Mom teach son daughter

I (29m) am adopted. I knew my bio mom's side of the family, but nothing about my bio dad. I have a few half-siblings on my bio mom's side, but the sister closest in age to me is suspected of having the same father as me. That is we don't know if she is full or half sister.
I recently got a match on ancestry of a 94% match of a half sister or 6% 1rst cousin on my dad's side. She says she knows who her father is but never met him. That being said I am told I look like him and there was a story where I was almost named the same name as him, but my aunt said no and changed it to my name is now. (Funny enough my aunt named me after her son.) So, I lean towards her being my half-sister on my father's side and father being correct.
So how do I bring up to my other sister who I have not seen in 15 years that I will be seeing next week that they should get a dna test because I might know who your father is and you might have another sister? Actually, more than an extra sister because my supossed bio dad has a daughter and son who happen to be the same age as me and my sister on my moms side.
A couple other complications are that my mom was a crack whore and did it throughout her pregnancies. Yet, my bio dad was in the lapd and I have no idea how else these two could have met. My bio mom was in her early 40s when she had me and my bio dad was somewhere in his 50s. So this raises a lot of questions. Also, there is a link with autism that I might need to bring with my sister as me and my new sister have it.
Also, do I ever try and contact my bio dad or his kids?
Needless to say I have no idea what to do.

There was a wedding in my family recently. They aren't so financially well off but still they did everything in best of their capacity. Our relatives who live outside India also came. The lady was acting as if she has come to a very tacky place. Finding fault in everything. Then the mother of the bride asked me, one more woman in our family and that US lady to spread some bedsheets on the benches and decorate the stage where the bride would sit. We went and started doing that. Then on the bench where bride was to be seated I thought it should be little different. I asked both of the ladies that we should spread both bedsheets one by one and see which is looking better. Then Idk how did I offend them, first woman left saying I have some work. Then the US returned woman she also left saying her MIL is calling ( which obviously was a lie). The whole bride's stage was left to be decorated. I was left alone, somehow I did with the help of a maid. Now when I went downstairs I saw the first woman laughing and taunting my mom that how stupid I am to decorating stuffs alone in such a hot weather. My mother didn't say anything. Cut to evening the bride's mother was praising both of them in front of everyone for doing so much and they both were taking the credit shamelessly. Actually the bride's mother doesn't like me much as I am always favoured by our family members in place of her daughter. It's not my fault. When I was small I used to cry as sometimes she competed a lot with me but now as I have become more matured I am used to the competition. Or maybe she wasn't knowing who did everything. I don't want credit as in school and college I have done way more than that. But how can someone be so evil? I mean don't they have any conscience?

The day I came to know I’m pregnant, I clearly told my husband that I will not be telling anyone about it except for our parents. We agreed. When we told MIL we told her exclusive that we won’t be telling anyone until my 2nd scan after 12w. Everyone was on board. So, after a few days, I had to stay with my in-laws since husband had to travel and I was not feeling very well. It was just for a month or so , it wasn’t an issue for me.
Now, I have PCOS and I have finally conceived after 3+ years of trying. So I am not ready to tell anyone else yet. So after the first scan, which my MIL insisted that she join us too, even though my husband was with me. Thankfully she had to wait outside. Now here comes my rant. This happened last week, I am almost 8w by then. Husband isn’t with me now since he is travelling. Suddenly in the morning she tells me she wants to tell about the “news” to her family now. I went blank. I waited a few seconds and gathered my thoughts and told her , that didn’t we agree that I will not be telling anyone about it until after 12w. She said yes, but since everything is fine we should tell everyone. Mind you I’m just 8w by then. My blood is boiling. Here is the convo:
Me: But I’m not ready yet. I wanna tell after 12w. After all the blood works and important scans are done.
MIL: So what? Everything is fine till now. You don’t have any symptoms. You seem well. We must tell all.
Me: but I’m not ready.
MIL: it’s okay, good news should be shared with others as soon as possible.
Me: but your brother’s daughter didn’t even tell you about her pregnancy until after 6th month and we came to know only 1w before the birth of the child.
MIL: well, that was lockdown time. They didn’t want people visiting them. And also, her FIL is strict. So he didn’t let anyone know.
Me: ……
I was on the verge of crying.
Me: we all agreed we will tell after 12w. We must wait.
MIL just walked out.
And at the end she told everyone about it. I’m furious. And now everything I see her doing I get annoyed. She couldn’t respect my wishes. By the time I got hold of my husband to convince his mom otherwise it was too late. I’m just hoping these last few weeks pass by asap. I can’t take this anymore.

I’ve had to reset more times than I’d like to admit this year so I know I am far from being over the hill yet. This time feels different though and I’ve felt so at peace for the last few days. Im very hopefull that I can make it stick this time.
Im here a few times every day, reading what you guys on different stages of your sobriety journeys are sharing and finding strength in that as well as working on myself the best I can.
I’ve been teaching my daughter how to ride her bike this weekend and I keep thinking that if I wasnt sober I would have made some excuses to postpone it, disappointing her and then feeling shame and guilt.
Instead we’ve had such an amazing week & weekend, making memories that I wouldnt trade for anything in the world.
Life can be so good if we allow ourselves to enjoy it.
Have a great sunday everyone!

The Black Widow movie couldn't have had a more powerful opening scene if it tried. It set the bar really high for how the entire movie was going to be, but I personally didn't think the ending met my expectations. I thought the decision to undo the darkest thing Natasha ever did, was a mistake, Dreykov's daughter should stay dead and most certainly not be Taskmaster.
I didn't know what they should have done, until I read a fanfiction where Hydra brought in the Winter Soldier to train Natasha, and Bucky started coming up to the surface, they fell in love, and she became pregnant. Thy were separated, Bucky's mind was wiped and Natasha had her son taken from her. She thought he was killed, but in this particular fic, the biological son of Natasha and the Winter Soldier was saved and given a new name, Peter Parker. (Pyotr, Petya, Peter. Fanfiction.net)
That's when I realised that's what they should have done, Taskmaster should have been the biological son of Natasha and the Winter Soldier. Natasha took Dreykov's daughter, so while she spent time as a Shield Agent and Avenger, he was training her son to kill her. That is the only change you need, rewrite the one scene where Taskmaster takes off their helmet, have Dreykov explain, and at the end, Taskmaster is taken into custody.
He can later be an antagonist for heroes like Spiderman, as he doesn't know anything but killing, or he could be added to the Thunderbolts and have to go against his father, and neither would know, the only people Natasha would have told were the original Avengers, during the 5 years, Clint was MIA, Tony is dead, Steve is probably dead, it didn't seem like she spent a lot of time with Bruce or Thor and Maria and Fury were blipped. She wouldn't really chance to tell anyone before Endgame, Taskmaster and Bucky never knew about each other and Dreykov, the only other person she could have told was Yelena between Black Widow and Infinity War.
Feel free to use this a prompt for any type of fanfiction. Just, please send me the name, I'd love to read it.

