I drank alcohol for the first time at 11, didn’t get drunk but didn’t mind it. Started drinking somewhat frequently at 13-14. By 15-16 I couldn’t stop at the time I had just gotten into a serious relationship with my current bf, we’re like 2 peas in a pod, or were. We both drank together a lot from 15-17 for me and 17-19 for him. When we drink together we argue and then we makeup over, and over, and over in one night. Sometimes we “break up” but then all of a sudden it’s okay we call eachother names we yell we’re toxic together when we drink but I can’t stop and when I drink, he drinks. everytime we drink together lately he tells me I ruined his life, I believe that. But the next day he tells me he didn’t mean it and he apologizes profusely. What do I do I want to keep our relationship good but it’s like that one quote from bojack “all three of us were drowning, and we didn’t know how to save eachother, but there was an understanding that we were all drowning together.”

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

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

Hey there, I am a dog handler who took some time off (edit: just Thursday and Friday) to consider my poor mental health. At 4:50PM on Friday I was given notice of a Performance Improvement Plan this Wednesday. I will be reviewed Monday and Tuesday with the possibility of the problems that were raised in the notice changing before the meeting on Wednesday.
The problems laid out in the proposal are extremely vague and to do with general dog control and a hoarding mentality (focusing too much on the dogs under my direct care instead of the ones under the care of other coworkers). I wasn't aware these were areas that I was failing in. Nowhere is there any mention of specific instances of my failures in any issue raised.
The business owner is the one carrying out this process, they are not on site day-to-day (maybe once every couple of months). I didn't know my day-to-day manager had these issues with my performance. Though I know the dogs aren't always obedient and in the employee documentation is explained that dogs should listen to a multitude of commands and never disobey, I feel as if this is unrealistic. I look after 10-16 different dogs each day (I pick and drop them off), as well as the 20-30 other dogs (and 2 people doing the same job I am). Some dogs come consistently 2-3 times a week, others are once a week or every other week. I am not trained as a dog trainer and my role is a "handler", meaning the dogs should come already trained.
I realize that I am more nervous around the owner, there has been a lot of problem with dogs being too noisy (a specific person/s relating to a nearby retirement home complained to the point of the council coming in and monitoring us, we passed an official inspection but it's become a hot-button issue). The owner expects the dogs to not bark at all which the manager and my coworkers don't even attempt when the owner is not around as it's not feasible (the manager cannot stand up for us though).
Another problem that is laid out is the lack of me being an "Alpha". I'm not sure how well versed you are with contemporary dog training so I apologize, but being an Alpha is widely considered an outdated way of treating dogs based on incorrect beliefs about packs of wolves(as well as incorrect understanding of what "dominance" means when it comes to dogs). As wikipedia mentions all professional dogs are considered to use positive reinforcement, it's what the best practices of the MPI for dog handling recommends, the SPCA and the Association for Dog Professional Trainers of New Zealand (PIP mentions that dog treats cannot be used, which is the most popular accepted form of behavioral management).
My owner has no certifications that I know of, and occasionally hires a "dog sage" (has no certifications, possibly worked as a vet nurse, or at least around them at one point) and they both consider being an Alpha as okay (and enjoy "dominating" dogs). They They have both encouraged me to physically hurt the animals to get them to "submit" this includes pinching ears, squeezing paws to the point of it being "uncomfortable" for the dogs, as well as kneeing dogs when they jump up.
I assume this is a point of contention as their public documents emphasizes that they are not trainers (nor anybody that works here) and that no physical discipline techniques will be used with handling. However are internal employee documents list the methods I mentioned before, and I have been encouraged to do this to train the dogs. (There is a mention in the employee documents that mention a handler can use the methods they think is best, which, along with my manager agreeing with my methods is probably why I've managed to work here for a couple of years). I've mentioned my discomfort at these techniques but it is seen as cowardice or over-empathy instead of what I was learned to do during my course certification and have read about since.
I've been nervous around my boss ever since the first meeting when they visited me and repeatability shouted at me to raise my voice at a dog (even though the internal documents say that a raised voice should not be used). They sent an email to everybody later on saying sorry for being harsh as they were experiencing family problems.
All the public facing documents talk about encouraging dogs to be social and have fun and grow with them but I'm constantly pressured to keep them quiet, most toys were removed to lower their excitability and I just feel like I'm a prison guard. I mentioned poor mental health and I am looking into getting a GP and treated for a worsened anxious/depressive state (wanted to with my time off but this whole thing was a big surprise, I realize PIP is meant to be helpful but a lot of online say I'm about to be fired which is pretty scary).
I have a good relationship with my day-to-day manager but I'm not sure they'll stand up for me. (maybe they do agree with the owner and their input is exactly how the owner has got their information, something I hope to find out tomorrow and will greatly change my circumstances).
My questions are:

• Can I ask for the PIP parts to be more specific? I mean how is "knowing dog behavior" and "being an alpha" supposed to be defended? There were no specific instances where I have failed anything mentioned in the any of these documents. I realise a PIP should be more exact but how realistic is that, aren't a lot of job responsibilities vague?
  
• If the problems laid out are just from my owners sparse observations, is that okay?
  
• Part of the training suggested is with the owner to improve my ability to control dogs, I don't think I'll feel comfortable around them enough to improve. and I know I definitely won't agree with some of their techniques, can I ask for them to pay for an accredited trainer?
  
• Should I bring up my concerns about the problems they've laid out before the meeting, or just wait until them?
  
• Can the concerns be valid against me if they involve problems that other employees are going through? (like keeping them quiet).
  
• If this situation doesn't go well I'm quite worried about what I'll do, I understand WINZ standown is 13 weeks for quitting or being dismissed. Can this be reduced for my situation? I don't have any savings to last weeks without a wage. I hope I've misjudged the situation and I will get a "good" PIP, I'm just really worried right now.
  

I apologise for the length of my post, feel free to ask any questions.

I don't know who to ask advice of this so I thought reddit would be the best place. I 23 F Have been dating my 22 M boyfriend for a little over 2 years and today we had an argument. Usually I don't mind them and understand they are going to happen but today's was too much for me. For context I am currently unemployed with my boyfriend earning the household funds, because of this amongst other reasons I help him in the mornings. I get out of bed before him, lay out his clothes aswell as products he'll need then make breakfast and coffee and you guessed it, turn the geyser on. Last night I took a late bath and usually ask him if he'd like it on so he can shower afterwards, last night I didn't since it was late and I only took a bath since I was in pain. Fast forward to this morning. I half wake up seeing him dressed and annoyed. A little more context, he sometimes works on Sunday and in return wakes up later so he wants to do it himself. Anyway, as I wake up I see he's annoyed so out of instinct and care I asked if he was alright and if he was annoyed about something. He proceeded to tell me that I left the geyser off the one time he didn't tell me to and that he had a bad shower. Bare in mind I did ask why he was annoyed but I wasn't expecting that answer. After a few minutes I said I was sorry in which he proceeded to explain further that it annoyed him. Later after having time to think I confronted him and said that this was my first affence in this matter and asked why he got this mad at me because I couldn't grasp it. He continue with saying why does he need to ask, I should just do it which I proceeded to answer with that I ask him out of curtasy but forgot once. In this house my boyfriend and I share I felt bad leaving the geyser on since it just takes more money so I guess I instinctively didn't and didn't even have hot water myself. The arguements continued and he stormed off, but not before making a final statement. I respond with, you can't just walk away with him yelling I just did. Got in the kitchen where he was 5 seconds later and went to the fridge. I was hungry and acknowledged that I will not be treated with respect so what's the point of the conversation. He proceeded to ask questions like nothings wrong and I responded with the fact that I will not be speaking to someone who has no respect for me and storms off like a child. He proceeded to get offended and yelling at me. I told him I will not be yelled at like a dog, if he does not show me the same respect I show him I will not have this conversation. During which, he wanted to interrupt countless times which I did not allow in a span of 30 seconds. Than he stated that he is angry he is going to yell which I then stated again then I won't have this conversation. He trodded after me slamming the door open and yelling at me saying he is going to say this in which I said I do not want to have this conversation please respect that. He did not. He continued to yell in which a bit childish I know but I blocked my ears and kept repeating I do not want to talk please respect that and leave me alone while I could see his mouth moving and yelling. He then stormed off in a huff and continued to make snippy comments as he left. I was very supprised at how sound I handled they argument, stating my boundaries was kinda freeing. Worst part is he uses work as a reason not to handle the situation better because he will be late so whenever we have arguments he states that he does not have time for this so our arguments go unresolved. After the fight I walked out saying I do not want to talk to a man that has zero respect for me or time. After cooling down I think I should've just accepted the complaints and move on, I don't know what to do and honestly I am tired of it all, I love him so should I apologize or do something? AITAH?

