Benchmade modern skinny fat bed
skinny and fat cat feeding
2023.06.05 17:39 Present_Bumblebee skinny and fat cat feeding
I have a 2 year old cat, Lucy, and a kitten who is close to a year old, Phil. Lucy has been a free feeder since we had her and maintains a very healthy weight. We meal feed wet food to supplement some of the dry food as well. When we got Phil in November we kept free feeding them but now Phil is overweight. He’s about 13 pounds to Lucy’s 10 and even though he is bigger boned than her he’s clearly fat.
I am trying to stop the free feeding and switch to meal feeding, but Lucy refuses to eat an entire meal at once (i split the days serving into 2-3 meals depending on if they get wet food) so if I don’t watch them and take the food away as soon as she’s done, Phil will eat it which just puts us in the same position as free feeding except now Lucy is starving. I also can’t put it down to feed her again later because Phil doesn’t get any more and he will try to steal it. Lucy is afraid of everything , so even if I lock him out if Phil is outside the door crying she will not eat. If there is an ounce of tension in the air she runs away , she even runs away from the sound of the food bag opening.
I just don’t know how to make sure she’s getting enough food while also making sure Phil isn’t getting too much, what should I do?
submitted by Present_Bumblebee to CatAdvice [link] [comments]
I am trying to stop the free feeding and switch to meal feeding, but Lucy refuses to eat an entire meal at once (i split the days serving into 2-3 meals depending on if they get wet food) so if I don’t watch them and take the food away as soon as she’s done, Phil will eat it which just puts us in the same position as free feeding except now Lucy is starving. I also can’t put it down to feed her again later because Phil doesn’t get any more and he will try to steal it. Lucy is afraid of everything , so even if I lock him out if Phil is outside the door crying she will not eat. If there is an ounce of tension in the air she runs away , she even runs away from the sound of the food bag opening.
I just don’t know how to make sure she’s getting enough food while also making sure Phil isn’t getting too much, what should I do?
2023.06.05 17:34 ihateAPs this is an open ending story. feel free to comment how you think it will end.
In a very small town in the mountains, it was always foggy and cold. The coldness made people shiver, and the fog covering the eye sights made everyone walk down the mountains. There was a gloomy town on the top of the mountains where a red-roofed house. It was known that no one ever went to the top of the mountains. On the way to the top, some trees had the bottom trunks painted in stripes, and some houses that looked like not even animals were living inside there. During the nights, the tree branches swung as the cold night breeze blew. The shadows of the moving branches looked like a skinny ballet dancer tip-toeing. They were lined with dilapidated washhouses and barren trees. It was no wonder why villagers who dwelled under the mountain feared the mountain. During midnights, these eerie shadows danced ominously in the fading light as if it was trying to scare off people. It was here, in this haunting setting, that our story unfolds.
A young girl named Lily lived in the red-roofed house. Her daily life was monotonic as she spent days until the sunset, and lived by herself. Every time she went outside, she looked sideways to check if there was anyone after she locked the door. Hiding from all people, she dwelled in the mountains with an air of anxiety clinging to her every step. Only the trustful dog Cookie was a soul she relied on. She wandered through the desolate streets with him. Her heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and dread, her mind clouded with disturbing thoughts. As if Cookie knew how the thoughts in her mind were talking to her, he would walk even closer to her. As she passed an abandoned playground, memories from her past flooded her thoughts, transporting her back to a time filled with joy and laughter. Now, she has no one except herself and Cookie. She barely remembered what her mom looked like. Her squealing voice, and her candles suddenly came across her mind. She screamed and broke down on the floor. “Breathe, Breathe. It’s okay she’s not here. I am alone. I am okay.” She panted as she placed her arms crossed, holding her shoulders.
As she sat down and looked down the mountains, trying to relax, the smell of broccoli soup was reaching her mountains. In a sudden shift, the story delved into a vivid flashback, transporting the reader to a sunny summer day. She remembered the good days when she lived with her grandmother. She was the first and the last person she would ever trust. During the weekends, they would go out to a nearby beach, where they would listen to the melodic sounds of the splashing tides and the birds chirping. Lily's laughter echoed through the air as she swung higher and higher on the creaking swings. The beach was her dearest place to spend time. Every single time, the tides had different color shades to her eyes. She never thought that the beach was blue. She saw different colors like silver, gold, and red. She was pleased by the beach because no matter how it changed colors all the time, people would always visit there and admire it. She thought that if she spent the majority of her time on the beach side, she would eventually be someone like the beach. Her friends cheered her on, their faces radiant with happiness. But within this idyllic scene, a shadow lurked in the corner of her mind.
Returning to the present, she saw the striped tree trunks. Brushing off the sand, she got back on her feet. Lily's steps grew hesitant, her imagination conjuring up dark figures lurking in the shadows. Clenching her fists, she felt it sweaty, but she also felt heat coming out from the top of her head. Every creak of a rusted gate or rustle of leaves sent shivers down her spine as if an unseen presence watched her every move. Glancing down to the villages again, she felt a quick shiver. It seemed like there was a melodic song playing below there. The once familiar streets now felt like a labyrinth of uncertainty, each corner holding the possibility of something sinister. She hoped that she could listen to the songs as she used to, but now it brought a foreboding sense that reminded her of her mom.
As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of crimson and violet, Lily quickened her pace. She felt like the sun was her only friend that accompanied her day no matter what. The sun was always shining on her as if it was reassuring her. When the sun went down, she felt attacked. She felt attacked as if her friend was taken away from her. She took bigger gaps in the walk. She had to go home before it was dark. The darkness reminded her of her mom. Anxiety gnawed at her, fueling her desire to escape the encroaching darkness. The rhythmic tap of her shoes on the cobblestone seemed to echo with a sense of urgency as if the town itself whispered warnings of impending doom.
With each passing moment, Lily's morbid curiosity intertwined with her growing fear. Her imagination conjured up scenarios of what horrors might await her around the next corner. The tension grew palpable, as if the very air held its breath, awaiting a dreadful revelation.
Almost slipping off the path filled with pebbles everywhere, she was able to find her house. Lily's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the silhouette of her home, a sanctuary amidst the encroaching darkness. Relief washed over her, momentarily easing the anxious grip that had held her captive. However, her door was open. It felt like her stomach was melting down, and she felt like someone had stretched her arms so that it almost fell out. Her sweaty hands were very cold, and her eyes twitched. An hour ago, a melody from the villages was in the air. It was her.
But just as the night threatened to consume her, a glimmer of hope appeared. A warm light spilled from a cracked window, casting a faint glow onto the street. Lily's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the silhouette of her home, a sanctuary amidst the encroaching darkness. Relief washed over her, momentarily easing the anxious grip that had held her captive.
As Lily stepped through the creaking front door, she couldn't shake off the lingering feeling that the town's morbid secrets were far from over. The shadows may have receded for now, but the anxious air of uncertainty still lingered, awaiting the next chapter of this haunting tale.
She heard a sound in her ears — it seemed like a white noise. On the top of the mountains, there is low air pressure. Was that the reason why she couldn’t breathe well? Was that the reason why she felt dizzy? As a dark shadow approached her from inside, her eyes unconsciously rolled and she felt the hard pebbles all over her body. Her eyes started to close on their own and she slowly was losing control of her own senses, at that movement, she realized she was about to collapse.
When she opened her eyes, the ceiling was the first thing she saw. As she turned her head to the side, she heard her bones crack. The humming sound was all she heard and the tik-tok of the brown clock.
“Lily, Lily, Lily”
She heard a voice calling out her name. She looked around tucked in the blanket. She knew it. It was her mom. Just by recognizing her voice felt like the old bruises and scars were dimming on her body. The voice kept getting louder and squeakier.
Worried that she will destroy all her things, Lily cautiously crawled out of bed afraid her mother would get any closer". She held a bat in her right hand. She was frightened that her mom would ruin her own home.
She stepped down the stairs very carefully. As she came downstairs, an old radio was on. The connection was weak, the radio made screechy sounds as unidentifiable technological sounds. She tried to adjust the volume and the antenna, trying to figure out what it was saying. A man’s voice dimmed: “Ripley syndrome is the term for antisocial personality disorder that denies one's reality and believes that the fictional world they imagine is real…” She thought it would be something that was about the forest fire or something that could be helpful to her survival. She focused back on finding where her mom might be. Grabbed the bat and laid it on her elbow, her pupils slid left and right. She could taste a bit of metal and blood on her tongue. Perhaps she was panicking. It has to be her mom. “It’s either her or me. One of us will be harmed,” Lily thought.
She realized that she was in front of the last chamber of her house. “She must be here. I looked everywhere,” she whispered. She clenched her fists, and she kicked the door as forcefully as she could. She dropped her bat, and the sound of the dropping of the metal bat echoed throughout her entire house.
submitted by ihateAPs to WritersGroup [link] [comments]
A young girl named Lily lived in the red-roofed house. Her daily life was monotonic as she spent days until the sunset, and lived by herself. Every time she went outside, she looked sideways to check if there was anyone after she locked the door. Hiding from all people, she dwelled in the mountains with an air of anxiety clinging to her every step. Only the trustful dog Cookie was a soul she relied on. She wandered through the desolate streets with him. Her heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and dread, her mind clouded with disturbing thoughts. As if Cookie knew how the thoughts in her mind were talking to her, he would walk even closer to her. As she passed an abandoned playground, memories from her past flooded her thoughts, transporting her back to a time filled with joy and laughter. Now, she has no one except herself and Cookie. She barely remembered what her mom looked like. Her squealing voice, and her candles suddenly came across her mind. She screamed and broke down on the floor. “Breathe, Breathe. It’s okay she’s not here. I am alone. I am okay.” She panted as she placed her arms crossed, holding her shoulders.
As she sat down and looked down the mountains, trying to relax, the smell of broccoli soup was reaching her mountains. In a sudden shift, the story delved into a vivid flashback, transporting the reader to a sunny summer day. She remembered the good days when she lived with her grandmother. She was the first and the last person she would ever trust. During the weekends, they would go out to a nearby beach, where they would listen to the melodic sounds of the splashing tides and the birds chirping. Lily's laughter echoed through the air as she swung higher and higher on the creaking swings. The beach was her dearest place to spend time. Every single time, the tides had different color shades to her eyes. She never thought that the beach was blue. She saw different colors like silver, gold, and red. She was pleased by the beach because no matter how it changed colors all the time, people would always visit there and admire it. She thought that if she spent the majority of her time on the beach side, she would eventually be someone like the beach. Her friends cheered her on, their faces radiant with happiness. But within this idyllic scene, a shadow lurked in the corner of her mind.
Returning to the present, she saw the striped tree trunks. Brushing off the sand, she got back on her feet. Lily's steps grew hesitant, her imagination conjuring up dark figures lurking in the shadows. Clenching her fists, she felt it sweaty, but she also felt heat coming out from the top of her head. Every creak of a rusted gate or rustle of leaves sent shivers down her spine as if an unseen presence watched her every move. Glancing down to the villages again, she felt a quick shiver. It seemed like there was a melodic song playing below there. The once familiar streets now felt like a labyrinth of uncertainty, each corner holding the possibility of something sinister. She hoped that she could listen to the songs as she used to, but now it brought a foreboding sense that reminded her of her mom.
As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of crimson and violet, Lily quickened her pace. She felt like the sun was her only friend that accompanied her day no matter what. The sun was always shining on her as if it was reassuring her. When the sun went down, she felt attacked. She felt attacked as if her friend was taken away from her. She took bigger gaps in the walk. She had to go home before it was dark. The darkness reminded her of her mom. Anxiety gnawed at her, fueling her desire to escape the encroaching darkness. The rhythmic tap of her shoes on the cobblestone seemed to echo with a sense of urgency as if the town itself whispered warnings of impending doom.
With each passing moment, Lily's morbid curiosity intertwined with her growing fear. Her imagination conjured up scenarios of what horrors might await her around the next corner. The tension grew palpable, as if the very air held its breath, awaiting a dreadful revelation.
Almost slipping off the path filled with pebbles everywhere, she was able to find her house. Lily's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the silhouette of her home, a sanctuary amidst the encroaching darkness. Relief washed over her, momentarily easing the anxious grip that had held her captive. However, her door was open. It felt like her stomach was melting down, and she felt like someone had stretched her arms so that it almost fell out. Her sweaty hands were very cold, and her eyes twitched. An hour ago, a melody from the villages was in the air. It was her.
But just as the night threatened to consume her, a glimmer of hope appeared. A warm light spilled from a cracked window, casting a faint glow onto the street. Lily's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the silhouette of her home, a sanctuary amidst the encroaching darkness. Relief washed over her, momentarily easing the anxious grip that had held her captive.
As Lily stepped through the creaking front door, she couldn't shake off the lingering feeling that the town's morbid secrets were far from over. The shadows may have receded for now, but the anxious air of uncertainty still lingered, awaiting the next chapter of this haunting tale.
She heard a sound in her ears — it seemed like a white noise. On the top of the mountains, there is low air pressure. Was that the reason why she couldn’t breathe well? Was that the reason why she felt dizzy? As a dark shadow approached her from inside, her eyes unconsciously rolled and she felt the hard pebbles all over her body. Her eyes started to close on their own and she slowly was losing control of her own senses, at that movement, she realized she was about to collapse.
When she opened her eyes, the ceiling was the first thing she saw. As she turned her head to the side, she heard her bones crack. The humming sound was all she heard and the tik-tok of the brown clock.
“Lily, Lily, Lily”
She heard a voice calling out her name. She looked around tucked in the blanket. She knew it. It was her mom. Just by recognizing her voice felt like the old bruises and scars were dimming on her body. The voice kept getting louder and squeakier.
Worried that she will destroy all her things, Lily cautiously crawled out of bed afraid her mother would get any closer". She held a bat in her right hand. She was frightened that her mom would ruin her own home.
She stepped down the stairs very carefully. As she came downstairs, an old radio was on. The connection was weak, the radio made screechy sounds as unidentifiable technological sounds. She tried to adjust the volume and the antenna, trying to figure out what it was saying. A man’s voice dimmed: “Ripley syndrome is the term for antisocial personality disorder that denies one's reality and believes that the fictional world they imagine is real…” She thought it would be something that was about the forest fire or something that could be helpful to her survival. She focused back on finding where her mom might be. Grabbed the bat and laid it on her elbow, her pupils slid left and right. She could taste a bit of metal and blood on her tongue. Perhaps she was panicking. It has to be her mom. “It’s either her or me. One of us will be harmed,” Lily thought.