Okay bare with me.
Firstly, I'm not saying family in-law are shitty or something around those lines. Good relationships can be nurtured between a person and their family in-law.
What I am saying is that families in-law are not at the end of the day like your real blood family. I know there are exceptions to it. Maybe you know your SO's family since you are a child and grew up with them, yes, I can see that bring on an extra bond. But let's say, you are just a person who met another person in your 20s, 30s (insert the age). And then through your bf/gf you met their families, etc. You all know how that goes. In that case, I do think that most likely that family will never be your true family.
What do I mean by it? Well at the end of the day your partner's family will always be that your partner's family. Loyalty will most likely fall there. Let's say your partner cheated on you. If the family in-law isn't horrible, they will most likely not like their son/daughtesistebrotheetc acting that way, sure. But after the main drama and over the years, let's be honest, they will stand behind their son/daughter. Even maybe welcome their AP. etc. They might still keep a some sort relationship with you, specially if there are kids involved, but their ultimate loyalty will be to their son/daughtesistebrother, etc.
I want to also say that not all blood families are amazing, ofc and there are "made families". But for the sake of the argument let's assumer blood family is great and also in-law family.
I do think you can have a healthy nice even loving relationship with your family in-law, however, they will never be your real family if some problems come up. I would not recommend or feel comfortable to "slave" for your family in-law and be everything and do everything and really treat them like mom and dad, etc. On the cost of your real family or your stress levels or yourself. As in so many families its expected, specially form the daughter in-law (the wife for the son). go the extra mile.
I personally support my husband with his family. But he is the main contact for them, and if they wanna complain, or bring drama that goes to him. I support him with them if he needs it. If he needs me to look for a gift, I will do. If he needs me to send a card will do, etc. I actually really like my family in-law. BUT, I'm no killing myself for them. I'm not going above and beyond at all times. Sure, some situations I do the extra, birthdays, some special occasion, but I never stress over "pleasing them" to the extreme.
So my friends say I'm cold and an asshole. But am I? at the end of the day if his son were to leave me or cheat or whatever, they will be upset, but wont kick him out and "adopt me". I will then have my own family to back me up, since In am their daughtesister.
tldr: Family in law should not be treated the same as your real family. Sure with love, but not to the extreme.