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 so confused and upset with myself and would love some opinions on how I need to proceed. My (31m) wife (32f) has been telling me I have a mental disorder. I recently found out she resents me for breaking up with her 15 years ago in high school. We've been married 11 years now and the past year has seemed really off to me. Every disagreement we have, she ends up screaming at me, telling me I'm a sorry POS dad and husband. She calls me a narrsisist and says I gaslight her. I honestly try so hard to not even disagree with her because I know she will blow up on me and yell at me in front of the kids. I finally confronted her in a calm way about how she gets too upset with our daughter yelling at her and getting upset about things and channeling that frustration into our 9yo daughter. My wife told me I was gaslighting her and that she was sick of me and it would be easier just to stop talking to me. We haven't had a conversation in 2 weeks. She doesn't sleep with me anymore and when I try to initiate conversation she just glares at me. I feel and have felt for the past year like I'm handling everything wrong and that's why she hates me. I'm making an appointment to see if I have a mental disorder or issue because if I do, it would make sense that I feel like I'm right about things when I'm wrong about them. I take our kids to almost all of their appointments, I pack their school lunches every night, I clean the house and wash the dishes/clothes with almost no help from my wife for the past few years and she belittled me about that saying "you think your such a good husband but you do that so you can gaslight me." I only do it so I can be more helpful. I've never raised my voice at her or our kids and she makes fun of me by mocking the way I speak extra softly when we get in a disagreement. She has never accepted fault for anything or apologized about one single thing in the past 10 years of marriage and I find myself apologizing and bending over backwards just so that we get along. I'm so sorry if this seems really jumbled up but I'm really upset and feel terrible and sick to my stomach because I don't know if I can save us this time. She's a wonderful mother and an amazing, independent woman. I just feel like there's a chance I'm not 100% of the problem. Could I get some opinions on my situation please?

This is my first post in here. Honestly, I just want to not feel alone. Long story short, I think I just lost a friend group. I’ve never been able to make my tone sound the way I intend. My friends now think I yelled at them, when I had no knowledge of this. To me, I heard myself get loud and passionate, but I wasn’t angry and I did not direct my “outburst” towards anyone. Atleast I didn’t intend to and didn’t realize I did because this is how my friends viewed it.
It just sucks to feel misunderstood my whole life. It also hurts they didn’t talk to me about this but instead talked about me to each other. I accepted fault and apologized. I never dismissed what they said but I did share what I think may have happened. I explained the sensory overload, and feeling extra protective when I think something is an injustice. I also explained how I’ve had issue with tone in the past and that I will keep working on this. But I think this may have just come off as me trying to make excuses when really I’m just trying to understand what happened so I can try and prevent it in the future.
Has anyone else experienced something like this?

Throwaway,
I (29m), my parents divorced when I was 7. After the divorce, I initially lived with my mom and spent weekends with my dad. When I was 9, my mom moved in with her boyfriend, and I was sent to live with my dad. At first, it was fine because my mom would regularly meet with me, but over time, those visits became less.
When I was 12, my dad introduced me to his girlfriend, who I could tell didn't like me. I didn't understand why. By then, I was only seeing my mom once every three months or so. My dad told me to get used to his girlfriend, but we never really got along. A year later, my dad told me I would be living with my grandmother (his mom) from now on because his girlfriend was pregnant and wanted a calm house. I was angry and caused a scene. His girlfriend told my dad that I was always like this around her, which was a lie, but my dad believed her and shipped me off to my grandmother.
I told my mom I wanted to live with her, but she said she and her partner traveled the world all the time and that I needed to stay put for school. So, I lived with my grandmother. My parents occasionally checked in on me, meeting me on my birthday or sending essentials until I was 16. After that, the contact became even less frequent—no birthday calls or money for essentials. My grandmother had to go back to work to support me.
I had no idea that my dad had married his girlfriend and had two other kids or that my mom had gotten married and had twins until my grandmother told me. I started to resent both of them, but my sweet grandmother kept me grounded. She provided for me, ensured I graduated, and helped me get into a good college.
When I turned 18, as a gift to her, I changed my last name to her maiden name. She wasn't happy initially but accepted it later. My parents hadn't contacted me or grandmother for over a year and a half at that point. I went to college, graduated, got a good job, got engaged, and have generally had a good life. I haven't spoken to my parents in all this time. My grandmother passed away four years ago, I tried to text and call the only phone number I had of dad but it didn't go through and I was the only family member at her funeral.
Recently, I got an email from my dad and mom asking to meet and reconnect. I don't know how they got my personal email. My dad says he wants to apologize and attend my wedding, and his kids want to meet their big brother. He also mentioned that my mom wants to meet me and apologize as well. He even had the audacity to write that he was disappointed in me changing my last name but "understood it." He didn't even ask about his own mother. I've already moved on without them, hit multiple milestones in my life and career without their support, so I sent a reply stating I don't know him or my mom, added a few other harsh words, and told them never to contact me again.
I told my fiancée, who comes from a big family and is very family-oriented, and she was upset, saying I was too harsh. She believes I should give them a chance since it's been so long. We had huge argument about this. She kept saying how family is important and I should forgive and forget. Now, I have a feeling she might be involved with them and she might be the one who gave them my email. I talked to my close friends and all of them say I am justified on my stance but my fiancée's outburst is making me think about it.

I've been using an iMac (Retina 5K, 27-inch, Late 2014) for just under a decade now, and I've never had any issues until today. I was using it like I always have this evening, and suddenly experienced slowdowns, and eventually a forced logout. Logging in, the issue persisted, and eventually crashed the entire computer into a restart.
After restarting, it wasn't able to handle anything, not even the Force Quit menu. Everything was slow to load, and I could barely do a thing. I forced a restart with the power button and it showed a screen of a grey circle with a slash through it, and began flashing back and forth between this and the regular loading screen with the white Apple logo. It got stuck flashing between the two screens, making zero progress.
Following some information on google, I restarted again and entered Recovery Mode to access the Disk Utility. That's where I discovered that the Fusion Drive had split. I have absolutely no idea how this happened. I'm so uninvolved with computer tech, I didn't even know what a Fusion Drive was or that I was even using one.
This is where the biggest problem comes in. The support guide I followed mentioned it being possible to fix the issue by sinply re-fusing the drive... but it didn't specify the full outcome of this action. I, already being in a bit of a panic, clicked on the button to re-fuse and repair the Fusion Drive, not knowing that it would do a clean wipe of the data on it. Now I'm stuck with seemingly nothing on the drive, and no backups...
For context regarding backups, I had been using Time Machine previously, but it wasn't able to locate anything when scanning for sources. On top of this, I wasn't using iCloud for many of my files as I had multiple bad experiences losing files through iCloud shenanigans in the past, so that isn't an option either... And because I've never had a large scale data loss before, I've never had an external drive either... Goes to show how much investment or even knowledge I have of the tech I'm using beyond simply using it.
So, that brings me to the question in my title. After many google searches, all I can find is that my data is fucked and it's gone forever. Is this true? Am I totally screwed beyond saving? If not, does anyone know what I can possibly do to salvage this? I had over 15 years of memories on there, transferred from multiple older devices, and I don't want to just accept that it might all be gone forever.
Also apologies if I'm using the wrong flair, I've never had to do this kind of thing before, and I'm sort of desperate for any help I can get

salaams!! so I have a bit of a situation about my hijab journey. So I started wearing the hijab the beginning of February and ever since I’ve been like pretty depressed. Even when I first put it on I rlly struggled (with my appearance). Even before I put on the hijab I was already struggling with pretty bad body dysmorphia as well as having an Ed. And since wearing the hijab I have felt worse about my body and appearance. I also have adhd which doesn’t really help because my main source of dopamine before wearing the hijab was through seeking male validation through the way I dressed. I’ve tried many things to replace my dopamine source of male validation with exercise, focusing on my deen and even that has taken a lot of effort as I’ve been feeling super exhausted and lacking motivation in life in general. I feel really lost and sad I feel like I lowkey put on the hijab as a punishment to myself because I craved male validation so bad. And the problem is I have my mum (who is not a hijabi) and my sister (who IS a hijabi) telling me to take it off as it is “effecting” me. I personally don’t want to take it off but I’m scared they are right. And listen I know wearing the hijab is fard and most people struggle with it but if it effecting my mental health so bad that my parents and sister are telling me I should take it off. I’ve made dua and prayed and I know at the end of the day it my relationship of god, but I just don’t know what to do like I have no friends and and life doesn’t really seem worth living but I try to be patient for the sake of Allah swt. I just feel like my problem is so niche and it hard when you talk to non muslims cause they don’t get it or even Muslim that don’t have a sort of mental illness to understand. I honestly just hate living but ofc Alhumdililah and like I know my issues are very first world problems and I recognise even w my struggle with an Ed is a privileged struggle. And also I struggle pretty badly with overthinking and guilt so I feel like if I took of the hijab I I’d feel super guilty and feel like I’m just listening to shaaitaan. And I also just get so overwhelmed with whose advise i should follow cause I’m like am I only accepting this advise cause it aligns with me better or is the advise and extremeisr approach yk (like regarding the hijab and generally regarding is Islamic info) I’m not sure what I’m looking for in response to this post like either a really helpful Hadith or Quran quote or advise regarding what I should about my hijab. Put yeah if you can pls keep me in ur duas I’m struggling quite a bit meantally :(
Also like the problem is when I think about what Allah swt would want for me to do I feel like he’d want me to keep it on but then again I feel like he wouldn’t want me to wear it cause I might end up resenting (fearing I might giving up on my deen) the hijab cause infeel like my intentions when I started to wear thihijab were really harsh critical of myself

