 6-7am every day and reading multiple hours (which I couldn’t do in marriage due to cognitive fatigue/distraction), and experienced a resurgence of energy. I have felt the duress I was under lift and lift and lift and the weeks and months have went on.
In retrospect, I was experiencing cognitive fatigue because I was taking the demands my wife was placing on me seriously, but no matter what I did I could not make sense of them. How could she not see that I was doing everything I could to make ends meet – the ends which she was imposing on me? I did not have additional energy left. She would ask me ‘Do you love me?’ and I didn’t know how to respond. How is my work not at least some symbol of love? My dream was to be a poor professor, which she knew – instead I was grinding myself to the bone, working in digital marketing with multiple freelance projects, picking up a bartending gig and a teaching gig on top of full-time employment.
The last straw was when she accused me of abuse. I took that accusation seriously, and weighed it against my experience. ‘Am I an abuser?’ I asked myself. I sorted through my behavior and how I treated her. I came to the conclusion that I may be a poor husband in serious ways; but I am not an abuser. And the abuse question opened the door to the question… ‘I may not be an abuser… but is there abuse in our marriage?’ And the answer quickly became ‘Yes.’
When we were married, I understood that she wasn’t going to work much for a while. However, she worked the bare minimum she could for 4 years, earning at most in a single year $18,000. As the years went on and my income climbed, our debt continued to climb as well. She was still contributing the same, yet spending frivolously on useless knick knacks for our home and a cat. As I packed up our home to sell, the majority of items were dozens of boxes of useless junk she’d accumulated.
She lived a life of mania around finances. We would go to marital counseling and she would regularly express, ‘I would rather be poor and happy than rich and sad’. We were poor and sad. Sure, my income was the highest it’d ever been – but we were still drowning, with debts climbing. At the end of our marriage, we’d accumulated about $20,000 in consumer debt between credit cards and personal loans.
It was traumatizing (and abusive) to go to counseling and be told by my partner she would ‘rather be poor and happy and than rich and sad’ when the factual scenario we were living was neither. She actively denied reality – both my lived experience and the reality of our finances – at my expense. It was killing me, trying to make sense of what we were going through but being unable to make sense of what I was being told and what I was experiencing.
Throughout this time, it is worth adding that she also leveraged my spiritual leadership to ‘set me straight’. I was in a conservative Evangelical space, believing that men are the ultimate provider in a family unit and primarily responsible for the status of the marriage. Because I was not doing what she wanted me to (lavishing her with affection), I was muscled into multiple groups and meetings where pastoral care intervened to restore our marriage. In the moment, I submitted to my pastoral care because of my trust for them and my faith in God. Now, I believe this dynamic was abusive; my pastoral care did not care in any sense for my soul; they only cared about fixing my marriage. No questions around ‘why’ my marriage was so bad were asked; only what was going on and how it could be fixed. I relish the thought of my pastoral care being held accountable for the abuse they exercised upon me during this time on judgment day, albeit through a shaken faith in a God that would enable this dynamic.
With my spiritual community, I shared that I felt like she was my tormentor; that she it felt as if I were on the ground due to exhaustion, and she was standing on my throat, telling me to ‘get up’ and ‘tell me you love me’; that our metaphorical life was a boat, sinking, and I was desperately bailing out water. All the while, she stood at the other end of the boat, desperately bailing water in and looking at me like I was a maniac.
And yet, because there was no adultery, there was no category for divorce. We had sworn an oath before God and were required to fix this.
As I reflect upon my marriage (and the ongoing divorce proceedings), a few things are clear.
She is an abuser. I don’t think she intends to be, but impact matters. She is mentally ill and unable to reckon with basic reality.
She is a manipulator. She manipulated my spiritual community against me. I was viewed as someone to be corrected while begging for help from my trusted friends and pastoral care, whom I now regret being vulnerable with due to their abuse and denial of my reality because I didn’t fit neatly into their thin theological categories.
She is an enslaver. In divorce proceedings, she is doing everything she can to get every dollar from me, leveraging student loans I did not co-sign, my continually increasing income due to my hard work, and denying every claim of dissipated assets she can.
It is truly a mind-breaking experience to see your compassion leveraged against you for money. I had to sit under an attorney proclaiming to a judge that, since I consented to move up our marriage date before her cancer surgery, ‘I knew what I was getting into’. That she is entitled to large sums of money (that do not exist; we never had more than $3000 in our bank account during marriage) due to that decision.
Even apart from the abuse, I did not know what I was getting into. Including the abuse, I am full of remorse for having invited such an evil, hateful person into my life.
This experience has been the most challenging to my faith. As I endured abuse from her, I trusted God in a few ways. That the compassion I showed would maybe be rewarded – or, at least not punished. That my spiritual community wanted what was best for me. That God was not a punitive, hateful God (like my partner). I do not believe this trust was well placed, but am open to shortcomings in my views here.
I struggle to consent to a God that allowed my experience to occur. I’m open and processing in some kind of faith, but I really don’t know what it looks like to find a place to put this pain and betrayal that I’m experiencing.
I am a survivor of abuse, and the abuse I endured was mind-shattering. I sacrificed everything to support a partner diagnosed with serious bodily illness, which drove her to hate me and deny my lived experience because she could not reconcile it with the hatefulness she cultivated over our marriage, choosing bitterness over any positivity for four years, poisoning my well-being in the process.
What I envisioned to be the most compassionate moment of my life — marrying a person with cancer and promising to support and love them — has become nothing but a symbol of pain and remorse. I envisioned a life where my partner and I would fight against the terror of cancer; instead she hopped to the other side, choosing her ongoing health issues as the ally and myself as the enemy.
It took me 4 years to realize it. And as she drags me through court to leverage every dollar out of me I can, my only regret is that I didn’t leave my abuser to her own devices sooner; self-pity, hatefulness, and a sheer disregard toward taking responsibility for anything.
I am grateful but drowning. As we are negotiating settlement, the end is near, and my abuser will soon be unable to execute any influence in my life.

OCD
This is a story about humans and animals,
In the same way a story may be about dogs and animals, cats and animals, fish and animals, bugs and animals, or birds and animals.
Snow.
All Sacrosanct could see for a million paces was snow — or were they clouds? The two began to merge at the boundaries of his sight as he stood at the peak of a national mountain. It must’ve been the tallest in town — or at least the top five.
It was a scenic landscape. A blank canvas accentuated by the unoften protrusions of mountain peaks. No trees, no birds, no plants, no animals. Only stone and snow. It was the type of serenity the usually outgoing Sacrosanct couldn’t help but be entranced by. It was an infectious zen.
He had never been this high up in the sky before — never above the clouds. Perhaps this was how the Goddess and the demon God viewed the world — or once viewed it, anyway. Blinding. Both the light that reflected off the white, and the clouds that obscured the sight. It was blinding to be a god.
The hero somehow felt that the mountain seemed familiar. If the nature of the monument was anything to go by — its dramatic shape as if it had received an earth-shattering blow against its side — this must’ve been New Amstangrad. The home of the humans.
“...Now how the hell do I get down from here?”
Before the blistering cold could begin to seep into his skin, Sacrosanct quickly activated his talent to keep himself warm. He hated the cold more than anything else, and it’d been terrible to arrive at the castle cold-ridden. The hero first began to move himself around, gaining momentum and tempo. It would be important to keep conscious amidst the blinding snow and to not fall asleep. Thankfully, it was he who found himself mysteriously atop a mountain and not anyone else.
Before he knew it, his body already began to warm up, then in an instant, his body was lit ablaze by his internal ‘passion’.
Now that he was warm and alive, he could finally begin critically processing the information he was given. Two main aspects of his current situation bothered him:
Firstly, he felt a bit younger, by around 4 or 5 years. Perhaps something had healed him from his injuries over the years, and his joints felt better than ever. The massive scar on his back stayed intact though, but then again, it was almost a part of his identity now anyways. This was one of the greatest consequences of being in the hero ‘business’; the deterioration of the body.
Day in and day out, he always worked his muscles off his bones. It must’ve been especially difficult compared to other historic heroes as he was a hero in a newly built nation under a new King. But then again, that King was his friend, June, so perhaps he had it better than he thought.
A core memory of his was when June celebrated Wundermastenn for the first time as a King. It had been an especially long and difficult year, as she rebuilt the nation from its core with the help of neighbouring kingdoms. The winter season was the only time she could relax and celebrate their achievements.
Sacrosanct still remembered her face when the mountain of presents for her was unveiled on the day of Wundermastenn. As a former thief, she must’ve never seen so many valuable items — for her to legally own. However, it was not about the value of the gifts, nor their quality or quantity. The true Wundermastenn gift was the love that June now knew she received. She no longer had to steal in the cold, unforgiving streets of Amstangrad, but now celebrated in the warm company of others, and worked to build a nation in which no one would ever have to suffer as she did.
Cold. Warm. It is vital for all creatures to be together, but sometimes, people need to be away and alone from each other. This was the first time in a while that he had the leisure to reminisce about the past. This was the first time in a while that he was alone. Alone with his thoughts. In the company of nothing but snow, Sacrosanct could finally see how much he had changed on the inside over these last few years, but on the outside, he was not much different. In the end, he was still an elf named Sacrosanct, and probably not the only one.
Secondly… why was he atop a mountain? The last memory he could conjure was of the time when he battled his greatest foe, the demon lord… Baroque — that was his name. Though to be completely honest, his true greatest foe was the old Amstangrad.
The hero supposed that the demon lord was a sort of manifestation of Amstangrad. Its fascistic qualities inspired Baroque and many others. It was a sort of intrinsic genetic disease in all sentient life, though there were many such things. Sacrosanct believed that the human evils — greed, lust, pride and such — were not human evils. Rather, they were universal evils shared by all sentient life forms. He knew best as an elf.
He believed that if dogs were smart enough, with enough time, they would also create a fascist nation. The real question would be how long they would last, and how large of an impact it would make.
It was just that kind of world. A world that encouraged dogs to eat dogs, and humans to eat humans. None were any different. Given weapons, life will kill.
And given a weapon he was. Sacrosanct had one of the greatest weapons of them all. A talent originating from the heavens, granted by the Goddess.
On that Wundermastenn day, June too was given a gift. An extraordinary gift from the kingdom of Sonosis. A weapon of mass destruction.
At the corner of his eye, he spotted a white rabbit, cleverly hiding amidst the winter snow. From the look of things, it would take hours to hike down the mountains, and like all animals, Sacrosanct had to eat somehow.
“...Well, sorry, little guy,” said Sacrosanct, “I need to return to New Amstangrad as soon as possible!”
Return to New Amstangrad… Sacrosanct had said so as if it was his second nature, but he remembered his promise to June, to never look back. He would return to his home in Championnat, and he’d reunite with his dear friend if fate willed it so.
Sacrosanct wondered if June had any plans to use the weapon, as he aimed his finger to blast it with a fire spell.
In a single moment, the heat travelled through the air, the intensity of the passion transforming all air in the way to plasma. The surrounding area became blinding as the white snow reflected the shining fireball. It was like a shooting star or a meteorite, travelling and lighting up the sky until it met its target.
However, as Sacrosanct walked to retrieve the body of the rabbit before it burned too much, the snow atop the mountain began crumbling as an avalanche began.
“Woah?!”
It seemed that a single spell was all it took to destabilize the carefully stacked snow, and soon, the hero was swept away in a torrent of white, sending him away again into another place, another time.