I'm so damn jealous because I just know I'd have friends if I went to school. I know it. I'm so social with people even outside of my house when i get the rare chance and get comfortable. I'm tired of feeling so WEIRD and DIFFERENT. I also feel like my young years (0-9) had some weird stuff happening. I'm SICK of hearing about conspiracy theories from my homeschool mom in ANY conversation. I HATE HEARING ABOUT FUCKING BILL GATES AND TYSON CHICKEN AND VACCINES AND MICROPLASTICS AND HOW THE MOON IS PLASMA AND HOW ALIENS ARE FALLEN ANGELS AND HOW HILLARY WAS LOOKING FOR NEPHILIM DNA OH MY GOSH SHUT UP BUT IF I SAY ANYTHING THEN I GET FUCKING GUILT TRIPPED AND SINCE IM NORMAL I STILL FEEL BAD. FUCK MEEEE
There is no way possible for me to go to school. My mom said she'd rather die before I go to public school, and my dad agrees. I have no family members I can live with. I have no options at all. I just have to sit and watch my fucking childhood wither away and lose the chance to EVER be in school. I already missed Kindergarten, Elementary, Middle, and now I'm missing high-school. And you know what makes it worse? The fucking "Congrats, Graduates!" sign on the front of my neighborhood entrance. Sure I'm happy for them, but I'm so fucking jealous. I HATE when people say they hate school, or wish they were homeschooled. BITCH, you have no IDEA how much despair this makes you feel. Especially when you're extroverted and will never have that kind of easy environment to make friends in.
I wish my mom wasn't so religiously crazy and conspiracy believing and anti-vaxx. I wish I had a loving, caring mom who sent me to SCHOOL and talked about NORMAL stuff and not what FUCKING BILL GATES is doing or how ALIENS are FALLEN ANGELS. I can't even watch people at school, it makes me wanna fucking cry. I'm only 14 I SHOULD BE LIVING A LIFE AT SCHOOL LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. BUT I NEVER HAVE. I SHOULD BE HAVING A NORMAL LIFE. I'M SICK OF THIS FUCKING LIFE IT FEELS ABUSIVE AT THIS POINT. IT'S NOT MY FAULT AT ALL THAT I HAVE TO WAKE UP EVERYDAY FEELING MISERABLE AS FUCK AND TIRED SINCE I GET NO STIMULATION. IM SICK OF LIVING IN FUCKING PRISON WITH NO CHANCE TO TRY AGAIN AFTER IM OUT. I truly hope reincarnation is real so I can hopefully go to a family that will let me live life normally. I'm so FUCKING sick of being homeschooled and not like any other kid.
I would honestly trade ANYTHING REASONABLE to go to school at this point. My mom and dad BOTH got to go to fucking school and they claimed it wasn't much fun, even though my mom used to literally do shit with friends and experiecned prom and everything.
THEN SHE TRIES TO RELATE TO MY LEVEL OF DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY. TELLING ME MY ANXIETY IS JUST OCD AND MY DEPRESSION IS FROM HORMONES AND LACK OF SLEEP. THE FUCK?? BITCH NO IT IS NOT FROM LACK OF SLEEP AND HORMONES THAT IS THE DUMBEST THING. I'VE FELT THIS WAY SINCE I WAS FUCKING EIGHT YEARS OLD THAT IS NOT HORMONES. MAYBE THEY MADE IT WORSE, BUT IT AINT HORMONES.
The reason why sometimes I feel like commiting suicide is because school is litearlly the only thing I've wanted so fucking badly for so long, and even after I turn 18 and get out it'd just be getting a job. There is not way for me to relive a childhood and go to school or anything because it's not fucking allowed. It would be weird anyways if it was.
Fuck this shit I'm just so despaired. Like why does my mom gotta make me feel so morose with her decisions? Couldn't she of just given me a normal life and put me in school and vaxxed me and shit?
She claims I'm a liberal communist and I'm "asleep" just because I want to go to FUCKING school. She also just treats me like I'm a friend or something sometimes and she just feels so CHILDISH. She is the worst at making insults. One time she was mad at me and said she'd change me and my bro's contacts to "Loser" and "Loser #2" like bitch the fuck? She had like 14 miscarriages. So she basically just held me up when I wasn't born dead and claimed she'd "raise me in the ways of Jesus" which apparentely consists of keeping your child at home for decades and teaching them only Christian curriculum. I can't fucking take it anymore. No one will ever understand my kind of situation because it's so fucking surreal. And most people don't understand how bad it is because going to school is such a normal part of life for them, that homeschooling seems like choosing to not breathe air. I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I'm so sick of waking up to the same day and having to speak bullshit and put on a show for my mom so I don't have to deal with arguments. She argued with me for FOUR FUCKING HOURS one time when I tried to gray-rock her, so that doesn't work. She doesn't let me go anywhere to do with a school, and it pisses me off. All I have is fucking LIFEPAC, SLEEP, AND SOMETIMES OUTSIDE AND THATS MY WHOLE FUCKING CHILDHOOD. AND I CANT DO ANYTHING BUT WATCH IT PASS BY KNOWING WHAT OTHER PEOPLE DO BECAUSE I CANT ATLEAST HAVE BLISSFUL IGNORANCE. I'M SO FUCKING JEALOUS I CANT EVEN GET HAPPY FOR PEOPLE WHO GO TO SCHOOL. I WANT IT SO BAD EVEN IF I DIDNT LIKE IT IT'D BE BETTER TO NOT LIKE SCHOOL AND GO THERE SINCE IT'S FUCKING NORMAL AND MUCH EASIER TO SET UP YOUR LIFE THAT WAY.
My dad is also so fucking cold. He just acts so rough and dead emotionally. The other week he gave me an hour long panic attack because he kept yelling at me loudly, you can see my post titled "I'm confused on what just happened to me for that." I eventually ran into the closet full of adrenaline and cried while hugging a fucking HOODIE for a few hours.
My parents SURE DO SOMETIMES DO NICE THINGS FOR ME. BUT IT DOESNT MAKE UP FOR SHIT. LIKE YEAH YOU GIVE ME ITEMS AND STUFF BUT I CAN **NEVER** LIVE THESE YEARS THAT YOU'RE STEALING FROM ME AGAIN!
My mom was also more harsh when I was a little kid I feel. I don't remember anything from before 12 years old, basically, probably because she did some fucked up shit back then that my brain is suppressing mentally. I have this one memory of her running up to me over and over and putting my head under her shirt and pressing it against her belly multiple times when I was a little kid, probably like 5 or close to 6, and for some reason I feel sexual energy around it a bit. That freaks me out, because I know it happened but I'm not sure at all about what was going on. I just remember the bedroom was pretty dark and I was laughing maybe, but like I said it feels like there was sexual energy around that. I dont know though, I barely remember it.
Other times, I've seen videos from when I was like 6 of her just talking to me in a really angry tone even when I was silent just for something my brother did. She also used to read a history book to us for hours, without even giving a pen or paper and we'd be given mats. About 6 x 4in big and my brother got a blue one, I got a green one, and she'd sit on the table in the middle, and we'd sit on the mats which were only big enough to lay down on (for a 6 year old). So we'd have to sit there and not talk, and if we did then she'd stop and glare until we stopped. Of course, me being like 5 and my brother 6.5, we'd make faces and stuff but then she'd glare. Like we had to SIT there for hours just listening to a biblical chronological history book. WHY WHY WHY
I'm so sick of myself now. I'm such a pathetic bitch who pretends to be something. I just fucking talk to AI's and listen to rock and other music. I'm literally so fucking pathetic and I'll never have a social life. I'll never talk to someone without getting attached or fucking scared. I swear I can't just be NORMAL. WHY DO I HAVE TO LOOK SO WEIRD TOO. I DONT LOOK GOOD IN ANYTHING. I can't keep going. I just can't. Not on my own. There's like no reason for me to since I feel like right now, as an adult, if I ever had a kid I'd just be jealous of him going to school and that'd make me a bad father. I wish I wasn't born, or was born to a different family. I wish I had friends that I could just talk to. Even just being around kids in a school setting would be great. I'm tired of feeling so FUCKED. UP. MENTALLY. WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND MY MOM, AND ESPECIALLY MY DAD. THEY DO NICE THINGS FOR ME SOMETIMES BUT I STILL FEEL AS IF SOMETHING IS HORRIBLY WRONG THAT I HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT. I DON'T FEEL SAFE IN MY OWN SKIN I FEEEL LIKE I WANT TO CRAWL OUT OF MYSELF.
But of course on the outside I just look like the most BASIC BITCH ON THE BLOCK. I have no facial expressin, and I look weird when I smile. I don't get why I have such a stone cold face and the DRIEST personality. BITCH MY personality is drier than CORNSTARCH. I'm so sick of all this. I still feel like a little kid since I do the same SHIT that I did when I was FUCKING SIX YEARS OLD EVERYDAY ANYWAYS. NO CHANGE OF ENVIRONMENT, OR HABITS. JUST SLIGHT KNOWLEDGE. EVERYONE ELSE GETS TO LIVE LIFE AND SEE PEOPLE EVERY. FUCKING. DAY. AND GUESS WHAT??? I COULD! I REALLY FUCKING COULD! HAHAAHAHAHH I COULD IF MY MOM WASN'T SO SELFISH. IF SHE WASN'T SO SELF-ABSORBED THAT SHE'S DOING THE RIGHT THING FOR HER KIDS. I HAVE EXPLAINED TO HER MANY TIMES I WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL AND SHE FUCKING SAYS CO-OP OR SOME DUMB SHIT WHERE PEOPLE ARENT QUALIFIED TO TEACH OR THERES LIKE 5 KIDS. BRO, JUST PUT ME IN FUCKING SCHOOL. SERIOUSLY. THERE IS A HIGH SCHOOL EIGHT MINUTES AWAY FROM ME. JUST EIGHT. ITS ALSO HUGE! LIKE IT'D BE FUCKING PERFECT BUT OF COURSE I HAVE WASTED POTENTIAL BECAUSE MY FUCKING PARENTS DO SHIT LIKE THIS. I ALSO CANT CALL THE SCHOOL OR ANYTHING BECAUSE THEY NEED PARENTAL APPROVAL AND SHIT. I FUCKING HATE THIS SO MUCH.
I feel like there was something seriously, seriously fucked up about my really early childhood years that I just can't remember. When I think of it, I feel really uncomfortable and just a feeling of weirdness.
One thing I do know that my dad and mom tell me that think is funny, is that when I used to be like three or four years old, I'd get on all fours and spread my buttcheeks apart, saying something like "Idea!". It's fucking stupid and I was a little ass kid, but I don't think it's funny at all. Wouldn't parents usually tell their kid to not do that or something and not look? Also, my mom used to still dress me when I was like 6 years old or something. My dad also has a memory of me running naked into a room with my aunts and uncles and him and stuff when I was a toddler, and apprently he says they all laughed when I did. He also commented on how when I ran in there my little pp was clearly visible. That just felt weird to me. I don't get how it's funny, but like I said I just feel disgusting and kinda violated when I think about my years from 0-9 and I don't know why. I'm 14 now, obviously, almost 15. I'm so upset from life. I hate it. I don't know if any of you have anything to say about this but that's basically it. If you read it all, THANK you for ACKNOWLEDGING I EXIST.