https://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/sunday-life/news/too-little-too-late-nurse-not-allowed-in-roselawn-with-her-mums-coffin-rejects-michelle-oneills-apology-over-bobby-storey-funeral/a1027476041.html
A Lisburn nurse left standing at the gate as her mother’s coffin was taken into Roselawn Cemetery on the same day as Bobby Storey‘s funeral has said Michelle O’Neill’s apology “means nothing” to her.
Lynn Paul was speaking after the first minister followed other Sinn Fein ministers in saying sorry for attending the funeral of the former senior IRA man during the height of lockdown, when other families were prevented from saying a final goodbye to their relatives.
The hearse carrying her 78-year-old mother Evelyn McMullen made its way in through the gates of Roselawn at noon on June 30, 2020.
Evelyn McMullen passed away aged 78
An undertaker had told Ms Paul she would not be allowed to enter the grounds of the council-run crematorium because of Covid regulations.
Yet just before 4pm, a number of mourners gathered inside Roselawn for the cremation of Storey.
Before that, thousands had walked behind his coffin and lined the streets of west Belfast, including several Sinn Fein ministers.
Among them was Ms O’Neill, who apologised for her attendance at the funeral in front of the Covid Inquiry on Tuesday.
She said she was sorry “from the bottom of her heart” for the hurt her attendance caused to the families of people who had died from the virus, adding she ought to have realised the anger going to the funeral would have caused.
Ms Paul and her family have spent nearly four years coming to terms with what happened at her mother’s funeral.
She joined her husband Leonard and children Robert, Neil and Jonathan in the car behind the hearse carrying her mother’s body for the journey to Belfast.
“I wanted to follow her. I didn’t want to let her go,” Ms Paul said.
“We got to the crematorium and two fellas opened the gate to let the hearse in, then closed the gates and we couldn’t go in.”
Michelle O'Neill at the Covid Inquiry
She has already received an apology from Belfast City Council over how her mother’s funeral was handled, but that does not change the feelings of hurt she will always carry with her.
“Michelle O’Neill had a duty as a minister to lead by example and didn’t. In fact, she did the complete opposite,” said Ms Paul.
She also noted that the first minister had previously said she would never apologise for going to the funeral of a friend.
“I have never forgotten those words,” Ms Paul said.
“Michelle O’Neill is an educated woman who well knew that attending the funeral of Bobby Storey would cause outrage and hurt.
“She stated at the Covid Inquiry that she attended a funeral and walked in a cortege of 30 while abiding by social distancing rules, but footage exists of her shaking hands and sharing photos with various members of the public in not one but two cemeteries that she attended.
“(This happened) at the height of a worldwide pandemic that had us social distancing and unable to visit our families, one which saw thousands of families lose loved ones.”
Bobby Storey
Michelle O’Neill’s apology won’t be welcomed by all Devastating examination of Michelle O’Neill leaves her flapping – and shows her evidence was misleading Bobby Storey funeral ‘wrong’ and strengthened case of those wanting to break rules, says ex-PSNI chief
A week after the funeral, Belfast City Council indicated 30 people had attended Storey’s cremation, although others have put the figure higher, and republican stewards replaced some council staff.
“I worked on the front line as a nurse, doing the most difficult job while caring for my mother, who had cancer and was confined to her home for over three months before she passed away, with only myself and my brother with her,” Ms Paul said.
“She couldn’t see her grandchildren nor enjoy her last few months of life with family.
“When she died, we couldn’t bring her home to be mourned. We were told we couldn’t have a proper cremation, that her coffin couldn’t be carried to show respect for a woman who raised us to be decent people, and finally, to leave her at the gates of a council cemetery to make her final journey alone.
“(This was) a cemetery which accommodated a service attended by many well-known people not three hours later. Honestly, it all stinks to high hell.
“Michelle O’Neill’s hypocritical sorry means nothing to myself nor my family. She set the rules and then she bent the rules. I have no respect for her and it’s all too little, too late.
“I don’t accept (her apology) and I will never believe it. All it has done is opened old wounds and brought back terribly sad memories. It’s hard to deal with and it always will be.”

My (25F) girlfriend and I (24NB) were planning on having just one birthday party for the both of us next month, since our birthdays are only days apart and I'm going to be visiting her (we are long distance) for the week. We thought it was a good idea to have it together. The ppl invited are just her group of friends (for obvious reasons) whom I get along pretty well and already knew beforehand. The issue came around later when she asked me if she could invite another friend to the party that's not really in the group chat, and I told her that since this is a celebration for the both of us, I wouldn't be comfortable with that.
Now, the thing is, I don't like this particular friend at all because of some stuff he did and said in the past (about my gf). They fought and fell apart for a couple of months last year and then at the beginning of this one, after blocking her and removing her from his social media and bad-mouthing her, he asked her to reconnect and talk about it. Apparently a mutual friend convinced him. My gf accepted this and went to have dinner with him and they did talk about it, he apologized for being an asshole but told her that he was just waiting for her to reach out (cause she used to do that when they fought before and now she didn’t). At the end, she told him that they couldn't go back to what they were, but they could see how things go. She asked for my opinion on this and I told her that based on the things he said at the meeting and all that, I wouldn't really trust him, but at the end of the day it was her choice and I'd respect whatever she decided on, whether they are friends again or just acquaintances. That doesn't mean I don't have my own thoughts about it though. He was an immature asshole and he hurt her and made her cry. She was dealing with a lot of intrusive thoughts and had depressive episodes after all went down. I understand she wants to forgive him, and I actually like how she can put all behind them and move on, but I'm not really like that.
Anyways, that was it. She told me she wouldn't want to hang out with him like just the two of them like before, but that she wouldn't avoid him if he happen to be in the same place or hanging out with the same friends.
As far as I know, they haven't been talking at all. But now she told me she wants to invite him to the birthday party and wanted to know how I felt about it. And I was honest. I don't like him and I would rather not see him, if it can be avoided. I wouldn't have said anything if it was just her party, of course, because she has the right to invite whoever she wants, but since it was a celebration for the both of us and since she asked, I guess I thought it would've been nice to have a say and all that. This didn't really sit right with her.
We had a huge fight about it and she told me she wanted to invite him anyways, and if I didn't want him there bc it was my birthday as well, we should do two separate parties so she can invite him to hers. Under normal circumstances, that would've been fine by me. But as I established before, we are long distance. None of my friends or family are going to celebrate with me there, so I think the idea is rather dumb; the only person who's not going to be invited to mine is him, the rest of the guests would be the same and really, would they even want to go to two different reunions with a two day difference just because of this one person? At the end, I told her it was fine and I would just bear with it. I'm not an immature person who's going to fill the room with negative energy just because of this, and the things he did are not really unforgivable crimes to the point I wouldn't want to be in the same room as him. He's just an asshole and a bad friend. I didn't really like the fact that she asked me like I had a choice at all, because at the end it was either we invite him or you make your own party outside of mine, but anyways.
So, that's solved. I can compromise on that and I also understand her point, I guess, since at the end of the day he is (was?) one of her closest friends. I don't know.
The thing that has been bothering me now is that after all of this went down, we talked about it more deeply and she told me that it doesn't make sense that I would hold a grudge towards the people that are in her life, cause the problems she has have all to do with her and whoever that person is and not, well, me.
And I don't really know how to feel about that? I had issues with some friends in the past and ex partners that were toxic, and the ppl around me despise them. I have a complicated relationship with my mom as well, and most of them hold resentment towards her for that reason and I'm aware of this. These problems are none of their business, I know, but I thought it was normal to watch them react to it and form their own opinions toward those people because they hurt me. And I'm dear to them. And it's the same the other way around. If you hurt my friends, I don't like you, whether you are a family member or an ex boyfriend or a toxic friend.
I asked her what does she think about the ppl that hurt me, and she told me she doesn't have any kind of resentment towards them because is not her place. She might not like them bc of their actions, but that's about it. If I decide to forgive them, she welcomes them back into her life as well.
So now I'm wondering, is it wrong of me to hold grudges against someone who hurts the people who are dear to me? Am I the asshole? Should I stop?
I have spoken about this to my friends but I think I need a little more perspective, cause they all behave the same way I do when we are talking about this particular topic.

so lets give some background- Ill call the first friend maya. She is a very sweet person and honestly would never purposely hurt anyones feelings. Lets call this second girl cara and cara honestly can be passive aggressive and be stubborn about her opinions. Theres another girl, lets call her Bee. Bee used to be best friends with maya but now only talks and prefers to talk to cara, which is her choice so its whatever. Cara has shit talked all of us including Bee and we know this for sure. She left her old friend group because they knew she shit talked them, and she blames me for them coming up to me and asking if she did the same with me, which I said yes to. We are all part of another big friend group lets say 14 people. We put our differences aside because its really not that deep and everything was chill In our group. Recently some girl started a slander account on insta making fun of people in our year group. We were curious who it was as this was the third time i think and they never got caught. While the whole gc were texting and trying to figure it out just for fun, Cara says she knows who it is and what we are guessing is wrong and she knows how this girl "operates." We just asked out of curiosity, "who is it" cause i thought as good friends for a few years she would tell us. She said she didnt want to and coudnt. we said and I quote "alr its ur choice but is there any reason you cant?" we asked out of concern and curiosity and it was well intended. However, she said she just "I cant." we then said "ah fine then its ur choice."
Maya asked after "did this person say anything to u before doing this?" which she asked because she thought that the person behind the account had announced it and cara heard or something along those lines. Cara interpreted it as Maya was saying she was involved in the account and was friends with this person which:

1. if youre friends with them, then you arnt responsible for their bad actions but covering up for them is wrong, so as long as u report it, its fine and we dont really care
2. Where tf did u see it as if maya was saying u and this person were besties, her text did not say anything like that at all???
3. if you arnt going to tell us who it is, why keep announcing you know this person and how they "operate," which makes it sound like you know them well

Cara sent 3 voice messages on the group chat and then a whole paragraph basically saying, "how could u think i would be friends with a person like that tf." I felt bad for Maya as she kept apologising when she didnt even have to, and I know she woudnt even hurt a fly and didnt mean any harm. So I said "i read the text as if she was just asking if this person said something about it to you, not that you were involved." and I also said "its just a misunderstanding cara!" which is what it was. But soon after Bee steps in and asks Maya "are u okay bro tf" "why would you say that" "this is horrendous." and writes a paragraph that assuming stuff is wrong. But didnt cara assume Maya was being mean? Bee and cara sent maya whole rants on priv after, at like 12 in the night and maya was asking me to help out because she didnt know what to do and kept apologizing.
I asked Cara why she didnt see that maya didnt mean any harm, but long story short cara kept telling me that i was gaslighting her and making her believe that her side of the story was wrong and i never took her side,
she brought up her whole old friend group and said it was my fault that they think she shit talked them (there was screen shot proof of her doing that and they only asked me if cara did the same to me which I had proof off so I said yes).
Cara said maya and me attacked her on the gc, and when Bee stepped up it was her being mature and not taking a side which is so wrong what, It feels like double standards to me because when i stepped up and said nothing wrong btw just that it was a "misunderstanding," she said I was wrong. I dont know what to do but its really not that deep and its ruining the whole friend group as no one wants to take sides seeing as we have our finals and no time to fixate on this.
Cara keeps saying no one sees her side and she keeps saying she knows shes correct. I said I acknowledge u have ur own views but so do I so can we just move on from 1 simple text? and she said no. she seems to have forgiven Maya but is still mad at me. I apologised anyway for how our texts may have come accross but she said she doesnt want to see my side because im wrong and i cant justify it.
what should I do and AITAH

A bit of info before I start, I am F(28) and my partner is M(39), we aren’t the same nationality and come from two different countries in Europe. We’ve been together for well over 4 years, are planning to get married and have kids. For the past year my partner has been incredibly ill which prevented him from working (he had a very well paying job), it has been very difficult for both of us. My moms side of the family never truly got to know my partner well as they do not speak English. Sorry for this being a long post, I’m not great at storytelling.
About a week ago, I’m visiting my grandparents along with my mother. Me and my mom are planning a trip to another country which we are very excited about so obviously the conversation starts there. My mom goes off about how great it’s going to be, what we’re going to do there and so on, when my grandma suddenly interrupts to say to me “oh and maybe you can meet a nice man when you’re there there.”
Me being obviously shocked by the comment as I already have a nice man, I say “I don’t need to find a nice man there, I already have a nice man.”
This is when she starts this big speech about everything that she believes to be wrong with my partner. Her main points were to say that he is ugly, sick and old. Me not knowing how to react I asked her if she’s serious - she was. She basically said that us not being married and not having kids made our relationship a failure. That because of my partners illness I “never leave the house” - which is not true. That I need to find myself someone better, who is not sick, because he is just bad.
At one point during her speech I decided that I am leaving, I could not take the belittling of my partner much longer, the only thing o said back to her is that I hope that if she is ever sick, people will stick around and not leave her because she’s a burden.
As soon as I walk out, my mom follows me trying to convince me to come back inside and we can all talk. At that point I’m in tears, trying to get an Uber back home. At one point my grandmother approached me, I honestly thought she’s came to apologize - nope! She tells me to stop it and get over it.
Since then I have been completely ignoring her. She sent a text message apologizing but I ignored it. In the text she said that she’s sorry but she just wants the best for me - to me that means that she still stands by what she said. She has made a few attempts to talk to me on the phone but each time I’ve ignored her.
My family believes I should accept that she’s “an older lady” and doesn’t know better so to let it go. I on the other hand have no clue what to do. I feel that even if I do forgive I cannot forget and it would be so Wierd to bring my partner around her at any family events. I told him the whole story and he also doesn’t really want to be around her any time soon and I can’t blame him. From what I have heard from my mother, my grandmother is now complaining that I’m not giving in and that I am making a big deal out of nothing.
So AITAH? What should I do?

After years of laughter, smiles, n tears, it's now been approximately six months since our engagement ended. Initially, it was tough for both of us, n honestly, it's still not easy — as we both agreed on that fact. But as time has passed, I've had the opportunity to look back on our moments together.
I truly believe that our good times we shared outweighed the bad. However, I can't deny that those difficult moments were incredibly heavy. I will always carry the burden that our breakup was my fault, as you made sure to remind me. But, in the end, I hope we can both take equal responsibility for the issues we faced.
I want to express my deepest gratitude for your efforts to reach out to me, especially through video chats. Hearing your voice n seeing your face meant the world to me, n we were able to share our stories n offer sincere apologies to each other. I accept your apology, n please accept mine. In one of your recent texts, you mentioned, "Please let's not leave this on a bad note." Well, I believe we have finally found a positive closure today.
We both know that our love for each other will never fade, even if our paths never cross again. I'll leave you w one of your quotes, "May we meet again one day, if that's God's plan." It's a reminder that our connection goes beyond this chapter of our lives.
As we now find ourselves thousands of miles apart, separated by oceans n mountains, our worlds have separated. Forever know that you will indefinitely hold a place in my heart, n my love for you will forever be unconditional. Lastly, I want to express my sincere apology once more.
I’m sorry, love…May we meet again 🫶🏽