Tissue
Polysemous title- Tissue • Tissue- paper + skin (human life is fragile [criticises arrogance, encourages us to protect]) • Also paper (not alive) + skin (alive)- criticises monotony of life, not really living • Tissue paper- found in bibles and holy texts, but fragile (overinflated importance of identity causing wars and discrimination, really it’s very fragile and identity isn’t real, we’re all just people (tissue as in skin)) • Tissue- used to wipe away tears, togetherness can reduce suffering • Tissue- medical term for deep skin- poem shows deeper nature of humans and our potential for goodness, can be wounded and damaged by outside influences but can always heal
"Paper that lets the light shine through, this is what could alter things" - reference to religious texts paper, light as Jesus and Allah (power of religion) - or coexistence with nature (Dharker is a Muslim Calvinist)
Enjambment- freedom, lack of control of humans, rejecting constraints
Free verse- same thing
"Let the daylight break through capitals and monoliths" - power of nature, criticism of authority, weakness of humans- “break” violent personification, destroying authority, daylight + break = sunrise + hope
"The sun shines through their borderlines" - nature overcomes human segregation identity, criticism of war, power of nature) sibilance shows power, “their” still shows separation, criticise that
"fly our lives like paper kites" - childish metaphor, mocking control of money over life (criticism of authority)
"the back of the Koran" - “the” repetition shows importance, “back” shows it is hidden/shunned by society, still holding onto identity
"Transparent" - repetition, criticism of dishonesty of authority
Exposure
"Merciless iced east winds that knive us" - personification of wind shanking people (first line not about war but nature- more significant) (power of nature)- subtle sibilance (just as dangerous as bullets but most people don’t realise)- Germans were in the east, but the only thing from there is wind
ABBAC rhyme, structure is built only to be taken down (tension of soldiers expecting fight but let down)
Pararhyme- unsatisfying for reader, reflects how the soldiers are always nervous but never get to chill
“What are we doing here?” Rhetorical question to criticise authority, or actual question to show PTSD confusion, can be asking what they are DOING or why they are HERE
"For love of God seems dying" ok 1. The soldier's love of God is dying 2. God's love for the soldiers is dying 3. To show love of God, you should die
"forgotten dreams" - juxtaposition, loss of hope, forgotten dreams on purpose to be less sad? war made them forget? “forgotten” disassociated from PTSD, “dreams” as happiness from the past that seems unreal
“a dull rumour of some other war" reference to the Bible and Armageddon, metaphorical end of the world for the soldiers be suffering "sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence" - sibilance represents sound of bullets, jolting reader out of relative lack of noises, feel like soldiers
Epistrophe "but nothing happens" cyclical structure, stuck in suffering
“we” “us” “our” collective pronouns, shared experience, comradeship, loss of identity, relatable to all soldiers
Kamikaze
Title- single word, only military rank- only seen as a kamikaze pilot by others
Structure- 6 lines per stanza but free verse and lots of enjambment- conflict between control and freedom (military/social expectations/duty vs love for family/nature/memories/life)
Constant shifts between first person and third person- disconnect from family due to shame
“Her father embarked at sunrise” -sunrise as power of nature + Japan’s military flag- conflict
“a shaven head full of powerful incantations” -incantations are deliberately vague- orders from military? prayers? inner conscience against it? It’s “powerful” tho and influences him, and it’s “full” showing his distress, shaved head like most kamikaze pilots
“green-blue translucent sea” beautiful imagery, “translucent” shows how things are unclear but getting clearer- nature helps him decide what to do
Describes fishes “like a huge flag”- patriotic semantic field shows brainwashing, but reduces as the poem goes on, simile shows how he is starting to disconnect and change his mind,
also as “a figure of eight”- shows thoughts of pride and prosperity-
“The dark shoals of fishes/flashing silver as their bellies/swivelled towards the sun” - • sibilance shows ocean noises and beauty, “dark” -> “flashing silver” things get brighter and easier to see- knows what to do thanks to nature • “Silver”- medals he would have gotten for being a kamikaze pilot, but true reward is in nature • “Sun”- represents beauty of nature and also Japanese flag- conflict but now there’s also nature in the mix • Belly up- death on his mind
“bringing their father’s home safe/-yes, grandfather’s boat- safe” repetition of “safe” shows reason to come back- wants to return to family, memories
“a tuna, the dark prince, muscular, dangerous.” • first mention of danger = power in the whole poem, danger to the mission as it causes the pilot to have doubts, true power is in nature and memory • First full stop in the poem and lots of commas- makes us stop and think like the pilot about what he’s abt to do
“laughed” “loved” at the end of the poem- all in past tense- nothing left for the soldier
“we too learned to be silent”- “learned” should be positive but contrasts with what they learnt- criticises how they were taught shame by the older generations- but it’s said in first person, the daughter is criticising this and teaching her children not to think that way
Poppies
Title- honours and grieves dead soldiers, short single word title shows full intent of the poem and how the mother’s life is consumed by grief
Dramatic monologue- emphasis on the domestic impact and how the soldier isn’t present in the poem
Free verse, enjambment- chaotic, lack of control over the son, distressed
Domestic + military semantic fields- life has been ruined by war
“Spasms of paper red, disrupting a blockade of yellow bias”- mix between war + domestic • “spasms” and “red” is injury and pain- mother is worried or is hurt by letting go (spasms is involuntary muscle action- involuntary letting go), • “paper” is the fragility of the son • “blockade” is military language showing her worry abt the conflict, how she wants to “block” her son from going into the military • “disrupting” the fabric - the son becoming a soldier disrupts the peace or she is trying to disrupt him from going to war
“The dove pulled freely against the sky, / an ornamental stitch”- dove represents peace and grief- she and her son is at peace with death, “pulled freely” is an oxymoron- inner conflict with grief or letting her son go, the comma shows a pause to reflect on the grief, the “ornamental stitch” metaphor for the mother (pretends to hold it together)
“I was brave”- takes down ideas of just the soldier’s bravery but also the mother’s, but past tense shows current weakness from grief
“Sellotape bandaged around my hand” • Bandage shows wounds • Sticks them together one last time- cat hairs are removed, no more reason to stay • Claustrophobic feeling- stuck in the domestic role, can’t go and protect the son
“Blackthorns of your hair”- religious connotations of Jesus on the cross, sacrificed for the country- metaphor for the son
History Boys
"Enemy of education" war metaphor and alliteration, opposition between true understanding of literature and grades only used shallowly “Cheat’s Visa”
"a fact of life" indisputable and unchangable, in opposition with Irwin's views on history (truth does not matter to him until now?)
Drummer Hodge: Intertextuality, Tom Hardy (the poet) represents Hector, sympathising with the ordeal of the youth, Drummer Hodge represents the Boys, thrown into the chaos of life without proper guidance
"She's my western front" war metaphor objectifies Fiona, personal pronoun further expresses how women were seen as objects to be owned
“... all the other shrunken violets you people line up" [you people] segregates gay people, [shrunken violets] derogatory language
"Some of the literature says it will pass" looking to literature for solace and comfort during a sexuality crisis
"All literature is consolation" Dakin changes his mind on literature symbolising him changing to Irwin's side. No need to look for solace in literature when he can pursue Irwin
Parallels with "all knowledge is precious" from Hector - A.E. Housman, one of the first intertextualities and used in the intro to establish his character
“cunt-struck” “a cunt”- Mrs Lintott repeats the colloquialism “cunt” twice, to describe Dakin as “cunt-struck” and Headmaster as “a cunt”. This is the hardest swear in the play and is used show that it wasn’t a slip of the tongue, and to break down stereotypes of women being gentle and passive
“history is women following behind with the bucket” - her big scene about women in history at the end of the play (which is typical for Alan Benett’s plays such as “Kafka’s Dick”) so it would be recent and stay in the audience’s mind when the show ended
Irwin intro as politician in the future "etc., etc." while talking abt freedom- that man gives no fucks about freedom really, just waffling on (first impression for the audience too!!)
Parallel with Holocaust debate- Lockwood uses the SAME EXACT PHRASE while talking abt how the holocaust was bad, (dismissiveness of mass genocide? in this education system? it’s more likely than you think) then goes on to argue that they should be unique with their arguments- Irwin passed on thr mindset even on such an important subject
Hector is set up to be looking cool and all (motorcycle scene dramaticness, greek name connotations, fav teacher) but is absolutely uncool when we get to know him- purposeful? "studied eccentricity" and all. clinging onto youth?
Posner is actually rather helpful as the "dictionary person" bc i doubt the audiences know what "otiose" means
SCRIPPS IS THE MOST RELIGIOUS ONE AND CLOSEST TO POSNER it can dismantle the idea that religion is against queerness
Irwin didnt know how nietzche was pronounced bc from what we know of him he would call Dakin out on that