She realized that she was in front of the last chamber of her house. “She must be here. I looked everywhere,” she whispered. She clenched her fists, and she kicked the door as forcefully as she could. She dropped her bat, and the sound of the dropping of the metal bat echoed throughout her entire house.
2023.06.05 17:22 xtremexavier15 TSROTI 5 (pt 1)
Toxic Rats: Geoff, Scott, Trent, Leshawna, Sammy, Sierra
Mutant Maggots: Anne Maria, Katie, Molly, Scarlett, Dave, DJ
Episode 05: Backstabbers Ahoy
"Last time, on Total Drama Revenge of the Island!" Chris opened, the standard shot of the island quickly cutting to a clip of the campers hurriedly assembling in the common area between cabins as the recap montage began. "Twelve campers went on a scavenger hunt," a close-up of the screen that showed the scavenger hunt locations was next, "that was spoo~ky~!" he said in an appropriate tone, several scary eyes opening up in the hollow of a tree. "And very, very, painful," he added with a laugh as Leshawna was shown getting choked by the squid-tree while some of her teammates threw rocks at both her and the tentacle, and Geoff ran right into a minefield and got blown up.
"And when we thought it couldn't get any weirder," the host continued over a shot of Dave being wrapped up by the spider, "Arachna-Izzy showed up to do an eight-legged tap dance for a captive audience and her buddy Chef," the wild child's reveal was shown as was her shooting plungers at Chef. "Which turned out to be not so fun for her," Dave was shown pounding on the spider's abdomen.
"In the end, Katie left five teammates behind," the sweet girl was shown getting on the zipline, "and lost the challenge for her team," The Maggots were at the elimination ceremony. "Someone would've been eliminated, but I decided to be swell and call it a non-elimination just to keep tensions running," Chris laughed a bit. "And I also brought Sierra back into the game for fun," Sierra coming in unannounced was shown.
"Hey, it's my show. I can do what I want," the host said as the montage ended to show him standing on the Dock of Shame. "Who will ride the Hurl of Shame next? How many times can I laugh at them, before then? Find out right now, on Total! Drama! Revenge of the Island!"
XXXXX
A shot of the morning sun opened the episode, a flock of geese flying across the sky in formation in the distance. The scene cut to the girls of the Maggot cabin, the camera angled to show Katie and Scarlett awake.
The shot cut in close to Scarlett as she was deep in thought. "It's pretty fortunate for us to not lose a teammate last episode." Scarlett started her conversation with Katie.
Katie, who was brushing her hair, stopped when she was finished. "I know. Even though we lost, we still won in a way."
"But something still questions me about last time," Scarlett continued.
"What is it?" Katie wondered.
"I'm curious who would've gotten voted out since Chris didn't reveal the votes at all during our elimination ceremony," Scarlett explained.
Katie got uneasy hearing that. "Oh, I'm curious as well." She let out an awkward chuckle.
Scarlett easily saw how nervous her bunkmate was acting, and decided to press on. "You're not looking very comfortable. Care to explain what is bothering you?"
"The thing is, I voted for-" Katie tried to say, but was interrupted by Molly opening the cabin door.
"Good morning everyone," Molly greeted the two girls.
"Oh, Molly's here," Katie changed the subject. "Hi."
Confessional: Katie
"If I'm being honest, I voted for Scarlett in the last challenge," Katie admitted. "She was kind of acting cold towards us and didn't even feel as bad for our teammates getting captured."
Confessional: Scarlett
"She didn't say it, but I know they voted for me," Scarlett grimly said. "I suppose it's because of how I came off not showing my sympathies for my endangered teammates or for being too intellectual for them." She smiled proudly. "It would've been their loss had they gotten rid of me for I am the more academically skilled member of the bunch."
Confessionals End
"Guess what I found at the bonfire?" Molly eagerly said.
"What could you have found that would be beneficial for us?" Scarlett skeptically asked.
"I found this old mp3 player by one of the stumps," Molly pulled out the object. "I don't know how it got there, but I'm keeping it."
"If it's so old, why are you gonna keep it?" Katie asked her.
"It plays all the indie music from my favorite bands," Molly answered. "Modest Mouse, Bon Iver, Arcade Fire, those types of people."
"I've never heard of them," Katie said. "Sorry."
"Well you're missing out," Molly shrugged before leaving.
Scarlett and Katie watched her leave for a few seconds before Scarlett turned to Katie. "If I'm being honest, I'm not a fan of indie-themed activities."
Confessional: Molly
Molly was listening to one of her indie bands on her mp3. "Come on, skinny love, just last the year!"
Confessional Ends
A pleasant tune played as the scene moved to a shot of the lake, a few red birds flying and tweeting past the camera. The perspective inverted to show Anne Maria sitting in one of the stump seats of the bonfire pit, filing her nails as a woodpecker stood on top of her poking at her hair.
"Hey, I wasn't expecting to see you up here so early," Geoff said, walking up from the right and immediately attracting Anne Maria's attention. He was in his swimsuit rather than his usual attire.
"I didn't have much of a choice," Anne Maria said. "Katie's snorin' is drivin' me nuts, and Scarlett is kooky with her sleep analysis or whatever."
"So you're doing your hair care out here?" Geoff wondered.
"Yup," Anne Maria replied. "Why are you out in your swim shorts?"
"The water was feeling pretty cool and refreshing, and I wanted to salvage the moment as quickly as I could," Geoff answered.
"I would've been in the ocean, but I have to be fully tanned before I can go into any form of liquid," Anne Maria continued.
"Your body is tanned?" Geoff widened. "Do you use orange paint?"
This comment quickly offended the hairspray girl. "Excuse me?! Did you just disrespect my tan?!" Anne Maria glared at the party boy.
Geoff instantly realized his mistake. "No no no. I'm just saying that I like your tan. It's pretty cool."
Anne Maria cooled down. "Oh right. Now I get it."
Confessional: Geoff
"If you didn't know, I tend to slip up when talking to chicks," Geoff opened up. "Anne Maria's a babe, and a super hot one, but I have to watch what I say if I don't want to get messed up."
Confessional Ends
The scene flashed to the girls' side of the Rat cabin, where Sammy was sleeping in her bed peacefully, until she got woken up by Sierra snapping a photo of her.
"Sierra! I'm trying to sleep!" Sammy shouted in anger, causing Sierra to be frightened.
"Sorry Sammy. I was just updating the sleeping section of this season's profile!" Sierra said happily.
"Sleeping section?" Leshawna said in bewilderment. "Who would want to see us sleep?"
"I don't even want to know," Sammy mumbled.
Confessional: Sierra
"Apparently, the viewers love to see the contestants in their pajamas," Sierra said. "They probably want to make fanart of them."
Confessional: Sammy
"Was I being mean back there? Sorry," Sammy sheepishly said. "I usually get cranky if I don't get my full hours of sleep, and with Sierra back, it's going to get worse."
Confessionals End
Over on the boys' side of the Rat cabin, Trent was putting on his shirt in order to get dressed fully. "Getting dressed is done. Now to play some music to get my day off on the right foot."
The cool guy got on his knees and stuck his hand under his bunk bed to find his guitar, and his face became more and more worried as he couldn't find his instrument.
"I swear I put my guitar under here!" Trent said to himself while peeking under his bunk.
Scott entered the cabin and saw Trent's predicament. "What seems to be tugging on your strings, guitar boy?" he asked.
"Someone stole my guitar," Trent responded. "I remember placing it under my bunk bed, but now there's no sight of it."
"Ultra fangirl returns, guitar goes AWOL. Do the math, and come eat breakfast before you starve of paranoia," Scott told Trent.
Confessional: Trent
"Scott's on the rough side, but he does have a point about me not needing to overreact about my guitar being taken," Trent stated. "Someone probably just took it as a practical joke, and I'm sure they'll return it back to me."
Confessional Ends
A loon called as the scene moved to the Mess Hall, cutting inside to the Mutant Maggots, who were seated at the forward table this time around, while the Toxic Rats had been forced to claim the table closer to the kitchen. All of them were eating what appeared to be trays of mostly meat – bacon and roast chicken and some kind of intestines, with a bit of mashed potatoes and an apple on the side.
DJ was in line with his tray out. After it got filled with breakfast, he smiled a bit. "This is looking pretty good," he said to Chef, to which the cook actually smiled in appreciation.
Dave walked up to DJ with his own tray. "This is too much protein," he complained out of Chef's view to DJ.
"I know," DJ told his friend. "I'm gonna see if I can use this to make a gift for Katie."
"Why do you wanna do that?" Dave asked him. "Are you into her?"
DJ looked at Katie making a house out of her food. "Look at her. She's creative, sweet, and totally full of life."
"I didn't know you were interested in her," Dave said.
"I didn't realize my feelings for her until later on," DJ told him before walking to the right. "I'm gonna go see if there's any more leftovers for my gift."
"Attention campers!" Chris announced through the loudspeaker. "Breakfast is cutting in to precious time that you could spend getting injured!" The shot cut to the loudspeaker outside as Chris laughed. "Grab your swimsuits and meet me at the dock, pronto!"
The campers, who'd already gathered in the middle of the lodge aside from Dave and DJ, began to groan and complain. "You have ten seconds to exit the Mess Hall," Chris added, "before I release...The Raccoon!"
"The raccoon?" Anne Maria repeated in disbelief, and the ten teens started to laugh as the camera pulled back and a large crate was lowered down from the ceiling on chains. It stopped just before it hit the floor, and the campers immediately looked at it with dread.
The front face of it was punched off, revealing the giant mutant raccoon inside. It roared, and with a shriek the two teams fled the building.
The camera cut to the entrance to the kitchen, where DJ was wheeling in a service cart full of the morning meal and whistling to himself. "Hey," he asked, apparently not hearing the warning. "Where y'all goin'? Oh well," he shrugged. "I'm gonna see what I can take from this cart!"
He put the meat into his shorts, unaware of the menacing shadow creeping toward him.
\
The scene cut outside to the campers catching their breaths, Chris watching them nearby with an impish smile.
"What were you thinking?" Scarlett asked him. "We could've been viciously assassinated by that intoxicated raccoon!"
Chris just laughed. "Nah, only if you got between him and food." He sent a pensive look off-screen and said "Team Maggot, looks like you're still missing a player."
The camera cut to the main lodge, where DJ was tossed out of a window with a scream.
"Nevermind," Chris said jovially.
\
The footage flashed ahead to the two teams assembled on the Dock of Shame in their swimsuits – On the left: DJ in his usual shorts, Katie in a white and black striped bikini, Scarlett in a black one-piece, Molly in a purple dotted two-piece, Anne Maria in a bikini with the same color scheme as her top, and Dave in a white tank top and a pair of trunks consisting of his normal attire's colors; On the right: Leshawna in a teal speedo, Scott in his red swim trunks, Sierra in a light and lime green bikini, Trent in his orange and brown swim trunks, Sammy in a white bikini, and Geoff in his normal shorts; Chris was in the middle. Each team also had an old-fashioned diving suit connected by hose to a hand pump lying between them and the host.
"Alright," Chris began, "here to help us get today's competition underway, say hello to one of our classic competitors, Brick!"
He motioned to the side and the camera zoomed out as the cadet arrived at the dock in a patched-up red canoe.
"I'm ready to go," Brick told the host, "but remember," he gave a reminder, "my contract said demonstration only."
"Relax," Chris smiled, "no demo needed! Just chum the water and try not to get eaten."
Brick reached into the canoe and picked up a bucket of green slop. He took one whiff of it and retched. "What is this stuff?" he asked in disgust.
"Leftovers," Chris grinned, "from last season."
"This almost smells as nasty as my boots," Brick shuddered.
It was then that Fang rose out of the water and chomped down on the end of the boat, devouring the bit of chum that had been spilled on it and forcing Brick to yelp and dart over to the back of the canoe.
"This is highly not acceptable!" Brick scolded him.
"Challenge, part one!" Chris moved on. "Each team must get a pair of water-skis in an underwater mission." The shot cut underwater as he spoke, showing two sets of water skis tied to a pair of rocks on the lake bed. A school of vicious, spiny fish swam past from the right to the left, and a second later a school of eels passed through from the opposite direction. "Or drown trying," the host added as the camera zoomed in on the skis.
"One victim-I mean camper," Chris continued with a sly look, "will snag the skis in an old-school diving suit," he held up the Rats' suit, "and float them to the surface while the rest of their team pumps them oxygen," he held up the Maggots' pump. "First team to surface their skis wins, and gets an advantage in part two."
\
The focus moved to the Maggots, Molly standing before her teammates and holding the diving suit's helmet. "Listen up Maggots. I'm diving."
"No problem with me," DJ agreed. "I'm not good with water, so I'll pump the air."
"Just consider it my way of making it up to you for the ice challenge," Molly said before feeling her pockets, only to realize something. "Who took my mp3 player?"
Confessional: DJ
"When I was eight, my brothers dared me to jump off the high-dive platform at the pool. I jumped, but I landed on my butt, and my trunks went so far up my butt, I had to go to the hospital and get them removed. They invited a new word for what I did. The wedgie flop. I've been afraid of water ever since," DJ explained his fear of water.
Confessional Ends
The focus moved to the Rats, Geoff at the center of their attention. "So who's gonna pump and who's gonna dive?"
"I got captured first last episode, so I'll pump the air just to show that I'm not useless," Sammy went to the hose.
"Sierra, you just came back, so you can dive in order to prove yourself to us," Scott suggested.
"Of course I'll dive," Sierra said. "I'm a certified swimmer."
Confessional: Scott
"That was much easier than I thought it'd be," Scott quipped.
Confessional Ends
"Ready?" Chris asked, now standing between Molly and Sierra, the two now fully dressed in their diving suits. Molly smirked confidently at her opponent, with Sierra doing the same, and with a sharp "GO!" from the host, the two were off.
The shot immediately cut underwater as the two splashed down and sank to the lake bed. The perspective moved behind them as they looked ahead to the tied-up skis in the distance, and after sharing a brief glance the two raced off...rather slowly through the water, thanks to the heavy suits and water pressure. The camera focused on Sierra as she suddenly stopped as though her hose had been caught on something.
She looked back and the camera panned to follow, revealing Fang holding back the uberfan's hose with a single hand. He grinned toothily, and Sierra screamed.
The scene moved back above the water, focusing on the Rats. Sammy was currently pumping with Leshawna and Scott watching her, and Geoff and Trent were leaning off the edge of the dock to watch Sierra's progress.
"Tired already, Pom-pom?" Scott asked the cheerleading girl as her breathing became heavier.