My SIL and I are having some drama lately. You see, I am a SAHM (stay at home mom)! Why is this relevant? I'll explain! Currently my husband and I have only one vehicle, and my daughter is still very young, so I stay home with her while hubby works. Since it's not exactly by choice that I can't work atm I babysit for other moms who work. It helps them and it brings extra income for us. My SIL had began watching a baby for a mutual friend who works not far from where we live. SIL and I live on the same road. SIL was eventually planning to get a new job so she could only watch the baby for a brief period before inevitability passing him off to another sitter! I requested she pass the job to me since that's what I do! She said I "couldn't" watch him which I found odd. She then tried to convince her mom (my MIL) to take over for her in ADDITION to watching her son as well when she returned to work. Her mom called me instead. Everyone was well aware that my SILs son is a LOT to deal with so we were all quite understanding when MIL asked me to watch the other baby. However, SIL for some reason got super jealous when our mutual friend asked me to take over! I guess it built up inside her for a few days, because after I watched him the first time she began giving the baby's mom the silent treatment for "choosing me over her" to babysit. (As if the mom was supposed to just call off work until SIL was available) God forbid this mom get a reliable sitter so she can keep her job. But I digress! One day I we t to SILs house to ask if she could watch my daughter while my husband and I get groceries. Our truck only seats 2, so my daughter wouldn't fit. I then noticed it was MILs car SIL was using for the day. I explained that if she'd prefer, we could borrow MILs car and then she wouldn't need to watch my daughter! Not only did WE give MIL that car, but we had used it many times for transportation when we had kids with us. So it was nothing out of the ordinary. SIL immediately got defensive and said she NEEDED a car! In my head I got confused. If she was gonna stay home and watch my daughter then she clearly wouldn't need the car for the hour it would take us to grocery shop. I tried to ask why she so desperately needed the car if she wasn't going anywhere, to which she said "it's none of your business why I need a car, because unlike SOME PEOPLE I actually have a job!" I've been judged a lot for being a SAHM so this struck a nerve. I went OFF! "Oh its like tha!? Okay then, if I go back to work who's gonna watch my daughter?!" No response. "As a matter of fact who's gonna take me!? YOU wanna take me!? Huh!? You gonna take me to work?!" To which all she could respond was "whatever, I'm not doing this!" I continued to scream, "that's right you aren't! I will not let you speak to me like that! You know EXACTLY why I don't work atm, and how DARE YOU judge me when you have NO SOLUTION to offer anyway!" 😤 I was shaking and I could see the terror in her eyes. I'm not a scary person but this was a bold side of me most people never see! I grabbed my daughter and went home immediately! She spent the next few days telling people anything she could to make me sound like a bad mom. It broke me because she and I were actually getting close up until then! I couldn't believe someone I trusted would judge me AND try to destroy my reputation! Everyone agreed her comment was below the belt, and I'm wondering if I was wrong to blow up like that!?