Here is the recap of the 8 monetized posts from Kylea and Joseph "Joe" Gomez of Kylea G Weight loss Journey on 05/17/24.
"Truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain't goin' away." Elvis Presley
⚠️ Compuslive Buying Disorder (CBD), aka shopping addiction, Disordered Eating, Domestic Violence, Gaslighting, and Religion will be discussed.
Disclaimers: I am not a physician, influencer, or paid content creator. I am not affiliated with WW. I am semi-retired from the healthcare field with multiple college degrees. These opinions are my own based on social media content. I wish no harm to Kylea or Joe Gomez.
☎️ If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, please call or text 988 for assistance.
☎️ National Domestic Violence Helpline: Confidential Help is available 24/7 at 1-800-799-7233. Or text START to 88788.
The tagline of Kylea G Weight loss Journey is, "I changed my entire life with prayer and a playlist of songs. No surgery, no meds. Just Jesus."
DAILY STATS 05/17/24:
0/8 posts discussed prayer
0/8 posts discussed music
1/8 posts mentioned walking outside
0/8 posts shared a recipe
2/8 posts were about something Kylea ate or drank
1/8 posts was about driving home
2/8 posts were about a current pet
1/8 posts "Joe" discussed Kylea being a dog mom
1/8 posts "Joe" made about Kylea sending him McDonalds
📢 For our friends at Meta, that means that approx. 50% of the monetized posts had nothing to do with weight loss, which is the tagline and purpose of her page.
⚠️ Disordered Eating- Daily WW Points Used (Data compiled from monetized content):
2 WW Points: Plate of scrambled eggs + plate of fresh fruit + Peanut Butter Chocolate Muscle Milk in coffee.
8 WW Points: Double Shot Espresso over ice with almond milk, sugar-free vanilla, 1/2 of Peanut Butter Chocolate Muscle Milk shake, with cinnamon on top. Turkey, bacon, cheddar & egg white sandwich.
📢 For our friends at Meta, that means Kylea consumed 10 out of (up to) 30 daily WW points in maintenance mode= Disordered Eating. This is dangerous and potentially deadly messaging for those on a weight loss journey.
Recipes Shared: ZERO
🚨 Please speak with a medical professional about any questions or concerns you have about your health.
Comments: In my opinion, Kylea falsified the timeline of her arrival home. She frequently lies and has a history of mental breakdowns during travel. Let's see if you agree...

1. Unknown Breakfast Location: Kylea does not even vaguely mention her sister's presence and shows a closely cropped picture of food and a beverage.
   
2. "Joe" posted this, "My wife has been waiting to be a dog mom for a long time. I'm so excited for to be welcoming one into our home soon. 🐶 🏠"
   

*I kept the wording of the quote exactly as it appeared. "Joe" shared an old photo of Kylea holding RayRay's face (her mommma's Frenchie) and kissing him above his left eye.
⏸️ Remember, Kylea was traumatized from a dog biting her face as a child and told her followers she wanted a puppy from a breeder because of this event. This was an odd picture to share.

1. Unknown Starbucks Location for Lunch: A tightly cropped image of an empty Starbucks paper bag, Iced Beverage, and Muscle Milk is shared. There is no mention of her sister, leading Reddit users to believe Kylea was in an airport, possibly alone. How is she consuming all these dairy products without issues this trip?
   
2. God is Good: Kylea's sunburn disappeared from yesterday in this tightly cropped photo of her near a flowering plant. Her location is not disclosed. "I've just been walking around and appreciating all of the beauty of the world around me today. God is so good!!"
   

⏸️ This suspicious photo led Reddit users to believe Kylea was either already home, almost home, and/or there was a serious disagreement with her sister (they have a history of this happening). Why buy a Go City Pass and barely use it? Why go to CA to whale watch and not complete the task? Why so secretive this trip? Was she alone the majority of the time? The entire vibe has been off.

1. "I think Oliver is missing his Mom 🐈‍⬛️ 🐾" An old 📸 of Kylea sitting on the floor, squeezing Oliver to her chest (he looks like he's trying to get away), is shared. This is the 1st mention of Oliver this trip. She normally posts more often about missing him while traveling...
   
2. "Joe sent me a picture of the fur babies and they both look like they're ready for me to be home 💖" An (allegedly) old 📸 of Oliver and Alice on the back of the couch is shared.
   

Concern has been growing for weeks about the welfare of Alice. 🐈‍⬛️ I hope she is okay.

1. Driving 6 Hours Home: "The last few days of adventure in California was fun but I'm so ready to get home to my hubs!! I had a long day of travel today. ✈️ Now for the 6 hour drive back home! 🚗 Ready to cuddle my cats 🐈‍⬛️ and introduce you to our new family member later this weekend! 🐶 🐾"

⏸️ Notice, Kylea never says "we" today. This fuels the speculation of a separate return trip home from her sister. I would hardly call scrambled eggs, fruit, salsa chicken salad, and coffee an adventure. Her photos (if they were even hers) showed empty tourist destinations. I learned nothing of note from her "California adventure." What an odd trip.

1. "Joe" posted McDonalds: "I worked late last night and my wife still made sure that I got one of my favorite dinners. I love McDonald's cheeseburgers! 🍔 🍟"

I have shared resources this week on domestic violence. Not only is McDonalds triggering content for those on a weight loss journey, why is Joe Gomez unable to buy his own food? These photos (Joe holding the takeout bag) remind me of a young child posing with objects for praise.
📢 To our friends at Meta, "Joe" posting (under Kylea's account with her name) 25% of her content today is ridiculous. The page name is not "Kylea and Joe's Journey." This is not a lifestyle page. Kylea blatantly violates many monetization policies with her content. Please follow your policies and take action.
Final Questions: Do you believe Kylea traveled alone or with her sister? Do you think they were together the entire time? When do you think she arrived home? What did you learn about San Diego? How did she do as a travel blogger? 🤔
Takeout: Unknown breakfast restaurant for KG= $18 est + tip; *Possible breakfast for sister= $18 est + tip; Starbucks for KG (unknown location)= $15 est + tip, *Possible lunch for sister= $15 est + tip, Muscle Milk for KG= $3.50 est;
Shopping/Travel Expenses: Airport Parking (up to 50% off with prebook)= $16 est; Return Flight for KG on Unknown Carrier at unknown time (I do not believe she ever had a $45 round trip flight)= $82 + fees; *Possible Flight for Sister (same issue as above)= $82 est + fees; Mileage Dallas, TX to Joplin, MO= (350 est mi/33mpg) x $3.85 est= $40.83 est;
All info from Reddit. ✌️

The first rays of rosy-fingered dawn climbed their way over the Macedonian hills and fell like arrows to glint upon the racing bronze of the Scythian raiders. Death clattered and rang among the early morning light as they made their way across the plateau towards the waking village. Gleaming in the rosy light, but obscured by the mist, they seemed like comets cast as Olympian arrows. Their horses' breath clung in the air as they dragged behind them chariots of bronze and chariots of iron. Each carried two men. Those with bronze carried a driver and an archer with bow bent, while those with iron carried a man with a mighty cleaving axe. Each driver also carried for himself a leather shield and bronze short sword. Behind the chariots came footmen equipped like the drivers, and at their flanks rode horsemen carrying one-handed axes, javelins, and wooden shields covered with leather. Thus the horde came down the valley towards the village, cloaked in the fog, but vastly beyond what their victims could hope to muster.
Then, the fog parted like the curtain of a theater. Before the coming horde stood arrayed a sturdy phalanx, a wall of bronze shields and forest of spears aimed towards the invaders. Behind them, men stood with bows bent and arrows knocked. At their center, a man sat astride a white-faced bay mare. Shining in his steel armor, he drew his bow and fired. An arrow sped into the eye of the foremost driver, and a moment later another caught his axeman in the throat. He roared with a voice like a trumpet. “MEN OF MACEDON, SET YOUR HEARTS ABLAZE!” Thus cried Leonidas Kygniois, keen eyed hunter, and with one voice his men answered him. “WOE! WOE! WOE TO THE WICKED!” At those a volley of arrows was loosed from behind the phalanx and fell among the Scythians. Many died, as Leon bid his aide unfurl the banners. Across the field each unit raised up two banners. Below was the banner of the unit, and above the sun with sixteen rays. Besides Leonidas arose his own banner, the white wolf on the blue field, under the black dragon’s wing.
The foremost forces of the Scythians were caught in the charge, unable to pull away. They crashed into the wall of shield and spear with the terrible sound of breaking bones, shearing bronze, dying horses and dying men. All the while arrows continued to rain, and the slaughter was brutal. But then, swift as a winding river, the Scythians turned and wheeled away. The chariots of bronze sent forth arrows of their own, coated in serpent’s venom. The phalanx raised their shields, and covered themselves. Even so some struck through, and the venom wrought a terrible toll on the men. Even so, the phalanx began to march forwards, stepping over the dead with their grim chant. “WOE! WOE! WOE TO THE WICKED”. With this chant they kept their stride, and advanced as a seamless wall. The wounded fell back, helped by their brothers. The archers helped guide them back, and reservists stepped forwards to replace them. Thus the army advanced.
The Scythians pulled back, and danced at the range of the archers. They sought a weakness, or to create a weakness. The bronze chariots formed into a circle and spun like a wheel. Each man turned and fired, and slipped out of range. It was troublesome to target and gave each Scythian plenty of time to line up his shot. In their midst was one most terrible, their chief in gilded chariot. Shining was their armor, brilliant as the sun, head hidden behind a helm like a lion. Their bow was strong and eye keen. Whenever they loosed, a Hellene fell dead.

At the same time, the chariots of iron gathered on the left, and with them the horsemen of the left. The army of the Hellenes had deployed on the flat ground before the village, with a forest on their right to guard that flank. For a flanked phalanx was a doomed phalanx, and the flat ground was optimal both for maintaining a unified line, but also for the chariots and horsemen to maneuver. So the scythians gathered on the left, and sought to envelop the Hellenes there. Their chief suspected their enemy might have hidden horsemen in the mists, and so the wheel turned. They drew forth arrows set with whistles and fired them into the flank. The arrows screamed with a terrible sound to spook horses and sunder morale. Then forwards the flanking force drove to envelop the foe, or else slip behind them to wreak ruin among the archers.

