Bud be gone 16 years later this month. Don’t hardly seem possible. Still remember him as if I just saw and spoke to him yesterday. The way of it. Miss him a lot, and so does Momma. Also the way of it. Get to thinking about him a lot this time each year.
Not as raw and brutal as it used to be. Had some dark days for both of us for quite a while. Again, the way of it. But acceptance comes eventually, when there’s no other choice.
I try to console myself that he lived life large in the 21 years he had - didn’t waste ‘em. Got to see and do places and things that comparatively few do. Was involved in things he felt were important.
I loved him dearly, and was admiring and proud of the man he’d become. And I told him so quite often. Advice from someone who’d not always as bright as he might be, but who nevertheless understands some basic things: say what Should be said when you have the chance. The words are important, even if they already know. Don’t, and the day might come when it’s now too late to.
He was the wild one of our brood - seems like every family has one. Not troublesome in any way for Momma and me. He asked me a serious question once, when he was 16: “Dad, you and Mom hardly ever whipped us when we were kids. How come?”
And my answer a simple one: “We didn’t need to. You were good kids.” He’d thought that over, and nodded his acceptance.
A disciplinary problem aboard his ship sometimes, though, and this didn’t surprise either of us. A different world with different rules. And he never accepted insult from anyone from the time he was small - just not in his nature. Push, and he’d push back.
But by every account we heard, very serious and disciplined when it came to his job. This didn’t surprise us, either. His primary rating Firefighter aboard ship, he’d often complain that the training wasn’t Realistic enough. To the extent that a superior had remarked once in exasperation: “Well, we can’t set the damn ship on fire for you, Bud!”
Well-known and liked throughout the crew, he was something of a minor legend among them. Famous (or infamous - take your pick) for the situations he got himself into to the point that after a while, anyone in trouble beyond the usual was referred to as having “Pulled a Bud.”
Fighting several members of Shore Patrol on one memorable occasion: “It took six of ‘em to get him under control and back to the ship, Mr. OP.” A friend.
With several members of the local PD on an even more memorable one, when he took offense at the treatment of a shipmate.
He’d paid for that one on the way to and at the station. Being thrown headlong down a set of cement stairs with his hands still cuffed behind his back he figured he’d had coming. Ditto with then being picked up and rammed headfirst into a cinder block wall.
Being stripped naked, tossed in a cell, and having a fire hose turned on him every hour on the hour all night he’d objected to: “That shit was Cold, Pop! And it was fucking unnecessary! I catch any of ‘em out alone, I got somethin’ for their ass!”
“You gotta stop this shit, Bud.”
“……Sigh…I know. Do me a favor - don’t tell Mom?”
“I don’t intend to.”
“……Pop?”
“Yeah?”
“Captain says the same thing. Says this is my last chance…….Why’s he giving me another chance, after all the trouble I’ve caused?”
“Because he sees something in you he wants to keep - something of value to the ship. You can be counted on to do your job, no matter what. That carries a lot of weight in the civilian world - more so in the military.”
“…..You think so?”
“I know so.”
One of the last conversations, and over the phone, we’d ever have.
An old Chief remarked to us: “Bud was a throwback. He reminded me of the fighting Sailors of my own youth. I hadn’t met another quite like him in a good many years. He’ll be missed.”
His Captain remarked to me: “He turned it around, Mr. OP. It was as if he made a decision. There wasn’t another single incident of insubordination or anything else. In all my years of service, I’ve never seen anyone do so complete a 180. He’d made his mind up, and that was that. But I guess I don’t have to tell you that. He was actually due for promotion. Did you know that?”
I had. Bud had told me he’d studied for and passed the test. Perfect score, or near enough. He’d broken his hand at the time. A timed test, and his writing hand, he’d been afraid the cast would slow him down too much, so he’d cut it off and gone to get it redone afterward.
Last time I spoke to him, he had some shipmates were in Galveston during Mardi Gras. Out on the promenade. Sounds of revelry in the background. Shakedown cruise in preparation for another deployment.
Presently, to his impatient shipmates: “Just give me a damn minute, all right?! Listen, I guess I better go. Love you, Pop. And tell Mom that for me when she gets home, ok?”
“I will. Love you, too, Bud.”
Good last words to remember, I guess.
All through the days and nights we’d spent in the hospital, waiting, and hoping against hope, Momma and I hadn’t been alone. My brothers were there with us, having driven in from out of state. My sister. Mother.
And his crew. Day and night, young men and women waiting with us in great numbers. Lying sleeping on the floor against the walls lining the corridors, when all other spaces had been taken. None of the hospital staff asking them to leave.
Ship’s Officers and senior Enlisted spending as much time there as presentations for deployment would permit. Checking in in person with us and hospital staff about his condition at least once a day.
And nearly all of them with a story or two to tell about Bud. Many of them funny. For that was who he was, too. He could always make people laugh. Someone being down in his presence he couldn’t abide, and he always knew how to fix that.
It was as if they Needed to. And that Momma and I understood, as well. We’d known him all his life, and we could see that they knew him, too. So we were patient, and we listened.
The day finally came when we were told there was no longer any hope at all. He’d never regained consciousness, and now there was no more brain activity at all. He was gone.
His XO was there with us when we were told, and that large, strong man wept bitterly and unashamedly. I think that probably doesn’t happen often.
Momma and I were alone the next day, in a seated waiting area next to the elevators. Waiting, just the two of us, not speaking much. Everyone had given us that space to ourselves. Sensed that we needed it, I suppose.
The first man arriving with a refrigerated transport case arrived, and took the elevator down. He seemed in a hurry. A man who desperately needed Bud’s strong heart was waiting, and time was of the essence.
Momma and I watched the doors close behind him. Then we both got up, and hand in hand, walked away. It was finished now. The book of his life was closed, though in a sense it never would be.
A few months previous, he’d registered as an organ donor. His choice.
His heart went to a 31-yr-old man in need of a new one.
A young woman in North Dakota sees through his eyes.
Many others were helped, as well. His parting gifts.
Talking to the coordinator of the donor program at the hospital at a later date, I was informed that the man’s new heart was functioning perfectly. He had, in fact, been going to the gym and hitting the weights. Something he’d had no interest in before.
“Lifting and bodybuilding were some of Bud’s passions” I replied.
“I’ve been doing this for a long time” the man had replied in kind. “And you’d be astonished at how many times something like that happens; the recipient unknowingly taking on attributes of the donor. No one can explain it.”

probably going to be a long post, sorry in advance. had them a few times tn so i’m a little scattered
in december or january of this year i woke up when i was just getting to sleep and felt like my heart was melting- super hot, not beating, just liquidated. it happened once, i put it out of mind for several months, and then in late february while writing a paper for class I had a numbness around my heart, left arm, and shoulder.
as i was very busy the next day i ignored it and went to class like normal but it felt almost pinched, not painful but very uncomfortable and if i sat or laid down wrong i felt it would stop beating. this got progressively worse in class to the point where i had a 15 second episode of sweating, nausea, dizziness, dread, and numbness in both arms. when i went to the ER they found nothing wrong after testing just about everything + a chest X ray. said it was stress and shuffled me out with heartburn meds and painkillers.
since then they seem to come and go every few weeks. maybe a month later those episodes of jolting up in the night resumed. they’re never the same. at one point i had around 7 in one night and just kept going back to sleep and ignoring them, and one day i had just one and was a nervous wreck the next day, couldn’t go to class. i felt sometimes my heart was not beating, or it was hot, or my chest was hollow, or all the air had suddenly been sucked out of me (which is the kind i’m having now). they last one second or less and 9 times out of ten i roll over seconds later if i even sit up at all. the “panic” part isn’t there.
after going to another doctors appointment they again said it must be panic attacks and had me take sertraline and hydroxyzine. to my understanding these are for general anxiety and stopping panic attacks WHICH ARE NOT APPLICABLE TO ME! i’m literally able to have one, feel my heartbeat and confirm i’m not short of breath, and go back to sleep. it’s done in one second, i don’t need a pill to stop it.
after that appointment in march they’ve been infrequent or so mild i question whether i even had one, but tonight i’ve had 3 after trying to sleep for 2 hours. each time i feel like there’s no air in my lungs and i have a strong shock, sit up, and find i’m not short of breath and my heartbeat is normal. i feel like i’ve been misdiagnosed and there is something physically wrong with me, in my heart or lungs or maybe even my brain. can anyone tell me if this actually fits the bill for a panic attack? i’ve had the kind everyone talks about before, i understood the causes, and they resolved on their own. i’ve found absolutely nothing on them being like this.
for context i am 21M, in good shape, the most unhealthy things about me is i go to bed at 4 most nights and vape more than i’d like to.
tl;dr: symptoms are unlike anything i can find on the internet, think i’ve been misdiagnosed. looking for similar experiences or guidance