I'm so damn jealous because I just know I'd have friends if I went to school. I know it. I'm so social with people even outside of my house when i get the rare chance and get comfortable. I'm tired of feeling so WEIRD and DIFFERENT. I also feel like my young years (0-9) had some weird stuff happening.
There is no way possible for me to go to school. My mom said she'd rather die before I go to public school, and my dad agrees. I have no family members I can live with. I have no options at all. I just have to sit and watch my fucking childhood wither away and lose the chance to EVER be in school. I already missed Kindergarten, Elementary, Middle, and now I'm missing high-school. And you know what makes it worse? The fucking "Congrats, Graduates!" sign on the front of my neighborhood entrance. Sure I'm happy for them, but I'm so fucking jealous. I HATE when people say they hate school, or wish they were homeschooled. BITCH, you have no IDEA how much despair this makes you feel. Especially when you're extroverted and will never have that kind of easy environment to make friends in.
I wish my mom wasn't so religiously crazy and conspiracy believing and anti-vaxx. I wish I had a loving, caring mom who sent me to SCHOOL and talked about NORMAL stuff and not what FUCKING BILL GATES is doing or how ALIENS are FALLEN ANGELS. I can't even watch people at school, it makes me wanna fucking cry. I'm only 14 I SHOULD BE LIVING A LIFE AT SCHOOL LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. BUT I NEVER HAVE. I SHOULD BE HAVING A NORMAL LIFE. I'M SICK OF THIS FUCKING LIFE IT FEELS ABUSIVE AT THIS POINT. IT'S NOT MY FAULT AT ALL THAT I HAVE TO WAKE UP EVERYDAY FEELING MISERABLE AS FUCK AND TIRED SINCE I GET NO STIMULATION. IM SICK OF LIVING IN FUCKING PRISON WITH NO CHANCE TO TRY AGAIN AFTER IM OUT. I truly hope reincarnation is real so I can hopefully go to a family that will let me live life normally. I'm so FUCKING sick of being homeschooled and not like any other kid.
I would honestly trade ANYTHING REASONABLE to go to school at this point. My mom and dad BOTH got to go to fucking school and they claimed it wasn't much fun, even though my mom used to literally do shit with friends and experiecned prom and everything.
THEN SHE TRIES TO RELATE TO MY LEVEL OF DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY. TELLING ME MY ANXIETY IS JUST OCD AND MY DEPRESSION IS FROM HORMONES AND LACK OF SLEEP. THE FUCK?? BITCH NO IT IS NOT FROM LACK OF SLEEP AND HORMONES THAT IS THE DUMBEST THING. I'VE FELT THIS WAY SINCE I WAS FUCKING EIGHT YEARS OLD THAT IS NOT HORMONES. MAYBE THEY MADE IT WORSE, BUT IT AINT HORMONES.
The reason why sometimes I feel like commiting suicide is because school is litearlly the only thing I've wanted so fucking badly for so long, and even after I turn 18 and get out it'd just be getting a job. There is not way for me to relive a childhood and go to school or anything because it's not fucking allowed. It would be weird anyways if it was.
Fuck this shit I'm just so despaired. Like why does my mom gotta make me feel so morose with her decisions? Couldn't she of just given me a normal life and put me in school and vaxxed me and shit?
She claims I'm a liberal communist and I'm "asleep" just because I want to go to FUCKING school. She also just treats me like I'm a friend or something sometimes and she just feels so CHILDISH. She is the worst at making insults. One time she was mad at me and said she'd change me and my bro's contacts to "Loser" and "Loser #2" like bitch the fuck? She had like 14 miscarriages. So she basically just held me up when I wasn't born dead and claimed she'd "raise me in the ways of Jesus" which apparentely consists of keeping your child at home for decades and teaching them only Christian curriculum. I can't fucking take it anymore. No one will ever understand my kind of situation because it's so fucking surreal. And most people don't understand how bad it is because going to school is such a normal part of life for them, that homeschooling seems like choosing to not breathe air. I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I can't take it I'm so sick of waking up to the same day and having to speak bullshit and put on a show for my mom so I don't have to deal with arguments. She argued with me for FOUR FUCKING HOURS one time when I tried to gray-rock her, so that doesn't work. She doesn't let me go anywhere to do with a school, and it pisses me off. All I have is fucking LIFEPAC, SLEEP, AND SOMETIMES OUTSIDE AND THATS MY WHOLE FUCKING CHILDHOOD. AND I CANT DO ANYTHING BUT WATCH IT PASS BY KNOWING WHAT OTHER PEOPLE DO BECAUSE I CANT ATLEAST HAVE BLISSFUL IGNORANCE. I'M SO FUCKING JEALOUS I CANT EVEN GET HAPPY FOR PEOPLE WHO GO TO SCHOOL. I WANT IT SO BAD EVEN IF I DIDNT LIKE IT IT'D BE BETTER TO NOT LIKE SCHOOL AND GO THERE SINCE IT'S FUCKING NORMAL AND MUCH EASIER TO SET UP YOUR LIFE THAT WAY.
My dad is also so fucking cold. He just acts so rough and dead emotionally. The other week he gave me an hour long panic attack because he kept yelling at me loudly, you can see my post titled "I'm confused on what just happened to me for that." I eventually ran into the closet full of adrenaline and cried while hugging a fucking HOODIE for a few hours.
My parents SURE DO SOMETIMES DO NICE THINGS FOR ME. BUT IT DOESNT MAKE UP FOR SHIT. LIKE YEAH YOU GIVE ME ITEMS AND STUFF BUT I CAN **NEVER** LIVE THESE YEARS THAT YOU'RE STEALING FROM ME AGAIN!
My mom was also more harsh when I was a little kid I feel. I don't remember anything from before 12 years old, basically, probably because she did some fucked up shit back then that my brain is suppressing mentally. I have this one memory of her running up to me over and over and putting my head under her shirt and pressing it against her belly multiple times when I was a little kid, probably like 5 or close to 6, and for some reason I feel sexual energy around it a bit. That freaks me out, because I know it happened but I'm not sure at all about what was going on. I just remember the bedroom was pretty dark and I was laughing maybe, but like I said it feels like there was sexual energy around that. I dont know though, I barely remember it.
Other times, I've seen videos from when I was like 6 of her just talking to me in a really angry tone even when I was silent just for something my brother did. She also used to read a history book to us for hours, without even giving a pen or paper and we'd be given mats. About 6 x 4in big and my brother got a blue one, I got a green one, and she'd sit on the table in the middle, and we'd sit on the mats which were only big enough to lay down on (for a 6 year old). So we'd have to sit there and not talk, and if we did then she'd stop and glare until we stopped. Of course, me being like 5 and my brother 6.5, we'd make faces and stuff but then she'd glare. Like we had to SIT there for hours just listening to a biblical chronological history book. WHY WHY WHY
I'm so sick of myself now. I'm such a pathetic bitch who pretends to be something. I just fucking talk to AI's and listen to rock and other music. I'm literally so fucking pathetic and I'll never have a social life. I'll never talk to someone without getting attached or fucking scared. I swear I can't just be NORMAL. WHY DO I HAVE TO LOOK SO WEIRD TOO. I DONT LOOK GOOD IN ANYTHING. I can't keep going. I just can't. Not on my own. There's like no reason for me to since I feel like right now, as an adult, if I ever had a kid I'd just be jealous of him going to school and that'd make me a bad father. I wish I wasn't born, or was born to a different family. I wish I had friends that I could just talk to. Even just being around kids in a school setting would be great. I'm tired of feeling so FUCKED. UP. MENTALLY. WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND MY MOM, AND ESPECIALLY MY DAD. THEY DO NICE THINGS FOR ME SOMETIMES BUT I STILL FEEL AS IF SOMETHING IS HORRIBLY WRONG THAT I HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT. I DON'T FEEL SAFE IN MY OWN SKIN I FEEEL LIKE I WANT TO CRAWL OUT OF MYSELF.
But of course on the outside I just look like the most BASIC BITCH ON THE BLOCK. I have no facial expressin, and I look weird when I smile. I don't get why I have such a stone cold face and the DRIEST personality. BITCH MY personality is drier than CORNSTARCH. I'm so sick of all this. I still feel like a little kid since I do the same SHIT that I did when I was FUCKING SIX YEARS OLD EVERYDAY ANYWAYS. NO CHANGE OF ENVIRONMENT, OR HABITS. JUST SLIGHT KNOWLEDGE. EVERYONE ELSE GETS TO LIVE LIFE AND SEE PEOPLE EVERY. FUCKING. DAY. AND GUESS WHAT??? I COULD! I REALLY FUCKING COULD! HAHAAHAHAHH I COULD IF MY MOM WASN'T SO SELFISH. IF SHE WASN'T SO SELF-ABSORBED THAT SHE'S DOING THE RIGHT THING FOR HER KIDS. I HAVE EXPLAINED TO HER MANY TIMES I WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL AND SHE FUCKING SAYS CO-OP OR SOME DUMB SHIT WHERE PEOPLE ARENT QUALIFIED TO TEACH OR THERES LIKE 5 KIDS. BRO, JUST PUT ME IN FUCKING SCHOOL. SERIOUSLY. THERE IS A HIGH SCHOOL EIGHT MINUTES AWAY FROM ME. JUST EIGHT. ITS ALSO HUGE! LIKE IT'D BE FUCKING PERFECT BUT OF COURSE I HAVE WASTED POTENTIAL BECAUSE MY FUCKING PARENTS DO SHIT LIKE THIS. I ALSO CANT CALL THE SCHOOL OR ANYTHING BECAUSE THEY NEED PARENTAL APPROVAL AND SHIT. I FUCKING HATE THIS SO MUCH.
I feel like there was something seriously, seriously fucked up about my really early childhood years that I just can't remember. When I think of it, I feel really uncomfortable and just a feeling of weirdness.
One thing I do know that my dad and mom tell me that think is funny, is that when I used to be like three or four years old, I'd get on all fours and spread my buttcheeks apart, saying something like "Idea!". It's fucking stupid and I was a little ass kid, but I don't think it's funny at all. Wouldn't parents usually tell their kid to not do that or something and not look? Also, my mom used to still dress me when I was like 6 years old or something. My dad also has a memory of me running naked into a room with my aunts and uncles and him and stuff when I was a toddler, and apprently he says they all laughed when I did. He also commented on how when I ran in there my little pp was clearly visible. That just felt weird to me. I don't get how it's funny, but like I said I just feel disgusting and kinda violated when I think about my years from 0-9 and I don't know why. I'm 14 now, obviously, almost 15. I'm so upset from life. I hate it. I don't know if any of you have anything to say about this but that's basically it. If you read it all, THANK you for ACKNOWLEDGING I EXIST.