There they found the strongest of the Hellenes. Beneath a banner showing serpent-haired Medusa, they stood clad head to toe in steel. No arrow could find purchase against these immortals, and no blade of bronze could wound them. They turned with grim purpose, spears tracking the foe as the mist lifted. The flanking scythians found themselves with no cover, facing no exposed flank, but the royal elite of the Macedonian army.
Then out from their midst stepped a dark-haired woman with piercing blue eyes. She pulled back her cowl to reveal a diadem, and opened her thumb on a bladed ring. She reached into her cloak and drew forth iron shavings, a magnetic stone, and rose thorns. Then she spoke words of power and imposed her sovereignty over reality.
“Apaangan
Loha
Kaante”
Then she blew the iron over the field. From the bones of the earth, iron answered. It erupted like a field of nails under the feet of the horses. They screamed in pain and stumbled. They fell and cast their riders on the thorns, or else were slowed in their stride. Thus the charge was stalled and the pace ruined. Then spoke the witch again and the air stank of ozone.
“Trisula.
Munhatod
Bijalee chamakana.”
By these words she called forth lightning. It came as a brilliant trident to her bloodied hand. Her hair came alight into the air with static, her diadem gleamed in its light. The enemy saw her and beheld the dread heir of Olympus, last and mightiest of the demigods, Queen Cassandra of the Macedonians. She hurled forth her trident into the air. There it broke and a storm cloud formed over the battle. The fury of Heaven rained down on the chariots of the Scythians. Their chariots of iron were brought to ruin. Their men fell bloodied, deafened, and burned. So Cassandra brought ruin to her enemies.
Thus, the enemy retreated from the hellene lines, and fled from the wrath of Cassandra, daughter of Zeus. For her fury was terrible, and her deeds were mighty. Thus they came back around their chief, and escaped the ruin that had come upon them. They withdrew, step by step, and runners were sent further back to the baggage train to make ready. On the Hellenes came against them, but they were slow in step and cautious. Leon watched the canny chief of the Scythians, and never did his eye wander. The chief in turn watched him, and both put hand to bow, though they did not loose at one another. The range was wrong, but each made ready for their duel.
At length, the Hellenes pushed the Scythians back beyond the extent of the forest, and so their left became exposed. Their chief launched a probing attack with their horsemen, who drew near and threw their javelins into the midst of the Hellene line. The line recoiled, pulling back and inwards, bunching up. At this sign of weakness, at once the chieftain struck. The chariots closed in for the kill. Likewise, the horsemen circled and lowered their spears. As one they would drive into the exposed flank of the Hellenes and drive them from the field.
Then the forest vanished. It had not all been an illusion of it, but enough of it. The chieftain turned, the world seemingly slowing to a crawl. Out of the fading shadow ran bold men armed with long spears. They crashed into the flank of the charging horde and into the midst of the chariots. They drove their spears into the wheels of the chariots, and ground them to a stop. They thrust upwards at the horsemen, who’s mounts reared away from the danger. The charge had been utterly disorganized by this sudden surprise attack, and the advantage was to the Hellenes.
Valiantly the Scythians fought, and most valiant was their chieftain. They lashed about themselves with axes and swords. Their chieftain hefted high a mighty flax; a reverse-edged blade held in two hands. Down the falx fell, and a Hellene that drew too near was all but split in two. The surprise was sudden, but for their charge the Hellenes had forsaken shield and heavy armor. As surprise faded, the battle seemed to shift in favor of the Scythians. Yet the chieftain lifted up their eyes, and saw that they were in danger. The Hellene cavalry finally made its move. Slipping in behind and around the bulk of the Scythian force, with Leonidas at their head, they made to encircle and destroy the Scythian mobile element.
Then the tide truly turned against the Scythians, as a roar sounded out of the mist. A shadowy blur, nearly the size of an elephant, was among them. It snatched the wounded out of the jaws of death, and threw aside chariot and horse with ease. Axes struck at it, and bounced. Spears thrust and were broken. A few bold horsemen charged towards the black mass in the mist, then she raised up her head. Great wings split the mists aside, and her majesty froze horse and rider alike in terror.
Her body was like that of a panther or other great cat, covered in interlocking scales like a serpent. Her four limbs were long and powerful, ending in mighty claws gleaming white as ivory. A tail like a scorpion lashed, a glaive-headed blade at its tip, sharp enough to split a man in twain, swifter than arrows. A long neck terminated in a head a bit like a horse, a bit like a viper, and a bit like a bird of prey. Plated black scales overlapped across her body, gleaming in the dawnlight, sturdier than steel, yet flowing like water. Blue fire lapped around the edges of a mouth full of teeth like daggers. Two great wings eclpsed heaven behind her, leathery like a bat. Long white scars from battles past covered her throat, as eyes like amber froze men like trapped bugs.
Seramis of Achaea, the Dragon Princess, entered the battlefield.
The chieftain saw this doom amongst their men, but watched with wisdom. Though Seramis wielded terror as her weapon, roaring with flame and talons drawn, she wielded only terror. She might have slain many easily, but she used the Gehennan flames as only a firewall. Her tail lashed and claws struck, but they slapped rather than slashing. The dragoness certainly broke bones, but that was more a function of mass than malice. Her priority was the wounded, and she struck those that got in her way.
“Avoid the dragon! Do not strike the wounded, nor stand to capture them! Slay them in a single blow, or wound them and move away before the dragon intervenes!” The chieftain cried, and while the Hellenes could not understand her, Seramis did. The Diluvian princess turned her head and looked toward the lion-helmed Scythian. The pair shared a look of understanding, before the tumult of battle resumed their attention.
Seramis continued her work, all the easier for the lack of interference. Acting as both medic and ambulance, she rescued the wounded, Hellene and Scythian alike. Following in her shadow came a creature a bit like a ram, with seven horns of lapis lazuli. This was her familiar, a spirit of knowledge she called Elijah. He acted as her diagnosticator, identifying wounds and ailments to aid her work. Sera cast spells of healing, not complex work but quick and efficient. Bleeding stalled, bones were set, and pain was soothed. Then she would take the wounded and lash them to her side and back with tendrils of shadow. Once she had gathered a full load of men, she retreated back behind the Hellene lines. There she deposited them with the healers, and leapt forth to rescue yet more.
With the dragoness identified as less a threat, and more a mobile hazard, the Scythians returned their focus to the Hellene cavalry. Their own cavalry had been Leon’s primary target during the initial confusion of the charge, and he had made good use of the opportunity. Many a Scythian horseman had been slain in those first few moments, and no less than thirteen by the prince of marathon’s own hand. The white-feathered shafts of his steel-tipped arrows were seen planted in throat, eye, and heart, a testament to the prince’s deadly aim and fearsome bow. For he was wolf to ringbearers, and the strength of his bow and the superior metal of his arrows pierced breastplates of bronze, even the scale mail of the Scythians.
Even so, while the Hellenes had bled the Scythian horse fiercely, they had less success against the charioteers. The chariots provided additional cover from Hellene javelins, and space to evade their lances. Moreover, their sturdy construction made them perilous to the Hellenes horses, as a swinging wheel could easily break a leg. Finally, the simple fact that each chariot was a two-man team allowed for greater resilience. One man focused on driving, and the other on fighting. If either was wounded so they could not do their work as well, they could switch. Even if the driver was outright killed, the other could take over and use the mass of the chariot as a weapon. So, though the play gave the Hellenes the advantage, the Scythians were far from out of the fight.
So, with fury, their chieftain rallied their men about them and led a fierce counterattack. With the superior durability of the chariots and their mighty chief at their head, the Scythians reaped a bloody retaliation on their foes. Leonidas ordered his men back, to gather themselves anew. Each side had been bloodied, and both sought a retreat. Then with a cry, he took his personal guard back in, aimed directly at the enemy general. His bow was drawn, and fired.
The Scythian general stepped to the side of their chariot, dodging the shot. They drew their own bow, aimed, and fired. Leon evaded, but he wasn’t the target. Instead, his horse was. The white-faced bay mare took the Scythian’s arrow in her flank. The wound was minor, but the poison was not. She ran on seven steps, then seized, and fell down dead. Leon leapt from his dying steed, and landed in a roll. He came up with shield and spear at the ready, as the Scythian chief turned their chariot towards him.
The two general’s bodyguards whirled in a melee as the Scythian and Hellene commanders faced each other in single combat. The Scythian forsook their bow, knowing their poisoned arrows could not pierce the prince’s steel armor. Instead they raised high their fell falx, as their chariot closed in. Leon readied himself as the chariot closed to trample him. Then, at the last moment he sprang aside, unusually agile despite his heavy armor. Still, the lion helm tracked him, and down the falx came. Leonidas raised his shield and set his feet. The shield was steel, and sturdy enough to shatter a blade of bronze such as the falx falling upon him. But it struck true, and carved the steel shield, then kept going. Leon pulled back, but he’d braced himself and couldn’t maneuver. His steel armor parted, and he came away with a serious gash in his arm. He felt the blade hit bone, and realized that if he hadn’t been so well equipped, that blade would have taken his left arm off, cutting straight through the bone.
Still, though he bled, he did not quail. He threw aside his ruined shield and took his spear in both hands. While his foe had the mass and momentum of a charging chariot, the physics of metallurgy dictated that their blade should have broken against him. Curved blades were more fragile, a trade-off for their superior cutting power, and a bronze blade should have no chance against steel. If physics were being violated, it meant sorcery was at play. The enemy’s blade was enchanted.
Again came the chieftain with their blessed blade. Their horses panted heavily in the air, adding to the rattle of the chariot. Chaos swirled around them, but Leon silenced it. The world reduced to simply himself, his enemy, and the vanishing space between. He set his target, and waited for the space to entirely vanish. The beat of the horse’s hooves were set like a metronome. Then, at the precise beat, he shattered the rhythm. He drove his spear forwards into the knee of the Scythian horse. The spear’s wooden haft shattered from the force, but so did the stallion’s leg. It collapsed in a bloody heap, tangling its partner. The chariot crashed into its steeds, slaying both brutally. The chieftain and their driver were staggered, but grasped hold of the chariot and were not thrown.