The Old Quarter

Bit of a long post but I thought this could be a cool idea and I wanted to share it:
Description:
"Even before the current troubles, the Old Quarter was a favoured haunt of vagabonds, vagrants and those with ill-intent. Nestled beneath the towering estates of Cathedral Row, the streets of the Old Quarter are a twisting and cramped warren. Constructed in the early days of the city, the Old Quarter was built haphazardly to accommodate the city's rapidly expanding population.
In recent times, the Old Quarter has become downright sinister. A permanent, sleazy fog hangs over the area and residents report a strange figure peering through their window at odd hours. The Constables abandoned the district soon after the current crisis began. The Huntsmen now patrol the main street and control a few key landmarks, including the power-station and the old jailhouse. But even they are loathe to venture into the dank passages where the light never reaches.
Tread carefully here Dr. and take care if you happen to hear tapping at the window..."
Explanation:
This is an idea I have had for a while about how parts of the demo area could be reincorporated into the main-game. I think that the main-game is far superior to everything in the demo but the cramped and winding streets of the demo area are still fun to explore and the feeling of being boxed-in really helps contribute towards a feeling of claustrophobia which isn't quite present in the open-spaces of the Market District.
Instead of collecting seals to open the manor in the town square, the Dr. would need to find several puzzle items to progress. These items would open the portcullis gate on the other side of the guard post in the demo. The Sylvian estate (manor from the demo) would serve as an optional area with heightened security which could be broken into. Other side-streets, alleys and passages which were only partly accessible in the demo would also be opened-up as would several derelict buildings. This would include opening up the play-space above the flooded basement where the monocle can be found in the demo.
The Old Quarter would serve as a prelude of sorts to the Cathedral row district. After sneaking through a factory/ warehouse complex, the Dr. would enter the lift to the Old Quarter and the section would begin in much the same way that the demo opens.
Note found before entering the Old Quarter:
“Sir,
As requested, we have sealed off the main routes into the Old Quarter and have set an automated sentry to guard the entrance to Cathedral Row. I have ordered our remaining forces to fallback accordingly. Let the Huntsmen deal with those creatures.
Constable Burlington.
“
Upon reaching the main save station-house from the demo, the windows would be heavily barricaded and the Dr. would instead be prompted to enter through a door which hangs open. In the main room of the safe-house the gramophone plays its soothing tune. Unlike in the demo, the house is devoid of huntsmen and, much like the lighthouse, a recorded message would play from the gramophone the first time it is used to make a save.
“Welcome to the Old Quarter Doctor. Our mutual friend informed me that you might pass this way but I regret that I \cough* will be unable to greet you in person. Help yourself to any supplies you find here. You will need them for what lies ahead. Before they left, the Constables destroyed every exit and left the Huntsmen to loot the ruins. The only way out is through the gate at the end of Stonehaven Road. But the lock is a fiendish thing and not easily cracked. I had a few ideas of how to get past it before *cough*… well it hardly matters now. I have barricaded this area as best I can but don’t forget: Lock The Doors and pray you never hear tapping at the window. Fare well Doctor. I hope your luck is better than mine.*
-William the Tinker”
Exploring the house, the Dr. finds the corpse of the owner beside which sits a key. The key is used to unlock and open the two doors of the safehouse. Beside each of the doors is a button which can be used to automatically seal the doors from the inside (think the safe room in Amnesia: The Bunker).
Also scattered throughout the house are a few food items, notes and a revolver with a number of spent casings. On the upstairs landing, in the room where there is a lootable cabinet in the demo, the unbreakable door is instead locked. The reason for this can be found in William’s diary which sits on his writing desk.
“I can no longer bear to look into that mirror she gave me. Sometimes I fear that it is not only my own reflection peering back. I have locked the accursed thing away and have cast the key into the sewers with the hope that there it will remain.”
To discover more about the Tinkers Lock, which is the primary obstacle of the district, the Dr. can read other pages in the diary and notes scattered throughout the house. On William’s writing desk there also sits a map which marks key places of interest in the district.
“I sit imprisoned by a mechanism of my own making. The lock is a fiendish thing. The three-digit combination is rewritten every sixty seconds, the only way to decode the sequence is by using a Graphite Cylinder. I had a spare but the Huntsmen confiscated it and are holding it in the Old Jailhouse as evidence. I believe that brute Fitzroy means to bring me to trial, though for what crime I cannot imagine. More difficult to obtain is the key needed to access the mechanism. Father Ulfred kept a copy … but none who venture near his church return.
There may be another way to open the gate but it is so dangerous as to constitute madness. The lock draws power from the two electrical substations on either side of the district. Disabling both generators is the first step. Then, theoretically, it should be possible to disconnect the lock by severing its link to the back-up supply. To do so, one would need to brave the labyrinth of maintenance tunnels beneath the streets. All while the entire district is plunged into darkness. It is suicidal folly, but without Father Ulfred’s Key I see few other options.”
The safe house from the demo serves as a base of operations through which further expeditions can be made into the district. The basic layout of the demo remains in that the player has the freedom to tackle the objectives in any order. However the area of the district is now expanded. Example, in the dock area, there is now an apartment before crossing the bridge where the Dr. can survey the area and learn patrols from a distance. Additionally, foggy streets leading on from the Dock will take the Dr. into the Western part of the district where the Western Substation sits alongside the abandoned butchery. Similarly, beyond the power station from the demo (the Eastern Substation) are more foggy streets which lead to Father Ulfred’s Chapel and the Clearview Lodging-House.
As in the demo, the Huntsmen control the main streets, the dock, the jailhouse, the Eastern Substation and have an outpost in the maintenance tunnels/ sewers as well as at the Western Substation. But a new foe prowls the dark and misty streets where the Huntsmen fear to tread.
The Peeping-Tom.
Appearing as an abnormally tall and slender gentleman in a top hat, these strange creatures stalk the Old Quarter. The Peeping-Tom (and the Old Quarter in general) take heavy inspiration from late-Victorian Whitechapel and the Jack-The-Ripper murders. The Peeping-Tom carries a large butcher’s knife in its left hand and prowls with murderous intent. Its face is ghost white and its tattered clothes barely cover an emaciated and skeletal form.
What sets the Peeping-Tom apart from other bestial enemies is that they display a form of crude intelligence and take care to harass and terrify their prey before striking. Additionally, the Peeping-Tom is sensitive to light and will become staggered from entering a well-lit area. This includes the light generated by the Doctor’s lantern.
In combat the Peeping-Tom is very damage resistant to bullets and slashes. However, removing the top hat of the Peeping-Tom (either by shooting or slashing it) reveals a spider-like insect nestled in the skull of the creature which can be shot/stabbed to instantly kill the Peeping-Tom. Flash-grenades are particularly effective against this enemy and a single flash grenade will vaporise the puppeteering-spider and thus kill the Peeping-Tom if its hat is removed.
In general, the Peeping-Tom moves in a slow and deliberate manner akin to the Divider necromorph in Dead Space. However, if the Peeping-Tom’ss hat is removed, its movements become erratic, and its attacks are faster and inaccurate.
After being staggered by a light-source, the Peeping-Tom will flee to a darkened area before trying to stalk the Dr. once more.
Another aspect of the Peeping-Tom is that they will attempt to unnerve the Dr. by leaning around corners and tapping on the windows of buildings the Dr. has entered using their long bony fingers. While they can exhibit this behaviour if the power-stations are still active, if the power is deactivated, the Peeping-Toms expand their patrols significantly and will harass the Dr. while he is in the safehouse. The Peeping-Toms can even enter the safehouse if the doors are left open&unlocked.
A crafty Doctor could even strategically deactivate the power to enable the Peeping-Toms to thin out the hunters and make certain areas more accessible.
Other areas and notes
In traditional Imsim fashion, notes scattered throughout the district (as well as conversations between huntsmen) would also fill in the lore and backstory of events which occurred prior to the Doctor’s arrival.
For example, the armoury in the central guard house would be locked and a note attached to the door would read as follows:
“You lot are welcome to continue wasting ammunition shooting the locals but you shall no longer be using my bullets to do so. The armoury is locked until further notice. Perhaps the scarcity will encourage you to find a way out of this mess.
-Captain Fitzroy”
The sewers and passages beneath the district would also be expanded. If the substations are deactivated then the passages will be almost completely dark, thus necessitating the usage of the lantern for purposes of navigation. Like the demo, the tunnels would be populated by the Crowmen. The dark tunnels would give them ample opportunity to stalk the Doctor and lie in ambush.
In the demo, there is also a sign in the sewers which refers to the Underport. This passage would serve as a way to link the Old Quarter and Underport together. The Dr. would be able to find a key in the sewers to the room in the main safe-house which houses one of the Countess’s mirrors for later fast-traveling back to the district.
No matter which method is chosen for tackling the Tinker’s Lock, the Dr. will have to venture either into the Maintenance-Sewers or the Old Chapel. The Chapel serves as a lair of sorts for the Peeping Tom’s and several would patrol the grounds and the adjourning graveyard. Father Ulfred’s Key would sit in a crypt area beneath the Chapel. The Dr. would need to drop into the Crypt and stealth/ fight past an aggressively patrolling Peeping-Tom to open the gate to obtain the key and escape the crypt.
There would also be expanded opportunities for tackling the Jailhouse. One of the cells could house a crazed huntsmen who, upon release, attacks everything in his path (including other huntsmen) thus causing a distraction and allowing the Dr. to steal the Graphite Cylinder from the evidence locker.
No matter how they chose to do it, overcoming the Tinker’s Lock would allow the Dr. to push on from the Old Quarter and access the towering estates of Cathedral Row.
Conclusion
With the game taking heavy inspiration from Victorian London, I do think that it is only a matter of time until we get a Jack-The-Ripper inspired segment and I think that incorporating some of the spaces from the demo could be an interesting way to do this. Additionally, so much work must have gone into designing all of the spaces and passages in the demo that I think it would be a bit of a shame not to see any of that architecture in the main game.

Sorry this is a bit long.
My husband (36f)and I (38f) have entered an avoidant- anxious dynamic.
We got married in December of last year, 3 months after I moved into his place (previously I rented and he owns).
Issues started when I moved in. In that I couldn’t. He had told me I had carte Blanche, but the reality was that he would freak out at any thing I suggested. I ended up living out of boxes for weeks until eventually he told me he had unresolved trauma from his ex. He also became jealous (she cheated on him) and he started questioning my friendships and work relationships. He would shut down for days, freak out and leave the house. I would end up going to look for him and reassuring him, which is what he told me he needed at the time.
Our disagreements turned into big fights over time. Mainly because when I would try and talk to him, he would talk over me and or walk away. I felt dehumanized. During arguments he would also weaponize our relationship, saying it was over or insisting I wanted to leave him (I didn’t and told him as much). It was like a 2 week cycle with each argument taking about 3 days to resolve. He would say he can’t be himself around me because I would not accept him yelling his feelings at me but was more that ready to hold space for him if he approached me gently, which never happened. He started shirking responsibility.
Our agreement and something I was very open about is that my dogs (2 40lb) are my family, and if I was ever to move in with someone, it would be joint care, kinda like blending a family. He took a couple of days to think about it before deciding that he loved me and loved the girls and wanted to be part of that. He also very generously offered to support me financially as I left my job, and wanted me to focus on building my business instead of looking for another. I had been doing work freelance on the side til then and this would give me time to really dive into it. He knew full well it was seasonal and my contracts would start coming in May and June. I was so grateful and to ease any stress that might add, started doing everything around the house.
Over the winter I ended up getting very sick and having Covid three times in a row, he was great at looking after me, but at the end of it told me he no longer wanted the responsibility of either the financial side or the dogs. Other than a week where I physically couldn’t, I was still doing the majority of the care. He was walking them once a day.
I asked him to just honour the support for 3 more months and started looking for part time jobs as well as setting up my work for the season. I booked several contracts that would have put me on excellent track, they start in June. For the dogs, I explained it was still a deal breaker, and he agreed to 20 minutes 5 days a week as he felt it was taking away from his free time. He also told me he no longer wants to worry about meals and wants to cook at his rhythm, which for me would mean going hungry or cooking for us as he usually wouldn’t start cooking til 9pm. If I (very happily) made him dinner, and he had a stressful day. He would sometimes tell me he didn’t ask me to do that, if I dared say I was trying to cheer him up or make his time easier. I encouraged him to take time and whatever space he needed. Our fights got worse, meaner over time. He only agreed to stop talking over me in March, when I showed him an article that it was dehumanizing.
During our last fight, he demanded a divorce (again). The fight happened because after two weeks of being on honeymoon and being a warm, affectionate, caring partner, he suddenly went cold. He denied it when I said he was being distant and dismissed that it was disconcerting to me. It turned into a full blown fight when I ‘micromoved’ wrong and apparently that meant I didn’t want to me around him, so he unilaterally cancelled our evening plans, which had been specifically to catch up after 2 days of barely seeing one. It was an ugly fight.
When he said divorce though it really caught me off guard. He promised he would never do that again and that we would work through things using an 8 week couples course we were on week 5 of. They warned us fights might still happen but not to use separating as it was a trust breaker.
This time I left the house and slept on couches for two days before a friend offered me a cabin on their property. It’s not much, no heating but with two dogs on short notice it was a godsend. I used all the money that left which was going to go for my taxes to pay for it.
He has been yo-yoing about reconciliation after asking for it, citing dogs and cooking, as well as our fights being toxic. They are. Therapy would be essential. I’ve turned into the worse version of myself I’ve ever seen. I haven’t been allowed in our house, can’t take any of ‘our’ things even if he’s not using them and he’s upset I took the car, which I was using 99% of the time as we live in an area now where I don’t have access to the things I love, like hiking. I have no choice about the car, as the cabin is in the woods and I need it for work, he doesn’t.
The thing I can’t get over is him going back on his word. At this point he hasn’t covered any of my expenses, saying he would and ‘forgetting’ since December and I’m now 6k in debt and exhausted. I feel like this is more than just avoidant-anxious. The more time I spend on my own, waiting for him to figure things out, the less I want to be around him. I love him, I no longer respect him.
Advice welcome.

REBRAND NEEDED NO HATE BUT
I don’t see your career popping off unless you completely rebrands herself.
• Sings about the female gaze yet aesthetically appeals to the male, This is a no go
The music and the look needs to match, Ditch the Lolita thing! Way too many people are doing it .Your gonna need to stand out in order to succeed
• Stop associating yourself with influencers I don’t care if their your friends, most of them don’t really even fuck with you, they like clout they get off being associated with you. ITS A BAD LOOK IN GENERAL, you don’t see any of your peers doing that or predecessors. IMAGE MATTERS IF YOU WANT TO MAKE IT BIG YOU CANT BE OUT HERE ASSOCIATING YOURSELF WITH JUST ABOUT ANYONE, SOCIAL MEDIA FAME IS NOT CONCRETE.
• You don’t need to dance but come up a little one two step anything but running around on stage.
• Make a personal brand unique to YOU. You like gaming incorporate that into a music video try making silly music video something your fans can attach to maybe even reach a wider audience. ADD your personality into everything you do. Write messy lyrics at the end of the day it’s a song it’s alright to appear a bit out there lyrically if anything the song writers have crazy lyrics
• Work with different producers, try different sounds and styles, don’t push yourself in one box and Stop trying to look so perfect all time and SHOW SOME PERSONALITY WHILE PERFORMING. Look goofy, make different faces while performing an example would be Olivia Rodrigo on her Guts Tour look at her facial expressions even Tate Mcrea on her think later tour
• STOP REPLYING TO COMMENTS ABOUT YOURSELF !!! Don’t engage with the haters. Ignore them, If your gonna be in this industry people will say things, you can’t be out here reacting to them. YOU don’t you see any other popstar going on Live reading their own hate comments and explaining everything.
STOP OVEREXPLAINING YOURSELF, IT MAKES YOU LOOK A LIAR WHEN YOUR NOT, ITS GIVES PEOPLE WHO ARE NEW TO YOU A BAD TASTE IN THEIR MOUTH, FIRST IMPRESSIONS MATTER
Address Something once then leave it ALONE.
• REPUTATION MATTERS, many artist lose their careers over a bad reputation. yours ain’t looking to good
Right now all we see pretty face that sings and that gonna have to change.
IF LONGEVITY IS WHAT YOU ARE STRIVING FOR A REBRAND IS NEEDED