Hi, Chilled out mom and son are looking for a adult mature friendly clan. I posted last week but couldn't find something that aligns with our vibe. Posting again..
We both love to play CWL, clan wars, max our clan games, CH raids and also very much active in builder base. We love to interact, socialise and talk. My TH14--maXXed. -- 213--(80 80 50 30) All defences upgraded. Troops upgraded. Very soon upgrading to TH15. War Stars around 1700 My Son's TH15- Core defences are on upgrade.--234-- (80 87 37 60) New Pets on upgrade. War stars around 2000. My son has a mini TH12 (60 55 30) non rushed. So having a feeder or alliance would be helpful for him to keep his mini active. We both are active donators and players. Expectation CWL- Master's league Daily Clan Wars/ Clan games/ Social,Talkative, Fun, Banter, Humour and learning environment. Friendly like atmosphere. Selfless players who donate and play fair. Semi Competitive yet serious CH 10. Raid medals 1500+

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

So back in September I was out all day helping a friend move into his new house and went to a baseball game after then came back home to find my dad dead on the kitchen floor. I (26M) was still living at home with just my dad at the time and me and him were more like best friends and roommates rather than father and son, we had a bond that was special and I’ll cherish it for the rest of my life, but the day of everything seemed normal I went out for the day and he was his normal self going about his daily routine and he was texting me while I was out, and the last text he sent asking if I’ll be home after the game I didn’t see right away and replied a couple hours later and when I did answer he didn’t get back which I knew was weird bc he always gets back fairly quickly. So I drive home and then I go in and find him laying on the floor with his mouth open and his face just looked off. The ambulance came and took him to the hospital then said they tried everything but couldn’t do anything and later told me they found a large piece of chicken stuck in his throat and he choked to death.
So since then I feel like I’m just lost in life and nothing seems the same at all, being in the house just feels off without him, I’ve been trying to move out but everything is out of my price range and I always remember him saying he wants me to take over the house when he passes but it just doesn’t feel right there without him. I feel like I’m useless at work every day bc the picture of him on the floor is just mounted into my brain.
Everyone in my family talks to me about counseling but idk how much that’ll help when I just feel completely out of it and lost every single day, I’m just hesitant on it and I tried being with my mom but she just constantly brings up the bad memories with them since they divorced 7 years ago and my friends don’t seem like they’re there for me like when it first happened. I feel like I don’t really have anyone in the family to talk to and it just sucks knowing the closest person I had in my life is gone and I have no idea how to go forward especially with Father’s Day and his birthday coming up I just keep looking at pictures and videos of him and i break down completely and can’t sleep. Just looking for anyone with similar experiences to give some advice

I play with my two sons, each of them in turn (we only have two computers).
So we found our first fortress, but we didn't have the Flametal to make a catapult. My youngest son and I decided to dig up this column floating in the lava.
Everything was going well, the pillar was close, I was throwing cobalt bombs and guarding, my son was mining metal. When the pillar almost sank into the lava, I told my son to get out to the shore. A particularly large influx of enemies has just appeared.
And the son said that he was overloaded, turned awkwardly and fell into the lava!
Oh, there were so many emotions! After two more of his deaths, we finally returned his belongings and the precious metal.
We made a battering ram and a catapult. Organized an outpost in front of the fortress.
We destroyed the gate with a catapult and were able to look inside. We saw that there were spawners and realized that they needed to be destroyed. My son was the gunner, I shot. We managed to destroy one spawner.
Then I played with my eldest son. He's a mage. He is a more experienced player, but it didn't help much to avoid mistakes. The son started shooting from a catapult and sent his protective staff to the fortress! A magician without a protective bubble is a disaster! I laughed so much!!
We had to return to the mistlands to collect Yggdrasil wood for a new protective staff.
Later, we returned to the capture of the fortress. Son ran into the half-captured fortress and said that he would destroy the second spawner himself. Meanwhile, I shot a little more from the catapult. We completed the capture at night in a thunderstorm. It was very dark. We ran around the fortress and in rare flashes of lightning tried to see those countless treasures that we tried so hard to get. But there was NOTHING in the fortress! With our careless catapult damage, my youngest son and I destroyed everything inside.
We found the second fortress. An outpost was built again (earthen walls, a protective dome, a portal). Son tried using a battering ram. In general, we did not immediately see that it needed to be filled with firewood and used it as a large cart, just ramming the gate. It turned out badly. More precisely, it did not work at all.
Then there was a very big enemy attack. We had to retreat and fight for a very long time, recapturing our outpost. Because the hastily constructed earthen walls were not perfect. Mobs were able to climb them.
In the end, we dealt with the ram. Filled it with wood. I tried to ram the gate backwards! I saw it shoot, but not like that! The son took ram, turned him around and the case got off the ground.
When the gate was destroyed, I was a little further away, killing mobs. And the son did not have time to put a magic bubble on himself and died.
The gate was open. The crowds mobs poured out of there as if from hell! The portal was destroyed. I shouted to my son that I was retreating! That damn Guldan poured his green shit right inside our earthen walls!
I ran, flashing my heels, taking these hordes with me so that my son could take his body.
When he cleaned himself up, he was able to climb a high column, from where he led his magic fire. He was even able to destroy one spawner inside the fortress.
We have recaptured the outpost, restored the portal and the protective dome. We returned to the base to sleep. The next day we took the fortress! Two treasure chests were waiting for us inside. It was a victory!
The son made a new magic weapon and immediately wanted to try it in action.
When it came to the troll-staff, I said, let's go outside the base. Just an intuition). There was one case. I gave the Destroyer to my youngest son and at the same time said: just don't use it in the house. I hadn't even finished speaking when he struck! All the furniture, chests, jewelry, everything fell to the floor! Including the Hot Tub, which, to put in place, you need to disassemble the wall! Mom, I'm sorry - that's all my son could say guiltily.
So, my son and I went out the gate of the base and he called the troll. We saw that he was aggressive towards everyone! And I realized that it was very prudent not to summon him at the base! As we stood there with our mouths open, the troll killed several wolves before they killed him. The perimeter of our base is guarded by 2 * wolves, lox, and now Asksvins. So far we have managed to tame 1* Asksven.
I was playing alone late at night, the kids were already asleep. I returned to our captured fortress to install a new gate. I moved the portal and the protective dome inside the fortress. And I also saw that we had not opened the hiding place in the central tower! I already knew how to handle a battering ram, and carefully destroyed the barrier. Inside there was another chest with new gems, Vegvisir and parts for bells!
I like the process of conquering a new biome. We are in no hurry to kill the boss. We will improve our equipment. I'm looking forward to starting to build a new base out of new materials. So many decorative elements, I'm thrilled!