Leonidas took fourteen calculated steps, moving around the wreck of the chariot, then stepping aboard. In a single motion he drew his blade and cut upwards. The driver fell back as a spray of blood erupted from his throat. He slumped over the front of the chariot, blood flowing to mingle with the horses. Leon whirled on the chieftain as a shout of rage came to their lips. He stepped in close, too close for his foe to swing their great blade effectively. Here, his short blade had the advantage, and the chariot cornered his target. He drew the blade back to his hip like he was knife-fighting, and thrust upwards towards the foe’s beast. The scaled armor of the Scythians was legendarily hard to slash through, but the overlapping scales that caused such strength were vulnerable to this exact kind of upwards thrust. But his canny foe knew the armor’s weaknesses just as well, and pivoted with agility to rival the warrior prince.
They slashed with their great falx, but the range was awkward, so Leon evaded. He then pivoted, taking his blade in both hands. Gritting through the pain of his wounded arm, he wheeled with a mighty blow. He put his back, legs, and both arms into a murderous strike too quick to evade. The Scythian chief recognized it, and ducked their head. Rather than suffering a decapitating blow, they took the hit on the crown of their helm. The gold gilding it deformed and parted, but this was by design. By using a coating of deformable gold above the bronze, the helmet could better absorb slashing attacks. The gold twisted as it was cut, catching the blade and altering the edge alignment. Leon cut though, but rather than burying his sword midway into his target’s skull, he cut apart the helm and left a relatively shallow wound along his foe’s scalp, running down their forehead and across their face. The lion helm split, and fell away. Leon looked the enemy general in the eye for the first time, and hesitated.
The helm fell away, and out spilled long, golden hair, now matted in places by blood. A fair face, with piercing blue eyes looked up at him. A warrior’s snarl covered her face, as the Scythian Queen recovered. She snapped up and slammed the hilt of her falx into Leon’s eye. The prince staggered back, blinking to recover, as she took a step back in turn. With this, she obtained her range, and cut down with her falx. Leon raised his sword to block, but the reverse curve of the unusual weapon made it difficult. His wound caused his arm to spasm, and the curve came around the sword. The enchanted blade bit ito the common one, then cast it away. Leon’s wrist was wounded in the exchange, and blood began to fill his gauntlet.
Leon realized his peril, and stepped in swiftly. He caught his foot behind hers, and pulled back as he slammed his shoulder into her. The queen fell back, but caught herself on the edge of her chariot so she did not fall. Leon pressed in, pinning her arm with his his hand so she could not swing. He drew his hunting knife, and it was at her throat in a moment. His grip was unsteady, as his wrist was wounded, and he felt an utter brute to have a knife at a woman’s throat. “Yield. I do not wish to harm you.” He ordered, uncertain if she could even understand.
The Scythian Queen laughed in his face. “You do not wish to harm me?” She asked through a thick accent. “Then you should never have come to the battlefield! Know that I am Tamur, Queen of the Scythians, no soft flower of the south that you might bruise with your breath. I am here to that I might crush my enemies, drive them before me, hear the lamentations of your pathetic women, and reap from your ruin the prosperity of my people. Slay me now you coward, or else you must yield, for I will slay you without mercy.” Clear and clarion was her voice, as Athena upon the battlefield or Artemis on the hunt. She feared neither death nor injury, and laughed in spite of the carnage all about them.
Leon held his ground and was not moved by her laughter or insult. “Hear me then, oh Queen of the Scythians. What is greater cowardice? To be slain for principle, or to breach principle for fear of being slain? You are a mighty warrior; this I cannot deny. But this is my principle, that no man is any man that slays a woman, even if she is a warrior. I bid you now yield, that we might bring peace between our people and an end to this meaningless conflict you have brought about.” He spoke with all respect due to a fellow warrior, and with the resolve of his own indestructible soul.
“Far be it from meaningless, warrior of the Hellenes. Would you not do anything, even go beyond the bounds of the earth for your people? Hear now my principle, that my people shall conquer that we might not be conquered. For you who are blessed with so much shall not offer a pittance to our meager tents. So we shall take, for this is the nature of things, that the prosperity of one must always be at the expense of another. This is the balance of the world, and it belongs to he who carries the sword.”
Then she snapped her head forward, and impacted with Leon’s helm. Headbutting a steel helmet with your bare, already wounded head is generally not a good idea. But she was braced, and he was not. The maneuver would have opened her throat, but Leon had held back his knife for his soul rebuked him to harm a woman. Needless to say this principle, while generally noble, was extremely foolish in this instance. Chivalry was certainly not on Tamur’s mind as she pushed him back, and kicked him in the balls.
Leon was wearing armor and greaves, but about his waist was more of a plated skirt than a codpiece. The introduction of a bronze boot to that region inflicted less damage than it might, but this was in the sense that his family line could continue, rather than full nullification. He staggered further back, agility shattered. Tamur lashed out with her falx, and Leon wisely rolled away.
Leonidas began pushing himself back to his feet, but a Scythian archer circled. Whether by skill or by luck, they let fly their arrow and it struck true into the gash their queen had torn in the prince’s armor. Leon gasped briefly in pain as the arrow hit under his shoulder plate and pierced the meat of his back. It went through to the rib, and cracked it. He felt his blood already burning as the poisoned arrow delivered its deadly payload into his veins. The meat of muscle across his back began to scream and spasm, dropping him back to the earth. He saw Tamur approaching, and grit his teeth to rise through the pain. He was too slow, the falx came up…
Then there was a rush of wind, a smell of sulfur, and the sound of bronze ringing against talon, then scraping against scale. Seramis had intervened. She swooped in, and her talon met the falling flax. The two mighty women’s blades rang against one another, then Tamur shifted the blade. She cut across the dragoness’s palm and wounded her, drawing blood as the enchanted weapon carved scale. Seramis retaliated by coiling her tail, then striking forth with it like a whip. The foot and a half long blade at the end of the tail met the barbarian queen’s guard, and drove her back. The blade of the falx shook and sang like a tuning fork.
Seramis lowered her head, and spoke with a voice tinged with fire. She spoke in the Scythian’s own language, a growl deep in her throat and fire on her tongue. “Have you not heard, queen of the Scythians, that one should not trifle with a dragon’s hoard? If not, then I will educate you. Come not between a daughter of Tiamat and her treasure. This is folly, and will be your ruin should you persist.”
Tamur heard the words of the dragoness, and looked once to the blood on her sword, and once to the flames in the maw before her. She saw the damage the hellenes had wrought on her vanguard, and the advance of their phalanx. She stepped back, and ordered a retreat. Scythian and Diluvian locked eyes as the queen boarded a new chariot, and swiftly they retreated from the battlefield.
Sera breathed a sigh of relief, and quickly turned to her prince. Leon had kept trying to get up, and managed to stagger to his feet. Gently, she took him in an unwounded claw, and bore him away. “Leon, please tell me you can hear me.”
“I can. Ow.” Leon replied, breathing slowly, and deeply, to keep his face and voice from twisting in pain. “What did you say to her?”
“Just a bit of theater to make her leave, don’t worry about it. You focus on not dying, oh chivalrous fool mine.”
“Hah. Tease me when I’m not dying, would you kindly? It hurts too much to laugh.”
“Maybe next time, don’t be such an idiot then.”
“Ah, but then how would you have an excuse to rescue me?”
“Please, we both know I don’t need an excuse to steal you away. I’ve done it before.” Sera teased, and Leon smiled through the pain.
Even as two of the trio of royals retreated, Cassandra remained. She saw the Scythians trying to quit the field, and that the ambush had not been successful enough. They had mauled the Scythian mobile element, but not utterly broken it. She sent an order for caution, for if they overpursued the wily Scythian general, she might turn and crush them in turn. Still, she would not allow her enemy to escape her wrath so easily. She cast again, and thunder boomed across the clear morning.
“Avataar”
“Poorvaj”
“Rosh”
The mists of early morning fled from the Hellenes, and ran down the Scythians. The retreating barbarians turned, and saw the mists gather together into a humanoid figure. Long curls of smoke came down from a scowling face, almost akin to hair. Winds howled like limbs to throw men from horse and chariot. Tamur quickly evaded as the growing titan of mist swung, clear blue eyes gleaming amongst the artificial cloud. Then the avatar drew back its hand, and lighting crackled into being. The heir of Olympus and last daughter of Zeus hurled down lighting bolts at the Scythians, reminding all why even with the thrones of Olympus long empty and ashen, they were still remembered in myth and legend.
Bolts of lightning mauled man and horse alike. Chariots fell away twisted and burning. Thunder terrified men and horses. Cassandra watched from the eyes of her avatar as she delivered the wrath of an angry god upon then. “I am the dread Queen of Macedon. I am the miracle of destruction. I am mankind’s answer to dragons, and you dare, YOU DARE! Come to my home, my kingdom, and hurt my people, and now you think you can simply run away?” The whisper grew to a roaring fury, bolts of lightning leaping from her eyes to slay yet more.
Then Tamur cried a loud challenge, and bid her driver turn the chariot. She charged at the avatar of mist and storm, raising her blade high. In rage, Cassandra cast down another bolt of lightning, but Tamur raised up her sword. The bolt caught the bronze blade, but did not rip down through into the queen. Instead, she turned and set herself, then cut the air. Lighting ripped back into the avatar, and cut it from crown to groin. There was a clap of thunder, and the avatar was banished.
Cassandra went flying back, caught by her men, but left dazed. A wound, thankfully shallow, had sprung from no apparent source, from her crown down the center of her body, even under her armor. She staggered upright, hands shaking violently. She reached for magic, but it was like a man who was concussed. It was there, but unstable, difficult to control, unreliable. The clean, efficient control she prided herself on eluded her. She drew in a breath, and clenched her fists to stop her shaking hand. Showing no pain from her wound, she watched as the scythians slipped out of her grasp.
“Where in the world did she get a sword that can cut the soul?” Cassandra wondered aloud. Then, heeding the insistence of her men, she retreated, and ordered the army to retire from the field. She growled as she made her way back towards the medical tents. “I hate dealing with other miracles.”