• A ᥴꪖ᥅꠸ꪀᧁ ꪶ꠸ᦓꪻꫀꪀꫀ᥅

Hi, I've been trying to figure out where I can express this post because my head and my heart feels like its in different places. I dated someone for a few months and it was a really wholesome couple of months. I think we have great chemistry, compatibility, and she has shown up me in ways that really made feel loved/appreciated/seen. For the first time in a very very long time, I felt like i met someone I feel compatible with long term. I've been in the dating for a while and I can say I have pretty good expectations with a potential mate and she has shown in many ways more than one what a great partner she is. I think she is a beautiful human inside and out, romantic feelings aside. It felt really easy with her until things had gotten more intimate.
When it did, she deactivated and withdrew for the first time. She met my friends, long story short -- she deactivated and instantly regretted the decision the next day. It turned my whole world upside down. I've seen very few glimpse of her fears and she did expressed them very early on in dating but told me she was addressing them. We talked about the importance of communicating and even did check ins but it never came up. I trusted her words because I felt like I was doing the same. I was working out my own wounding/healing outside of us. We tried working things out but she deactivated again a few days after and withdrew. After two weeks, i don't remember, she messaged me again and telling me things that she had missed me and she wants to be part of my life again but does not wanna continuously cause me pain. Which confused me. She acknowledges how much she has hurt me, has taken full accountability (which she has done since the beginning) and has not blamed me once, and recognizes she has a lot of healing to do and confront her traumas. We have not once been abrasive with words, yelled at each other, and there's no ill intentions/malicious intent involved. I have done a lot of healing myself and have done a lot of attachment healing as well. I'm finally at a point in my life where I feel secure, I can regulate myself, able to sit in discomfort, have a good head on my shoulders, show up, and soothe. I can tell that she is showing signs of an FA and she is recognizing for the first time that there are still a lot of wounds she needs to face that she thought she had healed from her last relationship (and from what i gather, probably her childhood as well, just an inkling).
What im really struggling with is, after that messaged I addressed with her that I cannot be in a cycle/pattern with her. I just know this is gonna keep happening over and over again unless there's work done. That right now, I don't wanna to be fully in her life and she had agreed to do only biweekly check ins and no contact in between, as i requested. I don't want to be in the same pattern over and over again and I had addressed that there needs to be changed that happens if we decided to ever try again. I did tell her that if she isn't at a point in her life that actively working on herself is a priority, I will respect that (i dont think there is anything wrong with that, our own journey is within our own time) but I dont want to be part of it because that would be a self betrayal to my healing. She told me she is starting to slowly address things, although therapy has not been started yet which worries me. But i know this is mainly because of her job that has her working 6 days out of the week which sometimes would lessen in some weeks but i know her capacity is probably not as much as a normal person.
I'm having a hard time because I really want to be supportive and be there while she figures things out but i also worry that I might be abandoning myself or spreading myself thin. I also lost my trust and feel like I can't rely on her right now but Im willing to work on that with her. Anyone had similar experience? Any partners that have worked things out with someone who have deep unhealed wounds? How did you manage it? I have also observed she struggles with stating her needs, boundaries, and not recognizing she is deactivating (im not even entirely sure if she knows that happening with her.) -- i think this is my main worry -- her not being able to tell me/communicate it when that happens. I only want to be in this situation if I can be a good support system for her and can show up that would be safe space for her and im trying to weigh if I can do that for her. I like her a lot and really want us to navigate things more healthily. Please be kind and respectful <3

My last flat was unbearable.
I mean, you try having a family of 11 live above you, when half of them are under the age of 8. Also try having a pair of raging alcoholic neighbours on either side of you. A pair who were once married to each other. My eyes rivalled that of pigeons’ due to no sleep.
I lasted a total of 21 days. I know, new record huh? I just about shoved the keys back in the grubby hands of my landlord when I finally saw the lunacy inscribed on his face. No wonder the rent was dirt cheap.
So I was back on the road, not on the streets though. Luckily enough I started questioning the flat by day 8, looked around for another place by day 15, and made a decision to get the hell out on day 18. 3 days of packing and it was bye-bye.
My new place seemed all the better too: yes, the rent was more expensive, and yes, it only has 2 bedrooms. But at least it was a house, one where pesky neighbours were at least 5 metres away. On my right, at least. On my left? Their house - thankfully - couldn’t even be seen where I stood.
Parking my car, I skipped up towards my new house with my fresh set of keys. And on entering? Silence. Perfect still silence. Thank the Lord. I basked in it for a while before returning to my car, unloading some of my baggage. It took 3-4 hauls, but I managed to fit it into one of the bedrooms. Thankfully, the rest of my things were to be brought by moving vans in about an hour.
I envisioned what the house could look like with a few finishing touches.
“But first…”
I eyed the 2 rooms. “Mine!”
The room I had chosen to be mine gave a bright view of my own smaller garden, as well as a portion of my right neighbour’s house, but that didn’t matter much. The view in the other room would suck: just my car and some reeds.
I was just about done heaving some of my baggage into my newly-chosen room when the doorbell gave an obnoxious ring. I stood, fighting the urge to just run away into one of my rooms when it beeped again.
Reaching the door, I eyed out of the peephole to see nothing but an opaque whiteness. I guess the downside in this house is that the last tenant was a slob. I eyed some of the yellowing walls. Sighing, I opened the door.
“Hello! We’re your neighbours, Jack and Sally, and we live just there,” She motioned towards my right, “We came to introduce ourselves, and to let you know that if you ever need anything, we’re right here.”
She then shoved a basket full of biscuits at my chest, a motherly-smile stretched around her lips. She turned to leave, husband - clearly forced to follow her - in tow, when she turned around.
“Your name, dear?”
“Leen!” I shouted after her.
“Perfect.”
And perfect it was, I thought. Neighbours that respect their distance from you, and give you food? I eyed the delicious snacks in front of me. Definitely an upgrade.
Though it was at dawn the very next day that I woke up, shook.
~
See, I was just sleeping in my newly delivered bed when I heard it. Something that sounded like a bird, a huge caw, before it alternated into different pitches. Disoriented, I tried to wipe the sleep from my eyes in order to focus better. But it just made me more confused.
It sounded like a chicken.
As far as I know, this new place was not the countryside, nor farmland. So what? And why?
I stepped up to my window to take a good look outside. I wouldn’t keep a rooster in my home that’s for sure. Whatever it was, it was coming from…
My jaw dropped.
I closed my eyes and scrubbed at them harshly.
Please tell me why I opened my eyes and saw the exact same thing.
A man, on his haunches, face pointed towards the sky, was making rooster noises.
And he was on my neighbours’ garden. The ones I met earlier.
He looked absolutely demented. I wasn’t even scared then, just flabbergasted. I wasted no time calling the police at this disturbing nuisance.
When they arrived though, I saw my neighbours’ shoot straight from their house, speaking or…was it pleading? With the officers. What on Earth..?
Anyway, it was their problem now, so I went back to bed. I had a whole bunch of chores the next day, and had to get it all sorted before I returned to work.
Shutting my eyes, I wished for peace. And quiet, thank you very much.
~
At last, I woke up at 10 AM. By 1 PM, I had sorted my clothing into its respective drawers, and had decorated my bedroom walls, including a new golden addition. And now? I had food cooking on the stove. It felt satisfying, having cleaned up and now awaiting the prize of food.
I scrolled on my phone as I waited for the pasta to cook, before another ding turned my attention towards the door.
“Huh, what now?”
Unfortunately I hadn’t cleaned the peephole yet, so I had to open the door. There stood Jack and Sally. Or Sally and Jack. Jack looked lost. Sally stared deep into my eyes.
“Was it you?”
“Me? What do you mean?”
“That called the police last night?”
I recalled the past night, and gave her a thumbs up, hoping my smile was reassuring. “Yep, don’t worry, that lunatic will not be coming back ever again. He can go to the zoo if he wants to squawk.”
I should’ve taken the cue from Jack’s paling face, but Sally grabbed hold of me. “Listen here, okay? That man, the one you called the police on...” She trembled, “He’s my son! You can’t do that! He was not even on your property!”
My eyes widened. “He’s…your son?”
“Of course! How can you not see that?”
Nodding at her, I relinquished myself from the hold she had on my arms. “Okay then, sorry for the call. But I do have to mention something,” Jack started to shake his head behind his wife, but I ignored the little-to-say man, “Is there any way you can keep the noise down to a minimum? Honestly, your son has vocal cords of steel! It would wake the entire neighbourhood at this rate.”
Sally stared pointedly at me, then took a look around my house. “Very well.”
She grabbed her husband’s arm as she turned to leave, and I caught the slightest look of fear in his eyes before he was abruptly pulled away.
I dismissed it - and the sinking feeling - on discovering my very soft, overcooked pasta when I came back into my home though.
I managed to also do one thing before wrapping up: I cleaned out my door's peephole. Now I wouldn't have to open the door to know it's them. I'd just speak at them from the inside if they were to come back.
~
I woke, jolting out of my bed the very next morning, or night. I checked my bedside clock to see it was 3:50 AM. The cock-a-doodle-doo was breaking into my head. I grasped my hair in frustration, knowing that I didn’t have the madman’s parents phone numbers’ to call, or maybe scream at them. It was the exact same thing as the day before! Except…maybe…
I strained my ear.
It sounded a lot closer.
My hands, for some reason, became clammy instantly, and the urgent thumping of my own heart - the fragility of my own life - became all the more prominent.
I tiptoed to my window and peeked outside. Nothing.
I then slowly treaded to my spare bedroom, and pulled the curtains apart. Zilch. Nada. Though…
Almost as if under a spell, my head turned towards my main door. I…I could somehow feel it. Just to confirm though, I peeked out of the door-hole.
And with a slam, I collapsed in my new, dream home.
~
When I came to, I was lying on white sheets, and a bright white light hung over me.
A hospital.
I was in my own room, which I found odd. It was not like I needed it. But then a doctor walked in, followed by 3 other people, and it all made sense. Everything - blurs and sureness - melted into a perfect picture.
Sally, Jack, and their son.
He couldn’t be more than 17 really. Though he looked 37 a few hours ago. Face pressed against the glass of my peephole, mouth wide open towards it, eyes pointing in different directions as his face reddened and contorted.
I was deaf in one moment. Then came the COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO.
Of course I fainted. Who could blame me?
“Good afternoon, I’m Dr Lam. You’re in A&E right now. Are you able to tell me your full name and date of birth?
My voice answered the Doctor’s questions, but my eyes stared dazed at the youngster’s abdomen, not daring to reach his its eyes.
“Well, nothing seems to be wrong with you. You may have just been dehydrated. Did you have any headache or pain before you fainted?”
I replied in the negative.
“Luckily, your friends’ son had found you passed out, and ensured your speedy arrival to hospital, so I wouldn’t be worried about any damage.”
My eyes finally strayed, looking towards the ground. I held the nauseousness of bile down my throat. Following a brief check-up, I was allowed to leave.
And 2 people and a demon followed me out.
“Well, Leen, that should give you a lesson,”
Sally.
I turned towards the family, who stood in a 3 person arc. Only 1 managed to look away, equal parts shame and guilt. I don’t need to mention who that was.
“Don’t worry. You can look at me, I don’t bite: not now and not at dawn,” a strained voice whispered at me. “I promise, it’s only at dawn when I…when I…”
“Hush Dean, don’t work your voice that much. You’ll need to save it for later.”
I was still dizzy. That didn’t stop me from running half-hobbled to the taxi stand, where I begged and claimed to many that I would provide double payment if they were to take me to my house.
It took a while, but I managed to pack some of my clothes. There was no way in hell I was sleeping at that damned house again, not now, not ever. I called and booked at a nearby hotel in the meantime.
I was done packing necessities by the evening. Walking out of my house, I saw no sign of those three. I would have been relieved, had I not come face to face with than one thing: standing in my garden, leaning against my car. My breathing picked up instantly.
Dean
It stood with its back resting against my car. And It noticed me immediately. Seems like it was just waiting for me to notice it.
“Are you leaving?” It sounded almost sad, but I needed it to move away, or my only way out of there would be in jeopardy.
“For the night.” My answer? Almost smooth, but even I could hear the first shake in my voice.
It nodded though. “Okay.” And he moved from my car. I counted the distance. 1 metre. 2. 2.5-
It made a sudden dash at me as I - in flight response - ran frantically to the driver’s seat, locking the door. I came in half-squashed, my backpack still on my back. But I didn’t care.
Its face was pressed against the window.
“Mum is waiting for a person that will like me for me, not run away. You’re supposed to like me.” It said, matter-of-factly. It then wailed, and sunk beneath the car window.
I did not dare to sit up and see what it was doing.
I didn’t even need to though. The sound came a split-second later.
COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO
Tears spilled from my eyes. My limbs felt weak. I couldn’t even breathe. It suddenly sprang up to the window. Eyes enlarged: looking at me and everywhere at once.
“I can actually tur-COCK- in the day too, but M-DOODLE- said it would be too much for you,” wheezing, it exclaimed again before adding, “but this is ME. Do you-do you, do you like me?”
With dead limbs I weighed my foot on the pedal, and jump-started the car to speed off. My head shook left-and-right in response, stomach heaving with nausea.
Human preservation kicked me into taking proper control of the car when I saw, out of the rear view mirror, Sally. This time with a rope, which locked around the creature’s neck before she tugged, drawing it into her house. At one point we locked eyes. And what do I mean by we?
Answer: the 2 of them and me.
It was honestly a miracle that I did not get into a road traffic accident.
I spent 3 days living in the hotel after that, my job long-forgotten in the aftermath.
By day 4 I broke down and called my older sister, asking to stay at her place for a while. Her house and area seemed fine the times I’d stopped over. I guess I clearly did not seem right though, as she many-a-time asked me what was wrong. My answer? Stress. She persisted, years of living together as kids helping her figure out my lies, though she ultimately gave up after a week. She knew it was something I didn’t want to share, and that I was safe now. That was enough for her.
For me? I guess at the time I so badly wanted to tell someone. Though it couldn’t be my sister. I didn’t want to cause any trouble. Nor see if she’d even believe me, or instead rank me at the same IQ level as her two 5-year-olds.
For a few weeks, I stayed with my sister and her family, reassuring both her and myself that I was fine. Thankfully, we worked together to find a small apartment. Next to a kids school too - bonus points. I now craved safety above all else. After moving out though, I realised I needed my belongings back.
So, who picked up my stuff from that cursed residence, you ask? The moving people. I called the police from a random phone booth first to head over to that area, emphasising on seeing some suspicious looking men, whilst I got them to collect everything. I did not dare to call the police on that family though. I would prefer if the link between me and them got cut, drawn and quartered.
So now I’m here, in an apartment which thankfully hasn’t shown any sign of insanity. Inspecting my belongings, I noticed that there was one thing missing.
My gold frame, used to encase my make-shift certificate - made by yours truly after her 21-day record from the previous apartment - was gone.
I felt somewhat miffed, but then I realised something.
Something which can maybe bring the light out in this whole situation.
I counted carefully. I broke my record.
With a grand stay of 2 days. Now that - that I don’t think I’d ever be able to beat.