I Accepted a Job to Film on the Dark Web
Man, I am pumped to tell you chronically online content addicts my story. Wait is that too mean of an intro? Will this get taken down for harassment since I painted too accurate a picture of the people on this site? Sorry, everyone, I’m sure you all smell like an expensive bakery and have touched grass this morning. Anyway, I promise I have something interesting. It even involves the dark web you uncreative writers cream yourselves over! I mean, totally real people speaking about their strangely similar experiences. Okay, fine I’ll stop bullying you through the screen before you click off.
This all started when I was seven years old and my parents were killed in front of me in an anti-indigenous hate crime, but let's be real you don’t care. I’m just some annoying Cherokee kid with dead parents so I’ll skip to the good parts. I spent years in an orphanage, gradually becoming more interested in death and violence. As bad as it is, I went out of my way to expose myself to that content in the hopes of desensitizing myself. Which ended up working too well, since now I’m obsessed with causing and viewing pain, though I don’t find any joy in hurting myself.
I got adopted at twelve and after a few months of staying at my new family’s home on the reservation, I went with them to a state sweatier than the average Reddit user, California. Long story short, both of my caretakers, whom I referred to as Uncle and Auntie because they could never be my parents, died. Leaving me in the care of their older son, who I call cousin. I’m not stupid enough to give up any real names, so I’ll call him Brick, cause he’s as dumb as one. He was in his early 20s when he was tasked with taking care of me and is the world’s worst excuse for a babysitter.
I’m almost always alone at the apartment, with him only coming by to drop off supplies and stay for a few hours so the neighbors don’t get too worried. Unless I get in trouble at school, then he’d suddenly give a shit. It's useful because he doesn't about the gory stuff I look at, but some display of interest would be nice. Oh well, ninety percent of the population sucks so he’s just part of the majority. Now, with that said, you’ll be able to understand the perfect storm that led me here. During my time on the deep web, I found a particular website that caught my eye. They had new footage relatively consistently and they were the easiest for me to access since I didn't go too far into the dark web, especially with all the honey pots lying around.
I even bought a couple of files for myself to study and admire. One thing irritated me though, the cameraman. He was always sobbing, breathing, shaking, or some combination of those. It seriously killed the vibe of the killings. Something I commented on under many videos, often saying I would do a better job filming. A choice that in hindsight was me asking to end up in one of those recordings. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was mostly the only one who commented but I was sure they wouldn't care. I was embarrassingly wrong.
I was staying up like usual, but it was past one AM on a school night, and back then that was a lot so I tried to sleep. Closing my eyes, tossing and turning, the works. I had just started drifting off when I heard the front door open. I remained calm but immediately found it weird since Brick never showed up this late. The thuds of the individual's feet grew louder as they got closer to my bedroom. I tried to convince myself it wasn't a stranger, especially since they got in with ease, but I knew that was wishful thinking.
They hummed as they opened my door. My dumbass had left it unlocked. I remained on my side, trying to look like I was asleep. They turned on the flashlight of their phone, shining it in my face. It was hard but I stayed still while they traced it over my features. I could tell they were smiling as they clicked their tongue.
“Heh, I knew it was a brat,” they whispered to themselves, pulling tangles out of my hair. Something I struggled not to groan from. They pulled up the hair over my ear and got so close spit got on my ear lobe.
“I know you’re awake kid,” they murmured, putting a blade to my neck. I let them grab my shoulder and move me onto my back, I knew how to fight but I wasn't about to take that big a risk with the position they had me in.
“You think you’re so cool saying you can do better than our guy.” they snickered, kneeling, their flashlight still shining in my face.
“Do you seriously believe that?” they questioned, moving the light away.
“Yeah, I do.” I stood my ground, they might have been intimidating but I wasn't gonna let that stop me from being honest.
“I wouldn't sound like I’m gonna piss myself every time it gets gory. I’m confident I could get better footage too, getting up close is something I’ve fantasized about.”
They clicked their tongue again and ran their finger over the bridge of my nose.
”Well, I know you’re a big fan of what we do, and you’re confidence makes me think you got something to back those claims up, so how’d you like a deal?”
I was surprised by how civil they were being aside from the touching and weapon against my throat.
“What kind of deal?” I asked, for all I knew this guy wanted me to lick their feet or some weird shit like that. They placed a finger underneath my eye, tracing a half moon with their nail.
“You have till this Friday to film a video of you killing an animal and put it on a flash drive that I’ll pick up here. If it impresses me and the crew we’ll hire ya with a handsome salary.” They began, moving their hand down to my cheek.
“But if you don't show, or it doesn't meet our standards, then I’m fucking up one of the parts of your face.” They warned, pinching my skin harshly.
“And if I say no to this deal?”
They put their hand over my mouth, scratching my lips.
“That’s cute, if you say no I’ll just slit your throat.” they grinned.
“Or rip it open with my teeth if you got a preference,” they smirked, before running their tongue across their sharp teeth.
“Okay, since I have no choice I’ll go with it, but I’m telling you now I can give you something way better than what you likely expect of me.” I prefaced, looking into their sunken eyes. They scratched my scalp, including the side of my head that was shaved.
“Good choice, I’ll be back to pick it up and if you're not here I’ll assume you don’t have the video. I genuinely wish you luck, because you’ll need it.” they removed the blade from my neck and walked away. I sat still for a few minutes in the dark, processing what had happened and wondering how they got into my apartment with such ease. I was confident I could blow their sniveling excuse of a cameraman out of the water, but I was worried about the people I was getting caught up with.
Sure, I had been on a lot of gore sites over the years but I was always just watching and occasionally commenting. Compared to most in the scene I wasn't much of a threat. I could defend myself and have contemplated killing for years but I hadn't murdered anyone or worse. Plus, I am part of way too many targeted groups to not be constantly at risk. Teenage, fem-leaning, two-spirit, indigenous kid with trauma? Yeah, I might as well be walking sign screaming “Hate crime me”.
So yeah, there was a lot to worry about. Regardless, I couldn't let that fear hold me back. I had a job to do and a group of sickos to appease. The next morning was rough, I got no sleep cause I’d spent all night brainstorming. I barely mustered the energy to change and drank straight mouthwash instead of brushing my teeth. Slogging onto the bus with drool on my cheek, I went to the back like usual. No one sat there cause, the seats were extra worn down, and I scared off anyone who attempted to with my active, rabies-infected bitch face. That day was different though.
I blanked on his name and where I knew him from, but I recognized his wavy hair and prominent curved nose. He glanced at each seat on the bus, before somehow settling on my area. He tried to give me space but ultimately seated himself beside me after realizing it was the only spot that didn't look like it would give him cancer. I glared at him as I did with everyone, but it didn't phase him.
“You know you could pick anywhere else right?” I murmured. He stared at the floor, then at me.
“I’m aware, but a few months ago I started a mission to sit on every part of this bus, and this is the last place.” he smiled, his lips softly curving at the sides.
“What’s the point of that?”
His mouth moved into a more neutral position, but his eyes kept smiling.
“I just thought it would be neat to see the same place from a bunch of different perspectives.” he took out his phone and snapped a photo from the point of view where he was sitting. Maybe my sleepiness made my bitch face less effective, cause he hadn't shown a hint of fear, which kind of annoyed me.
“That’s cool I guess, but I wouldn't do that if I were you. I’ve done some back here alone that would make your skin crawl.” in hindsight my attempt at unnerving him just made me sound like a pervert, which is probably why he held back laughter. Trying to hide a chuckle by clearing his throat.
“Hey, it's not my business what you do, no matter how Haram it is. It’s your life so that’s between you and whatever you believe in. Just don’t shake hands with me.” he joked, playfully putting his hands up. Strangely, I remembered his name at that moment.
“Oh shit, you’re Abdul! We have art together.” I sat up, haphazardly slamming my hand down on my leg.
“Uh yeah, I’ve seen some of your paintings, they’re pretty cool. I like the way you texture them, I’m trying to work on that.” he complimented, seeming more weirded out by my sudden energy than my accidental insinuation. I felt a little stupid for yelling his name but decided not to dwell on it.
“Thanks, you’re stuff is nice, and you’re good at shading.”
He stretched his arms while thanking me. We talked for a few more minutes, taking jabs at each other throughout. Turns out he was better at being an asshole than his artsy charismatic appearance made me think. The thing setting our insults apart being that you could tell he was a loving person underneath. It was the nicest conversation I had with anyone in a while. Though he could tell I was tired so he quieted down, letting me sleep, waking me when we got to school. We went our separate ways until the last two periods we shared. All that time, I spent my remaining energy plotting how I was going to handle the video. What I’d kill, record with, and how to dispose of the evidence. It was a lot to consider, but through three classes I devised a plan.
I’d find a stray around my apartment complex and take it out in my room. Record it on a portable camera since I broke the ones on my phone, no, I will not be answering how that happened. Then once I had my footage I’d put the body in a trash bag, throw it in the complex’s garbage, and clean the blood off my floor. It didn't seem like Brick would come by so he wasn't a factor I thought I’d have to consider. The plan was almost too easy, but I decided to believe in Occam’s razor. I got so lost in thought that by the time I reached Art, which was my second-to-last period, I didn't process that we were moving seats.
“She called your name,” Abdul reminded me. Our teacher placed us next to each other at our four-person table. The two girls sitting with us were already friends, so I didn't bother to say anything, but I was interested in talking to him more.
“So, what do you think of this assignment?” He shrugged, taking out his sketchbook.
“I’m not that good at drawing people, but the idea of combining two people’s faces into a portrait seems interesting. Any ideas on who you’ll pick?”
“Probably the members of the music duo Brain Tumor, they’re my favorite artists and they both look weird as hell.”
“Wow way to talk about your favorites, if that’s what you say about them I can‘t imagine what you have to say about me.” he joked, pulling up reference pictures.
“First, it’s not an insult, second I don’t have anything to say about you. Brain and Tumor have features and styles that make them stand out. Sure they’re ugly, but it just adds to their visual charm. Hot people are boring, there’s nothing to pick at.” I explained, unzipping my bag.
“Oh, so you’re saying you think I’m hot.”
His comment wasn’t serious but it kind of got to me.
“Shit, that’s not what I meant, I was trying to say you’re boring. All hot people are boring, but not all boring people are hot, okay?” I explained, flipping to a clean page.
“Alright, but if I’m so bland then why talk to me?”
I hesitated, contemplating how much of a dick I was gonna be.
“Because it means you probably need some spice in your life, which I can provide.”
He began sketching a head on his paper.
“I like spices, but I feel like you’re the kind of person to dump a cabinet’s worth onto me.”
I flicked my pencil over to his side of the desk, putting on a mocking grin.
“Aww, you scared I’m gonna get you into trouble?”
He picked up the pencil and started using it, putting his on my side.
“No, ‘cause I’m good at setting boundaries. I’m more concerned that you’ll get annoyed with how unafraid of you I am.”
I stared at him for a moment, I hadn't expected to hear that.
“Jeez, man you didn't have to read me like that.”
He shrugged, observing the red paint from past projects that lay on my pencil.
“It's not hard to figure out, just this morning you were trying to push me away on the bus. Lucky, or unlucky, for you I want you to have a friend and you seem like a fun person.”
“Wait are you saying I have no friends?” I squinted at him.
“Well, do you?”
I didn't answer.
“If your response is silence I suggest you take up my offer.”
I was stunned, to be honest. No one had offered to be my friend since 6th grade, and that didn't last long. Of course, I accepted it, but for the rest of the period, there was an awkwardness in my mind. As pathetic as it sounds I wasn't used to others genuinely enjoying my company like he did. Which was partly by design cause I get joy out of scaring people away, but still. I forgot how it felt to have conversations about normal things like art. He had such a nice smile too, usually when I see a grin I want to slap it off, but I liked his. His voice was also nice, it’s hard to describe what in particular but it was easy on the ears.
Okay, I’m starting to get off-topic. I’ll skip to the important part. Toward the end of class, he started talking about how he was interested in filmmaking and got a portable video camera as a gift at last year’s Eid. He didn't have it on him, but he showed me a picture.
“Heh, that’s funny, I bought the same one a month ago.” I pointed out.
“Yeah, it's a popular model, I’m still getting the hang of it though cause I’m so used to using my phone.”
“Well, maybe I could bring you over to my place or vice versa after school and I can help you out.” I suggested.
He smiled, putting his phone back in his pocket.
“I thought you said you’ve only had it for a month? You know I can always look up tutorials from trained professionals.” he reminded me with a notable smugness that I'd used with him before.
“Well those guys are stuffy and I’m a fast learner.”
He redirected his attention back to his page, picking his pencil up.
“Alright, I suggest we go somewhere public instead. You’re not exactly the kind of person I want to bring home to my parents right away. Plus they always need to meet my friends and their guardians before I hang out at their home.”
I gave an exaggerated sigh, stretching my back.
“Aw man, looks like we can’t get high in my murder pit during our first hangout.”
He didn't respond for a solid few seconds.
“Wait, you do know I'm joking right?”
He shrugged, the smile in his eyes appearing again.
“I mean, one of those things is a little less believable than the other.” he snickered, and I laughed with him.
We set up a time and a date, which is where I screwed myself. He ended up being busy with projects from his other classes and family which just left us with Friday, the same day I had to submit the video. Now, did I tell him I wouldn't be able to make it? No, of course not, because I decided to be stupid and even more overconfident. I said that I’d one hundred percent be able to hang out with him after school like I didn't have a mutilator who was going to drop by my place at an unknown time.