Leshawna took Sammy off the pump. "It's okay," the sista said. "I can do it for you!" She pumped so furiously that the hose started bulging as air pockets moved down it.
The scene cut back to Fang swimming viciously at Sierra; the girl turned around and screamed just as the bulging air pocket moved through the hose towards her...blowing up her suit like a balloon, causing Fang to ram into her and bounce off.
"You better get those skis, girl!" Anne Maria shouted near Scarlett as the camera cut back above the water.
"Yeah, keep up the pace," Dave added halfheartedly while kneeling on the dock.
The camera panned away from them and on to Katie and DJ, the latter operating the pump while the former talked to him...absentmindedly standing on the hose while doing so.
"Nice muscles you got on," Katie told DJ sincerely.
"Can I ask you something?" DJ said.
"Sure," Katie replied, looking up at her teammate. "What do you want to ask me?"
"What's your favorite kind of food?" DJ asked Katie. "Mine is gumbo, especially when made by my Momma."
"I like bacon. You can put it on any food you want, and they've been useful for my vlogs," Katie said.
"Bacon wouldn't go great with gumbo if you're thinking about that," DJ joked with the sweet girl.
"I know that. I'm not off the wall," Katie laughed at his sentence. As she spoke, the camera focused down on the slowly-growing bulge in the hose, trapped from moving onward by Katie's weight.
Confessional: Katie
"DJ is such an attractive guy," Katie swooned. "Is this what having a real life crush is like?"
Confessional Ends
The shot cut back underwater, Molly eagerly approaching the water skis...until she suddenly gasped, stopped, and held her breath with a look of shock. She frantically started tugging on her hose, and the scene returned to the edge of the dock as the other end of the hose began to yank and twang.
Scarlett quickly noticed it, and moved her wide gaze up the hose to Katie's feet. "What are you doing standing on the hose?" she asked sternly while pulling Katie off. "You're blocking the air." The air pocket finally rushed down to the hose.
Back underwater Molly's face had started to lose a bit of color as she kept on tugging at the hose. The air bubble finally reached her, and she let out a sigh of relief.
Back up shore, Katie started to feel really guilty. "I'm so sorry about that. I didn't know."
Confessional: Katie
"I almost killed Molly," Katie said in regret. "She's annoying sometimes, but that doesn't warrant murder."
Confessional Ends
The static cut away to the Rats, Leshawna continuing to pump air at a fast pace.
"This is taking forever!" Scott complained while holding his wood. "I gotta whittle something." He put his hand on his pocket. "Wait, where's my lucky shark tooth? Sierra must've stole it!" Scott thought out loud. "Like she stole Music Note's guitar and Indie Lady's mp3."
Anne Maria heard the commotion and came over. "Sierra couldn't steal a TV in a riot," she explained.
"Think about it. That girl's been obsessed with getting information about the show, even us," Scott replied.
Anne Maria proceeded to pat herself down. "As if, there's no proof that-" she retorted until something caught her attention. "Hey. Where's my hairbrush?" The jersey shore reject grew angry. "Oh, that is it! Sierra's getting a beat down!"
The scene flashed back underwater where Fang had gotten a hold of Sierra's air hose and was using her as a punching bag. The hose snapped from the unintended stress and the obsessive girl was sent flying through the water.
Sierra got to the Rats' skis first. Her diving suit knocked Molly down and smacked into the rock holding the skis, the force was enough to dislodge them; seconds later the two skis floated up to the surface.
A ship's horn was blown, and Chris called out "The Rats win the first challenge!" over the shot of Sierra flying out of the water between the skis with a scream.
/
"The Rats are the first to grab water skis," Chris announced over a shot of everyone assembled on the dock, "and their reward?" he said as a light-skinned female intern with a black ponytail drove a speedboat up to the Rats' side of the dock. "A McLean Brand Speedboat to use in part two of the challenge."
"Cool!" Trent cheered in excitement.
"Yeah baby!" Leshawna chimed in, the rest of their teammates smiling.
"And for the Maggots," Chris turned to the losers, a spluttering engine attracting their attention to the lake as well as the southeast Asian male intern drove up an inflatable boat to the left side of the dock. "A totally leaky dinghy!"
The six Maggots groaned and hung their heads in disappointment.
"This is almost too easy," Scott chuckled to himself before he saw Sierra catch up to the Rats with her diving suit torn up.
"Did we win the advantage?" Sierra told the farm boy.
"We sure did…stealer!" Scott muttered the last part under his breath.
"Part two of the challenge," Chris continued, briefly holding up two fingers as he continued his exposition, "a death-defying water ski race! The goal? Be the first to ring four bells on these four totally harmless buoys."
As he spoke, the shot cut first to one of the bells, then zoomed out to show it – and the others floating nearby – were attached to the top of what were very obviously sea mines. Brick arrived just then, the cadet frantically paddling his canoe up to one of the mines. He bumped into it just as Chris proclaimed its harmlessness, and the cameo and canoe were blown away by the resulting explosion.
Chris laughed. "Make that three bells," he corrected as a screaming Brick landed on the dock beside him. "See?" he told the slightly-charred young man. "You totally got to demo the challenge." The host then looked at the camera. "Who will cry for their mommy? And who's cries will be drowned out by explosions?" he asked with a wide smile. "Find out when we return." He looked down at Brick, who coughed out a little more soot.
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(Commercial Break)
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submitted by xtremexavier15 to u/xtremexavier15 [link] [comments]
Mutant Maggots: Anne Maria, Katie, Molly, Scarlett, Dave, DJ
Episode 05: Backstabbers Ahoy
"Last time, on Total Drama Revenge of the Island!" Chris opened, the standard shot of the island quickly cutting to a clip of the campers hurriedly assembling in the common area between cabins as the recap montage began. "Twelve campers went on a scavenger hunt," a close-up of the screen that showed the scavenger hunt locations was next, "that was spoo~ky~!" he said in an appropriate tone, several scary eyes opening up in the hollow of a tree. "And very, very, painful," he added with a laugh as Leshawna was shown getting choked by the squid-tree while some of her teammates threw rocks at both her and the tentacle, and Geoff ran right into a minefield and got blown up.
"And when we thought it couldn't get any weirder," the host continued over a shot of Dave being wrapped up by the spider, "Arachna-Izzy showed up to do an eight-legged tap dance for a captive audience and her buddy Chef," the wild child's reveal was shown as was her shooting plungers at Chef. "Which turned out to be not so fun for her," Dave was shown pounding on the spider's abdomen.
"In the end, Katie left five teammates behind," the sweet girl was shown getting on the zipline, "and lost the challenge for her team," The Maggots were at the elimination ceremony. "Someone would've been eliminated, but I decided to be swell and call it a non-elimination just to keep tensions running," Chris laughed a bit. "And I also brought Sierra back into the game for fun," Sierra coming in unannounced was shown.
"Hey, it's my show. I can do what I want," the host said as the montage ended to show him standing on the Dock of Shame. "Who will ride the Hurl of Shame next? How many times can I laugh at them, before then? Find out right now, on Total! Drama! Revenge of the Island!"
XXXXX
A shot of the morning sun opened the episode, a flock of geese flying across the sky in formation in the distance. The scene cut to the girls of the Maggot cabin, the camera angled to show Katie and Scarlett awake.
The shot cut in close to Scarlett as she was deep in thought. "It's pretty fortunate for us to not lose a teammate last episode." Scarlett started her conversation with Katie.
Katie, who was brushing her hair, stopped when she was finished. "I know. Even though we lost, we still won in a way."
"But something still questions me about last time," Scarlett continued.
"What is it?" Katie wondered.
"I'm curious who would've gotten voted out since Chris didn't reveal the votes at all during our elimination ceremony," Scarlett explained.
Katie got uneasy hearing that. "Oh, I'm curious as well." She let out an awkward chuckle.
Scarlett easily saw how nervous her bunkmate was acting, and decided to press on. "You're not looking very comfortable. Care to explain what is bothering you?"
"The thing is, I voted for-" Katie tried to say, but was interrupted by Molly opening the cabin door.
"Good morning everyone," Molly greeted the two girls.
"Oh, Molly's here," Katie changed the subject. "Hi."
Confessional: Katie
"If I'm being honest, I voted for Scarlett in the last challenge," Katie admitted. "She was kind of acting cold towards us and didn't even feel as bad for our teammates getting captured."
Confessional: Scarlett
"She didn't say it, but I know they voted for me," Scarlett grimly said. "I suppose it's because of how I came off not showing my sympathies for my endangered teammates or for being too intellectual for them." She smiled proudly. "It would've been their loss had they gotten rid of me for I am the more academically skilled member of the bunch."
Confessionals End
"Guess what I found at the bonfire?" Molly eagerly said.
"What could you have found that would be beneficial for us?" Scarlett skeptically asked.
"I found this old mp3 player by one of the stumps," Molly pulled out the object. "I don't know how it got there, but I'm keeping it."
"If it's so old, why are you gonna keep it?" Katie asked her.
"It plays all the indie music from my favorite bands," Molly answered. "Modest Mouse, Bon Iver, Arcade Fire, those types of people."
"I've never heard of them," Katie said. "Sorry."
"Well you're missing out," Molly shrugged before leaving.
Scarlett and Katie watched her leave for a few seconds before Scarlett turned to Katie. "If I'm being honest, I'm not a fan of indie-themed activities."
Confessional: Molly
Molly was listening to one of her indie bands on her mp3. "Come on, skinny love, just last the year!"
Confessional Ends
A pleasant tune played as the scene moved to a shot of the lake, a few red birds flying and tweeting past the camera. The perspective inverted to show Anne Maria sitting in one of the stump seats of the bonfire pit, filing her nails as a woodpecker stood on top of her poking at her hair.
"Hey, I wasn't expecting to see you up here so early," Geoff said, walking up from the right and immediately attracting Anne Maria's attention. He was in his swimsuit rather than his usual attire.
"I didn't have much of a choice," Anne Maria said. "Katie's snorin' is drivin' me nuts, and Scarlett is kooky with her sleep analysis or whatever."
"So you're doing your hair care out here?" Geoff wondered.
"Yup," Anne Maria replied. "Why are you out in your swim shorts?"
"The water was feeling pretty cool and refreshing, and I wanted to salvage the moment as quickly as I could," Geoff answered.
"I would've been in the ocean, but I have to be fully tanned before I can go into any form of liquid," Anne Maria continued.
"Your body is tanned?" Geoff widened. "Do you use orange paint?"
This comment quickly offended the hairspray girl. "Excuse me?! Did you just disrespect my tan?!" Anne Maria glared at the party boy.
Geoff instantly realized his mistake. "No no no. I'm just saying that I like your tan. It's pretty cool."
Anne Maria cooled down. "Oh right. Now I get it."
Confessional: Geoff
"If you didn't know, I tend to slip up when talking to chicks," Geoff opened up. "Anne Maria's a babe, and a super hot one, but I have to watch what I say if I don't want to get messed up."
Confessional Ends
The scene flashed to the girls' side of the Rat cabin, where Sammy was sleeping in her bed peacefully, until she got woken up by Sierra snapping a photo of her.
"Sierra! I'm trying to sleep!" Sammy shouted in anger, causing Sierra to be frightened.
"Sorry Sammy. I was just updating the sleeping section of this season's profile!" Sierra said happily.
"Sleeping section?" Leshawna said in bewilderment. "Who would want to see us sleep?"
"I don't even want to know," Sammy mumbled.
Confessional: Sierra
"Apparently, the viewers love to see the contestants in their pajamas," Sierra said. "They probably want to make fanart of them."
Confessional: Sammy
"Was I being mean back there? Sorry," Sammy sheepishly said. "I usually get cranky if I don't get my full hours of sleep, and with Sierra back, it's going to get worse."
Confessionals End
Over on the boys' side of the Rat cabin, Trent was putting on his shirt in order to get dressed fully. "Getting dressed is done. Now to play some music to get my day off on the right foot."
The cool guy got on his knees and stuck his hand under his bunk bed to find his guitar, and his face became more and more worried as he couldn't find his instrument.
"I swear I put my guitar under here!" Trent said to himself while peeking under his bunk.
Scott entered the cabin and saw Trent's predicament. "What seems to be tugging on your strings, guitar boy?" he asked.
"Someone stole my guitar," Trent responded. "I remember placing it under my bunk bed, but now there's no sight of it."
"Ultra fangirl returns, guitar goes AWOL. Do the math, and come eat breakfast before you starve of paranoia," Scott told Trent.
Confessional: Trent
"Scott's on the rough side, but he does have a point about me not needing to overreact about my guitar being taken," Trent stated. "Someone probably just took it as a practical joke, and I'm sure they'll return it back to me."
Confessional Ends
A loon called as the scene moved to the Mess Hall, cutting inside to the Mutant Maggots, who were seated at the forward table this time around, while the Toxic Rats had been forced to claim the table closer to the kitchen. All of them were eating what appeared to be trays of mostly meat – bacon and roast chicken and some kind of intestines, with a bit of mashed potatoes and an apple on the side.
DJ was in line with his tray out. After it got filled with breakfast, he smiled a bit. "This is looking pretty good," he said to Chef, to which the cook actually smiled in appreciation.
Dave walked up to DJ with his own tray. "This is too much protein," he complained out of Chef's view to DJ.
"I know," DJ told his friend. "I'm gonna see if I can use this to make a gift for Katie."
"Why do you wanna do that?" Dave asked him. "Are you into her?"
DJ looked at Katie making a house out of her food. "Look at her. She's creative, sweet, and totally full of life."
"I didn't know you were interested in her," Dave said.
"I didn't realize my feelings for her until later on," DJ told him before walking to the right. "I'm gonna go see if there's any more leftovers for my gift."
"Attention campers!" Chris announced through the loudspeaker. "Breakfast is cutting in to precious time that you could spend getting injured!" The shot cut to the loudspeaker outside as Chris laughed. "Grab your swimsuits and meet me at the dock, pronto!"
The campers, who'd already gathered in the middle of the lodge aside from Dave and DJ, began to groan and complain. "You have ten seconds to exit the Mess Hall," Chris added, "before I release...The Raccoon!"
"The raccoon?" Anne Maria repeated in disbelief, and the ten teens started to laugh as the camera pulled back and a large crate was lowered down from the ceiling on chains. It stopped just before it hit the floor, and the campers immediately looked at it with dread.
The front face of it was punched off, revealing the giant mutant raccoon inside. It roared, and with a shriek the two teams fled the building.
The camera cut to the entrance to the kitchen, where DJ was wheeling in a service cart full of the morning meal and whistling to himself. "Hey," he asked, apparently not hearing the warning. "Where y'all goin'? Oh well," he shrugged. "I'm gonna see what I can take from this cart!"