My brother and I grew up very close partly because our parents marriage was so foul. My father cheating wildly and being perpetually angry when he was at home. My mother triangulating my brother into her marriage. Pulling him away to confide the marital woes and later on being jealous of my bond with either my dad or my brother. It was a mess but my big brother was my rock because he had the emotional intelligence to clock it and explain it to me. And then he got married. I wasn't syked about his choice of wife because she was so similar to my mom. Territorial, emotionally disregulated, arrogant, prone to triangulating people to fight her battles for her etc. But I did like that because she was a South Asian girl, she was very family oriented. She allowed access to their kids even when she and my mom would clash. Life was fine.
Until she discovered that he's been cheating on her. For years. With his co-worker. Who's also been in their social circle. So they got into couples therapy. Only for her to discover that not only was it still happening but he's living with that woman while he's posted at the company HQ. Its my father, reborn.
The biggest mind-fk is I was present when he and my mom spoke after the affair was revealed to us. It was like listening to two conspiring Judys. He was feeding her stories about how terrible the woman he forced upon us for a decade is. That she diminishes him infront of people, has some anti-black tendencies, resents the child with his phenotype etc. And all that might be true but he's cheating on her with a white woman!!! A narrow mouthed, thin lipped white woman who from the stuff I've seen has never cracked a smile in her life. I'm not anti-IR but come-on now. Anyway, the call between mother and son ended with "ok son, we will support you always".
As for the kids, he hasn't seen them for months because he's "working" in DC. He barely FaceTimes them. If she files, it will not be shared custody coz he's now an absentee parent. I've been taking them for weekends and that's a pleasure but I feel like we are now that negative stereotype where the grandma's and aunties are raising the kids because the father is a POS. Never liked his wife much but now I'm finding myself aligned with her coz what the hell is any of this? We used to trash my dad together for doing much less than he's doing.
I've been biting my tongue because our closeness changed when he got married and I know nothing I say will change his choices but I just know I'm going to explode the next time I see him.

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 not sure why I'm here, I guess I just needed somewhere to vent this. I don't have anyone that understands.
I'm a widow, lost my husband in 2017 when I was 31. Raising 3 kids on my own since.
I lost my oldest daughter last week. She was 15 years old. She attempted to take her own life. I had no idea she was suffering. She goes to therapy monthly, nothing was raised at the last session. She survived, and was in an inpatient mental health program when she had her first cardiac episode.
She damaged her heart beyond repair. We were at the top children's hospital on the East Coast, and after so many attempts, there was nothing they could do. We lost her last week after a month long battle.
How do I get through this alone? I'm so overwhelmed with guilt. I should have known. Maybe if my husband was still here and I wasn't spread so thin I would have noticed. Maybe she wouldn't have been so sad if he was still here. Maybe she would have told him about the bullying.
My family is all dead or estranged. I have my two surviving kids, and that's it. I don't know how I'm going to make it through this alone. I can't even handle the funeral arrangements. Trying to raise 3 kids as a single mom doesn't leave funds for emergencies. I'm just tired. I try to tell myself she is with her Daddy now, but then that's all I want, just to be there too.
I don't know what I'm looking for in posting. You guys are the only ones that might understand how I'm feeling right now, how soul crushing this is. I just don't know how to get through this, but I know I have to for my other two kids.

I have lost my mother and grandmother at an age of 19 due to covid in 2020 because of that I had a conflict with my father and living in distance to him. From 2020 I'm staying with my mother's father (grandfather). Apart from food and accommodation remaining every expenditure is on my own. My grandfather is well settled and his son is software engineer. During COVID I helped him in moonlighting as he told he will give me 40K for working. I parallel worked in my current company and his job to get extra money. Atlast he didn't gave money and I accept it. In Indian culture after grandmother expired gold will be given to her daughter which is my mother. As my mother is not there they have to give it to me but they didn't have anything. Also my grandfather gave a word to my mom in past that he will give a flat to her but that also he skipped. I'm still staying with my grandfather, I earned good amount to stay alone but to save more money I'm staying in their house. Recently my uncle (grandfather son lost his job due to moonlighting) I'm supporting there family from past 6 months by giving 40,000₹ per month they told they will return back after getting money. Recently I met with an accident and my gt650 was heavily damaged it needs a repair cost of 40K still I gave that money to my grandfather as my uncle is not having job. Yesterday for going to gym I used their bike and they scold me for that. Usually they will scold me daily for small small things and I don't care about it. After giving 40K and paying 6K for medical expenses he is asking to pay current bill and book 3rd AC train tickets. I felt very bad that they not treating me well during my low times. What you will suggest guys I need to go out from here ? I accept they have taken care of me at my age of 19 but not financially.