The rest of the day went over fine but that bad timing led me to feel like a dick later. When I got home I was able to write out my plan, even sketching a few specifics of what I’d do. It was more exciting than when I’d been brainstorming, but this is when the gravity of the situation began to set in. When I said I’d fantasized about killings I meant it. I mean my teddy with twenty-five stab wounds should say enough. Regardless this would be the first time real blood was on my hands.
It made me feel powerful, but a little afraid. I’ve heard stories of people thinking that it would be an awesome experience and then feeling like shit. I doubted I’d be one of those people but still. Plus, I didn't exactly trust the guy who gave me this job. There was a good chance that this whole situation was rigged and they’d kill me no matter how good the video was. Or worse turn me into the feds and expose my collection. Honestly, if that happened I’d probably eat a shot to avoid going to jail. Wait, can I say that on this platform? Okay to the mods, that was a joke, I want to live a long life. Ugh, I’m doing a terrible job of staying on track. The point is there was a lot up in the air despite it being a matter of life or death.
I knew I’d go through with it but it was still a lot less straightforward than it initially seemed. I wracked my brain to remember where most of the cats stayed and tried to come up with a good way to lure one without raising suspicion. This also proved harder than first thought because I didn't think to account for the cat man, an old guy who lived alone and fed all the cats in our dingy complex while also housing a few. Knowing how obsessive he was he’d probably notice if one of them disappeared. Then again not all the cats return consistently or at all. It makes more sense that he’d think one of them was run over rather than slaughtered. It was getting late again so I rested my head for a moment, a bad move cause I ended up falling asleep at my desk. Not even changing out of the clothes I’d worn before, I woke up late and barely caught the bus the next morning.
I went to my usual spot but Abdul had already taken it. He patted the area next to it, which he’d covered in a towel, a smart move knowing how nasty it was. People gave me a few dirty looks as normal, which I smiled at. I stretched, my mind slightly less out of it than the previous morning.
“Uh, you do realize that-”
“Yeah, I know I’m wearing the same clothes.”
Abdul looked me up and down, his eyes remaining soft, but with a mix of concern and judgment. He set his backpack down and took off his sweater handing it to me.
“Dude what are you-”
“Look I don't know what led to you not being able to change but I think you should at least have a fresh top.”
I was surprised he was offering me something to wear but I took it.
“Uh, thanks, I’ll change into it later.”
He nodded as I put it in my backpack.
“You know you didn't have to do that.” I reminded him.
“Well there’s a lot of stuff I don’t have to do, but I do it because I want to, and I wanted to help you out.”
He smiled, his face still warmer than an Arizona summer. I got a strange feeling in my chest at that moment, I still can’t tell if it was good or bad.
“Well, thanks, I'll give it back to you tomorrow.”
We talked a little more and he mentioned something that caught my attention.
“Have you heard about all the animals that have been turning up dead?”
My eyes widened with surprise.
“No, I haven't, when did you hear about that?”
He pulled on his long-sleeve shirt.
“My sister said her friend who works at a shelter noticed a bunch of animals were getting adopted by people around the same time, and since then gore videos with them have been showing up. She found out through her co-worker who was emailed it by some random creep.”
I covered my mouth and looked away to hide the smile growing on my face. He had just given me the perfect cover-up without knowing. Now if I killed an animal people had an entire violent ring to connect it to instead of me! I stayed quiet for a minute because I could tell he’d likely see through any phony sad sounds I made.
“Oh wow, that’s awful, do you think they’ll ever find out the people behind it?”
He sighed, running his hand through his wavy hair.
“I hope so, for now, all we can do is pray that no more animals get hurt.”
I couldn't contain my grin as he said that so sincerely like animals and people didn't die constantly and that taking down one group would somehow stop the issue.
“Is there some joke I don’t get?” he furrowed his brow.
“Uh, no, sorry I smile when nervous.”
His gaze softened again, and he didn't press further.
His bringing up the animal killings ended up being the exact push I needed to get my hands dirty. I’d spent the entire day before planning so it was time to put that plan into action. I stole some cat treats that the cat man had laid out and spread them around my apartment which was on the bottom floor. Waiting for one of them to take the bate outside my window was pretty boring but one of them came after a few minutes. A scraggly brown and black cat with a tuft of fur missing on one side of his head. It's messed up but I felt like a little less of an asshole for taking him in since he looked like he was already struggling. I scooped him up and he didn't attempt to fight back.
“Hey there buddy” I waved, feeding him some more food. His eyes had a lot of crust on them, it was kinda gross but I don’t have the right to say with how often I wash my jeans. After a minute or two he let me pet him. I knew making any kind of attachment was bad but I thought it was the right thing to do so he’d fall into a sense of security. I was just about to take him into my room when the door opened.
“Hey, I’m back with groceries!” my shithead cousin announced with two plastic bags in his hands. He looked down to see me with the cat, his eyebrows raising.
“Aw come on, you know we can’t afford a pet.”
He groaned placing the bags on a table and unloading them.
“I know, but he doesn't look like he’s got a lot of life in him I at least want to help him feel better before he kicks the bucket!”
Brick rolled his eyes, putting the cereal box on top of the fridge
“Jeez, did you even think about what diseases he might have? His eyes look puffy what if he has something that can get you sick?”
He had valid concerns which was surprising since he’s usually stupid, but I was still annoyed with him.
“I’m sure he’s fine, I’ll even try to wash him, just please let me hold onto him for a little.”
He folded his arms looking down at us.
“Have you even named him?”
I froze for a second, before using the first thing that came to mind, which ended up being pretty awful knowing my plans.
“Cash cow.” I blurted, awkwardly patting his head.
“Honestly that’s better than what I was expecting. I was sure you’d pick ‘Hellspawn Mcgee’ or something else corny.”
He meant to make fun of me but honestly, I would have named him that if I had more time.
“Ugh, anyway I got those dumb chips you like.”
He then pulled out a bag of the wrong chips.
“Dude those are the wrong ones, this is the third time you’ve mixed up the flavors.”
He threw them at me, scaring the cat slightly.
“Well, I pay for it so you shouldn't be so picky. Anyway, while I was in line I picked up something you might be into.”
He then tossed me a trashy teen magazine. One of my least favorite sorry excuses for an influencer on the cover.
“This is a joke, right?”
I couldn't believe my own adopted brother gave such little shit in my interests.
“I don't know, you decided to start being a girl for real this time so I thought the makeup tips on page ten would help you out.”
I scrunched my face at his comment.
“Dude I’ve been this way for years, just because I started wearing more makeup and dresses doesn't mean I’m more of a girl than when I didn't. I know you won’t get the two-spirit thing but come on.”
He shrugged, seeing me done with me even though he’d just shown up.
“Yeah well hey I’m trying. Anyway, just so you know a friend of mine is coming here Friday.”
My heart stopped.
“Wait why here? You live elsewhere why can’t you assholes go there or their place!”
He slammed his fist on the table.
“Will you shut the fuck up!”
He screamed with a phrase I’d grown numb to.
“I don't know, to be honest, something about wanting to move into this complex and this being a way to scout it out. I’m just letting you know now so you don’t act like a complete freak.”
“Jokes on you I’ll piss in whatever shitty beer you bring just cause you said that!”
I yelled back raising my voice higher than his. He face-palmed before putting the plastic bags in the drawer under the sink.
“Whatever, you and your ketamine-addict-looking cat have fun,” he told me while seating himself on the couch. I picked up the cat and walked into the bathroom to clean it. I closed the door and placed him in the dry tub. Using a small disposable mouthwash cup I got a little bit of water. I hadn't had a pet before so I wasn't sure how to approach the task. I dipped my fingers in the water and carefully pet it while pouring s small bit down his back. Any other cat would fight back but he just made pissed-off noises without doing anything.
I scrapped my old shampoo bottle and kneaded it into his thin fur. His skin was bumpy and dry beneath the hair so scrubbing it was uncomfortable. I made sure to avoid getting soap in its eyes but I did pull away some of the crust on its lids. His pupils were so clouded I was surprised that he could see at all, making me feel even more sure that he would be on its way out with or without me.
After drying him I set him on a beat-up shirt I wore when modifying clothes. He sunk his claws into it a few times, playing with a loose string. I ignored him for the rest of the night, hopping into the shower and changing for bed. His meows woke me up a few times but I tuned it out after a while, reminding myself that he wouldn’t be my cat for long.
The next day was Thursday and there wasn't a second that passed by where the weight of the murder I’d have to commit didn't weigh on me. I seriously shot myself in the foot by taking care of that scruffy, pubic hair pile. I was supposed to be hyped about killing it, after all, I’d dreamed and seen way worse than what I was going to do. Yet once I got home and started setting up I felt grosser with each step. I decided to record it in my bathroom instead of my bedroom so it would be harder to connect to me. I set down a few fabric scraps and a worn-out beach towel, placing it all inside a tub for easier cleanup later.
“Okay, I guess it's time,” I mumbled to myself. I brought the cat in and placed it down, setting up my camera once it was comfortable. I also wore my most generic clothes in addition to a mask, putting my hair in a bun for sanitation. When I saw the flicker of red showing that the camera was on I felt I was dreaming. I smiled, excited that I’d get to live out my violent desires. Yet, when I looked down at its pathetic frame and confused expression those urges left me.
I rationalized what I was doing, reminding myself how many animals die all the time and that I’d been forced into this, but it didn't help much in the end. I won’t get into it but under the pressure of impressing the group Cash Cow didn't go out as fast as I would have liked for a first task. Getting rid of the evidence was especially rough, the textures were pretty nasty, to put it mildly. It was surreal watching the blood go down the tub drain and gradually drip off my hands as I rinsed them. I couldn't conjure a single thought the entire time I cleaned it up.
Whether I was wringing out the clothes or putting the remains in plastic bags, it didn't matter. All I could focus on was the task at hand, with hints of disgust along the way. I ended up finishing at three AM. My hands were wrinkled and shook once I settled. I won’t deny that during the murder I didn't hate it. Slashing into something was fun and it made me feel strong. Still, it wasn't nearly as fulfilling as I expected it to be. Part of it was guilt, but it was mostly disappointment. I’d built it up for years and it wasn't earth shatteringly good or bad.
Overall, I expected to feel more, but it just left me hollow with an uncomfortable itch. There was no way I’d ever be able to see the tub the same way, hell I don’t think I’ll ever use it again. Luckily I almost always shower anyway so it's not too big of a deal. I watched a few horror game videos, trashed everything, changed and went to bed.
My scalp hurt like a bitch the morning since I kept my hair in that stupid bun. Despite getting less sleep than the past two days I held myself together a bit better in the morning. I brushed my teeth, changed, and had some fried bread before getting on the bus. Regardless I looked like complete shit and struggled to slump into my seat.
“Rough night?” Abdul asked
“Uh, yeah.” I quietly responded looking to the floor.
He frowned, looking at me with concern.
“You can talk about it if you're comfortable,” he assured me. I contemplated giving him a thinly veiled metaphor or vague explanation so he'd comfort me but stopped myself before my mouth could run a muck. He wouldn't be able to do much of anything and I don’t like opening up.
“Uhm, thanks but it's something I have to deal with alone.”
He nodded, respecting my boundaries.
“You know, I understand if you can’t hang out today it seems like you have a lot going on.”
I avoided eye contact with him as he spoke. For once I was feeling hints of guilt toward a person. I wanted to spend time with him, but I knew that I wasn't in the state to do that.
“Yeah, I think it’ll have to wait, I’m-” I cut myself off before apologizing. A fact about me that should surprise no one is that I hate apologizing. Even when I do feel kinda bad the act fills me with embarrassment.
“You what?” he asked, his eyes telling me that he knew what I was going to say.
“I’m emotionally not great.” I spat out in an admittedly poor attempt to get out of saying sorry. As always he remained calm but I could tell he saw through me.
“Okay, like I said I understand, whatever it is I hope you feel better.”
I told him thank you and we didn't speak for the rest of the day. At home I changed into more comfortable clothes and brushed my teeth. Unfortunately, I wasn't bouncing back from killing nearly as much as I expected.
“It wasn't even that bad! That thing was on its last legs anyway.” I grumbled to myself, smacking my forehead. I was feeling worse than when I did it which is weird. I ended up spontaneously decorating a ratty tie from the bottom of an accessory drawer to distract myself. It helped me get my mind off things, for a little. I had zero plan, just wanting to make something needlessly complex. Hours that felt like minutes passed and soon it was covered in patches, frills, and beads. I just tried it on when I heard the front door open.
“Man, that shit was wild!” I heard Brick laugh groggily. I didn't have to see or smell him to know he’d gotten lit. I rolled my eyes, closing my bedroom door.
“Hey, who’s there?” his friend asked, seemingly referring to me.
“Oh, that’s my little sis, don’t mind her she’s just on her emo shit!” he joked, which pissed me off for the petty reason that I didn't even listen or dress emo.
“Hey, that’s alright with me, I went through one of those phases,” they responded, their words less slurred than my cousin’s.
I fucked up and forgot to lock it when I closed it so they were able to swing it open, almost smacking my desk.
“Hey emo girl!” they waved as Brick haphazardly pulled them back.
“Okay, man, seriously I think she wants to be left alone.”
The way his friend looked at me made me uncomfortable. Like they’d snap my neck if I pissed them off. They clicked their tongue while stepping through the door frame.
“Alright, but I gotta say calling her an emo is inaccurate, they look like they watch gore and most emos just say they do.” they flashed a sharp toothy grin. At that moment I began to connect the dots.
“Easy, she’ll get pissy with you dude, now come on.” Brick warned tugging their opened button pushed him away. They looked me dead in the eyes.
“I don’t think she minds, in truth, I feel like we’ll have a lot to discuss later.” they smiled again, finally walking back into the living room. A chill ran up my spine when I saw them. The sharp teeth, New York accent, unsettling gaze, that motherfucker was the person who recruited me! They were able to get into my place so easily cause my dumbass cousin probably gave them a spare key or the opportunity to make one, and now they were a room away from me!
I dug my hands into my pillow as I contemplated what to do, no matter what happened next, I knew it was gonna be a rough visit.