He put the meat into his shorts, unaware of the menacing shadow creeping toward him.
\
The scene cut outside to the campers catching their breaths, Chris watching them nearby with an impish smile.
"What were you thinking?" Scarlett asked him. "We could've been viciously assassinated by that intoxicated raccoon!"
Chris just laughed. "Nah, only if you got between him and food." He sent a pensive look off-screen and said "Team Maggot, looks like you're still missing a player."
The camera cut to the main lodge, where DJ was tossed out of a window with a scream.
"Nevermind," Chris said jovially.
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The footage flashed ahead to the two teams assembled on the Dock of Shame in their swimsuits – On the left: DJ in his usual shorts, Katie in a white and black striped bikini, Scarlett in a black one-piece, Molly in a purple dotted two-piece, Anne Maria in a bikini with the same color scheme as her top, and Dave in a white tank top and a pair of trunks consisting of his normal attire's colors; On the right: Leshawna in a teal speedo, Scott in his red swim trunks, Sierra in a light and lime green bikini, Trent in his orange and brown swim trunks, Sammy in a white bikini, and Geoff in his normal shorts; Chris was in the middle. Each team also had an old-fashioned diving suit connected by hose to a hand pump lying between them and the host.
"Alright," Chris began, "here to help us get today's competition underway, say hello to one of our classic competitors, Brick!"
He motioned to the side and the camera zoomed out as the cadet arrived at the dock in a patched-up red canoe.
"I'm ready to go," Brick told the host, "but remember," he gave a reminder, "my contract said demonstration only."
"Relax," Chris smiled, "no demo needed! Just chum the water and try not to get eaten."
Brick reached into the canoe and picked up a bucket of green slop. He took one whiff of it and retched. "What is this stuff?" he asked in disgust.
"Leftovers," Chris grinned, "from last season."
"This almost smells as nasty as my boots," Brick shuddered.
It was then that Fang rose out of the water and chomped down on the end of the boat, devouring the bit of chum that had been spilled on it and forcing Brick to yelp and dart over to the back of the canoe.
"This is highly not acceptable!" Brick scolded him.
"Challenge, part one!" Chris moved on. "Each team must get a pair of water-skis in an underwater mission." The shot cut underwater as he spoke, showing two sets of water skis tied to a pair of rocks on the lake bed. A school of vicious, spiny fish swam past from the right to the left, and a second later a school of eels passed through from the opposite direction. "Or drown trying," the host added as the camera zoomed in on the skis.
"One victim-I mean camper," Chris continued with a sly look, "will snag the skis in an old-school diving suit," he held up the Rats' suit, "and float them to the surface while the rest of their team pumps them oxygen," he held up the Maggots' pump. "First team to surface their skis wins, and gets an advantage in part two."
\
The focus moved to the Maggots, Molly standing before her teammates and holding the diving suit's helmet. "Listen up Maggots. I'm diving."
"No problem with me," DJ agreed. "I'm not good with water, so I'll pump the air."
"Just consider it my way of making it up to you for the ice challenge," Molly said before feeling her pockets, only to realize something. "Who took my mp3 player?"
Confessional: DJ
"When I was eight, my brothers dared me to jump off the high-dive platform at the pool. I jumped, but I landed on my butt, and my trunks went so far up my butt, I had to go to the hospital and get them removed. They invited a new word for what I did. The wedgie flop. I've been afraid of water ever since," DJ explained his fear of water.
Confessional Ends
The focus moved to the Rats, Geoff at the center of their attention. "So who's gonna pump and who's gonna dive?"
"I got captured first last episode, so I'll pump the air just to show that I'm not useless," Sammy went to the hose.
"Sierra, you just came back, so you can dive in order to prove yourself to us," Scott suggested.
"Of course I'll dive," Sierra said. "I'm a certified swimmer."
Confessional: Scott
"That was much easier than I thought it'd be," Scott quipped.
Confessional Ends
"Ready?" Chris asked, now standing between Molly and Sierra, the two now fully dressed in their diving suits. Molly smirked confidently at her opponent, with Sierra doing the same, and with a sharp "GO!" from the host, the two were off.
The shot immediately cut underwater as the two splashed down and sank to the lake bed. The perspective moved behind them as they looked ahead to the tied-up skis in the distance, and after sharing a brief glance the two raced off...rather slowly through the water, thanks to the heavy suits and water pressure. The camera focused on Sierra as she suddenly stopped as though her hose had been caught on something.
She looked back and the camera panned to follow, revealing Fang holding back the uberfan's hose with a single hand. He grinned toothily, and Sierra screamed.
The scene moved back above the water, focusing on the Rats. Sammy was currently pumping with Leshawna and Scott watching her, and Geoff and Trent were leaning off the edge of the dock to watch Sierra's progress.
"Tired already, Pom-pom?" Scott asked the cheerleading girl as her breathing became heavier.
Leshawna took Sammy off the pump. "It's okay," the sista said. "I can do it for you!" She pumped so furiously that the hose started bulging as air pockets moved down it.
The scene cut back to Fang swimming viciously at Sierra; the girl turned around and screamed just as the bulging air pocket moved through the hose towards her...blowing up her suit like a balloon, causing Fang to ram into her and bounce off.
"You better get those skis, girl!" Anne Maria shouted near Scarlett as the camera cut back above the water.
"Yeah, keep up the pace," Dave added halfheartedly while kneeling on the dock.
The camera panned away from them and on to Katie and DJ, the latter operating the pump while the former talked to him...absentmindedly standing on the hose while doing so.
"Nice muscles you got on," Katie told DJ sincerely.
"Can I ask you something?" DJ said.
"Sure," Katie replied, looking up at her teammate. "What do you want to ask me?"
"What's your favorite kind of food?" DJ asked Katie. "Mine is gumbo, especially when made by my Momma."
"I like bacon. You can put it on any food you want, and they've been useful for my vlogs," Katie said.
"Bacon wouldn't go great with gumbo if you're thinking about that," DJ joked with the sweet girl.
"I know that. I'm not off the wall," Katie laughed at his sentence. As she spoke, the camera focused down on the slowly-growing bulge in the hose, trapped from moving onward by Katie's weight.
Confessional: Katie
"DJ is such an attractive guy," Katie swooned. "Is this what having a real life crush is like?"
Confessional Ends
The shot cut back underwater, Molly eagerly approaching the water skis...until she suddenly gasped, stopped, and held her breath with a look of shock. She frantically started tugging on her hose, and the scene returned to the edge of the dock as the other end of the hose began to yank and twang.
Scarlett quickly noticed it, and moved her wide gaze up the hose to Katie's feet. "What are you doing standing on the hose?" she asked sternly while pulling Katie off. "You're blocking the air." The air pocket finally rushed down to the hose.
Back underwater Molly's face had started to lose a bit of color as she kept on tugging at the hose. The air bubble finally reached her, and she let out a sigh of relief.
Back up shore, Katie started to feel really guilty. "I'm so sorry about that. I didn't know."
Confessional: Katie
"I almost killed Molly," Katie said in regret. "She's annoying sometimes, but that doesn't warrant murder."
Confessional Ends
The static cut away to the Rats, Leshawna continuing to pump air at a fast pace.
"This is taking forever!" Scott complained while holding his wood. "I gotta whittle something." He put his hand on his pocket. "Wait, where's my lucky shark tooth? Sierra must've stole it!" Scott thought out loud. "Like she stole Music Note's guitar and Indie Lady's mp3."
Anne Maria heard the commotion and came over. "Sierra couldn't steal a TV in a riot," she explained.
"Think about it. That girl's been obsessed with getting information about the show, even us," Scott replied.
Anne Maria proceeded to pat herself down. "As if, there's no proof that-" she retorted until something caught her attention. "Hey. Where's my hairbrush?" The jersey shore reject grew angry. "Oh, that is it! Sierra's getting a beat down!"
The scene flashed back underwater where Fang had gotten a hold of Sierra's air hose and was using her as a punching bag. The hose snapped from the unintended stress and the obsessive girl was sent flying through the water.
Sierra got to the Rats' skis first. Her diving suit knocked Molly down and smacked into the rock holding the skis, the force was enough to dislodge them; seconds later the two skis floated up to the surface.
A ship's horn was blown, and Chris called out "The Rats win the first challenge!" over the shot of Sierra flying out of the water between the skis with a scream.
/
"The Rats are the first to grab water skis," Chris announced over a shot of everyone assembled on the dock, "and their reward?" he said as a light-skinned female intern with a black ponytail drove a speedboat up to the Rats' side of the dock. "A McLean Brand Speedboat to use in part two of the challenge."
"Cool!" Trent cheered in excitement.
"Yeah baby!" Leshawna chimed in, the rest of their teammates smiling.
"And for the Maggots," Chris turned to the losers, a spluttering engine attracting their attention to the lake as well as the southeast Asian male intern drove up an inflatable boat to the left side of the dock. "A totally leaky dinghy!"
The six Maggots groaned and hung their heads in disappointment.
"This is almost too easy," Scott chuckled to himself before he saw Sierra catch up to the Rats with her diving suit torn up.
"Did we win the advantage?" Sierra told the farm boy.
"We sure did…stealer!" Scott muttered the last part under his breath.
"Part two of the challenge," Chris continued, briefly holding up two fingers as he continued his exposition, "a death-defying water ski race! The goal? Be the first to ring four bells on these four totally harmless buoys."
As he spoke, the shot cut first to one of the bells, then zoomed out to show it – and the others floating nearby – were attached to the top of what were very obviously sea mines. Brick arrived just then, the cadet frantically paddling his canoe up to one of the mines. He bumped into it just as Chris proclaimed its harmlessness, and the cameo and canoe were blown away by the resulting explosion.
Chris laughed. "Make that three bells," he corrected as a screaming Brick landed on the dock beside him. "See?" he told the slightly-charred young man. "You totally got to demo the challenge." The host then looked at the camera. "Who will cry for their mommy? And who's cries will be drowned out by explosions?" he asked with a wide smile. "Find out when we return." He looked down at Brick, who coughed out a little more soot.
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(Commercial Break)
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2023.06.05 16:50 sqinky96 I want to talk about it... I think
Recently I've been going to therapy, not because of the abuse, I've actually never talked about it only written anonymous comments on Reddit about it. Anyhow, I've been talking to my therapist about a hard time in my life back in 2016 when I got burnt out and depressed. He tells me what I'm describing sounds like dissociation and he asked me if I had any trauma. I said no but like obviously I do. Maybe it's time I try to talk about it. So here's my story.
When I was 14 years old I started dating a boy who was 18. The age of consent is 15 in my country so I told him early that I wanted to wait until I was legal before we did anything. He was smart, really smart. He said he respected my decision but also told me stories about how his "friends" broke up with girls who wanted to wait for more than a month to have sex. But he was a good guy ™ so he would wait but I had to know what a big deal it was for him to wait 4 months to have sex. So I eventually caved and we had sex. It hurt like hell and I cried. Lovely experience all around. But I was in love. I was 14. I thought I was in control.
We dated for 6 years. At first he pretended like I had a choice but continued to pressure me into saying yes. Later on he would demand it. More and more regularly. If I said no he would accuse me of cheating, break stuff and sometimes hurt me, not beat me but like grab me really hard.
The last couple of years he didn't even stop fucking me when I cried. He would demand it at least every 3d day. Sometimes I stayed late at school to try and avoid it but it never worked. He just got angry if I didn't have a good enough excuse to be late. I would lay still on my back, eyes closed and play the entire lion king movie in my head and try not to cry.
October 2016 I broke down. Couldn't get out of bed, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep but I was also never awake. Of course that didn't stop him but I didn't care anymore. I was barely conscious anyway. I lost about 15 kg (ca 33lb) that month. I was so skinny that it felt like my bones were poking me from the inside. If my mom hadn't come to pick me up for Christmas I'm sure I would have died there. My boyfriend never called my mom or anyone to try to get me help. It broke my heart when I realized he would have watched me die and did nothing. After 6 years together. I still loved him tho. Not romantically but still.
He always said he would kill himself if I broke up with him and I believed him. I could never live with myself if he killed himself because of me so I couldn't break up. But during Christmas I told him he wouldn't come home with me again. From now on he would live with his parents so I could focus on myself. He wasn't happy but he agreed. For me, the relationship was over but I didn't have the guts to tell him. I met someone else. Someone who cared about me. I lost my damned mind and I cheated on my abusive boyfriend. He found out by logging into my socials and reading all my messages. He broke up with me, I hated myself. Attempted suicide 3 times 2017, more if you count all the times I sat on the train rails but ran when I heard the police, or every time I met strangers late at night just hoping they would murder me. Just reckless behavior. I still hate myself but I also have love in my life and I'm not suicidal anymore.
So like I said. I've never talked about it. I don't know how much my loved ones know. I'm meeting my best friends this weekend. I know if there's anyone I could talk to about this, it would be the 2 of them. But I'm not sure I'm brave enough.
If any of you want to share how you first talked about it, any advice, I'd love to hear it. Thanks to anyone who took the time to read all of it.
submitted by sqinky96 to sexualassault [link] [comments]
When I was 14 years old I started dating a boy who was 18. The age of consent is 15 in my country so I told him early that I wanted to wait until I was legal before we did anything. He was smart, really smart. He said he respected my decision but also told me stories about how his "friends" broke up with girls who wanted to wait for more than a month to have sex. But he was a good guy ™ so he would wait but I had to know what a big deal it was for him to wait 4 months to have sex. So I eventually caved and we had sex. It hurt like hell and I cried. Lovely experience all around. But I was in love. I was 14. I thought I was in control.
We dated for 6 years. At first he pretended like I had a choice but continued to pressure me into saying yes. Later on he would demand it. More and more regularly. If I said no he would accuse me of cheating, break stuff and sometimes hurt me, not beat me but like grab me really hard.
The last couple of years he didn't even stop fucking me when I cried. He would demand it at least every 3d day. Sometimes I stayed late at school to try and avoid it but it never worked. He just got angry if I didn't have a good enough excuse to be late. I would lay still on my back, eyes closed and play the entire lion king movie in my head and try not to cry.
October 2016 I broke down. Couldn't get out of bed, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep but I was also never awake. Of course that didn't stop him but I didn't care anymore. I was barely conscious anyway. I lost about 15 kg (ca 33lb) that month. I was so skinny that it felt like my bones were poking me from the inside. If my mom hadn't come to pick me up for Christmas I'm sure I would have died there. My boyfriend never called my mom or anyone to try to get me help. It broke my heart when I realized he would have watched me die and did nothing. After 6 years together. I still loved him tho. Not romantically but still.