It's really simple if you follow basic rules, or at least it significantly reduces any problems related to nutritional availability or temperature, and humidity. 18 to 26c . 40-70% ph 6.0 to 6.3 Feed a fully complete 13 minimum required mineral solution N P K Ca Mg S Fe Mn Zn Mo Cu B Cl . 600ppm feed and up to 900 ppm runoff in carbon media 850ppm feed and up to 1300ppm runoff in inert media like water , rockwool, or gravel . 10k to 15k / lux seedling 15k to 35k veg 25k to 45k bloom When feeding, apply a 20% runoff to try to keep Salts from building up in the media. When your media dries out about one-third, apply another watering feeding two twenty percent runoff. When the bulk of the plant is as wide as your pot. This is when you can apply once a day. Feeding and that will allow the plant to continue to grow widthways, whereas normally, it would stop when it hits the edge of the pot. That is called the drip line. Keep track as this will be a pattern from now on. so: -water to 20% runoff - when pot dries out 1/3 from saturated to 2/3 wet watefeed to 20% runoff monitoring ph/ec to above levels. - when plants bulk width is as big as pot ie: 8" pot and 8" bulk of plant Not just the tips of the biggest leaves You can Start at least one watering daily. End follow the same rules about increasing frequency of watering. bigger pots = less watering smaller pots = more watering Both will equal roughly the same product. but the more water there is In the media, the more buffer you have in case of watering issues such as pump failure or you not being there. Smaller media with more watering is just more economical and less wasteful. The plant will take up the exact same water and nutrients per pound, no matter how you feed it. I usually choose a happy medium of around free 3>5 gal again following the common sense rules.
That's pretty much it these are the environmental conditions you need to try to get as close to as you can within reason. If it's eg 27c, do NOT buy an AC to get it to 25 or 26c . ( the within reason part ) All the other stuff like mold and pest control and stuff mostly happens when you lose control of your environmental conditions but these are the basic environmental and feed conditions that will allow you to focus on all the rest of the things above and beyond basic environmental and feed conditions.
THESE ARE EXCELLENT STARTING POINTS I RECORDED OVER 20 YEARS FULL TIME PRODUCTION. YOU MAY FIND YOUR PLANT LIKES A BIT MORE , A BIT LESS BUT WILL BE IN A REASONABLE RANGE .
This covers 99% of plant growth. Follow these basic rules within reason, and you will get 99% of your potential. Always make sure you have got a basic yield number. a yield with just proper technique and basic 13 mineral solution. Then, if you do add a new product, you will know whether it does anything or not. You will NEVER be unhappy with cannabis grown using just these basic parameters. DO NORMAL THINGS , EXPECT EXTRAORDINARY RESULTS 🙂 John ( always read, reason & then read some more) cannabis GROWERS SCIENCE group fb growersscience

I 25F have 4 really really close friends. One friend (we’ll call her Mary) I met 3 years ago and we get along well. We go out for coffee, drinks, dinner, trips out of state, literally everything and anything she’s there. Same with my other friend (we’ll call her Chloe) who I’ve known for 4.5 years now. Things with her are a bit tougher now because she does have 2 babies but she will always make the effort. We meet at the very least 3 times a month for coffee and play date with the kiddos at the park. Maybe once every month she’ll have her bf watch the kids and we’ll go out on a girls dinner, breakfast or drinks.
My other 2 friends who I’ve known for over 15 years. Best friends for 10 years now. We’ll call friend one Abby and two Olivia. We went to school together and the 3 of us are super close. We are a trio. We hang out independently and get along individually. So my problem is that we never do things. Aside from random trips to grab fast food and maybe a drink at Starbucks or Dutch bros. Don’t get me wrong I love anytime spent with them but trying to get them to do anything outside of short errand runs feels like mission impossible. Abby is overweight so doing any sort of outside activity like walking, hiking, literally anything is always a no. I convinced them to come with me to an event and we walked maybe half a mile and it was nothing but complaining the whole way so I got us an Uber to the car and we left. If we do anything we basically need to be seated the whole time. Olivia is willing to do outdoorsy things but she is attached to her bf and can’t be apart from him longer than maybe an hour or two unless he’s busy then she’s willing to do something but it bothers me so much. I can’t stand feeling like I’m just a placeholder so she’s not alone. I’ve brought up my feelings to the group several times. I’ve told them how it bothers me that I share all these really cool experiences with my other friends but I’ve known them longer and there’s really nothing we have done. We’ve gone out of town twice. Both because Olivia was getting married out of town so we drove out and made a trip and the other was because Olivia wanted to go see her fiancé before they got married. They are divorced now so don’t get confused with the “bf” comment earlier.
I’m at the point where I am tired of making the effort to do stuff. I don’t want to end the friendship but also I can’t keep feeling like this. It’s worth mentioning that I have been trying to lose weight so when we do go get fast food or drinks I don’t always eat or grab anything. I’m just there to hangout with them. I don’t feel like I ask for anything crazy either. I’ve asked to do a picnic or a day trip to the beach to sit by the water. Idk if I’m just being dramatic and have my expectations too high..
I mentioned my other two friends because though I have known them for a shorter period of time they make more of an effort to do things which makes me validated in not feeling like I ask for too much because it’s never been an issue with them.

My husband and I started dating during Covid. We are both gamers, and had met through my brother who is a long time friend of his. They met once before.
My attraction was his voice, his personality and eventually finding out he was very handsome didn’t hurt either. We connected right away and fell in love. A year and a bit of disappointment, the border finally opened and we met in person.
The chemistry has been undeniably strong. He fell hard and so did I. I began to get excited at the idea of marrying him. Starting a life together. The works!
I visited him afterwards and met his family. He lives at home as he’s saving money and helps his mom a lot around the house and overall. She’s older (65+) and needs help a lot. She’s energetic and light hearted but also has a wicked streak.
I never anticipated this. When I met she was super sweet. It was his sister that gave me a hard time at first, which was difficult but I persevered regardless. His mother started as supportive, but as soon as I started discussing future plans, everything began to change.
Suddenly I was rushing things, my husband, life , etc. I was 25 when we dated and he was 23. We were younger but not THAT young. We both eagerly discussed marriage since week 2 of dating. We dated a year and a bit when I first met his family.
Every conversation with his sister or mom during the first year or two of dating revolved around my lack of education. They’re a degree family (teachers at a elementary school and pre-K) and looked down on me because I didn’t have one, so I decided to open up about my trauma and childhood to help them understand why I’m where I’m at in life, and that it’s actually way better than I could ever imagine.
I have my own place. I make good money at a corporate job I’ve been at for several years, and I travel frequently. I have a full life of friends and family of my own. I don’t talk to my mom because she was physically abusive until I was 17 and worse. His mom knows this.
I explained that we need a marriage based visa approval before I can legally move to his country (USA) from mine (Canada). Student visa is pricey and not ideal for future plans. I went through the process and it all over 20 times in length. Trying to get everyone to understand it was the best option to get married. They fought it HARD. I cried so much, so many times.
I had no idea why they were soiling on our goals and on me. My husband was so excited to get married, he knew what we needed to do. They actively tried to convince him not to do it but then helped him plan my engagement decorations and cake. His sister was annoyed by this, since it was hard to watch her younger brother grow up and as her own marriage was rocky at the time.
After we got married his mom started making comments only to me about how we have to “wait and see how it all goes after a year” implying we wouldn’t last that long. She constantly says stuff like this. Especially when we’re alone in the kitchen having what I thought was an open conversation.
She’s accused me of marrying him for a green card, of trying to rush our marriage to have babies, and trap him.
I have explained countless times my plan and our plan to wait for kids. Yes I’m older than him but we have goals before kids come that we want to achieve. Pair her general comments with her mean remarks whenever we mention future kids, and I just see someone trying to tear me down.
The worst thing she said is that she thinks if I got pregnant and my relationship with him fails, that I’ll “take the baby to Canada”. And that if things don’t work out before kids, I’ll be alone out here. Yeah.
Despite all this, I have always helped her and been nice. Even too nice.
Today was the straw that broke my camels proverbial back. I had helped her while she was really sick with what we found out to be COVID, for 2 weeks while I am visiting my husband before we fly away for our 1 year Anniversary trip. I made her home made soup, I cleaned her house, I checked on her. I made a custom recipe book for my Mother’s Day gift to her. I got her whole family to sign it after.
We haven’t celebrated due to her being sick. We were supposed today. My husband and I came back from a day out and she starts ranting about our sex life to him, and I am overhearing this from his room. She was talking about it in the open dining room randomly.
I had a private talk with her when she was at the end of her sickness, as my husband and I had some tense talks and I wanted to get insight. I had mentioned in passing that my iud strings were cut during a precancer cell removal surgery. That I was being careful but still worry for us sometimes, but that I’m taking precautions.
She didn’t say much besides “ oh that’s good! I’m glad to hear that”. Then she brings it up today, 4 days later. In front of my husband who in already discussed this with. She’s lying and saying I sounded unsure and scared, that we’re being careless and that she’s praying we don’t get pregnant. She tells him he should take mint pills, get a temporary vasectomy, and that I should get checked / scanned. That she doesn’t know if we’re compatible if we have tense talks lately and we may find out after living together FT. She said she wishes she could twist his balls, that she had a nightmare I got pregnant and “someone got hurt” but didn’t elaborate so as not to “call it into existence “ We’re just standing there stunned. She plays it off like she cares, but she’s just being so negative.
I levelled with her, assuring her I would take precautions once again. That her concern is real. Well shortly after we went to his room feeling good about hearing her out while talking. But then I hear his mom gossiping to his older sister. She barely looked at me after when I walked in. She was noticeably cold to me.
His mom was syrupy sweet to me. Saying we (her son and i) should go on a walk to enjoy the sunnny day! I cried the whole time asking him why she’s so mean, why she can’t trust us to be adults.
I cried so hard I skipped lunch and dinner, I had an anxiety attack. I couldn’t breathe, I’m disbelief at what I saw and heard today. It’s like nothing I did in the past 4 years and 1 year of marriage almost, mattered to her or made any impact.
My husband went up and talked to her, for a long time. He came down and spoke on her behalf, detailing how concerned she was for me and my health “stuff” and that it holds heavy on her heart. She doesn’t want us to go through worse (baby is worse?) and wanted to get her point across. That she loves me and accepts me as her own.
Well after I stopped sobbing, I texted her saying I was sorry for today and why stress I caused her with my words.
She texts back giving me shit for not “coming to her directly” as she felt it was important i hear what she said to her son too. That if she didn’t care she wouldn’t bring it up to us. That we will figure it out as we’re adults. Night night with heart emoji.
I texted back a big paragraph (like this post) reminding her that she wasn’t direct with me as she was talking to my husband about making sure I was on birth control, insinuating I’m lying about my IUD being effective. If I didn’t walk in the chat never would have happened. That she can’t expect me to come upstairs and hash it out if I’m so upset I can’t stop crying. That it’s unfair to put that on me after i was the bigger person and apologized to her tonight. She never said sorry to me directly.
My poor husband is in the middle, especially as he’s the youngest (27). I told him it’s time to move out and detach from the emotionally toxic relationship with his mom. He agrees.
He’s tried to leave a few times but she guilts him into staying. Today was the first day he saw her true colours towards me, he hated it!
Any support is appreciated and advice is valued!
TLDR; MIL chastised us about our private issues like sex