"Reality? To me that was reality. I don't know about this place. What makes you certain you won't find yourself tied here, trying to explain yourself to people who look like you? I was pretty sure that was reality. Now, well now I just don't care. This is all a dream, so do whatever you want to me. I'm not kissing the cross. Just light the pyre." Shawna told the nogs. They shuffled forward on their trunklike legs, one of them offering her a cross with a figure of a crucified nog with a golden crown and its lips puckered.
"I said I'm not kissing it. Burn me." Shawna grimaced at the horrid little nog. The nogs shrugged in unison and lifted the buckets of icy cold water at their feet. One by one they walked up to her and doused her in cold water, soaking her t-shirt and hair and making her shiver and blow water off her lips while the rest ran down her chin.
"Is she dead?" One of the nog asked.
One of them shuffled forward and waved its hands back and forth in front of her staring, lifeless eyes. "No reaction." the nog confirmed. They'd done it, they'd finally slain the Wicked Witch of the Stars. Some of the Ethgar were saddened, crying big sticky nog tears that left streaks on their faces.
Shawna held perfectly still, trying not to laugh. They really thought she was dead, they thought they'd burned her alive with their buckets of cold water. Stupid nogs, just a few moments longer and she could break free from their braided bonds and be on her way, richer than John Godson.
"I just worry her soul wont reach the Likeliness, We should hold the jesus-nog to her lips, just to be sure." A nasty little Ethgar suggested.
"We should all just shuffle off." Shawna tried some ventriloquism.
"Who said that?" Ethgar were asking each other. The nogs suddenly all looked back at Shawna, their little devil eyes glowing in the starlight.
"Oh fiddle cakes!" Shawna swore.
She didn't usually use such foul language, but she was at her wits end with the Ethgar. First, their ridiculous test of faith to learn about Red Raven, and the treasure of the Seven Wonders. Then she had to climb Mount Velvet while nogs slung biffy sludge from their blow tubes while singing insults to her. With her knuckles bloodied and fitz in her hair, she'd reached the summit only to be accused of heresy, for she'd forgotten to remove her shoes. She'd have to climb the whole mountain again, just as penance.
After the six recitals of the Bindinfingin's half a dozen holy books, the extinct lizards granted her a one-hour library pass in their sacred underground grottos. Was it enough time to memorize enough of their holy scripture to be able to compete in the junior nog bible quotation contest and become a wearer of the golden crown of the most kissable-crucifiable? It was, because Shawna really applied herself and memorized no fewer than three verses, which was two more than any junior nog had ever quoted. With the golden crown on her head, she could at last learn the last part of the legend of Red Raven, and find out where the treasure was hidden.
Wealth unimaginable, seven wonders, that's a lot of moolah.
Bindinfingin ghost-holograms followed her around with sad expressions. The long dead intelligences expected better of her.
"We've waited your return for fourteen thousand trine. Red Raven will you not reveal at last the eighth wonder? We have so waited to know the final answer." The Bindinfingin said to Shawna, but she ignored them. They almost sounded like they thought she was someone else and that the treasure was one of those 'the treasure was the adventure' or 'the treasure was really just friendship' or someshit.
Shawna wasn't going to eat an adventure-friendship treasure, not after the nog figurine got smoochies from her. "Jesus, give me the strength of patience not to kick all these nogs."
"Do dead humans talk?" A nog asked.
They began arguing and discussing whether humans could talk when they were dead. Shawna put her two cents in, insisting that she could indeed talk while she was dead.
"Thou shalt not speak to the dead." A nog zealot drew his putty maker. Others pulled out their blow tubes, spit ball launchers and bald makers. One or two had forgot to pack weapons to the witch burning ceremony, but scooped up some dirt into their empty buckets.
"Thou shalt not fart from thy mouth." Shawna said in the dark, mimicking a nog-sounding voice. Then, as she blew a raspberry, the nogs went berserk. They had divided into two groups, each with opposing religious views, although none of them were sure what religious view the group they were divided into was seeing. The sound of the raspberry was like a starting bell, and within minutes the nogs had annihilated themselves, dead nogs scattered everywhere. The last of them finished itself off. Nogs were perfectionists.
"Now for that treasure." Shawna said gleefully. She followed the path through the empty nog village and found their sacred grotto. It was unguarded, and at last, she'd done it, found what she was always told wasn't even real.
"Reality, Shawna." A familiar voice said from the silent swamps all around.
"Who said that?" She asked.
"Reality is the treasure. I just want you to come back to me. I know you're in there. I can feel you dreaming."
Shawna shook her head. "I know what's real."
A few glowing bugs floated lazily on the air past her, going off to some hollow log to party. Shawna felt watched, like someone was holding her hand. It was going to be good, when she didn't find the treasure, what a weird feeling. Shawna shook it off. The treasure was hers.
"You think you can take my treasure?" The space pirate captain's hologramatic ghost stood in her way.
"So, you're Red Raven. Notorious brigand, mutineer and baroness. I'm here for your treasure, I knew it was real, I knew it all along." Shawna smirked. "The aliens, they worshipped you, but I know you're just a criminal." Shawna told her. "You even almost had me fooled with the Bindinfingin holograms making this sound like some sort of morality scam."
"Yet you made it all the way here." Red Raven smiled, proud of Shawna.
"Of course I did. You think I don't know what's real and what isn't?" Shawna laughed.
"The treasure is real. You just have to go through that door and accept what's on the other side." Red Raven pointed. "It's the treasure."
"See? You're still trying to psych me out. I'm abouts to be richer than John Godson. Sick of this." Shawna grabbed the handle, but something felt wrong.
"Just go through." Red Raven urged her.
"I can't." Shawna felt her eyes watering. "I just want to stay here. I'm not ready."
"You'll never be ready to be rich like John Godson. Nobody ever is. Just go in there already. I gots to get my wings, Shawna." Red Raven made 'go on in' gestures, shooing Shawna with the backs of her hands waving up at her.
"If this is any kind of treasure that isn't money, I swear I'm coming back here for you, and even though you're dead, I'll choke you out anyway." Shawna told Red Raven.
"Yes-yes, all that. Now go through already, the hour draws late." Red Raven seemed to have unlimited patience, despite her efforts to urge Shawna into the treasure behind the weird creepy disembodied door floating in the swamp. The door that looked suspiciously like her bedroom door as a child, growing up. Not liking this one bit, no sir.
Shawna took a deep breath, closed her eyes, turned the handle and went through.