He always said he would kill himself if I broke up with him and I believed him. I could never live with myself if he killed himself because of me so I couldn't break up. But during Christmas I told him he wouldn't come home with me again. From now on he would live with his parents so I could focus on myself. He wasn't happy but he agreed. For me, the relationship was over but I didn't have the guts to tell him. I met someone else. Someone who cared about me. I lost my damned mind and I cheated on my abusive boyfriend. He found out by logging into my socials and reading all my messages. He broke up with me, I hated myself. Attempted suicide 3 times 2017, more if you count all the times I sat on the train rails but ran when I heard the police, or every time I met strangers late at night just hoping they would murder me. Just reckless behavior. I still hate myself but I also have love in my life and I'm not suicidal anymore.
So like I said. I've never talked about it. I don't know how much my loved ones know. I'm meeting my best friends this weekend. I know if there's anyone I could talk to about this, it would be the 2 of them. But I'm not sure I'm brave enough.
If any of you want to share how you first talked about it, any advice, I'd love to hear it. Thanks to anyone who took the time to read all of it.
2023.06.05 16:35 A320neo Chuck
 | submitted by A320neo to nbacirclejerk [link] [comments] |
2023.06.05 16:12 Academic-Opinion-610 Gyno natty 17yr old
(sorry in advance if this is a stupid question, I’m new to this Reddit) I started working out 6months ago and I’m currently in the best shape of my life went from underweight skinny fat 16yr old 60kg(130lb) at 5’11 to 17yr old 75kg (165lb) at 6’0 with visible abs In 6months (maybe due to me hitting my late growth spurt as my doctor said I’m still gonna grow since my growth plates haven’t fused and my older brother is 6’2 and also had a growth spurt at 18) anyway since 2 weeks I’ve been noticing I have gyno on my right nipple it is puffy and sensitive and checks all the criteria for gyno, Does this mean I Have low test or could this be because of High test since it gets turned into estrogen? I have been taking a lot of supplements for hormone optimization (for HGH and Test specifically) and I’ve been sleeping minimum 9hrs on weekdays and even up to 12hrs on weekends for the last 6months and I’ve never been so dialed in my life stopped smoking weed and quit all my vices 6months ago when I started so I’m very confused as the general consensus online is that it’s due to low test, does anyone Know how to get rid of gyno or will it go away with time? I also have been taking ginkgo biloba root extract since a month now which in a rat study showed to increase growth hormone x11 and prolactin x11 (if you click on the study and don’t want to read all of that just scroll down to the results) could this be due to prolactin increase?
Any answers are greatly appreciated and if anyone has had similar experiences with natty gyno please share if/how it went away and I’m sorry If this post Is all over the place I never post anything on Reddit.
submitted by Academic-Opinion-610 to gynecomastia [link] [comments]
Any answers are greatly appreciated and if anyone has had similar experiences with natty gyno please share if/how it went away and I’m sorry If this post Is all over the place I never post anything on Reddit.
2023.06.05 16:11 Academic-Opinion-610 Gyno natty 17yr old
(sorry in advance if this is a stupid question, I’m new to this Reddit) I started working out 6months ago and I’m currently in the best shape of my life went from underweight skinny fat 16yr old 60kg(130lb) at 5’11 to 17yr old 75kg (165lb) at 6’0 with visible abs In 6months (maybe due to me hitting my late growth spurt as my doctor said I’m still gonna grow since my growth plates haven’t fused and my older brother is 6’2 and also had a growth spurt at 18) anyway since 2 weeks I’ve been noticing I have gyno on my right nipple it is puffy and sensitive and checks all the criteria for gyno, Does this mean I Have low test or could this be because of High test since it gets turned into estrogen? I have been taking a lot of supplements for hormone optimization (for HGH and Test specifically) and I’ve been sleeping minimum 9hrs on weekdays and even up to 12hrs on weekends for the last 6months and I’ve never been so dialed in my life stopped smoking weed and quit all my vices 6months ago when I started so I’m very confused as the general consensus online is that it’s due to low test, does anyone Know how to get rid of gyno or will it go away with time? I also have been taking ginkgo biloba root extract since a month now which in a rat study showed to increase growth hormone x11 and prolactin x11 (if you click on the study and don’t want to read all of that just scroll down to the results) could this be due to prolactin increase?
Any answers are greatly appreciated and if anyone has had similar experiences with natty gyno please share if/how it went away and I’m sorry If this post Is all over the place I never post anything on Reddit.
submitted by Academic-Opinion-610 to GregDoucette [link] [comments]
Any answers are greatly appreciated and if anyone has had similar experiences with natty gyno please share if/how it went away and I’m sorry If this post Is all over the place I never post anything on Reddit.
2023.06.05 16:11 Academic-Opinion-610 question-Gyno Natty 17yr old
(sorry in advance if this is a stupid question, I’m new to this Reddit) I started working out 6months ago and I’m currently in the best shape of my life went from underweight skinny fat 16yr old 60kg(130lb) at 5’11 to 17yr old 75kg (165lb) at 6’0 with visible abs In 6months (maybe due to me hitting my late growth spurt as my doctor said I’m still gonna grow since my growth plates haven’t fused and my older brother is 6’2 and also had a growth spurt at 18) anyway since 2 weeks I’ve been noticing I have gyno on my right nipple it is puffy and sensitive and checks all the criteria for gyno, Does this mean I Have low test or could this be because of High test since it gets turned into estrogen? I have been taking a lot of supplements for hormone optimization (for HGH and Test specifically) and I’ve been sleeping minimum 9hrs on weekdays and even up to 12hrs on weekends for the last 6months and I’ve never been so dialed in my life stopped smoking weed and quit all my vices 6months ago when I started so I’m very confused as the general consensus online is that it’s due to low test, does anyone Know how to get rid of gyno or will it go away with time? I also have been taking ginkgo biloba root extract since a month now which in a rat study showed to increase growth hormone x11 and prolactin x11 (if you click on the study and don’t want to read all of that just scroll down to the results) could this be due to prolactin increase?
Any answers are greatly appreciated and if anyone has had similar experiences with natty gyno please share if/how it went away and I’m sorry If this post Is all over the place I never post anything on Reddit.
submitted by Academic-Opinion-610 to Testosterone [link] [comments]
Any answers are greatly appreciated and if anyone has had similar experiences with natty gyno please share if/how it went away and I’m sorry If this post Is all over the place I never post anything on Reddit.
2023.06.05 15:38 Guilty_Chemistry9337 File 001- The Burnt Figure
On the morning of December 8th, 1941, enlistment offices all across the United States began to be filled by young men eager to enact revenge for what the Empire of Japan had done at Pearl Harbor. The offices would stay busy for a long, long time. It was a dangerous job, with life and limb at serious risk, and many more young men would join the Army and Navy by conscription. Lesser celebrated, and likely they’d have it no other way, were whole second armies of support personnel. These would be nurses, middle-aged clerks too old and or fat to fight, surveyors, engineers, and merchant sailors.
Some would be spies or intelligence men working for the Office of Strategic Services. Others were mysterious ne’er-do-wells, scoundrels who were very good at the procurement of various goods. Some would be anthropologists and translators, eager to help obscure native communities deal with the technologically advanced war tearing the island worlds asunder. Some would be entertainers for the USO, there to help with morale, doing what they were best at, whether it was telling jokes or dancing beautifully. Others might be war correspondents, to communicate, in a highly censored way, what was going on to the folks back home. Then there were the bean counters. Everybody overlooked the bean counters.
Many of the combat veterans, and even some of the non-combat personnel, would never make it home again. Others made it home, but only after being maimed and scarred in body and mind. Yet most would make it home. All of them would have stories to tell, though many would never tell their stories. There was a culture of silence during the war, ‘loose lips sink ships.’ It wasn’t just a catchy phrase, people took it to heart. It became a habit. Even long after the war was over people kept their lips zipped shut.
And yet, there were still millions and millions of stories, and some of them would be recorded. They might be memoirs committed to paper years later. Then again, many of these people kept diaries. They would write home every chance they get. Officers as a regular part of their duties were constantly writing up reports. Every single one would end up being read by someone, somewhere, and passed up the chain depending on its importance, or filed away if the chain ended there. With every battle won or lost, extensive analyses were conducted on what went right and what went wrong, and how we could do better. Actions of bravery were written up for recommendations for medals or promotions. Every serious infraction meant a court-martial, and court martials left transcripts. Bitter denouements and protests were written when it was felt officers weren’t living up to their duties, and in these cases, the lips were zipped especially tight, but the reports themselves were poured over. Every location where the U.S. went, whether it was the location of a battleground, a ranging area for artillery, site for a depot, or a road used to transport was thoroughly mapped and described in detail.
Then there were the bean counters. How many 20 mm shells does it take, on average, to knock down a Val dive bomber? How many pints of A-positive blood should be stocked in a forward field hospital? How many gallons of ice cream are needed to keep a company of Marines in good fighting spirit? The bean counters might not know, but they recorded everything down just in case you wanted to sift through the data, and a lot of people did. The data would end up having a massive contribution to the war effort.
Last were two groups of material that were never meant to see the light of day. The sort of thing that ought to be recorded, but then hidden away only for the purview of top men. The first is information you might expect would cause classification or a cover-up. Disastrous friendly fire incidents. Accusations and or confessions of war crimes. State secrets involving intelligence on enemies and allies both.
Then there’s the other tranche of material. The stuff that defies explanation. Secrets from the hidden corners of the earth that were never meant to be revealed until some young farmboys from a country far away showed up in places where they were never supposed to be.
The following provides an example.
Excerpts from the personal diary of Second Lieutenant Yvette Morgan, Army Nursing Corps, 231st Hospital Group, Normandy region of France, July and August 1944. Aged 20 at the time of writing.
Note: Most American personnel in WWII were restricted from keeping personal diaries for counterintelligence purposes. It was not uncommon that this restriction was flaunted, particularly among personnel with the luxury of a little bit of privacy. Lt. Morgan seems to have understood the purpose of the restriction, and so the redactions in the following excerpts are her own. A careful eye will note she’s made a couple of errors, which is why censorship should be left to the professionals.
July 30th, 1944- Just got off the truck and finally made it back ‘home.’ Just spent all ‘day,’ helping set up the field hospital. We’ve commandeered a high school in the little town of St. A. I think it’s going to work out pretty well. There’s a gym with a tall ceiling and high windows, which means good natural lighting, so we’re setting that up as an operating room. We’ve got about six beds in each classroom, which is just about the number you’d like. The corridors are nice and wide enough to handle gurneys, and there’s plenty of room out front for the ambulances. I don’t think we could have found a better location outside of a purpose-built actual hospital.
The real work starts tomorrow. Well, today, I guess. They ought to be taking patients right about the time I’m writing this. I drew the short stick, and now I’m stuck with the overnight shift. That’s my luck for you. Back home that would have meant at least it would be pretty quiet, but I don’t think that’s going to apply to this kind of duty.
“Home” is actually this nice little old cottage they’ve set me up with, and four other girls. It’s in the tiny commune of L. It’s actually about ten miles from the hospital, not far from the sea. Every shift they’re going to drive us back and forth in these trucks. Seems like an awful waste of gasoline to me, but what do I know? The whole reason they’re doing this is because the hospital’s technically in range of German artillery, and they like to keep staff like us out of harm's way when we’re not needed. I suppose we won’t be in range much longer anyway. That said, Capt. G says the front line’s been stalled out for a while. He says it’s slow going with all these enormous hedgerows they grow everyplace around here. I never knew they could grow so big, they must be hundreds of years old. I thought the poplar windbreaks they started growing back home after the Dust Bowl were impressive, but they’ve got nothing on these things. We can still hear the guns, though. They’re a long way off, and kind of sound like thunder, though you can tell they’re not because the sky is perfectly clear. At least, I hope, they’re mostly our guns.
The morning’s still a little chilly, but it promises to be a warm day. I’m going to have to get used to sleeping through it. After long last summer is really here. The cottage itself is lovely. I can’t help but wonder about the people who really make this home. There’s a delightful flower garden in front and just the most precious herb garden right outside the kitchen window. When I get married and we have a home, I’m going to insist on one just like it.
The other girls? Well, what can I say. 5 of us all sharing this little place, at least we’ll be working different shifts mostly. I’m sure we’ll get by swimmingly.
July 31st- Just got back and finished breakfast for dinner. Part of me still wishes I were at work. If I were at a civilian hospital I still would be. Funny how the military insists on sticking to the scheduled shift and they order me to go home and get some sleep. I might get used to such regimentation.
I say this as if I’m not completely exhausted and overwhelmed. I’m sure I’ll sleep tonight. Today, whatever. As I’d suspected, we had our first wounded in during the morning shift. Most of them had been through the Mobile Advanced hospital and had been at least looked over by a doctor. Plenty had already gone through an initial surgery, just to stabilize them, close gaping wounds, and tie off arteries. It was really crude stuff, but I suppose that’s the point. Our doctors opened them back up and fixed them up properly. There were a few walking wounded, shrapnel wounds, and nasty burns we were able to help out too. I feel glad to be part of such a great team. I spent the first half of my shift assisting in two different surgeries. Then the last half attending the wards.
I had hoped that would be more peaceful. Our boys are so brave, even when you can tell they’re really broken up over what they’ve been through. And yet it wasn’t meant to be.
I mentioned that St. A.’s was within range of German artillery. Well, there was an attack last night, early this morning, I’m still not used to the schedule. They didn’t hit the hospital. They hit the other side of town. It was loud enough to shake all of the windows, and even the ground shook. It scared the daylights out of me. Some of the boys yelled too. A couple of them fell out of their beds and tried to hide underneath. I can’t imagine what it would be like to go through that a second time, let alone time after time, day after day like our boys.
I was just starting to get things settled down and everything squared. Then there was commotion. A bunch of orderlies, then nurses, then doctors running around the front main hall. We were expecting wounded. They’d hit an old medieval church on the other side of town. The Church of Saint Adalthred. There had been a platoon of soldiers sleeping there. Now they were bringing the survivors in.
I had never done triage before, though I remembered my training. You divide the patients into three groups. The group that needs surgery absolutely immediately if they’re going to live. The group that can wait for surgery. And then there’s the group that will die regardless.
There were two young men that were in the last group. The first had a massive open head wound. The strange thing was he was perfectly conscious and capable of speaking, despite the injury. There was just nothing that we could do for him. He was alert for about an hour, and then he simply passed away. Is it horrible to think that was something of a mercy?