I finished this book in around 5/6 days.
RJ went out with a high!
Wow. So many great moments and storylines in this book, storylines being resolved even! All great except a few chapters of Elayne in the middle of the book. RJ is back to his old form, with great characterisation and stuff happens for once!?! Unbelievable.
You can really feel the story torpedoing to Tarmon Gai’don, I can’t wait.
Here are some thoughts on this book:
Nynaeve
Nynaeve loves, trusts, and feels for Lan so much; I can’t help but tear when she rallies for Malkier. Favourite scene of the whole series personally, involving my favourite characters.
“My husband rides from World’s End to Tarwin’s Gap, toward Tarmon Gai’don. Will he ride alone?
CHILLS!!!
Also, give me more Nynaeve, she needs more page time.
Perrin
Great ending to a sometimes lacking storyline (just Faile’s PoV), and it has ended with Perrin ready for the time ahead with his beloved and the shaido finally disappeared, forever hopefully.
Perrin was so blind to everything but Faile this book. Ignoring the signs of Tarmon Gai’don for the one he loves. This obviously isn’t healthy, but I understand him; his whole family died and she is the one who filled the gaps in his heart, if she died I doubt Perrin would ever recover from it.
I guess Aram isn’t a darkfriend as I previously speculated, just a man who is very susceptible to being manipulated. An abrupt ending to someone who got introduced in the first book, and later become a reoccurring character. His descent was quite tragic though; died trying to kill the man who helped him get back on his feet many times over just because of one man’s manipulation. Fuck Masema.
Rolan and the other two brotherless’ death was unjustified but I can’t blame Perrin for killing him. Adrenaline pumping through his veins and he sees 3 men standing between him and his wife. It was bound to end in blood. However, while Rolan was a bit of a creep at times he didn’t deserve to die like that after helping Faile. Now that I think about it though, he was sort of trying to steal her from Perrin, Rolan’s death was inevitable.
Tam finally learned that Rand is the dragon reborn, after I think around 3 years. I would have expected he would know by now, but I guess the two rivers is notorious for being secluded and only getting information from peddlers.
Perrin and seanchan captain has a quite nice mutual respect for each other, another bridge to seanchan relations has been built.
After all these deaths, failures, and triumphs, Perrin and Faile are finally reunited! I am interested to see where the story goes with them, maybe they will go after Masema?
Mat
Mat is always an enjoyable read, and now he has accepted that he can’t escape his luck and the battlefield, Mat now just tries to work out a way to make as little people die as possible.
I have to talk about Moiraine first of course. She is confirmed to be alive, which I hoped for and expected. However, didn’t expect it to take this many books. I have been waiting too long for this, I missed her so much and I am excited for her to be back hopefully soon.
Mat and Tuon are my second favourite couple so far, after Nynaeve and Lan, they have a great dynamic!
From the start Mat knew that he would marry Tuon, but she was slowly deciphering whether this man was truly who she would marry. She did ask many seemingly random questions which was a big giveaway. The build up was worth it though, she completely confuses Mat by doing it out of the blue and revealing her prophecies from her damane. Hilarious moment!
I feel Tuon growing on me but then I remember that she agrees with slavery and leashing those who can channel. I am conflicted on her, but maybe she will change. We have a love-hate relationship.
Mat, please just go free Moiraine already. Please.
Rand
While he hasn’t had the spotlight for a few books, his chapters are always full of major plot points and revelations which are always great.
Lews Therin is creeping in like a parasite, taking control of the power and Rand even confuses his thoughts with Lews Therin. One lack of control and that could be it for Min or others around him. Disturbing thoughts.
One minute I was watching a lovely wedding between Loial and Erith, the next there is thousands of trollocs outside the window. The juxtaposition is crazy.
The new weaves are really powerful, it can’t be nice for random dead trollocs to appear outside your house though.
Did Semirhage expect to defeat Rand? I think there is some other plot she has. Semirhage went down too easy for that to be her only plan. Potentially trying she is trying manipulate his allies to go to the shadow. Or like many of the forsaken she was just arrogant.
Hoping that Rand gets his hand back, I loved Rands swordplay and It will absolutely cause issues. Surely he can use the power to create a fake hand.
Breaks my heart, to see Rand so calm after all he goes through. Poor guy. Cadsuane needs to teach Rand to feel again and quickly!
Seanchan truce incoming. Rand will now see what Mat has been up to while he has been battling the forsaken.
Egwene
Thoroughly enjoyed her political manoeuvrings around the white tower, slowly planting seeds of dissent between the different layers of aes sedai. Egwene is great at scheming and manipulation; she is a genius. Not the best person though.
I have a lot of respect for Egwene. Multiple strappings a day, and she carries on twisting the aes sedai, what a powerhouse!
Egwene is consistently interesting to me, I think she will play a big part over the next few books.
Elayne
Elayne was great late in the book, while lacking a bit at the start.
She was overconfident this book, just because she won’t die any time soon (min’s viewing) doesn’t mean she can’t be captured. It was very reckless to just burst into the BA’s house and expect to live.
I loved Vandene getting her revenge on Careane, what a way to go, her short storyline was amazing. Amazing but tragic.
I found it weird how an aes sedai sent by Elaida just stormed in, said Elayne would regret sending her away and ran off. There had to be something larger going on with her.
Problem after problem kept pilling up, but she dealt with them with resilience and it somewhat worked out. A true queen if I ever saw one.
Other
Rand has caused a whole civilisation to kill themselves. Let’s hope he never finds that out. This was a really horrifying moment, left my mouth open for a while.
Taim is not a forsaken, but just a very high ranking dark friend it seems. He must be very high ranking to know about the lord of chaos. What if he is a newly raised forsaken? Only the forsaken know about the lord of chaos, not regular dark friends. I don’t know how one would raise a darkfriend though, does it come with new abilities or just being closer to the dark one?
RJ is great at the small details however he doesn’t touch upon the slavery stuff, which I find weird. Could just be me though.
Overall
This book ends so many dragging storylines, I can’t wait for the next!
I’m sad this is the last Robert Jordan book, but I’ve heard that Brandon ended it well, I watched a few videos on him and read his eulogy on RJ and he seems very kind and admires RJ a lot. I don’t know how his writing style is though, maybe someone can give me an idea of how it compares to RJ?
It is tragic RJ couldn’t finish his series by himself though, but glad someone was found to finish it.
just don’t mess up Nynaeve Brandon!
I probably missed a lot of plot points but I didn’t want this to be too long, and I want to read the next book already.
Book ranking so far - very susceptible to changing:

1. The Shadow Rising
2. The Fires of Heaven
3. The Lord of Chaos
4. The Dragon Reborn
5. Knife of Dreams
6. The Great Hunt
7. The Eye of the World
8. New Spring
9. A Crown of Swords
10. Winter’s Heart
11. The Path of Daggers
12. Crossroads of Twilight

REBRAND NEEDED NO HATE BUT
I don’t see your career popping off unless you completely rebrands herself.
• Sings about the female gaze yet aesthetically appeals to the male, This is a no go
The music and the look needs to match, Ditch the Lolita thing! Way too many people are doing it .Your gonna need to stand out in order to succeed
• Stop associating yourself with influencers I don’t care if their your friends, most of them don’t really even fuck with you, they like clout they get off being associated with you. ITS A BAD LOOK IN GENERAL, you don’t see any of your peers doing that or predecessors. IMAGE MATTERS IF YOU WANT TO MAKE IT BIG YOU CANT BE OUT HERE ASSOCIATING YOURSELF WITH JUST ABOUT ANYONE, SOCIAL MEDIA FAME IS NOT CONCRETE.
• You don’t need to dance but come up a little one two step anything but running around on stage.
• Make a personal brand unique to YOU. You like gaming incorporate that into a music video try making silly music video something your fans can attach to maybe even reach a wider audience. ADD your personality into everything you do. Write messy lyrics at the end of the day it’s a song it’s alright to appear a bit out there lyrically if anything the song writers have crazy lyrics
• Work with different producers, try different sounds and styles, don’t push yourself in one box and Stop trying to look so perfect all time and SHOW SOME PERSONALITY WHILE PERFORMING. Look goofy, make different faces while performing an example would be Olivia Rodrigo on her Guts Tour look at her facial expressions even Tate Mcrea on her think later tour
• STOP REPLYING TO COMMENTS ABOUT YOURSELF !!! Don’t engage with the haters. Ignore them, If your gonna be in this industry people will say things, you can’t be out here reacting to them. YOU don’t you see any other popstar going on Live reading their own hate comments and explaining everything.
STOP OVEREXPLAINING YOURSELF, IT MAKES YOU LOOK A LIAR WHEN YOUR NOT, ITS GIVES PEOPLE WHO ARE NEW TO YOU A BAD TASTE IN THEIR MOUTH, FIRST IMPRESSIONS MATTER
Address Something once then leave it ALONE.
• REPUTATION MATTERS, many artist lose their careers over a bad reputation. yours ain’t looking to good
Right now all we see pretty face that sings and that gonna have to change.
IF LONGEVITY IS WHAT YOU ARE STRIVING FOR A REBRAND IS NEEDED