Ok where to begin.. I've been with my wife since 2021, she was already separated (but not dicorced) and had a 4 yo son and 2.5 yo daughter. She left her ex because it just wasn't working and around the time we got together she found messages and nudes he'd (at the time 28m) swapped with her friends baby sitter (16f). She reported it to the army MP's and it was all swept under the rug which is fucked up enough but he was kicked out of the army. Needless to say, not a great guy.
So my wife and I start dating, it takes time but the kids warm up to me, wife and I get married, and seeing I need to provide I join the USAF and go through the recruitment process in 2022, BD knows im joining and even being kicked out of the army knows there's a timer on when his ex and the kids move away when I get stationed somewhere.
He was only 45 min away from us at the time of me starting enlistment and by the time I finished basic and tech training which took 6 months (in total was about a year process) and he only came to see the kids about 6 or 7 times.
We got to our base in July 2023 and it wasn't until December 2023 that he even asked what our address was because he needed it for some paperwork. He never actually initiates calls or even text my wife to ask how the kids are, all contact he has with them is when my soon to be 5 SD ask to call him. He knows absolutely fuck all about what's going on in the kids lives, anything about their interest, he just doesn't care but yet every time he talks to them (which is on average once a month for about 20 min) he tells them how much he loves them etc. And how much he cares about them.
Back at new years he told the kids he'd come to us to visit (about a 10 hour drive which my wife and I have made twice to go back home for holidays since we left in July 2023) by the end of February. We'll surprise surprise he didn't show.
A couple days ago my SD asked to call him and asked if he'd be at her birthday party in 2 weeks, he said that "he'd try to be there but wasn't sure". Well my wife ans i got confirmation today from him that he was going to be here because, and I quote, "I haven't missed a birthday and I'll be dammed if I miss one now." WE asked what his exact travel plans were so we knew how to plan for his visit, and he actually hadn't made plans yet and is just saying he'll be here. Also, this whole "I'll be dammned if I miss a birthday" shit is just so infuriating because if my SD didn't ask, he wouldn't have even entertained the idea of coming out to us.
He makes about 80k/yr and we only ask for 1k/mo in child support for 2 kids despite the fact that it should be 25% of each pay check per our states laws, and he's complaining saying "well I'll be out there but I have to put everything on a credit card to make the trip because I'm saving to buy a house". We have 0 idea where all his money goes and we frankly don't care, but his financial literacy is crazy bad.
Now I have to figure out, if he does actually show up, how to handle this with the kids, make a list of ground rules for him being in my fucking house which I don't want to begin with but the kids want to see him, and making sure I don't fucking deck him when I hear him inevitably say "well they're my kids".
TLDR; BD is a piece of shit who does nothing but make empty promises to my kids just for me and my wife to clean up his mess and be the bad guys.

Recently my dad passed away and left me everything and his gf wasn’t happy about it and after the reading of his will she attacked me which lead to me having surgery and giving birth to my daughter. Myself and my family including my mom moved into his house I have given her some things that they got together and now she’s claiming that my daughter is hers and that I stole them her. She’s sent the police and dcfs saying that my house is filthy and my kids aren’t fed or dressed properly. Which isn’t true as they saw when they came out for a visit the pantry was full same as the fridge and freezers all the clothes were clean etc which made them laugh saying if anything these kids are well looked after I proved that my daughter was mine not hers and they dismissed the case which pissed her off even more. She started throwing rocks at my windows which smashed them so i called the cops again and they came out within minutes and took her away. She is already facing criminal charges for attacking me while I was pregnant. Well Friday she was in court and she tried playing the innocent card which the Judge didn’t fall for and when she say me with my daughter she kicked off saying see she’s got my daughter give me my fucking daughter etc etc well the Judge went ape shit at and in the end she was sentenced to 8 years in prison and an lifetime injunction order to stay away from us and a $24.000 fine which she has to pay me for damages etc which I’m going to split between my kids and nephews and nieces. But we’ve all settled in the house and the kids love it as they have so many memories with grandad and my mom loves the kitchen lol as it’s twice as big as the previous one lmao an my youngest son has settled in great at his new school

Hi, I’ve been ‘27 F’ with my boyfriend ‘37M’ for about 15 months. He’s a doctor, and I’m a nursing student.
He has two biological children and one stepson from his previous relationship
As I said earlier, I just finished my 3rd semester of nursing school while staying with him because he’s close to my school, work, and the hospital where I do my clinical rotations.
I used to think he was the love of my life. God put us together for a reason just because of the way we met and the timing and everything (I thought)
We have the same values and similar views on almost everything. However, we’re also very different, which keeps us on our toes.
THE ISSUE AT HAND: It was a good day. I worked out and did my nails, and I felt pretty good. He picked up the kids on his way home from work. We all decided to watch DUNE. I want to point out that he’s been drinking. We were all excited!! I went to the kitchen to get something to eat because I was starving.
We started watching the movie, and he was talking the whole time. His daughter and I told him not to speak because we couldn’t listen. He was “explaining the movie to us,” according to him. He kept talking, and his daughter said, “Shut up.” He was annoying, but at the same time, she was pretty rude to him.
So, I Left and went to the bedroom because it was too much. A couple of hours later, he came into the room after his daughter got picked up and asked me why I left. As I was talking, he walked away (HOW FUCKING RUDE).
His 4-year-old was still up at 11 pm with his iPad in his room, and his stepson was playing video games on the computer.
I followed him into the living room to explain why I was upset and how disrespectful he was. He (drunk AF) got up and said, “I don’t want a random girl to be screaming at me in front of MY KIDS.” We started going at it.
I heard: get the fuck out of my house. He said that to me once and PROMISED he’d never do it again!! BUT HE DID!!
I couldn’t believe what I heard. A man who calls his girlfriend a “random girl” and tells her to get tf out of his house in front of his kids isn’t a man; he’s a boy
If he’s disrespecting me in front of his kids, he’s creating a way for them to do the same.
To make it worse, we were both yelling in the bedroom when his 4-year-old son told me to shut up, and his dad praised him. I was speechless
I got my suitcase and was sobbing on the porch for 30-45 minutes, and he walked inside and locked the door, knowing damn well I had things in the house. I called him, but he hung up on me multiple times. I banged on the door for another 20 minutes, but he never opened it once. I left without My things.
He tried to undermine my perspective/feelings like he was God or psychic.
I felt like he used his kids against me and disrespected me in front of them. Is this how you treat the person you “love”? He made me feel unwanted, unworthy, and unappreciated. I WILL NEVER FORGET THAT!
The question is, did he cross the line?