The other suffered terrible burns, and apparently some of the blast as well. After the triage, I was assigned to care for him. The doctor had estimated over 90 percent of his body suffered burns in the third degree. The kind of amount that really makes you question your faith. I’ve seen burn patients, but not when they get first arrive like this. His eyes and ears were gone. A strange thing was, he wasn’t screaming like we’d expect burn patients to do. The doctor said his vocal cords were burnt out, but his lungs were relatively free of smoke damage, and he didn’t have that horrible cough. The doctor said it was like “he’d inhaled flame.” He was simply silent. He’s not expected to last the night. Day, I mean. I suppose I won’t see him again. I suppose that’s mercy too.
I mentioned yesterday that I think a school building serves as a fine hospital in a pinch. I’m not sure about that anymore. It’s the ventilation. There isn’t any in the school. Fumes from the ether linger everywhere. So does the stink of infection, no matter how much we fight it. And that last patient. It was like he was roasted. Literally. I thought I’d be sick.
August 1st- The truck ride back is starting to become my favorite part of the day. This one was a long one, despite being the exact same length as all the other shifts. We’re really packed now. The minute we get one patient ready for transport back to England, another takes his bed. They say the war might be over before Christmas. I hope. Don’t know how I’ll be able to keep up this pace for so long.
The little old priest whose church got blown up by the Germans came around to volunteer at the hospital. Poor old thing has nowhere else to go. He’s helping us roll bandages, working the autoclaves, and helping the chaplain out with the prayers. He seems to be helping with morale, god bless him. Particularly the chaplain’s. The priest doesn’t speak English and the chaplain doesn’t speak French, but they both speak Latin well enough to get by. I’ve never heard it spoken before. I grew up Lutheran, and it seems so strange. I’m a long way from home.
The burn patient is still alive. I was really surprised when I got in and found out. Apparently so are the doctors. Of course, I’m attending him again and was asked to change his bandages. Most of the rest of his skin that hadn’t already sloughed off last night did so while I was changing them. I didn’t see any sign of infection yet, though of course, we all know what’s coming. Other than that there wasn’t much I can do. He’s started letting off this low moan. The doctor said he was not really conscious. I can’t imagine he would be, he’s still getting so much morphine.
He was already bleeding through before my shift ended, so I thought I’d do the next shift a favor and take care of it a second time on the same shift. This time the doctor had me place his arms over his chest and belly, and bandage them all together. Also, he had me bandage his legs together. The doctor said that if there’s a miracle and somehow he manages to pull through, it will be because he somehow beat the infection. And if he’s going to have any chance at all then we’ll need to minimize his contact with bandages until can receive grafts. When I was done he ended up looking like a mummy, right out of the pictures. I don’t think it will matter much, and neither does the doctor. But we have to keep trying.
August 2nd- Just got back. The burn victim is still alive. It’s so strange. It’s all I can think about now. When I first got in I went straight to his room. I was absolutely shocked, it was gruesome. His bandages were positively soaked through. There was more red than white. I was just about to chew out the girl on the shift before me. I thought that nobody had changed the bandages since my last shift, but then she told me that she’d just changed them two hours previously. I couldn’t make head or tales of it. So I just got to work changing them myself. It felt so odd, the way the other patients in the room were looking at us. Like they knew there was something off about the whole thing. The patient’s moaning is getting louder too. It must be so unnerving to the others sharing the room.
Then, of all things, Maj. P and Col. S came in to observe. I haven’t seen either of them since we started setting up the hospital. They don’t usually stay up so late. They were washed up and decided to help me bandage the patient. As if they weren’t just there to observe me, but wanted to be a part of it too.
Sure enough, after only a couple of hours, the bandages were soaked through again. I’ve never seen such terribly bleeding. I asked the doctor if it could have possibly been hemophilia. It’s something I’ve only heard about but haven’t seen. He only shook his head like he was sure that it wasn’t. Yet he also looked even more confused than I was. We’ve been giving the patient transfusions. But at this rate, I just don’t know where it’s all coming from.
I know I shouldn’t be writing this sort of thing down, but the doctor confided that he’s thinking of reducing the morphine, maybe the patient will be more lucid. I don’t know how the doctor expects him to communicate with his vocal cords destroyed, or what he could possibly have to say even if he could talk. Well, it’s not my place to decide. I think he knows more about what’s happening to the poor man than I do.
It was all just blood too. In the bandages. No pus at all. I don’t know how he’s not becoming infected.
August 3rd- There’s a great deal of strangeness happening at the hospital. I saw the General’s staff car the moment our truck pulled around to drop us off, the little flags on the front gave it away.. Instead of starting my shift, they asked me to come back to Col. S’s office. My first thought was that I was in trouble, and they’d somehow find this diary. Both Maj. P and Col. S. were there, along with Gen C. who’d driven down from Corps HQ with a couple of his staff. There were also two men from what might have been regular Army, except they wore two long dark coats. I didn’t get their names.
Apparently, they’d all been there for hours and were wanting to debrief me. Well, it sure was intimidating, but they just wanted me to tell them what I’d seen. Fair enough. The patient was burned all over his body. He probably should have died the first night but hasn’t. There’s an awful amount of bleeding which I can’t account for. There’s also no pus or smell of infection, which also didn’t make sense. I told them about how he’s been given large amounts of morphine, though I didn’t say what Cap. H had said about reducing it. No, he had never been capable of speaking since brought in. No, he hadn’t been wearing his dog tags, but between the blast, and the length of time he’d been burning, he must have stripped everything off. Surely they were back in the rubble of that church. Then they thanked me and told me I could go back to work.
Well, I’d just about had it. I stood up and demanded that if they knew something about my patient that they weren’t telling me and that if they did I could take better care of him, well then they had better tell me. I think I even swore though I didn’t mean to. Maj. P almost laughed and Col. S just gave me that stupid patronizing smile. Told me I was already doing everything that I could, and that they were proud of me. He’s a good man, but I’m getting really sick of this Army “that’s on a need-to-know basis” crap.
Rest of the shift was just the usual. Strange how it's become the norm now. No, there was something else. The burn patient was in his room by himself. They’d moved the other beds out. They didn’t tell me why. Probably because his moan’s getting worse. And raspier. I still don’t think he’s out of the morphine stupor though.
Alright, it’s later the same day, the second. I’ve just woken up and had a serious chat with Kathy, the nurse from the second shift, and she’s had a lot to talk about. Rumors are swirling. I don’t know how much of this is true. My gut instinct? It’s all true.
Those men in the long coats? The rumor is they were Army Intelligence. That didn’t make a lick of sense to me at first, but then it started to come together. It turns out there were supposed to be 30 men, including the C.O., in that church that night it got shelled. Nobody else. Except when they added up all the survivors (who’ve moved on to the front), all the wounded that were taken to our hospital, and those who died, which took a while to count, then it all added up to 31 men. So somebody was there who wasn’t supposed to be there, and nobody knows who it is. They think they’ve got all of the dog tags accounted for, which might have been why they asked me about it when I came in later that night. And the one person they can’t account for seems to be the burn victim.
So they didn’t know who it was. Nobody from the St. A.’s was missing. None of the French Resistance were around that night (apparently Intelligence asked them? How else would they know?). So it's really suspicious and they were worried he might be some kind of spy or infiltrator. They still don’t even know why that church was shelled in the first place.
So they started asking questions of that poor old priest who’s been volunteering. We know because they let the chaplain sit in with him, but it seems both of the intelligence guys spoke fluent French. They asked him if there were any kind of acolyte or initiate or whatever sort of junior clergy he might have could have been there. He said no, and anybody who might have was accounted for and healthy. He asked if there was anything valuable that could have been stolen, or maybe he feared could be looted (would our boys do that?). Well, he didn’t think so. There was the holy font, which was an antique, but there were many like it and it was hardly easy to move. There was the Bible at the altar. It was very old and had great sentimental value, but again it would have no value to thieves. There was the tomb of St. Adalthred himself, which was priceless to his community but was a part of the church itself. Why the church had been built in the first place. Impossible to steal.
Then they asked the priest to come and view the patient. Perhaps seeing his proportions, perhaps it might have helped him recollect a similar person he’d seen lately. I understand why they did it. He, the burn victim, does seem shorter than any soldier I’ve met, skinner too. I wish they hadn’t, though. The chaplain said the priest had cried over seeing all those bloody bandages. There wasn’t a point, because the priest said he didn’t recognize him. The strange thing was, the chaplain had said that the priest's behavior seemed really strange. Like they got the really strong sense that the priest was being cagey, and lying to them. Not that he recognized the figure per se, but that he was thinking of something that he wasn’t telling them. He also insisted on saying a prayer over the burnt figure before he left, and they let him.
When I asked why they’d moved all the other beds in the room, Kathy said a little while after the priest had left the burn victim had started screaming, really bad. The other patients asked if they could leave the room, and because of the mystery, Col. S. agreed to it so they could isolate the burnt man. He was only calmer when I arrived later because they’d given him more morphine. When Kathy told me how much my jaw hit the floor. That part has to be baseless rumor.
August 8- I’m back in England. I’ve been too worked up to write, and worried, of course. After it happened, they put me in a truck, drove me to L. to pick up my things, and then I was on a Skytrain back to Cornwall. I guess we stopped at the cottage as a courtesy, it was on the way to the airfield. I was worried they’d find this diary, but they never searched. I don’t think they know what to do with me. I’m not sure what they should do either. They might just send me home, I suppose. I wouldn’t protest that. I just want to get on with things.
So. That night. The 4th.
I’ll start when I get off the truck. That moment when you hit the ground after jumping out of the bed is so sharp like it just sets your whole day. Like a starter pistol at a race. Something about it seemed off just as I was walking towards the door. Now I get in, and the front gallery, ever since that night of the triage, is a pretty empty place. But somebody was waiting for me, and it was Col. S. He came right up to me the moment he saw me. What an upside-down experience.
He starts leading me down the side hall, towards the back of the hospital/school where his office was. So of course I expected he needed to talk to me about something in his office. Only it turned out it wasn’t his office anymore. I thought something was off when I saw two armed guards on either side of the door to his often. Almost as soon, I heard the screaming.
I have just enough time to puzzle together what’s happened when Col. S walks right in, me in tow. They’d moved the burn patient to Col. S’s office, and he’d cleared out. The reason was obvious. The patient was screaming. Really, really loud. It hurt my ears in such a small office. The office was as about as far removed from the rest of the patients as they could move him. His bandages were soaked through, totally bright red. Jet red? Is jet red a thing? If you saw him, you’d say it was. It looked like they had been in the middle of starting to change his bandages, or just about to finish. Because there were parts of his flesh that were exposed. I didn’t realize it at first, and could only tell because of the texture.
I was just staring at him for a while. Jaw wide open. Then I looked at Col. S. He had been watching my reaction. He had such a sympathetic look. I asked him “How long has he been like this?”
“For hours,” he said. Like he was apologizing.
“How much morphine did you give him?” I asked. He was a doctor in his own right, of course. He didn’t get a chance to perform much surgery now that he’s the administrator, but I don’t think that ever leaves you.
He looked like he was about to cry.
“Lethal?” I asked.
“More,” he whispered.
We stood there silent for a few moments. Then he explained the situation. The only people allowed in the room would be doctors. Myself, and he explained I was the nurse with the most experience with him, and that I was the one he trusted the most. I’d have no other duties this shift. The chaplain was allowed in, and the priest. Also, the two guards out front, and that was it. He told me “The men from intel will be back, and a couple of spooks. We’ll figure it out then.” I had no idea what he meant by that, but I just nodded.
Well, the chaplain was there, though he looked a total mess. And it turned out the priest had stayed late but had gone home, exhausted.
So I did my duties. Changed bandages. Changed IV bottles. There were two chairs in the room, one for me and one for the chaplain. With only the one patient sometimes I’d wait. We couldn’t really chat. The screaming was too loud. I don’t think either of us got used to it.
I suppose it was about 3 AM. Mom used to call that the witching hour. Around three it started to change. The screaming that is, the cadence of it. Is that the right word? He started screaming words. Very garbled, but words. That was when I remembered the doctor had said his vocal cords had been destroyed. Had he been wrong? It had to be. Both I and the chaplain were standing over him then. The chaplain whispering prayers. Sometimes we’d look at each other like maybe the other knew what was happening. There were no answers.
The words started getting clearer. Not that we understood them, but they kind of sounded like they were French. Both I and the chaplain thought he, the patient, was becoming lucid. The chaplain opened up the door and told the guards to get the colonel, also to send somebody to find the priest. I suppose anybody could have translated, or so I thought at the time, but getting the priest sounded right.
Well, the colonel wasn’t in, but Maj. P. was. He spoke a little French, but he couldn’t understand the words. I’m still glad he was there. As a witness. I’m glad me and the chaplain weren’t the only ones. It was like the patient was chanting.
It was, maybe ten minutes after the major arrived. The screaming just stopped. No words. Just heavy breathing. Hyperventilating maybe. It occurred to me then that the bandages had become soaked through again. I’d been there the whole time. Watching. Only now had I noticed. He was glistening. The bedding was bloody too, of course. It was everywhere. And then…
Then it happened.
I had been facing another direction. But there was a sound. Like a massive, loud inhalation of are. There was this bright light, like when a lightbulb is about to short out. Except I felt the heat, and I turned. The patient had burst into flames.
I screamed. I think the chaplain and major did too. The two guards ran in. Maybe they sent somebody else to fetch the priest. They just yelled and weren’t able to do anything else. In a normal circumstance, I think somebody would have fetched an extinguisher. Except the patient suddenly sat straight up in his bed. We were positively paralyzed. He was screaming again, and all we could do is watch. His bandages and bedding all burned away. Only then he stopped.
There was this man before us. He had no skin. No eyes. Glistening red, and patches of black where the ash still clung to him. He looked at us. Looked at me. There were two black holes in his face, above the hole for his nose, and his mouth, lips burned away and teeth missing. But the holes for his eyes… I could feel him looking at me despite having no eyes.
Then he spoke. It was French again, at least I thought. I couldn’t understand it. Full sentences. Raspy, but clear. No sign of pain or duress. Yet it was authoritative like he was in full command of his faculties.
I don’t think it lasted long before the priest came rushing in. The priest said something like “sortie” and then the Major told us to get out, the chaplain and I.
We did and closed the door behind us. The two guards were further down the hall, clearly rattled.