• A ᥴꪖ᥅꠸ꪀᧁ ꪶ꠸ᦓꪻꫀꪀꫀ᥅

Alright Apes,
I was out walking my dog, ready to get back home to go to sleep, and then it happened. I did one last check of superstonk to get my dopamine hit that is our community and well, I got more than I asked for. Now I have too much energy to sleep because I am so fucking hyped for what I found. So here I am.
This beautiful post popped up at nearly midnight my time.
When it said watch in reverse, I had mixed emotions because one of my favorite post was the one with the opening to the White Stripes glitch mob remix. Go watch the video if you haven’t already. That’s one of my favorite songs for very personal reasons and the idea that GME was about to unleash something that caused a glitch was very exciting to me. I wanted that to be the foreshadowing that RK left us with.
But I like every other GME theory I read, it consumes me. I’m obsessed. So what the heck, let’s go watch everything in reverse.
Lucky for me I realized very quickly that when you go to the X iphone app and watch the latest video in full screen, you can just swipe up to see the next video. So, the next hour of my night was planned out.
That was an hour ago. I am so hyped about what I saw that I’ve decided to sit down and write out the my whole interpretation of what I saw. I don’t have answers for every single post but there does seem to be a theme that matches the theory that these are meant to watch in reverse.
Buckle up.
One last things before I get started. I think DFV has been here all along. I think he has read all of the DD and I think he made his memes with all of that in mind. I highly doubt he knows anything for sure but is just a fan of the DD. Just like I am. And there is one DD I fell in love with from the first moment I read it. I think he did too and this is his thesis. He has read all the tea leaves and doesn't think anyone has put it together like he has so he is sharing his interoperation of the DD, the market conditions, and the news and is going to do one last DD himself.
Ok. Here we go.
Oh, and this is not financial advice.
Ok. Here we go for real.
ET: This might actually be him saying goodbye for now. Hopefully not forever (still kinda sad we never got a ET 2).
Horse Gift: Not sure how to interpret this one. Maybe foreshadowing that he found (or was gifted) the GME bull thesis and at that point, he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing for a bad things. “We’ll see”
Coldplay Backwards: GME had to pull back for him to find the right time to get in.
Forest Running: And then it started running.
Original Sheet Music: Then he started meme. The memes were “MIRACULOUS”.
My favorite post – The White Stripes Glitch Mob video intro: Seriously, if you haven’t watched the video, go now. It’s hype af. This is the video that marks the Jan 2021 glitch. The sneeze.
MIB Kitty: And then GME became RK’s galaxy.
That’s not a Knife: He was the memelord at this point but shorties wanted his gains.
Westworld’s Bernard: Then the bear thesis’ started coming out but we can’t see what we are programed not to see. We were already programed at this point thanks to the bulleproof bull thesis.
Ocean’s Gang in Prison: And then we got thrown in a prison together when so many people bought at high prices.
Beavis and Butthead: We were obsessed with Cohen at this point. We hung on to every tweet. Sex for Dummies was a very popular one. Lot’s of theories popped up with this tweet.
A Few Good Men: DFV visits Congress!
Elaine Dancing: Is this him celebrating his gains and/or not getting thrown in prison?
Aladdin: They tried to take his gains away?
Truman > Mourinho’s In Big Trouble: He was gagged.
ASIP In Therapy: RK went to therapy and found he loved making memes and GME?
Newman: Talking about his experience as his new life as the United States GameStop memer and all the requests he was getting for memes.
Eddie Murphy: Chronicling his time as a memer
SNL The Shooting AKA Dear Sister: Not sure on this one.
Steve Wilkos: RK is ours and we are going to stick beside him
Succession: RK was reading so much about how he was the villain
Borne: More struggles with his identity as the GameStop memer and deciding what to do next.
CNBC > .50: Why does everyone hate RK?
The Dude: Not sure on this one.
Garden State: foreshadowing the jam that he’s about to get into this his next (older) posts
Every Everywhere All at Once: more foreshadowing.
Stand by Me: There’s a game of chicken going on. Shorts vs HODLers?
School of Rock: Reminding us what where here for. This journey isn’t going to be perfect but it’s Rock and Roll.
TeddyBears – Punk Rocker: He has both hands off the wheel now but he’s still along for the ride.
You Can’t Stop What’s Coming: Self-explanatory with likely last-minute cameo of the Chicago (where was Citadel founded?) BEARS thanks to the world’s most famous coke rat market manipulator.
Sicario 2: He’s asking us if we are ready to be the “villain” with him.
Flip Mode: If you really want to party with the Kitty, show him what you got (make some more memes people!!!)
The Shining: Our view of RK at work making his memes for the past 3 years.
500 days of Summer: Talking about why he does what he does. Because it’s going to last forever (more foreshadowing).
Luca: Him laughing at us not knowing everything. Just forget about it if you don’t understand, he has more for you.
Signs 1: This is where things get interesting. This is where we start seeing the signs. Connecting dots. We found something legit in all the DD.
Signs 2: The signs all pointed to GameStop. It’s all about GameStop and what they are going. Nothing else matters.
Signs 3: Are we the aliens? All of our best DD writers talking to each other were some of my favorite moments over the past 3 years. [There are theories about what these signs said and I will go back and fill that in later, I’m getting sleepy]
Signs 4: He is asking us if we believe the DD.
Signs 5: RK is one of us. Assuming we are the Aliens in these signs videos, he is telling us he is one of us.
The Modern Animal: We need to get a little crazy if we are going to take on the big city (NYC? Wall Street?)
Broad City: We made our own language. Memes. SuperStonk is a place for best friend with time to shoot.
GooseBumps: I THINK THIS IS WHERE WE ARE TODAY. RK is letting his briefcase of memes open and warning bears.
Everyone’s favorite Boss: Here some the SIGNS (memes for those who are not keeping up). He is going to his us ONE MORE TIME.
Pay Attention: NOW FUCKING PAY ATTENTION because he isn’t going to do this again.
Kill Bill: It’s time to fight and we are bad asses.
JigSaw + Kansas City Shuffle: Are you ready for the game? Because GameStop has you covered. Everything up to this point has been the inciting incident and catalyst of the Kansas City Shuffle. There is a very short scene where he says, “are you watching closely”? I saw a comments days ago that I can’t find and the very high level paraphrased version is that scene is from the Prestige and all of those hats were a result of him cloning himself. I think that represents the synthetics that plague our market. (I will find that comment that explains it better and go back to watch the movie myself and update this).
Shawshank: RK is telling us all it really takes is pressure and time to break out of their prison. While he was in prison, he went back to get his financial education. We also need an activist (investor, RC). There is a lot more nuance we can try to extrapolate form this one. I’ll save that for later.
Radiohead Karma Police: They have run the price down far enough. They have been leaking gas this whole time. It’s time for the match to be lit.
Neo: This is where Neo figures out how to work the matrix. The market is fake and everyone is mad. We all know it. When it comes to the market, we all took the red pill, and we see it for what it is.
Bullet Scene: Might need some help deciphering this one. I think it’s about how we (maybe not us but the general public) perceive the market. We see cause and effect but that’s now how it works. I think he is telling us that we don’t fully understand the market but our instincts are right and we just feel it. I think we as a community have that instinct.
Fury: Every boss is going to feel like the last one. They are going to pound us with misinformation, price manipulation, and anything else they can come up. But they are just taunting us to whoop some ass.
Trueman Show: They are going to hit us with everything they have but HOLD ON!
Me, Myself, & Irene: Them tanking the price is going to change how we feel and who we are.
Red Right Hand: Might need some help with this one too. The red hand man is stalking someone and the other person can’t do anything about it? Not sure who is who here.
Beat Saber: Might need some help with this too. Is he calling all freaks to show up because we are about to go to war?
Keith and Jake SNL: Everyone thinks Keith is crazy lol
Seinfeld: Calling out the memestock docs for being stupid. He had to some back and tell everyone to “Shut Up Bitch”
Shut Up Bitch: He delivers his best line to the people making him out to be a Vilian.
Coffee Mug Breaks: He is asking us to convince him to do it again.
Bane: RK is saying everything is going as planned.
Oceans (again): RK has been waiting for this time and it was all part of the plan.
Snoop: There was so much drama at GME. People had to be fired because they were someone dressed up as something else. Moles?
Spiderman: It’s time for Keith Gill to become Roaring Kitty again.
Pizza Slices: Guy on the left is a shorty. He is getting mad with how popular things got with the thesis and how many people bought.
Missy Elliot ft Luda: Giving us confidence that he has a worldwide audience and he is about to kill all the rumors.
In Love with RC: He is telling us that RC is the right guy. Don’t doubt him.
Guardians: Everyone already knows who is in charge. Stop fighting to be in charge.
CNBC again: Some of the misinformation actually said RK is in charge. He is not. He is busy drawing dicks (memes).
Oceans (again): I think he is saying that no one person is in charge. It took everyone to give GME all that money. Or maybe it AVOCADO-IN-MY-ANUS all along?
Breaking Bad: His side still hasn’t been told?
Fight Club: RK finally accepting he is DFV
Nice Guy: He is still a nice guy despite what people are saying.
Day and Night: I think he is talking about his struggles day and night over the last 3 years.
Dave: He could’ve ignored it all but he couldn’t stand it. He’s about to keep it real with us.
Star Wars: help me fill in the blank on this one.
Ozarks: help me fill in the blank on this one.
Grim Reaper: The hedgies are trying to figure out what is going on with GameStop. They are I a holding pattern and will be coming with more hitman when what happens in the rest of the tweets goes down.
*******This is where shit gets real********
The Prestige: Alright. Put your tinfoil hat on tight. Here is my interpretation of this one. The magician makes something disappear, but the audience wants to be fooled so we are not actually looking for the secret. So, when something disappears we don’t clap because it’s not as impressive. But as soon as it comes back, the fights is on**~. I think the NFT marketplace is going to come back~**. But I think it’s going to come back as something else. I think they built the blockchain infrastructure for something other than the NFT marketplace. That is when shit is going to go crazy. Don’t believe me, keep reading.
Brand New GME: They finally embrace what everyone has been calling them. They show up one day looking sexy as fuck and blow everyone’s minds.
Prisoner: And now the prisoner (GME’s true price) has true FFFRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM.
The fallout: The hedgies are going to beg us to sell our shares at 14 grand but the nature of us is pure CRAZY. We all knew who was calling on the phone.
Parking Lot Killer: That is who was calling. They are coming for the bears.
Requel: And just like that the requel begins production.
Old Computer Game: Now the question is, with this brand new, sexy af version of GME are we selling or are we staying? I think it’s going to be so fucking amazing we “>Stay”
Kittyman: When this all goes down, RK will return again.
How did they do it?: GME (or we?) seems stupid but apparently whoever it is really good at paperwork and the RK is so happy he’s doing backflips.
What do they need to do it?: They are going to need all of us and the target is up. HODL.
Kingsman: Shorties will then be locked in the room with us and they are going to come in fierce numbers.
The Town: They need our help we can’t ask questions but we have some sick ass rides to get there with.
Morning Affirmation Cat: Help me with this one. I’m tired.
Troy: Sick ass scene. GME just needs to land the killshot.
Pikey Reaction: They pulled the price back so far that it’s a loaded spring and when the shots are fired, it’s going to be raining money. Now “come hang so we go out with a bang”. Does he have your attention now?
Stop Fighting: NOW we can stop fighting.
Pirates of the Carrabin: The Pirate comes back from the dead (NFT Market Place?) and GME presses the red button to go into hyperdrive. This solidified my theory.
Tombstone: It’s not for revenge. It’s for something bigger. It’s a reckoning. Maybe a Glass Castle?
Standoff: Now that the red button was pressed, we have all the shorties in a stand off. But it doesn’t matter because the result of the red button is going to destroy it all? DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION NOW?
Avenger Initiative: We have to do it together. It’s not just one person.
Sherlok Holmes: When GME says run, RUN! And remember what it’s running for. You monther, father, children, sisters, and brothers. The DOG DAYS are over.
Drive: We think were all good here right? It’s all over. Guess again. We are going to have every governmental agency coming after us and our gains. We are going to be on the run.
Bloody Blade: Help me with this one.
But First: The overture. This will be how it starts. We must go backward to unlock the secret. Once we do, the dragon wakes up and it’s game on for the game of thrones. We are going to break the wheel.
Still Here: It’s done when we say it’s done. This tweet closes with the song from the whole days evil cept being blown up with green fire. Sick.
Thanos: This was the actual first tweet just like the ET was the actual last tweet. He has read all the tea leaves and doesn't think anyone has put it together like he has so he is sharing his interoperation of the DD, the market conditions, and the news and is going to do one last DD himself.
Hope you were sitting up in your red chair and paying attention.
Apologies for any typos and poor formatting. I've never made a post like this and I'm too tired to figure all of that out. I'll come back tomorrow and clean it all up with that and fill any gaps you guys help me out with.

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

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

I'm a Sag, and Aquas are pretty much more relatable than other Sags to me. To be fair, I don't really know any other Sags, but can absolutely relate to the traits and to what other Sags write on here more than I relate to any other sign - except Aquarius.... We're considered one of the most harmonious pairings, cause there's so much mutual understanding... And I feel that. Aquas are unusually fiery for an air sign, and Sags are unusually airy for a fire sign.
The only mentionable differences I've found between Sags and Aquas, comparing me and my Sag traits to my Aquarius friends:

• We both care a lot for other people, both strangers and close ones, and are humanitarian. But Sags have a tendency of being too naive and give next to all people the benefit of a doubt, while Aquas are more like "yeah, that person's being shitty on purpose and I'm not trusting that. Still wish them the best tho".
  
• We both struggle with being vulnerable in front of others, but Sags are more communicative when it comes to problem solving in relationships. We wont avoid tackling the tougher topics if we love someone.
  
• We both have an "idgaf"-attitude, but Sags have more people pleasing tendencies.
  
• We both have a bad habit of repressing our emotions, but once they inevitably resurface, Aquas have an easier time pushing them down again.
  
• Aquas are fixed signs and less indecisive when it comes to their foundational beliefs.
  
• Aquas tend to overthink things, especially their own feelings and actions, and while I do to (I blame it on other placements), it's not a Sag thing.
  
• We're both aloof and have our heads in the clouds, but Aquas are more aware of the things outside their head despite this.
  
• We both avoid being surrounded by drama and negativity, but Sags are more likely to enter a debate despite risk of conflict, cause we struggle with resisting the instinct to do so... And cause we think it's fun sometimes lol.
  
• We're both highly intuitive, but Sags often miss the tangible things while Aquas are hyperaware on top of their intuition. They're also more detail oriented.
  
• When in love, Sags have a more dramatic way of showing love. Aquas are not less loving, generous or committed, but their expressions are not as intense and over the top... And I prefer the Aqua way of showing love tbh.
  
• We're both ambiverts, but Sags' need for balance is greater. Aquas have an easier time being alone for an extended time, but it also takes more time for them to burnout from too much social interaction.
  
• If you have one Aqua and one Sag in your life that you aren't super close to, the Aqua will probably be way more reliable. But if they do love you, the Sag is likely to be the most dependable one (but tbh both are very devoted once we commit).
  
• We're both curious and thirst for in depth knowledge, and we're likely to be interested in other cultures, art, psychology, politics, science, history etc. But Sags want to use their knowledge to be able to analyse the big picture or understand themselves and others rather than just the specific thing they're currently learning about (connecting the dots), while Aquas are more interested in factual matters, the specific topic at hand and hence absorb more concrete information. A good example is how both me and an Aqua friend have been interested in True Crime for more than a decade in my case and more than two in his. His main reason is Criminal Technology and fascination by morbidity, while my interest has always just been one aspect of my intense general interest in psychology and the human mind.
  