Besides the questions in the title I tired to elaborate a little and also each question(s) has two, a. and b. sections. Section a. is meant for sort of a broad understanding. Section b. is my personal, specific case example (active claim, CA ~10 months).
I'm sure who you'll see will depend on state law, your injury, among other things. Regardless of who you see, more importantly: How do we (the injured worker) know if who we've been assigned to is doing their job correctly or just having an off day, since we know it's not required to have good bedside manner, what are they required by definition AND law? That said:

1a. Despite case by case variations; who are personnel that everyone will see no matter what? What should you expect from them, and is there more they can do...but only if you know how to ask? I'm imagining a knowledgeable answer would be a long list of all the possible outcomes within the maximum allowed in WC, but probably more helpful is to address the most common. A small list may only include a companies HR, Claims adjustor, and an Occupational Health doctor for example. Then continuing the list after those essential people is there typically a usual process where if once your case goes for a certain amount of time or ______ happens, you could expect to meet these ______ job title? I'm hoping to help other people at least have an idea of what to expect out of said people.

1b. TLDR: Here's one of the biggest examples of not knowing who to talk to and whether that information is correct. I have not been given crucial test results from 3 months ago. Original test (Neuropathy) doc said to get my results from my doctor, who sends me to therapist, who sends me back to doctor, my adjustor says doctor, doctor sends me to "Specialist", turns out not specialist, who sends me back to my doctor...ummmm....WTF do I do at my next doctors visits in a few days??

1b (cont.) It has come to my attention that I'm completely unaware of exactly what a large majority of the people I've been assigned to see do. In fact, in what capacity do I "have to see them"? Can I request a swap, or how do I make a complaint? I have been MORE than patient, and I've given the benefit of the doubt for so long that I can no longer accept being passed along. I'm already back where I started, for the 3rd time. Uh...so, besides just wanting information for myself, I'd think the test results should help me heal. I've been denied more treatments (Appeal's denied too) where I'd think that those test results could play a crucial role. Where once I thought there has there been a miscommunication, now feels like I'm in an echo chamber, or worse. This is quite alarming as it also shines light into the fact that I am also unaware of how "my doctor" can best help me, if at all. "My doctor", the one I'm required to see at Occupational Health, (I'm told I not allowed to see my family doctor) doesn't seem to do anything other than fill out the "Return to work form". Is that correct? How would I know?? They seem to just write whatever I tell them. Similarly the same goes for what treatments I've gotten. Best I can tell, there is no indication they have reviewed any of the information from other doctors and therapists. It's now going on 3 months where I haven't been given test results.

Unfortunately it's not just my doctor who I'm not getting information from. "Generic Adjustor" Enters the chat. or maybe not, because to top off the confusion, I can't get ahold of my adjustor who so far been the one steering me into the .... direction. Unfortunately I believe I'm waking up too late. I've called multiple times a day for a week straight while leaving messages and follow up emails noting that I've called. They do respond to email, which usually consists of one line stating something like "call anytime, I'll be in the office all week".. Funny thing is I'm not sure what exactly they are even supposed to do or bare minimum required to do. Even when I get ahold of them, I'm questioning if I can even trust them. I'm not saying "it's conspiracy". However due to the most recent info I've gotten, I do think the run around could be very deliberate play. How do I know if they're simply bad at their job or leaving me in the dark. It sure feels like it's purposeful. This all came to a head when after reviewing our last few emails, I see a pattern where they only respond to some of the questions, and even have given verifiably incorrect, contradictory information. How do I check these facts? Should I talk to a supervisor? Is there a system to check and balance these things? Who do I talk to? It all came to a head when I opened mail to find: Request of QME with the reason being "Objection to Primary Treating Physician's determination regarding temporary disability, permanent disability, or the need for future medical care." Aggravating but I'm sure they followed the (rules I was unaware of) book. It's questions like this that have me really, really upset: What is even meant by "Objection to Primary Treating Physician's determination"? 1. Quick sidebar - is that decision made by the "my doctor" that I described earlier - or the "Provider"? > Meaning, those two terms have been used interchangeably, and I fear that, and why I used quotes for "my doctor" earlier, I'm wondering if this other name (who happens to be another doctor at the Occupational Health office) a person I have never met let alone seen is the one calling the shots. Either way I'm pretty worried. 2. Here is another example which shows only a part of the circle of "who do I talk to". Here is a quote from my adjustor 10 days after the letter had been officiated, but before I got it states "you have not seen a specialist, attended a QME, or have a clear treatment plan defined by your primary treating physician.". Am I wrong to have read that to believe I'd still be seeing a specialist? Doesn't it read that the information the specialist decides would be what determines the next step? Isn't it safe to say that by month 10 I'd have a treatment plan --of course unless your not privy to your own test results?
Ending note: There is so many more examples I could give which to me paint a picture of neglect. From what I can tell, I either already signed my rights away or it's just not worth the fight. I don't even want to fight, or believed there would be a reason for a disagreement due to my injury but since that bubble of disillusionment has popped, how can I reproach getting the best medical treatment. I was lead to believe that after seeing a specialist I would have the option to get a second opinion before the QME. I haven't even seen the first specialist (I was sent to an office with a specialist in it, but the person I saw was just a family practitioner).and since both my doctor and my adjutor are not helping ---Who the fuck do I talk to?