We could hear the priest and the burned man talking. Clearly, through the door. The burned man was distinguishable by the rasp in his voice, the commanding tone. Yet as we listened, there was something off. The burned man’s French was different than the priest’s French. It was like they didn’t understand each other. It was like they were speaking two different dialects, and I didn’t realize until I heard them both being spoken next to each other.
There was a pause of silence. And then the priest started speaking in Latin. I saw a look of relief on the chaplain’s face when the burned man responded, also in Latin.
The two spoke, the burned man and the priest. They went on and on, me not understanding any of it. The burned man seemed to calm, the priest becoming more anxious as they went. Then I turned to the chaplain again. His attention was totally focused on the closed door, but he was listening to the priest and the burned man talk.
He was shaking, and pale as a ghost. I’ve seen men shake. I’ve seen them shake from the effects of blood loss and shock. I’ve seen them shake because they’ve been mad from war. I’ve seen them shake from hypothermia and hypoglycemia and drug overdoses. I’ve seen no end of fear in their eyes. Fear as they’re going under anesthesia, or having their limbs removed, or knowing they’re about to die from their wounds.
I’ve never seen a man so afraid or shaken than that chaplain on that night. And all because he was able to follow that conversation in Latin.
The door suddenly opened. The priest waved us aside, looking more determined than I’d ever seen him. We pressed ourselves against the wall to get out of the way. The burned man followed him. Silent. Walking. We watched them walk down the hallway. The guards turned and fled. Then the priest and the burnt figure turned the corner, and that was the last that I saw of them.
I remember looking back into the room and seeing the Major, slumped in a chair, hands covered his face. The smoke from the burning bandages and bedding still hung in the air, sweet and strong and foul due to the lack of ventilation.
The two men in the long coats showed up. There were also a couple of men in suits. Civilians, I guess. They sort of took charge. Then they just put me on a truck, didn’t even ask me any questions.
And that’s what happened.
I’ve been on this base for a couple of days. They seem to be giving me a lot of freedom, they let me go into town yesterday. I went to a library. It wasn’t a very big one, but I guess it didn’t need to be. I found a hagiography. Or, I guess, a sort of encyclopedia on the subject of saints.
There was a very small entry on the subject of Saint Adalthred. Very little was known about him. He’d been a saint in early medieval France. He’d preached to royalty. The Marrowvingians I think it said, I don’t know what that is. Like all saints, he’d performed three miracles. Like all saints, he’d been martyred. He’d been burned at the stake. His last miracle had been his own resurrection.
I don’t know what to do with this diary. I never should have started it, and yet I think it’s important that I did. I think I’m going to turn myself in and give it to them. I suppose they’ll court-martial me over it, send me home. I don’t want to go home, but maybe I deserve it. At any rate, clearly, there are higher powers than me at work here.
-End copy.-
All of the documentation by the U.S. during the war was massive. All of the officers, nurses, spies, bean counters, and everybody else contributed to the pile. This was long before the digital age, or even microfiche, so the sheer scale of the paperwork is hardly conceivable. It could have been measured by the cargo holds of liberty ships.
After the war, the Army and Navy needed someplace to store it all. Any of it could have had unforeseen value, and destroying it was never an option. In 1951, with the Korean War raging and threatening to exacerbate the document problem, the Department of Defense decided to build a massive new warehouse archive to store it all. In 1956, the Military Personnel Records Center was finished. Ostensibly the archive was meant to store personnel records, but the military being the military, and the warehouse being of such a huge scale, it housed other records as well. Records such as the nurse’s diary, records of things unnatural. Supernatural. Only to be seen by top men.
One of the items discussed during the facility’s construction was the inclusion of a sprinkler fire prevention system. There was a concern that such a system could leak, and cause water damage to all the important documents. So the archive was built without one.
In 1973 the building burned down, taking millions of documents with it. The cause was never officially determined. At the time, and for many years after, the biggest problem was the bureaucratic nightmare it caused for millions of veterans and collecting the benefits they were entitled to.
To a very small community, namely us, the damage was a travesty. That’s the purpose of this project. To retrieve the documentation, study, and catalog it, this entry is only the first example. Naturally, the question arises- how do we retrieve these files if they were all destroyed in the fire? Well, that’s on a need-to-know basis, Lieutenant, and you don’t need to know.
Author's Notes: The War Files is meant to be an on-going series of horror stories set in and around WWII, and the very real Archive Fire. Maybe it would make a good podcast? This was sort of a pilot episode and thought it would fit the theme of this month's event. If you liked the story and want to read more, I'll probably post them either to my subreddit EBDavis or my substack ebdavis.substack.com
submitted by Guilty_Chemistry9337 to Odd_directions [link] [comments]
Some would be spies or intelligence men working for the Office of Strategic Services. Others were mysterious ne’er-do-wells, scoundrels who were very good at the procurement of various goods. Some would be anthropologists and translators, eager to help obscure native communities deal with the technologically advanced war tearing the island worlds asunder. Some would be entertainers for the USO, there to help with morale, doing what they were best at, whether it was telling jokes or dancing beautifully. Others might be war correspondents, to communicate, in a highly censored way, what was going on to the folks back home. Then there were the bean counters. Everybody overlooked the bean counters.
Many of the combat veterans, and even some of the non-combat personnel, would never make it home again. Others made it home, but only after being maimed and scarred in body and mind. Yet most would make it home. All of them would have stories to tell, though many would never tell their stories. There was a culture of silence during the war, ‘loose lips sink ships.’ It wasn’t just a catchy phrase, people took it to heart. It became a habit. Even long after the war was over people kept their lips zipped shut.
And yet, there were still millions and millions of stories, and some of them would be recorded. They might be memoirs committed to paper years later. Then again, many of these people kept diaries. They would write home every chance they get. Officers as a regular part of their duties were constantly writing up reports. Every single one would end up being read by someone, somewhere, and passed up the chain depending on its importance, or filed away if the chain ended there. With every battle won or lost, extensive analyses were conducted on what went right and what went wrong, and how we could do better. Actions of bravery were written up for recommendations for medals or promotions. Every serious infraction meant a court-martial, and court martials left transcripts. Bitter denouements and protests were written when it was felt officers weren’t living up to their duties, and in these cases, the lips were zipped especially tight, but the reports themselves were poured over. Every location where the U.S. went, whether it was the location of a battleground, a ranging area for artillery, site for a depot, or a road used to transport was thoroughly mapped and described in detail.
Then there were the bean counters. How many 20 mm shells does it take, on average, to knock down a Val dive bomber? How many pints of A-positive blood should be stocked in a forward field hospital? How many gallons of ice cream are needed to keep a company of Marines in good fighting spirit? The bean counters might not know, but they recorded everything down just in case you wanted to sift through the data, and a lot of people did. The data would end up having a massive contribution to the war effort.
Last were two groups of material that were never meant to see the light of day. The sort of thing that ought to be recorded, but then hidden away only for the purview of top men. The first is information you might expect would cause classification or a cover-up. Disastrous friendly fire incidents. Accusations and or confessions of war crimes. State secrets involving intelligence on enemies and allies both.
Then there’s the other tranche of material. The stuff that defies explanation. Secrets from the hidden corners of the earth that were never meant to be revealed until some young farmboys from a country far away showed up in places where they were never supposed to be.
The following provides an example.
Excerpts from the personal diary of Second Lieutenant Yvette Morgan, Army Nursing Corps, 231st Hospital Group, Normandy region of France, July and August 1944. Aged 20 at the time of writing.
Note: Most American personnel in WWII were restricted from keeping personal diaries for counterintelligence purposes. It was not uncommon that this restriction was flaunted, particularly among personnel with the luxury of a little bit of privacy. Lt. Morgan seems to have understood the purpose of the restriction, and so the redactions in the following excerpts are her own. A careful eye will note she’s made a couple of errors, which is why censorship should be left to the professionals.
July 30th, 1944- Just got off the truck and finally made it back ‘home.’ Just spent all ‘day,’ helping set up the field hospital. We’ve commandeered a high school in the little town of St. A. I think it’s going to work out pretty well. There’s a gym with a tall ceiling and high windows, which means good natural lighting, so we’re setting that up as an operating room. We’ve got about six beds in each classroom, which is just about the number you’d like. The corridors are nice and wide enough to handle gurneys, and there’s plenty of room out front for the ambulances. I don’t think we could have found a better location outside of a purpose-built actual hospital.
The real work starts tomorrow. Well, today, I guess. They ought to be taking patients right about the time I’m writing this. I drew the short stick, and now I’m stuck with the overnight shift. That’s my luck for you. Back home that would have meant at least it would be pretty quiet, but I don’t think that’s going to apply to this kind of duty.
“Home” is actually this nice little old cottage they’ve set me up with, and four other girls. It’s in the tiny commune of L. It’s actually about ten miles from the hospital, not far from the sea. Every shift they’re going to drive us back and forth in these trucks. Seems like an awful waste of gasoline to me, but what do I know? The whole reason they’re doing this is because the hospital’s technically in range of German artillery, and they like to keep staff like us out of harm's way when we’re not needed. I suppose we won’t be in range much longer anyway. That said, Capt. G says the front line’s been stalled out for a while. He says it’s slow going with all these enormous hedgerows they grow everyplace around here. I never knew they could grow so big, they must be hundreds of years old. I thought the poplar windbreaks they started growing back home after the Dust Bowl were impressive, but they’ve got nothing on these things. We can still hear the guns, though. They’re a long way off, and kind of sound like thunder, though you can tell they’re not because the sky is perfectly clear. At least, I hope, they’re mostly our guns.
The morning’s still a little chilly, but it promises to be a warm day. I’m going to have to get used to sleeping through it. After long last summer is really here. The cottage itself is lovely. I can’t help but wonder about the people who really make this home. There’s a delightful flower garden in front and just the most precious herb garden right outside the kitchen window. When I get married and we have a home, I’m going to insist on one just like it.
The other girls? Well, what can I say. 5 of us all sharing this little place, at least we’ll be working different shifts mostly. I’m sure we’ll get by swimmingly.
July 31st- Just got back and finished breakfast for dinner. Part of me still wishes I were at work. If I were at a civilian hospital I still would be. Funny how the military insists on sticking to the scheduled shift and they order me to go home and get some sleep. I might get used to such regimentation.
I say this as if I’m not completely exhausted and overwhelmed. I’m sure I’ll sleep tonight. Today, whatever. As I’d suspected, we had our first wounded in during the morning shift. Most of them had been through the Mobile Advanced hospital and had been at least looked over by a doctor. Plenty had already gone through an initial surgery, just to stabilize them, close gaping wounds, and tie off arteries. It was really crude stuff, but I suppose that’s the point. Our doctors opened them back up and fixed them up properly. There were a few walking wounded, shrapnel wounds, and nasty burns we were able to help out too. I feel glad to be part of such a great team. I spent the first half of my shift assisting in two different surgeries. Then the last half attending the wards.
I had hoped that would be more peaceful. Our boys are so brave, even when you can tell they’re really broken up over what they’ve been through. And yet it wasn’t meant to be.
I mentioned that St. A.’s was within range of German artillery. Well, there was an attack last night, early this morning, I’m still not used to the schedule. They didn’t hit the hospital. They hit the other side of town. It was loud enough to shake all of the windows, and even the ground shook. It scared the daylights out of me. Some of the boys yelled too. A couple of them fell out of their beds and tried to hide underneath. I can’t imagine what it would be like to go through that a second time, let alone time after time, day after day like our boys.
I was just starting to get things settled down and everything squared. Then there was commotion. A bunch of orderlies, then nurses, then doctors running around the front main hall. We were expecting wounded. They’d hit an old medieval church on the other side of town. The Church of Saint Adalthred. There had been a platoon of soldiers sleeping there. Now they were bringing the survivors in.
I had never done triage before, though I remembered my training. You divide the patients into three groups. The group that needs surgery absolutely immediately if they’re going to live. The group that can wait for surgery. And then there’s the group that will die regardless.
There were two young men that were in the last group. The first had a massive open head wound. The strange thing was he was perfectly conscious and capable of speaking, despite the injury. There was just nothing that we could do for him. He was alert for about an hour, and then he simply passed away. Is it horrible to think that was something of a mercy?
The other suffered terrible burns, and apparently some of the blast as well. After the triage, I was assigned to care for him. The doctor had estimated over 90 percent of his body suffered burns in the third degree. The kind of amount that really makes you question your faith. I’ve seen burn patients, but not when they get first arrive like this. His eyes and ears were gone. A strange thing was, he wasn’t screaming like we’d expect burn patients to do. The doctor said his vocal cords were burnt out, but his lungs were relatively free of smoke damage, and he didn’t have that horrible cough. The doctor said it was like “he’d inhaled flame.” He was simply silent. He’s not expected to last the night. Day, I mean. I suppose I won’t see him again. I suppose that’s mercy too.
I mentioned yesterday that I think a school building serves as a fine hospital in a pinch. I’m not sure about that anymore. It’s the ventilation. There isn’t any in the school. Fumes from the ether linger everywhere. So does the stink of infection, no matter how much we fight it. And that last patient. It was like he was roasted. Literally. I thought I’d be sick.
August 1st- The truck ride back is starting to become my favorite part of the day. This one was a long one, despite being the exact same length as all the other shifts. We’re really packed now. The minute we get one patient ready for transport back to England, another takes his bed. They say the war might be over before Christmas. I hope. Don’t know how I’ll be able to keep up this pace for so long.
The little old priest whose church got blown up by the Germans came around to volunteer at the hospital. Poor old thing has nowhere else to go. He’s helping us roll bandages, working the autoclaves, and helping the chaplain out with the prayers. He seems to be helping with morale, god bless him. Particularly the chaplain’s. The priest doesn’t speak English and the chaplain doesn’t speak French, but they both speak Latin well enough to get by. I’ve never heard it spoken before. I grew up Lutheran, and it seems so strange. I’m a long way from home.
The burn patient is still alive. I was really surprised when I got in and found out. Apparently so are the doctors. Of course, I’m attending him again and was asked to change his bandages. Most of the rest of his skin that hadn’t already sloughed off last night did so while I was changing them. I didn’t see any sign of infection yet, though of course, we all know what’s coming. Other than that there wasn’t much I can do. He’s started letting off this low moan. The doctor said he was not really conscious. I can’t imagine he would be, he’s still getting so much morphine.
He was already bleeding through before my shift ended, so I thought I’d do the next shift a favor and take care of it a second time on the same shift. This time the doctor had me place his arms over his chest and belly, and bandage them all together. Also, he had me bandage his legs together. The doctor said that if there’s a miracle and somehow he manages to pull through, it will be because he somehow beat the infection. And if he’s going to have any chance at all then we’ll need to minimize his contact with bandages until can receive grafts. When I was done he ended up looking like a mummy, right out of the pictures. I don’t think it will matter much, and neither does the doctor. But we have to keep trying.