• We both have a high need for freedom and autonomy and are hesitant to committing, but with Aquas it's mainly interpersonal (needing it in relationships) and they have an easier time committing to a project or job, while Sags are like that in every area of our lives.
  
• Sags are more likely to get clingy when in love, and struggle more with letting go.
  
• We both have a very childish, goofy and playful side with a "quantity over quality" attitude to humor... But while Sags tend to like dark humor too, our overall goofy vibe is more like a toddler's, while Aquas are 7-12 yr olds lol.
  
• We're both inventive and have a high creative drive, but Aquas are more methodical and more likely to actually finish their projects/follow through... Like, Sags will come up with melodies and fantastic lyrics to 20 songs in a day, but then get bored with the idea of perfecting it or actually picking up an instrument and put things together.... While Aquas take their time to make a perfect, finished piece of art.
  

What are some differences and similarities y'all have noticed?

Hi, I have been reading through my notes, correspondence with my psych and reacquainted myself with this subreddit having made a little bit of progress. I realise how deeply personal and different our work with schema therapy can be. It is a fraught process that is really hard work at times. Having made unexpected progress though, I thought maybe it would be helpful to describe parts of my context, not so much that people find it familiar or relatable, but moreso that people grab the toolset that schema therapy gives you and run with it in your own way.
Background: It's probably been just over fourth months of fairly intensive schema therapy. I am in the fortunate situation of having regular appointments with a clinical psychologist. I would say I had two points where I generated schemas. First one was the same as everyone else: Early childhood. Second one was 17-21 when I became effectively bedridden due to chronic illness.
When I have talked about this second period, I describe it as "Having to rebuild who I was from scratch, entirely based around energy efficiency". I remember staring into the pitch blackness of my bedroom during this time, absolutely flawed that the one part of me that seemed to function right was what Schema Therapy might describe as "Demanding Critic". This would have been 18-19 years ago so I had no idea about schema therapy at all, I just had this constant internal dialogue tearing strips off me for not trying harder, not getting up, not fixing myself. I was completely exhausted otherwise, but this damn thing was as active as ever? What the hell, why was it the last thing standing? It was so different from the rest of me. "If you know how to fix everything, be my guest, I'm in your hands, here's the keys!" I remember thinking. Alarmingly, the internal dialog responded: "Fine, I will". "Good fucking luck" I thought, and passed out for several hours. I didn't realise it, but I had just given Demanding Critic a parental role.
Demanding Critic used a process of elimination to tear apart, kludge, re-engineer and jerry-rig me from someone who slept for 16-18 hours a day out of necessity into someone with a degree, a house, a family, a part-time job. It took a while. It wasn't easy. It's amazing what can happen when you give seething self-hatred the keys to your entire self. Punitive critic used to be a thing, but had it's parts ripped out and reconfigured for completely different purposes. Entire ways to simulate being a conscious, involved person in social situations were constructed. I trained myself to do very complex tasks by muscle memory so I could do them while completely exhausted. The complex effects of depressive episodes could be filtered and rewired to emulate happiness. Fatalistic pessimism was employed towards emulating initiative and drive. Their logics and mechanisms were set to fire off automatically according to the myriad of different contexts I found myself in, so I didn't have to consciously engage in the moment, I could just react according to programming. The "machines" as I called them were fine tuned over years. But it seems that entire parts of myself were deactivated having been deemed too difficult to regulate, or too energy intensive. Demanding Critic was as brutal at he was creative. Entire emotional spectrums were pulverised, or at best used as catalysts for the activation of certain mechanics. They weren't properly experienced, because that used up too much energy, and I couldn't trust myself to make it through the day. Same with speculative, ill-defined senses like 'Hope'. It wasn't worth the effects of disappointment. No one could know how much pain I was in, or how much I was really suffering, or how exhausted I really was. Press on you stupid meat-bag. In your state what good is hope or despair? You'd be a poor judge of either. Press on! Hurry up and succeed. It doesn't matter what has happened to you, what people say or do to you, you can barely feel it above the pain anyway. MOVE. MOVE. MOVE.
This process was refined until a semblance of normativity took place externally, and internally I had acclimated to the new approaches that were by now a pretty seamless, responsive system. Something still wasn't right though, and with investigation came the ASD/ADHD diagnosis, then the CPTSD diagnosis. Once again unto the breech, I pushed myself to understand and recover as best I could. Except doing so meant realising what was happening around me, what interpersonal boundaries were, how I was being treated by my loved ones, everything that had really happened to me for thirty-odd years.
Kaboom.
In the aftermath I'm in a difficult, but stable situation, and undergoing schema therapy. Learning about the modes my therapist asked me to talk about the ones I identified. Demanding Critic spoke directly through the keyboard as an intense character: The Machinist. It became obvious that the system of schema therapy lent itself to treating modes as characters within a narrative, and I have just ran with it. The Machinist, interestingly enough, set down his tools and deactivated many of his machines, because if my Therapist and I found a "Better Solution", he wanted in on it, being fundamentally benevolent, and concerned with a Successful Result. Without Schema Therapy lending itself to narrative and mythos, I doubt I could have so easily deactivated the system of "machinery" required to prop me up. It's led to all kinds of shocking discoveries: The missing (No longer presumed dead) Happy Child that has been carefully hidden away amongst the deactivated components of myself. The fact that I lived entirely in the Past or the Future. The present was deemed "Too energy consumptive". I didn't know whether I had a "Healthy Adult Mode", but weirdly The Machinist could fill that roll sometimes but obviously had his limitations. Then out of the void, deactivated parts of me started to come back online. Something started to assert itself in the Present. It was very interested in emotions. Instead of casting them aside and pushing past them to get on with what i was supposed to be doing, it insisted I experience them, decode them and experiment with them. New experiments in the real-time interaction with people were enacted, with the emotional fallout, good and bad, further experimented with. This present-based-thing has been curiously self-compassionate, and has guided me through the difficulties and risks of fully engaging in real time with my emotional spectrum when relating with others, my work, and my life. All for the sake of her experiments. She is The Scientist. She is getting all kinds of results and recording all kinds of functions I had no idea I was capable of. The Machinist is head over heels in love with her, having watched her working over the least two weeks. She's kinda started flirting with him, allowing a desire for perfection to be felt over some work I was doing. "Show me what you can do". I consciously disparaged the desire for perfection, looked down and my consciousness was shocked to discover The Machinist had taken over my motor skills and indeed had made something perfectly, and was having fun. It seems I have two self re-parents.
Now, it's bonkers to read, I'm sure. I apologise. But it's working. It really is fucking working. Take what you can from schema therapy and run with it. Make it yours, whatever that means for you. It's gonna be weird. It's gonna be wild. I reckon the easiest way to engage with it has to be it's propensity for character and narrative, but maybe the path of least resistance for you is some other aspect of it I can't detect.