First/Previous
Satan was on the air, on the night, within everything in the long shadows cast by the setting sun and with him came a chill to the air that I could never hope to internalize; it might kill me.
From a rotted abode across the street, I watched the large outbuilding and the field in which we’d buried the hand and I found myself in prayer—among the torn and exposed studs of dry-rotted wood and rusted metal I caught my own whispers and forced myself to stop like I intended to convene with God right there in the dark; I wasn’t there for Allah. It was something else that compelled me there. I whispered the prayer and felt foolish at my own voice and ducked lowly among the rubble and held my breath to watch the sunlight go from the land and in a blink, the light was gone, and I was there in darkness that at first was a terror and then I slipped into it through blinks and the surroundings became clearer even in the dark.
Time went on.
I was exposed, but the yougins were safe—Trouble too. If nothing else mattered in the world, then they should go on without me. It had come to me so suddenly (maybe it was the prayer that withdrew such a sentimentality) that I liked them okay.
Before anything else, a cat’s hiss came so faintly that I plugged my ear with my pinky, shook it and listened again; the noise grew closer, and I could do nothing but watch the field and squint in the darkness and wait.
Fumbling, I counted the glass containers with touch only—two in my jacket pocket and the third by my feet—and my fingers then danced to the threadbare strap of the shotgun on my shoulder; I shed my pack for mobility.
The domineering creature lurched forcefully from the shadows and then went on display in the moonlight properly and its arched back protruded even over its own head till it lifted that muzzle, so its rattish face was cut out in a black outline; it was sniffing, and the hiss came through the air again. The Alukah kept a serpentine strut, smoothly gliding across the ground as it used its hands like forelegs to press its snout against the ground. In watching, I consciously relaxed my shoulders and refrained from biting my teeth together. That creature found the spot it had been searching for—it seemed roughly the place we’d buried the hand—and it took its claws there with bestial shovelfuls.
In a hurry, I gathered the jar I’d placed by my feet—it would not slide so gracefully into my jacket as the others—and as quietly as I could, I slinked around the rubble, through two studs, and onto the dirt. Within milliseconds, my own heartbeat pounded all over my body and I stood in the street and lit the Molotov cocktail with a lighter and took closer to the creature.
It shifted around and in that moment I wished I had a light source powerful enough to expose its body; I tossed the cocktail in a high arch and it exploded in a moment by the creature’s feet as it stood and pivoted to look at me fully; its solid white eyes were wide in a glance of moon-shine and it slung itself from the eruption of flames around its feet with violent speed. Its black hair hung down the sides of its face and its head parted midway to expose a snarl. It stalked in a circle around the concentration of flames, remaining mostly in the dark; the thing moved slowly nearer, those long arms swaying in front of itself with each step.
You should know better. It stopped midstride, coming no closer and we each stood there in the field roughly thirty feet from one another, and I refused to take my eyes from it. The boy’s mine. The flames began to flicker and die. For how long we stood like that, I couldn’t say, and I waited.
I couldn’t find a voice till it was all dark again, besides the moon and stars. “Why can’t you leave us be? There’s easier pickins.”
You offer yourself too much credit, Harlan. We remained in silence and in the darkness the creature may have been a statue—in a blink it seemed as much. You are a corpse, no? A walking corpse of a man! A terrible sickness is in you. I know it. I see it on you as plainly as I see your fear.
Rigidity took over my body and I puffed my chest out like it meant something and I shook my head, “I’m not afraid.”
Not of me, no. Of yourself? Something. The voice lingered with the ends of its words, drawing them out first guttural then it left them on hisses. Something I know.
I lit the next Molotov, and the creature didn’t move; I threw the bottle furiously and it went into the darkness like a far candleflame till it erupted in the spot the Alukah had been standing—the thing had leapt from there, leaving me unawares and I lowered myself to the ground in a crouch, swiveling my head around to catch the thing in the dark. The flames on the ground danced brightly, leaving me light-blinded.
Not again, said the thing, You will not catch me so easily with fire again. It was behind me, nearer the outbuilding and it took a moment through blinks for my eyesight to return well enough to see the grotesqueness of the misshapen massive humanoid thing.
The Molotov explosion burned then disappeared and we stood looking at one another again and I felt silly, foolish, radically unprepared, and overwhelmingly trivial in the grand scheme of the universe—if it wanted to, it could leap the distance between us and rip me to shreds. Why didn’t it kill me? Why wasn’t I dead?
That damnable night creature extended one of its massive forehands, flexing the digits on the end of its arm and whispered its words like a plea, The boy, Harlan. That is all. Take that brimstone smelly girl and carry that shell of a body—walk on to whatever hole you humans call home.
Hoping to not draw a movement from the creature, I pressed my forearm against my ribcage, feeling the last Molotov that was there in the inner pocket and I gently slid the strap from my shoulder, and held my shotgun in both hands, licking my dry lips, watching the dark frame of the Alukah, fearing even a moment of distraction; my eyes locked on the creature and I refused to speak.
No deal then. It wasn’t a question; its rattish snout offered a mild nod of understanding. You despise a good sense of words.
I readied the shotgun, legs spaced in proper formation—looking down the barrel, I held my breath and upon squeezing the trigger, the thing knocked into my shoulder, but the creature was gone. In scanning, I found the thing had moved from the field and bounded wildly across the street towards the dead ruins of Annapolis, its muscular limbs made short work of fleeing.
The outbuilding remained quiet and erectly tall, and I moved to its shadow and cussed whispers for wasting ammunition. Only three shells remained; worse, I’d wasted two of my explosives. I watched the horizon in the opposite direction of the crowded foundations of Annapolis and carefully held my breath in watching and I prayed again, hoping that the commotion would not draw attention.
An overwhelming sense of foolishness welled in my guts, and I trotted off towards the direction I’d watched the Alukah go, through the ramshackle streets haphazardly.
The darkness was maddeningly empty, so I filled it with shouts, “C’mon! This is your turf, ain’t it? This darkness is yours so come and take me if you can!” Rusty as I was, I held the shotgun like never before, squinting my eyes, keeping my pace in unison with my heartbeat. There’s a place in that darkness that is beyond reproach, beyond the comprehension of a city dweller, beyond even my own understanding and I found myself padding through those streets at an accelerated rate, hopeful to confront the demon and I only found more dead and vacant lots and I crossed more than two intersections where the signs were either gone or indecipherable in the black shadows cast there. I wished for a payback of the demon’s hunt or perhaps I wished for something even more than that—what did I need to prove and to who? “You sick and twisted and foul beast!” I went so loud I continued to hoarseness, “Slimy fuck!” I’s so mad that spit came with the words too.
Still, there was nothing and I came to a final crossroads, a place more commercial—at least for a flatland dead town—where brick storefronts half-stood on those four corners. Finding my voice again, I continued my tirade, cursing the demon, “Come get some—c’mon already! Here’s your fight?” I was scared though.
A sudden noise from the dilapidated storefront to my left startled me to pivot and watch, gun pulled up, and I focused as hard as I could on the recesses of that shadowed place; it was a large antiquated face where a window might have sat many years prior. Wet and hungry sounds emanated from that place, the disgusting noises of a fiend—even in knowing it, I was surprised in seeing the new creature spill out in a lumpish mess of slickened muscles, lubricated, its innumerable arms and legs clawed its own body forward so that it rolled like a mushy ball—each of those limbs remained human in nature. Upon the thing pulling itself onto the street, I staggered backwards, gun still raised, and watched its form take a modicum of understanding in the moonlight; its mouths—sporadically, illogically placed over its mass of a body—opened and seemed to try and speak with each one merely letting go of meekly audible, painful sighs in doing so. The eyes, spaced much the same as the mouths, blinked and rolled as if it was torture for the thing to live. The mutant was a tongue-like mass at its center, and it was almost the size of a horse—I’d seen fiends grow much larger, but this was still a great threat.
In moving away from where it spilled onto the street, I stumbled backwards and caught myself on the backfoot and clumsily spun into a sprint; my boots pounded in my flight from the thing, and it chased after.
Its mouths exhausted terrible sighs as it gained speed in the relative openness of the street and in seconds, I would not have been surprised if the thing snatched me by an ankle and devoured me without thought—not that fiends had any other thoughts above the basest urge to consume.
The pursuit kept me going in the dark, watching the still shadows of the dilapidated housing and I pushed on until I tasted copper; my breathing went raspy—it’d been so long since I’d been forced to run from such a creature in the open. I took a glance back and saw it coming, gaining speed in its perpetual roll; its body excreted some fluid across itself so that it could glide more easily.
Coming to a crossroads I’d passed earlier, or perhaps it was a new one—I couldn’t fathom in the dark—I took in the direction of what I thought was south and ran full throttle; my knees ached.
In hoping to confuse the mutant, I quickly dove towards the right side of the southbound street, towards some ramshackle, through the skeletal framing of a skinless house without a roof; I pushed through the pencil-narrow vertical beams and stumbled through, landing onto the unseen ground on the other side. My left leg spasmed and in the millisecond that it took for my nerves to register the pain, I let out a mild, “Oh.” I tried to lift myself from the spot and found that my left leg refused to bend straight; in total horror—more so from my body failing than the mutant—I swiveled my torso around and scooted on my rear across the ground, raking myself in the opposite direction of the fiend.
The mutant slammed into the frame; its many arms reached through the bars and in a moment, it began to use its hands to lift itself along the exposed wall and I scooted further away till my back met the bars of where an opposite wall would’ve gone. In a scramble, I snatched the shotgun, pushed myself sniff against the bars on my side and watched the thing down the barrel; I waited and concentrated on my own breathing. If nothing else worked, I still had that Molotov—if not for it then for me.
As it crested the top of the wall made of bars, I watched patiently and only when I was certain I fired.
The mutant, the great meatball-thing that it was, lost its grasp for a moment and slipped onto the arrangement of vertical bars; I gush of liquid, illuminated in starlight, shot from its base of its soft body; it began to try and catch its grasp on the bars and I took a moment for myself to examine my left knee—I pulled it as close to my face as I could manage which was hardly at all—some black triangular mass had lodged itself into my flesh; more accurately, I’d slammed myself onto something sharp in my panic to flee the fiend. In a second, not thinking of the repercussions, I gripped the thing with my left hand and clamped my mouth onto my right hand, biting into fat of my hand by the thumb. The debris was free from my leg, and I let it to fall to the ground; blood ran freely into my mouth and I let go of the bite and tentatively lifted the gun again, ignoring the pain; the creature continued to struggle, and I fired again. It slipped again, further impaling itself on the bars.
I had one shell left.