In the heart of Chicago, where the skyline pierced the heavens and the streets pulsed with life, there lived a man named Victor Kane. At 26 years old and a startling 6'3" in stature, Victor commanded attention effortlessly. His piercing gaze seemed to see through the very fabric of one's soul, and his knowing, flirtatious smirk hinted at secrets that few could ever fathom. Victor was a man of many faces, each one carefully crafted and expertly worn to blend into any situation, like a chameleon adapting to its surroundings. Each interaction with another human was as if it were another painting to be hung in the Art Institute of Chicago, a masterpiece of social maneuvering and charm.
To most, he appeared unremarkable, perhaps even a bit dim, an illusion he maintained with meticulous precision. Yet beneath this facade lay a mind as sharp as a dagger, honed by years of strategic thinking, manipulation, and the art of emotional deceit. Victor had learned from the best. His father, a man deeply entrenched in the shadowy world of organized crime, had mastered the art of bending reality to his will. A master chess player, he treated people like pieces on a grand chessboard, moving them at his whim, always six steps ahead. Victor had absorbed these lessons like a sponge, his young mind eagerly soaking up every tactic, every subtle nuance of control.
Battles with his father have left their scars, trailing off Victor like a snake's entrails as they slither through crowded streets, scanning for their next meal. They probe the aura of each passerby, tasting their energy, yet to their disappointment, they find no juicy, dirt-filled sponge of pain and suffering. They taste desires, yet nothing hits just right. Empty husks, devoid of the essence they crave. Living memories enshroud him in a cloud of black smoke, a spectral fog visible only to a witch. A demon, masquerading as a homeless man and muttering incoherent whispers, feels the snake's embrace tighten around him. He halts abruptly, turning to Victor with a knowing gaze. 'I see you,' he murmurs, 'Such discipline and composure may deceive the others, yet it's only a matter of time before they find you.' The homeless man continues his walk, pulling a black suitcase along, his tattered white shirt contrasting sharply with his black suit, and no tie to complete the ensemble.
Victor makes no comment, his mind a labyrinth of dark intentions and calculated moves. He viewed the world as a malleable entity, something he could shape and twist to suit his needs. The streets, the people, the very air he breathed; they were all part of a grand, intricate game where he alone held the key. He had no qualms about using others to achieve his goals, seeing them as mere tools in his grand design. It was a dangerous philosophy, one which required constant vigilance and adaptability. As he moved through the throngs of oblivious souls, he could almost hear the whispers of their deepest fears and hidden sins. The scars trailed behind him, living entities of their own, reaching out hungrily, desperate for a morsel of genuine suffering. Yet the city, with all its noise and chaos, offered little more than hollow echoes and fleeting shadows. Traces of happiness. Lost children in the never ending void of their own desperation. Victor's eyes flickered with a cold, calculating light. He was a master of this urban jungle, a predator in search of worthy prey. The demon’s warning lingered in his mind, yet it only fueled a burning hunger. He thrived in the shadows, where power and control were his for the taking. Each step he took was a step closer to his ultimate end goal, a twisted vision of dominance, only he could see.
In the distance, the city’s lights shimmered like false promises, yet Victor knew better. Beneath the surface, in hidden corners and forgotten alleys, darkness mirrored his own. In this abyss, he felt certain he would find what he sought: the true essence of his own hunger, the raw, unfiltered energy he could devour. Victor thrived on the underestimation of others, reveling when people perceived him as lesser. Such perceptions made his manipulations appear as innocent mistakes, acts of ignorance and oblivion. His favorite targets: those with inflated egos, individuals convinced of their invincibility.
"A person with a big ego is like an orgasm," he often mused, speaking as if to his shadow. "It's just so easy. Their first mistake: telling me we're not equals. Afterward, they reveal all the buttons and levers in their psyche. They hand me their own weapon on a silver platter, asking, 'Victor, please send me to meet Anpu. Please show me the gates of my own demise.' Their insanity begs to be freed from this curse of societal norms. Always the first mistake, then the rest follow." Laughter echoed from the snakes twining around Victor. As he whispered these musings, the words ensnared a group of Venezuelans nearby, inciting them into a frenzy of violence without understanding the spark. Victor watched, casually tossing a silver dollar their way as if to say, "Welcome to the sanctuary," his smirk a shadow under the flickering streetlights. He calls to the boys, 'there now before you boys get into trouble remember this, you're only seeing the lions teeth, yet you haven't seen what triggered it.' They stared at Victor, startled, as he bid them farewell with a two-finger salute from his left temple and continued wandering down the street.
A drone sliced through the air, its camera lens capturing the serpentine twists of the Chicago River below. Victor, watching its flight, was transported to his youth, to days spent cobbling together a demonic owl from discarded household trinkets and an owl decoy. He would pilot this macabre creation through his neighborhood, a spectral puppeteer orchestrating nocturnal ballets which both delighted and unnerved his unsuspecting audience. A sinister grin unfurled across his lips, a shadow's whisper, as memories of those simple machines mingled with the sophisticated arsenal he commanded today. In the digital age, Victor had become a maestro of manipulation, his tools refined yet no less mischievous. Social media platforms were his stage, targeted advertisements and spoofed numbers his actors, each one playing their part in his grand, deceptive symphony. With the deftest touch, he planted seeds of doubt, spun webs of misinformation, transforming allies into adversaries, stitching chaos into the fabric of daily lives with mere whispers masquerading as shouts. His schemes were crafted with such subtlety, woven so seamlessly into the warp and weft of reality, that his victims believed themselves architects of their own undoing.
The crowning jewel of his current machinations was a prototype drone, a whimsical homage to the contraptions of his youth yet imbued with the precision of modern technology. This drone, engineered to navigate from the chilly confines of his refrigerator to the steamy oasis of his rooftop hot tub, was a testament to his technical acumen. Crafted to be mended with mere baubles from any corner hardware store, it stood as a symbol of practical genius, a playful yet potent emblem of his enduring craft.
Victor glimpsed a universe of possibilities within this project, each drone a seed from which new opportunities might bloom. "Perhaps I could craft a model for a dive shop in Australia," he mused. "A sentinel to monitor the slow dance of decay among the coral reefs." Such a gift could forge pathways, perhaps even secure an internship, an opportunity to wield his 417 subclass visa before its flame flickered out. The prospect of traversing Australia's vast landscapes, of weaving his influence through uncharted territories and minds, sparked a thrill within him. Beyond the realm of circuitry and code, Victor possessed a profound mastery over the human psyche. He had the uncanny ability to read individuals, to delve into the murky depths of their insecurities and desires. With the finesse of a sculptor, he could mold a woman’s perception, convincing her of a soul-deep connection, crafting mirages of perfect compatibility. Yet, for all his prowess in the art of deception, Victor adhered to his own strict code. He eschewed physical violence, never staining his hands with assault; his dominion was the mind, his influence woven through the delicate fabric of psychology.
In Chicago's suffocating underbelly, Victor's father regarded him not with paternal concern, rather with venomous animosity. Their relationship was a battleground, devoid of affection or empathy, cloaked threats masquerading as concern. "Victor, if you don't see a psychiatrist, I'm cutting you off," he declared, his voice a cold hiss, a deeper wish for Victor's demise lurking beneath. Victor's laugh, hollow, echoing through the night, a sound devoid of warmth, knew well the true nature of the psychiatrist and the deeper machinations of his father's cruel intentions. His father viewed him not as a son, yet as a nemesis, a presence he wished to erase from existence. Surrounded by the oppressive cityscape, Victor stood alone atop his building, the L line screeching past, the lights below mere distant, watchful eyes. "Tomorrow, I bend reality once more," he whispered into the void, his voice merging with the cold wind sweeping the rooftops.
The relentless pursuit of his father's malice shadowed him into the darkest city corners where shadows moved with intent, whispering of ancient, sinister forces. Here, in the corner of his eyes an oozing of black liquid drenched an alley, a tar monster, a grotesque manifestation of the city’s darkest secrets, its gnarled face and gleaming teeth mirroring the twisted relationship endured. Against a backdrop of a city thrumming with malevolent energy, Victor pondered the fragile line between delusion and reality. "It's only delusional till it works, so is it really delusional?" he mused aloud, his words dissipating into the night where the distinction between madness and genius blurred by darkness.
Retreating from the alley, his figure melded into the shadows, each step deliberate, burdened with the weight of a cursed legacy. He was acutely aware of his dual role, both manipulator and pawn in a grander, more malevolent game, a game orchestrated by forces predating the city itself. Every movement influenced by the sinister energy pervading Chicago, a legacy of corruption and darkness intertwined with his own existence. Victor understood his every action overseen by the ancient entity had taken interest in him, an entity finding delight in his struggle, offering protection at a dreadful cost.
Emerging from the shadows back into the flickering city lights, Victor found no solace in the illumination yet his smile stretched reaching his eyes showing his gleaming razor sharp teeth. These lights did not offer hope only humor; they were beacons of a foreboding reality. He resolved to continue bending reality, wielding the cursed power both protecting, ensnaring him, and pointing out the irony of his situation. Day after day, he would play this dark game, a master of deceit entwined with an ancient force more profound and sinister than any could fathom.
With one final, lingering look at the alley where darkness reigned supreme, Victor Kane laughed, a hollow echo fading as he stepped into the nearby pub. Inside, the warm glow contrasted starkly with the night's chilling embrace, yet the shadows seemed merely to lurk at the edges, waiting. At their usual spot by the worn bar, he found Billy Smith, his old high school Basketball teammate, with two pints of beer ready. They clinked glasses, the sound slicing through the hum of conversations around them. "To the unexpected," Victor intoned, his voice laced with a hint of irony. As they settled into the rhythm of their catch-up, the conversation inevitably turned toward the unfolding news, the war in Ukraine, an event that had caught the world off guard.
"No one ever saw it coming," Billy remarked, his tone a mix of wonder and concern.
Victor's eyes flickered with a dark amusement, and raising his glass again, he offered a toast, this time in Latin, a language that carried the weight of history and secrets. "Ad profundis malorum," he declared, which translated to 'To the depths of evils.'
Billy paused, the words hanging between them like a veil being slowly drawn back to reveal a hidden scene. The toast was enigmatic, resonant with Victor’s acknowledgment of the chaos brewing both near and far, a chaos that, perhaps, only he could navigate.
As the night deepened within the grimy confines of the pub, where every corner whispered of misdeeds and the air hung heavy with the scent of stale beer and lost hopes, the laughter and chatter provided a deceptive cover for the profound game silently playing in Victor’s mind. His cryptic toast, "Ad profundis malorum," echoed a darker undertone amidst the jovial noise.
Across the bar, a woman with long jet black hair and piercing grey eyes watched Victor. Clad in a striking red full-grain leather trench coat, her presence was undeniably conspicuous, yet paradoxically, she remained unnoticed. Despite her short stature, she was fit, her features sharply defined, an attractiveness seemingly almost otherworldly amidst the grime of the pub. Curiously, not even the barkeep spared her a glance, as if she existed in a separate realm, visible only to those she chose to confront. As Billy excitedly shared his plans to open a dive shop with a taco bar on the roof, the woman’s lips moved in a whisper, her voice a soft, clear bell in the din, carrying a dire warning. "I know what you are. We found you." At that moment, a flashback surged through Victor’s mind, a haunting image of a colonial girl he once saw in the Fraser Experimental Forest. His girlfriend at the time had turned to him, her voice tinged with unease. "Victor, do you see what I see? The girl? Yeah, the girl. I can feel something following us. As if it knows what we are yet won't approach, yet I can feel it." This vivid recollection now seemed a prelude to the current moment, a chilling reminder the forces he had glimpsed back then were the same now declaring their presence.
The evening wound down with plans made and stories shared, yet the woman’s prophetic words and the ghostly memory of the girl hung unseen in the air, portending looming confrontations between the light she embodied and the shadow following Victor Kane. As the patrons began to drift away, the shadows reclaiming their territory within the pub, the mysterious woman’s figure faded into the background, her message delivered, her purpose yet unclear but undoubtedly intertwined with Victor’s fate.
The end.

call me names.
I lock myself in a room, small dusty room - the dust is mostly dirt blows in through the open windows. pollen. it makes you sneeze, me sneeze, even after I close the windows, when it's getting too cold. call me 'sniffles', that's a name you could call me.
someone is afraid, long time they've been afraid and their fear makes them called 'fraidy cat'. they're shuddering. i look over at them in the corner and they shudder harder - i step closer, they shudder harder - like excited atoms, the friction, they start to glow. fire is burning in the corner of the room with them, in them, around them, and now the wallpaper (pale blue with little pink roses here and there) is charred black. hold out a hand (to offer them comfort), but the time is past (for comfort) and the soot blackens your fingertip. i wrote something in the soot like a dirty or a foggy car window (outside or inside, warm or cold). the wall was warm from their little inferno fire burning fire fire but it was years ago (the two steps across the room were years) and your finger doesn't burn, cold like a wall is cold. close the windows. the ashes make sniffles sneeze.
call yourself something big: you can be 'ace' or 'joe cool' or 'the fonz' or 'bullit' or 'brainy smurf' or 'indiana jones' or 'mr. creosote', point is that you've got a lot to give. I'm you. I know i'm you because in mirrors you look me right in the eye. I look over your shoulder. I push a boulder. The moon is like a boulder in space, weightless, and the earth and the sun are pushing it together. One does more work than the other. Rumor has it the moon's just an affectation the earth came up with to impress the sun. instead of reading this you should read that calvino story about the moon.
anyway, the moon's something big. all the dogs howl at it - of course they would. they're just a piece of the earth same as all of us, so it's a kind of arrogance then, the moonhowl, it's look-at-me look-how-great-I-am. I have some barbed wire too, the two dogs on opposite sides, one that's free and the other that isn't, the free one gets stuck below in the middle of the night and bleeds to death, the unfree one runs in circles pointlessly, digs a rut in the ground that matches the fence - the clever observation would be that the one with the name, 'fido' or 'rex' or 'killer', that despite being trapped in the boundary of the fence he's the one who's really free, and the one who has no name (he never had any use for one) is imprisoned in his own way, not by the fence but by his exclusion from the things that matter, the naming of things, etc. that's what you might write if you were trying to be clever.
instead of being clever, you could write the most obvious thing in the world. you could recite it, out loud, in public. you could read and write and recite to delight, the light that burns twice as bright, scribble with some graphite, at night. the persistent rumor (as advanced by the koyannisqatsi guy (that word, so mysterious and alien, of course actually just swiped like everything else from the people it once belonged to, belongs to him now)) that television rots children's brains has little basis in reality. i spent half my life watching television. if i remember correctly the gimmick in this film of his was that the kids were all zombies staring at the television, and the television was showing the disney adaptation of pinnochio or something. maybe it was dumbo. these are both films about being a prisoner. (sniffles might have been that disney dwarf, call him 'sneezy')
the thing i was getting at is that the cathode ray tube is where electrons go. your brain, your personality, it's all the same thing, electrons. they're stuck in your brain. some people believed that x-rays or gamma radiation or something were leeching out of the CRTs and this was why everyone was 'getting dumber', and they believed also that the programming itself was to blame, that if only we made the television more Moral and Upright and Proper things would finally fall into place. it never occurred to them that television was downstream of society itself, that is, them and their actions, the ones they do on purpose as well as the ones they do without thinking. in the cartoon, the wolf goes bananas because of how much of a hard-on he has for red riding hood, everyone is laughing when a train whistle comes out of his head or his eyes bulge out of their sockets, or his tongue is suddenly 50 feet long and unrolls like a red carpet, they laugh and the thought process which produces this hilarious moment is "sometimes desire is like your tongue unrolling like a carpet", "sometimes sex is like steam coming out of your ears", "sometimes your heart beats and every pump it's jutting ten feet out of your chest"
more and more quietly you walk up some stairs. they're creaky and you don't want to wake anyone. i say more and more because the first time you climb them, many years ago, it's too loud and you make the neighbors angry, and even though they don't tell you about it with words, you get the message. (one day you'll build a house with stairs that never creak or stairs that always creak, and this will solve the problem once and for all) the same goes for the heart-beats. heart beats too loud or too quietly. softly the heart beats. beats me.

For a single moment everything went calm after I told her fuck it idk if I’m sick anymore I’m gonna fucking help whether you like it or not. She’s got what she wanted and we actually started working together. Fucking peace over health any day, honestly idk if I’m going to not get end it so future doesn’t really matter to me right now.
We start cleaning throwing away old useless shit cleaning out the dresser to go to the basement. Everything seems perfect once again. Then it happens….
We took a break it was maybe noon or so. I made myself a sandwich and planned to take a stab at the electrical next (it had been years but I was fairly good at electrical so swapping switches and outlets would be easy. I picked one up and investigated it (new style not some shitty mass pitches for house wiring) okay easy enough it’s identical set up just outside looks different…. Then it happens…
I hear yelling, my wife screaming about how if she’s the problem then she’ll just leave. I’m so confused everything was going perfect why now wtf happened I just want come peace and calm.
My mom was crying ( this is something I’ve never seen before) I was floored and scared I rush out and try to calm the situation down but my wife has already stormed out the door. I turn to my mom WTF just happened through the tears I just hear “I’ve just had it I can’t stand this anymore.” My wife calls me starts ranting about how she needs to get out of here. She left her keys and needs me to get them to her causes she’s not going back in. I grab them go out and ask WTF is going on she rambles about she fucked up and she went too far. And leaves.
I come back in and try to talk to my mom, at this point two firsts she’s crying and now beside herself. Then starts talking about me in the hospital and pushing myself and …. Then…. Dad. It all hits me at once. In just a week will be the 9th year without dad. She’s sick with sadness and worry cause I go and nearly get a brain infection the same week my dad passes 9 years prior.
We sit down and talk, 30 minutes go by and no wife. My mom decided she isn’t in the right mind anymore and chooses to leave before getting into another fight. Turns out the entire fucking 4-5 days my mom is up here my wife was just non-stop shitting on me. Everything I do is wrong and MIL added too it. All this going on without me even noticing.
I walk outside and let MIL know wife had stormed off. My mom gathers what’s left of her dignity and composure. Says good by and leaves. MIL callswife said it’s best if I don’t. Spends 30-40 minutes on the phone. Then she comes home. After all of this I just said fuck it and kept playing with the kids and working the best that I could. I’m rewriting a switch when wife comes back.