Using the place I’d propped my back, I pushed free from the ground and put all my weight onto my right leg, testing the left; I staggered—hopped really—around in the small square of ground surrounded by metal framing and searched the ground for something long. I unearthed the dirt around my feet and found a long piece of metal rod; setting the gun to the side, I lifted the metal rod over my head and then slowly arched it out from my body. It would give me just enough room to further injure the thing while also staying well out of its grasp.
I swung the makeshift weapon down like a bat or a sword and the fiend slid a little further down the bars, the exit wounds began to show across the top of its roundish body, and I smacked it again—its mouths spoke words that could nearly be understood. Though it took only moments, I was thoroughly exhausted by the time the creature had reached the ground again, good and dead and impaled upon six of those vertical bars. I tossed the weapon to the ground, lifted my gun, and shimmied through the bars on the opposite side of the square.
Adrenaline only lasts so long, and my left leg throbbed to the point of nausea; I did not want to inspect the wound, but on rounding the ramshackle and watching the still dead thing, I stumbled into the street and knelt and lifted my pant leg. It was dark and bloody and already it was burning. Infection was my first thought. A puncture wound could spell a terrible fate. I shifted to sit in the street. My leg didn’t bend right.
The cat’s hiss came from the darkness and there wasn’t a way I could respond in time; I felt those long nasty fingers grab me by the back of my neck and I was lifted immediately from the ground—the gun clattered to the ground and all I could do was initially freeze and stiffen and then my hands moved to the grasp which held me firmly by the throat; those massive knuckles were like stones.
The Alukah had me and situated me so that it could look into my face, its long black hair hid its eyes but I could smell its breath and see its teeth which rested in its round mouth. I could snap you. It seemed to nod its head, but to detect humanity in that damnable pale face was a mistake.
I choked.
What’s that? It relaxed its grasp on my throat.
“Do it.”
Why’re you crying? Its foot brushed against the gun at its feet, and it lifted it with its free hand, and it commented casually, Little human toy.
It moved, holding me by the throat, dragging me along the ground in an abnormal sluggish gait. It was hard to see anything but the night sky, anything but the strange angle of the demon—with its grip, it was hard to breathe, and tears indeed welled in my eyes, and I held to its forearm to distribute some of the weight of my own body away from my neck. With its tugging, I could not speak, but it spoke.
I’ll squeeze you dry, but your blood’s too tainted to drink. That won’t make it any less interesting. I’ll twist you like a rag and see which hole it comes from first. More than that, you’ll scream. You’ll scream so loud everyone will know. Everyone will know what I’ve done to you—once you’re no more than ruin. Not even Mephisto would balk at my handiwork once I’ve had my time with you. God will look on your sour corpse with so much disgust there won’t be a place for you anywhere. Only Oblivion, a place worse than any.
The creature moved us to the open field, tilted its head back and forth, rose its rattish face to the sky and snorted and then clearly sniffed, dropping the gun to its feet to brush the long black hair from its eyes; its muscular body shone in the moonlight so that even its bluish veins stood plainly from its white skin. It shifted its gaze to the outbuilding—maybe fifty yards away—where the youngins were hidden.
Deftly, the thing lifted me from where it had kept me by its side and my feet levitated over the air, I felt feet taller, suspended from that long arm the way I was. It took its free hand to my midsection and I felt the digits of its hand squeeze my ribs and it let go of my throat and I coughed and wheezed, placing my hands on its fingers to dig into that thing’s skin—it didn’t matter—in seconds, a scream escaped my rattling throat; it squeezed more and I felt the glass bottle in my jacket burst from the force then the Alukah gave relief and I tried to gulp air, but felt pangs along my body. My jacket was wetted from blood by the broken bottle shards entering my body or from the contents of the bottle or both.
Urine? It pulled me close to itself, sniffed, and shook its head. Oil? it cackled, Again! Beg for the help you do not deserve! It held me outright once more.
Again, the great hand constricted me and again I could not help but to let out a scream—my lungs were on fire, my voice stretched like a dying animal. I heard barks and saw nothing through wild choking tears. The grip softened.
I coughed more and tried to speak; the Alukah brought me close to itself as if to wait and listen to what I had to say. Weeping words fell out in a whisper, “Kill me. Do it. I don’t mind.”
Another sharp laugh exited the thing’s throat and it squeezed again, facing me out so that I could look at the black outline of the outbuilding. I heard the barking again and I saw the figures stumble out from the sidelong face of the outbuilding. I blinked to remove the tears.
A voice, neither mine nor the demon’s, shouted an attempt at authority, “Let him go!” It was Gemma. They rounded the building so that moonlight removed them from obscurity. Gemma held Trouble on a lead while Andrew followed.
Trouble growled.
The smile was audible through the Alukah’s voice, Strong words for one so dainty. I felt its grip tighten and I chuffed and couldn’t manage a word.
“Get it!” shouted Gemma; she let go of Trouble’s lead and the dog looked curiously at me and the demon where we were and tucked its tail and circled to hide behind the children.
The Alukah laughed. Scary dog.
I was lightheaded while my vision went; I should die—I’d bleed out there or some unknown medical oddity would shut me off. Perhaps I’d will myself to death. My head nodded tiredly, and I fought it, blinking, shaking my head to maintain my eyes.
“You want me?” The boy took a few steps forward and his voice cracked. “We could make a deal.”
The Alukah lowered me so that my feet skimmed the ground but shifted to keep a tight hold around only my throat. Oh?
“What are you doing?” shouted Gemma; she closed the space between herself and Andrew and shoved him.
He shoved her back. “Me for him,” he addressed the demon.
Is that the deal?
Everything in my body protested while I reached for the jean pocket on my right side; I could not reach it. I stretched and my ribs screamed in pain—it was worse than bruising. The demon did not notice me moving. Maybe because my movements were weak, subtle. I tried again while mentally asking God for help and I came short of the pocket. I cursed Him and then my shaking fingers found the pocket. I withdrew the lighter there.
“That’s right,” said Andrew.
“No, he won’t,” Gemma’s voice was aflame.
It’s not your deal to make, girly.
I took the lighter to my jacket, lit it, and the flames grew around me in a flash, feeding on the oil.
The Alukah hissed, attempted to unwrap its hand from around me while I dug into its forearm with two claws and bit onto the thing’s hand for extra purchase. It swung me around and my legs flew limply. It took every bit of strength I had.
Let go! The Alukah shrieked.
Trouble barked, the children screamed, and I bit deeper till that thick black blood filled my mouth. The flames were immaculate, cleansing, more furious than I could’ve imagined. Not for life—that’s not why I held on so strongly—it was for them, for Andrew and Gemma. Me and that creature should’ve burned together. Fitting.
Delirium took over and I swiveled overhead in the demon’s tantrum, holding onto that arm. The Alukah hissed, roared, shouted nasty epithets.
The gunshot rang out and I met ground, hard.
Exhaustion or death could’ve taken me then, but it was the former.
When consciousness came again, it was hands, smacking hands that brought me to life—then the vague smell of burnt hair, cooked flesh. My body stung and I could not move but to lift my face from the dirt where I lay belly-flat.
“You almost died,” said Gemma somewhere between hope and sorrow, “You almost killed yourself!” She shook me and shoved me hard enough so that I rolled on my back. She’d been crying, but surely, we’d won. What was there to cry for? If we’d lost, she wouldn’t be talking at all.
She left me and I stared at the sky through slits. The sun was coming but I couldn’t feel the warmth; I couldn’t feel anything (that would be a sweet memory in the time to come). It was quiet save the crackling I heard; it was like the lowness of a dying fire. It wasn’t me? I wasn’t on fire?
When she returned, she lifted my head to place my pack underneath it; it elevated my vision. I surveyed my surroundings. The outbuilding was there and the Alukah lay on the ground perhaps ten feet from me; its body charred and sizzled and caught little flames in response to the cresting sunrise; everything was a daze—we’d won.
Gemma’s eyes glittered, and she called the dog over and the dog sniffed my face and the girl’s lips remained flat, expressionless.
I saw the boy’s body—it lay motionless alongside the dead Alukah and alongside that body was my shotgun. The body’s head sat on its side, disconnected from its owner, facing away from where I lay.
“He killed it. He shot it.” Gemma sat beside me, and Trouble placed her snout on the girl’s shoulder. “We’re going to die,” she nodded.
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In the summer of 2018, the youth of my church went to a camp called Camp Decoda. It was an activity camp so they had archery, tomahawk, and things like that. One of the activities they had was also paint ball, but the paint ball arena looked like a hell hole from the outside. Their was a chain link fence and a rope fence and SUPER thick Ivy growing on the inside. It gave creepy vibes to everyone. Later that night, at maybe 11:00 we all got bed in these canvas tents with bunk beds and talked for a little bit. Before we decided to finally try to sleep someone said “hopefully no creatures come out of that hell spot!” Thats a thought that I wish never was thought It seemed as though everyone fell asleep immediately, except me. After what felt like 10 minutes of me trying to fall asleep, I heard something rustle the tent door. The zipper un zipped and I could hear the sound of the zipper pull move around on the zipper. I figured someone just was leaving our tent to go to the bathroom. We were sleeping on bunk beds and I was on the top so there was no way that I could see someone that was regular hight when they were standing on the ground. But I saw something. It had the shape of a person, super tall, and darker than dark. This thing was almost emitting black. Theres no good way to describe it. We had a lamp hanging up and it was on the dimmed setting and I couldn’t see any detail on the figure. It soaked up all the light that was being emitted from that lamp. It looked a lot like the picture in the video and was described exactly how it looked as well. As the figure stepped in front of the lamp, I could tell it was turning by the way the shoulders were moving. I couldn’t figure out which way it was turning, but as soon as it stoped, I had the overwhelming feeling that I was being watched. It sent chills down my spine. This figure had no facial features. It was just a big tall but skilly shadow so there was no way to know if it really was looking towards me. I tried my hardest to not move a single muscle. Maybe this thing would go away. I think I fell asleep before it moved cuz I don’t remember it leaving. I woke up the next morning and remembered that something was weird that night (same as the lady in the story.) But nothing could come to my mind. I thought hard but really nothing came to my mind, until lunch. When someone else said they saw something. I immediately remembered what happened. I told my friend every thing that I could remember and he said he had the feeling he was being watched that night. The girls (on the other side of camp) also said they heard something from outside their tent. None of the leaders heard it though!!! They also said that there was screaming the second night we were there but none of the guys heard that. On the last night, all the young men were packing up some if the things we didn’t need that night so we could just get up, do a little packing and go. We were doing that and 2 black cats popped in our tent. I love black cat, but these cats just gave an uneasy feeling to the people in the tent. We all have had the opportunity to go back but no one has taken it. We don’t feel comfortable going back. A few people will bring it up as a joke, but most of us prefer it to not be talked about. Just typing this makes me nervous. I hope no one has the opportunity to come in contact with whatever that thing was ever again, but Im sure its popped up since my experience with it

Mosquitoes are more than just a nuisance; they pose serious health risks to humans and animals. Ignoring mosquito pest control can lead to significant consequences, ranging from health hazards to economic impacts. Understanding these dangers is crucial for taking proactive measures to manage and control mosquito populations. Here are the key dangers associated with neglecting mosquito pest control.
1. Transmission of Diseases
One of the most significant dangers of ignoring mosquito control is the transmission of mosquito-borne diseases. Mosquitoes are vectors for several serious illnesses that can affect both humans and animals.
Malaria: Caused by Plasmodium parasites, malaria is transmitted by Anopheles mosquitoes. It can lead to severe illness and death, particularly in children and pregnant women.
Dengue Fever: Spread by Aedes mosquitoes, dengue fever can cause high fever, severe headache, pain behind the eyes, joint and muscle pain, and rash. Severe cases can lead to dengue hemorrhagic fever or dengue shock syndrome, both of which can be fatal.
Zika Virus: Also transmitted by Aedes mosquitoes, the Zika virus is particularly dangerous for pregnant women as it can cause birth defects such as microcephaly in babies.
West Nile Virus: Carried by Culex mosquitoes, West Nile Virus can lead to severe neurological diseases in some cases, including encephalitis and meningitis.
Chikungunya: Another virus spread by Aedes mosquitoes, chikungunya causes fever and severe joint pain that can be debilitating and long-lasting.
2. Impact on Quality of Life
Ignoring mosquito control can significantly affect the quality of life for individuals and communities. Mosquito bites are not only irritating but can also cause allergic reactions in some people, leading to swelling, itching, and discomfort. High mosquito populations can make outdoor activities unpleasant and drive people indoors, limiting the enjoyment of gardens, parks, and recreational areas.
3. Economic Consequences
The economic impact of ignoring mosquito control can be substantial. Costs associated with healthcare for mosquito-borne illnesses can be significant, including hospital stays, medications, and long-term treatment for chronic conditions resulting from these diseases. Additionally, high mosquito populations can affect tourism and outdoor businesses, leading to economic losses.
Healthcare Costs: Treating diseases such as malaria, dengue, and West Nile virus can be expensive and place a burden on healthcare systems, especially in regions with limited resources.
Lost Productivity: Illnesses caused by mosquito bites can lead to missed workdays and reduced productivity, affecting both individuals and businesses.
Tourism Impact: Areas known for high mosquito populations and associated health risks may see a decline in tourism, impacting local economies reliant on this industry.
4. Environmental Imbalance
Mosquitoes are part of the ecosystem, but ignoring their control can lead to an imbalance. Uncontrolled mosquito populations can disrupt local ecosystems, affecting the natural predators that feed on mosquitoes, such as birds, bats, and dragonflies. This imbalance can lead to further ecological issues and reduce biodiversity.
5. Psychological Stress
Living in an area with a high mosquito population can cause psychological stress and anxiety. Concerns about mosquito-borne diseases, constant itching from bites, and the disruption of outdoor activities can contribute to mental health issues. The constant buzzing and presence of mosquitoes can also interfere with sleep, leading to fatigue and decreased overall well-being.
6. Pet and Livestock Health
Mosquitoes do not only pose a threat to humans; they can also transmit diseases to pets and livestock. Heartworm is a serious condition transmitted by mosquitoes that affects dogs and cats. In livestock, mosquitoes can spread diseases such as equine encephalitis, which can be fatal to horses.
7. Resistance to Control Methods
Ignoring mosquito control can lead to increased resistance to insecticides. When mosquito populations are not managed properly, there is a higher chance of mosquitoes developing resistance to commonly used chemicals. This makes future control efforts more challenging and less effective, requiring the development of new strategies and potentially more toxic chemicals.
Conclusion
The dangers of ignoring mosquito pest control are far-reaching and significant. From the transmission of serious diseases to economic impacts, environmental imbalances, and psychological stress, the consequences are substantial. Proactive mosquito control measures are essential to protect public health, enhance quality of life, and maintain ecological balance. Investing in mosquito control strategies such as eliminating standing water, using insect repellents, and implementing community-wide control programs can help mitigate these risks and create a safer, healthier environment for everyone. Ignoring the problem is not an option; effective mosquito control is a crucial component of public health and safety.
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hi again. I ended up deleting the post in question because it was making me extra anxious, but I posted a combination vent/advice post talking about the extreme back pain I'd been having and how hard the decision to call 911 for help was on me. thank you to everyone here who supported and encouraged me, it means a lot.
lots of medical talk and some serious discussion of fainting from this point on, so read with caution if that's a trigger for you.
so, I've now been in the emergency room for 2 days ( I think? had a major panic attack which felt like it removed a whole day from my mind) as they haven't had a spare bed to actually admit me to the hospital properly. but since I've been here, they've done a lot for my pain and I've had tons of tests.
having to be in the hospital is absolutely fucking miserable for obvious reasons, but I am glad I called for help. my pain was extreme and I started considering 911 because I'd spent an entire day without being able to eat or drink because I just couldn't stand. I hate what agoraphobia does to you. I couldn't fucking feed myself and could hardly make it to the bathroom, but the sheer fear of leaving my apartment really had me trying to just... not seek help. I hate this fucking disorder. it's like a prison.
anyway, I'd been told before I probably had a herniated disc, but that's not the case. so I'm very glad I came. I got a CT scan and they've discovered an approximately 10 inch long teratoma inside me. it's either next to or sprouting off my ovary and is pressing against my spine and my intestines mostly. haven't had bathroom issues thankfully, but can't say the back pain is really any better.
guys, when I say this shit was shocking to see, I'm not exaggerating. I wish I had asked for a copy of my CT scan. imagine a diagram of a human being, and inside there is an football shaped mass shoved against the spine. fucking horrifying. it is a relief to know what's going on, but because of the sheer size of this thing and the fact I'm now completely unable to get up or stand on my own, my doctor told me "you're not leaving the hospital with this still inside you" and is aiming to schedule me for surgery this weekend. she said Monday was also a possibility but was aiming for earlier.
this will be my first time having major surgery in my entire life (I'm 25!) and i don't have any of my coping objects like my plushies or my fidget toys, all I have is my phone.
also, they don't know for sure if the thing is a teratoma actually, but two doctors who've examined the scans in different ways suspect it is. they also just took a crap ton of blood from me to do some testing for cancer a couple of hours ago. cancer is still an option that's on the table.
I'm. exhausted. i'm not even as upset over the possibilities as I can be anymore, and I think that's because the night I arrived was the first time in my entire life I experienced 10/10 pain and spent probably several hours uncontrollably sobbing. they couldn't keep me in a bed forever simply because the ER didn't have enough, and sitting in a chair is the most painful position possible for me, and I couldn't stop sobbing because I was just in so much pain... even after they gave me some heavy pain meds and muscle relaxers...
I came very close to passing out because it hurt to breathe. I am appreciative for being in the hospital because the staff has helped me a lot obviously, but GOD I wish ANYONE could've listened when I was BEGGING for help to breathe. it kept going like:
me: gasping and leaning over nearly fainting PLEASE HELP ME BREATHE I CAN'T FEEL MY LIMBS
staff: yeah, that's because you're breathing really shallowly
me: PLEASE HELP ME BREATHE
staff: take a deep breath in
me: takes a shallow shaky breath in. sputters out. literally forgets to breathe multiple times and accidentally holds my breath and gasps out in pain
staff: yeah just like that
three different. staff members did this to me. and also one nurse tried to give me a call button on a cord, I told him audibly I couldn't move or feel my hands, he shoved it awkwardly in my unmoving fingers and I of course instantly dropped it as he walked away. he came back to check on me and seemed surprised that happened. so that part wasn't ideal. I can't remember well but I think the only thing that stopped my panic was just becoming too exhausted to shout in pain any more. fucking horrific experience.
lol and shout out to the person in the next emergency room seat over from me, who literally raised her voice at me to be quieter and be respectful of other people. and then repeatedly loudly complained to nurses about how loud I was. nurses didn't really give her the time of day about that one, at least. each one put on their "I'm going to be polite but you're an idiot" voice.
everything else has been okayish though. I'm now in a bed again since I think that amount of pained screaming made them realize I need to be in one. im. as okay as an emergency hospital trip for an agoraphobic can be. I ate a hospital cheeseburger that was surprisingly good.
so, how's everybody else's weekend plans?