August 2nd- Just got back. The burn victim is still alive. It’s so strange. It’s all I can think about now. When I first got in I went straight to his room. I was absolutely shocked, it was gruesome. His bandages were positively soaked through. There was more red than white. I was just about to chew out the girl on the shift before me. I thought that nobody had changed the bandages since my last shift, but then she told me that she’d just changed them two hours previously. I couldn’t make head or tales of it. So I just got to work changing them myself. It felt so odd, the way the other patients in the room were looking at us. Like they knew there was something off about the whole thing. The patient’s moaning is getting louder too. It must be so unnerving to the others sharing the room.
Then, of all things, Maj. P and Col. S came in to observe. I haven’t seen either of them since we started setting up the hospital. They don’t usually stay up so late. They were washed up and decided to help me bandage the patient. As if they weren’t just there to observe me, but wanted to be a part of it too.
Sure enough, after only a couple of hours, the bandages were soaked through again. I’ve never seen such terribly bleeding. I asked the doctor if it could have possibly been hemophilia. It’s something I’ve only heard about but haven’t seen. He only shook his head like he was sure that it wasn’t. Yet he also looked even more confused than I was. We’ve been giving the patient transfusions. But at this rate, I just don’t know where it’s all coming from.
I know I shouldn’t be writing this sort of thing down, but the doctor confided that he’s thinking of reducing the morphine, maybe the patient will be more lucid. I don’t know how the doctor expects him to communicate with his vocal cords destroyed, or what he could possibly have to say even if he could talk. Well, it’s not my place to decide. I think he knows more about what’s happening to the poor man than I do.
It was all just blood too. In the bandages. No pus at all. I don’t know how he’s not becoming infected.
August 3rd- There’s a great deal of strangeness happening at the hospital. I saw the General’s staff car the moment our truck pulled around to drop us off, the little flags on the front gave it away.. Instead of starting my shift, they asked me to come back to Col. S’s office. My first thought was that I was in trouble, and they’d somehow find this diary. Both Maj. P and Col. S. were there, along with Gen C. who’d driven down from Corps HQ with a couple of his staff. There were also two men from what might have been regular Army, except they wore two long dark coats. I didn’t get their names.
Apparently, they’d all been there for hours and were wanting to debrief me. Well, it sure was intimidating, but they just wanted me to tell them what I’d seen. Fair enough. The patient was burned all over his body. He probably should have died the first night but hasn’t. There’s an awful amount of bleeding which I can’t account for. There’s also no pus or smell of infection, which also didn’t make sense. I told them about how he’s been given large amounts of morphine, though I didn’t say what Cap. H had said about reducing it. No, he had never been capable of speaking since brought in. No, he hadn’t been wearing his dog tags, but between the blast, and the length of time he’d been burning, he must have stripped everything off. Surely they were back in the rubble of that church. Then they thanked me and told me I could go back to work.
Well, I’d just about had it. I stood up and demanded that if they knew something about my patient that they weren’t telling me and that if they did I could take better care of him, well then they had better tell me. I think I even swore though I didn’t mean to. Maj. P almost laughed and Col. S just gave me that stupid patronizing smile. Told me I was already doing everything that I could, and that they were proud of me. He’s a good man, but I’m getting really sick of this Army “that’s on a need-to-know basis” crap.
Rest of the shift was just the usual. Strange how it's become the norm now. No, there was something else. The burn patient was in his room by himself. They’d moved the other beds out. They didn’t tell me why. Probably because his moan’s getting worse. And raspier. I still don’t think he’s out of the morphine stupor though.
Alright, it’s later the same day, the second. I’ve just woken up and had a serious chat with Kathy, the nurse from the second shift, and she’s had a lot to talk about. Rumors are swirling. I don’t know how much of this is true. My gut instinct? It’s all true.
Those men in the long coats? The rumor is they were Army Intelligence. That didn’t make a lick of sense to me at first, but then it started to come together. It turns out there were supposed to be 30 men, including the C.O., in that church that night it got shelled. Nobody else. Except when they added up all the survivors (who’ve moved on to the front), all the wounded that were taken to our hospital, and those who died, which took a while to count, then it all added up to 31 men. So somebody was there who wasn’t supposed to be there, and nobody knows who it is. They think they’ve got all of the dog tags accounted for, which might have been why they asked me about it when I came in later that night. And the one person they can’t account for seems to be the burn victim.
So they didn’t know who it was. Nobody from the St. A.’s was missing. None of the French Resistance were around that night (apparently Intelligence asked them? How else would they know?). So it's really suspicious and they were worried he might be some kind of spy or infiltrator. They still don’t even know why that church was shelled in the first place.
So they started asking questions of that poor old priest who’s been volunteering. We know because they let the chaplain sit in with him, but it seems both of the intelligence guys spoke fluent French. They asked him if there were any kind of acolyte or initiate or whatever sort of junior clergy he might have could have been there. He said no, and anybody who might have was accounted for and healthy. He asked if there was anything valuable that could have been stolen, or maybe he feared could be looted (would our boys do that?). Well, he didn’t think so. There was the holy font, which was an antique, but there were many like it and it was hardly easy to move. There was the Bible at the altar. It was very old and had great sentimental value, but again it would have no value to thieves. There was the tomb of St. Adalthred himself, which was priceless to his community but was a part of the church itself. Why the church had been built in the first place. Impossible to steal.
Then they asked the priest to come and view the patient. Perhaps seeing his proportions, perhaps it might have helped him recollect a similar person he’d seen lately. I understand why they did it. He, the burn victim, does seem shorter than any soldier I’ve met, skinner too. I wish they hadn’t, though. The chaplain said the priest had cried over seeing all those bloody bandages. There wasn’t a point, because the priest said he didn’t recognize him. The strange thing was, the chaplain had said that the priest's behavior seemed really strange. Like they got the really strong sense that the priest was being cagey, and lying to them. Not that he recognized the figure per se, but that he was thinking of something that he wasn’t telling them. He also insisted on saying a prayer over the burnt figure before he left, and they let him.
When I asked why they’d moved all the other beds in the room, Kathy said a little while after the priest had left the burn victim had started screaming, really bad. The other patients asked if they could leave the room, and because of the mystery, Col. S. agreed to it so they could isolate the burnt man. He was only calmer when I arrived later because they’d given him more morphine. When Kathy told me how much my jaw hit the floor. That part has to be baseless rumor.
August 8- I’m back in England. I’ve been too worked up to write, and worried, of course. After it happened, they put me in a truck, drove me to L. to pick up my things, and then I was on a Skytrain back to Cornwall. I guess we stopped at the cottage as a courtesy, it was on the way to the airfield. I was worried they’d find this diary, but they never searched. I don’t think they know what to do with me. I’m not sure what they should do either. They might just send me home, I suppose. I wouldn’t protest that. I just want to get on with things.
So. That night. The 4th.
I’ll start when I get off the truck. That moment when you hit the ground after jumping out of the bed is so sharp like it just sets your whole day. Like a starter pistol at a race. Something about it seemed off just as I was walking towards the door. Now I get in, and the front gallery, ever since that night of the triage, is a pretty empty place. But somebody was waiting for me, and it was Col. S. He came right up to me the moment he saw me. What an upside-down experience.
He starts leading me down the side hall, towards the back of the hospital/school where his office was. So of course I expected he needed to talk to me about something in his office. Only it turned out it wasn’t his office anymore. I thought something was off when I saw two armed guards on either side of the door to his often. Almost as soon, I heard the screaming.
I have just enough time to puzzle together what’s happened when Col. S walks right in, me in tow. They’d moved the burn patient to Col. S’s office, and he’d cleared out. The reason was obvious. The patient was screaming. Really, really loud. It hurt my ears in such a small office. The office was as about as far removed from the rest of the patients as they could move him. His bandages were soaked through, totally bright red. Jet red? Is jet red a thing? If you saw him, you’d say it was. It looked like they had been in the middle of starting to change his bandages, or just about to finish. Because there were parts of his flesh that were exposed. I didn’t realize it at first, and could only tell because of the texture.
I was just staring at him for a while. Jaw wide open. Then I looked at Col. S. He had been watching my reaction. He had such a sympathetic look. I asked him “How long has he been like this?”
“For hours,” he said. Like he was apologizing.
“How much morphine did you give him?” I asked. He was a doctor in his own right, of course. He didn’t get a chance to perform much surgery now that he’s the administrator, but I don’t think that ever leaves you.
He looked like he was about to cry.
“Lethal?” I asked.
“More,” he whispered.
We stood there silent for a few moments. Then he explained the situation. The only people allowed in the room would be doctors. Myself, and he explained I was the nurse with the most experience with him, and that I was the one he trusted the most. I’d have no other duties this shift. The chaplain was allowed in, and the priest. Also, the two guards out front, and that was it. He told me “The men from intel will be back, and a couple of spooks. We’ll figure it out then.” I had no idea what he meant by that, but I just nodded.
Well, the chaplain was there, though he looked a total mess. And it turned out the priest had stayed late but had gone home, exhausted.
So I did my duties. Changed bandages. Changed IV bottles. There were two chairs in the room, one for me and one for the chaplain. With only the one patient sometimes I’d wait. We couldn’t really chat. The screaming was too loud. I don’t think either of us got used to it.
I suppose it was about 3 AM. Mom used to call that the witching hour. Around three it started to change. The screaming that is, the cadence of it. Is that the right word? He started screaming words. Very garbled, but words. That was when I remembered the doctor had said his vocal cords had been destroyed. Had he been wrong? It had to be. Both I and the chaplain were standing over him then. The chaplain whispering prayers. Sometimes we’d look at each other like maybe the other knew what was happening. There were no answers.
The words started getting clearer. Not that we understood them, but they kind of sounded like they were French. Both I and the chaplain thought he, the patient, was becoming lucid. The chaplain opened up the door and told the guards to get the colonel, also to send somebody to find the priest. I suppose anybody could have translated, or so I thought at the time, but getting the priest sounded right.
Well, the colonel wasn’t in, but Maj. P. was. He spoke a little French, but he couldn’t understand the words. I’m still glad he was there. As a witness. I’m glad me and the chaplain weren’t the only ones. It was like the patient was chanting.
It was, maybe ten minutes after the major arrived. The screaming just stopped. No words. Just heavy breathing. Hyperventilating maybe. It occurred to me then that the bandages had become soaked through again. I’d been there the whole time. Watching. Only now had I noticed. He was glistening. The bedding was bloody too, of course. It was everywhere. And then…
Then it happened.
I had been facing another direction. But there was a sound. Like a massive, loud inhalation of are. There was this bright light, like when a lightbulb is about to short out. Except I felt the heat, and I turned. The patient had burst into flames.
I screamed. I think the chaplain and major did too. The two guards ran in. Maybe they sent somebody else to fetch the priest. They just yelled and weren’t able to do anything else. In a normal circumstance, I think somebody would have fetched an extinguisher. Except the patient suddenly sat straight up in his bed. We were positively paralyzed. He was screaming again, and all we could do is watch. His bandages and bedding all burned away. Only then he stopped.
There was this man before us. He had no skin. No eyes. Glistening red, and patches of black where the ash still clung to him. He looked at us. Looked at me. There were two black holes in his face, above the hole for his nose, and his mouth, lips burned away and teeth missing. But the holes for his eyes… I could feel him looking at me despite having no eyes.
Then he spoke. It was French again, at least I thought. I couldn’t understand it. Full sentences. Raspy, but clear. No sign of pain or duress. Yet it was authoritative like he was in full command of his faculties.
I don’t think it lasted long before the priest came rushing in. The priest said something like “sortie” and then the Major told us to get out, the chaplain and I.
We did and closed the door behind us. The two guards were further down the hall, clearly rattled.
We could hear the priest and the burned man talking. Clearly, through the door. The burned man was distinguishable by the rasp in his voice, the commanding tone. Yet as we listened, there was something off. The burned man’s French was different than the priest’s French. It was like they didn’t understand each other. It was like they were speaking two different dialects, and I didn’t realize until I heard them both being spoken next to each other.
There was a pause of silence. And then the priest started speaking in Latin. I saw a look of relief on the chaplain’s face when the burned man responded, also in Latin.
The two spoke, the burned man and the priest. They went on and on, me not understanding any of it. The burned man seemed to calm, the priest becoming more anxious as they went. Then I turned to the chaplain again. His attention was totally focused on the closed door, but he was listening to the priest and the burned man talk.
He was shaking, and pale as a ghost. I’ve seen men shake. I’ve seen them shake from the effects of blood loss and shock. I’ve seen them shake because they’ve been mad from war. I’ve seen them shake from hypothermia and hypoglycemia and drug overdoses. I’ve seen no end of fear in their eyes. Fear as they’re going under anesthesia, or having their limbs removed, or knowing they’re about to die from their wounds.
I’ve never seen a man so afraid or shaken than that chaplain on that night. And all because he was able to follow that conversation in Latin.
The door suddenly opened. The priest waved us aside, looking more determined than I’d ever seen him. We pressed ourselves against the wall to get out of the way. The burned man followed him. Silent. Walking. We watched them walk down the hallway. The guards turned and fled. Then the priest and the burnt figure turned the corner, and that was the last that I saw of them.
I remember looking back into the room and seeing the Major, slumped in a chair, hands covered his face. The smoke from the burning bandages and bedding still hung in the air, sweet and strong and foul due to the lack of ventilation.
The two men in the long coats showed up. There were also a couple of men in suits. Civilians, I guess. They sort of took charge. Then they just put me on a truck, didn’t even ask me any questions.
And that’s what happened.
I’ve been on this base for a couple of days. They seem to be giving me a lot of freedom, they let me go into town yesterday. I went to a library. It wasn’t a very big one, but I guess it didn’t need to be. I found a hagiography. Or, I guess, a sort of encyclopedia on the subject of saints.
There was a very small entry on the subject of Saint Adalthred. Very little was known about him. He’d been a saint in early medieval France. He’d preached to royalty. The Marrowvingians I think it said, I don’t know what that is. Like all saints, he’d performed three miracles. Like all saints, he’d been martyred. He’d been burned at the stake. His last miracle had been his own resurrection.
I don’t know what to do with this diary. I never should have started it, and yet I think it’s important that I did. I think I’m going to turn myself in and give it to them. I suppose they’ll court-martial me over it, send me home. I don’t want to go home, but maybe I deserve it. At any rate, clearly, there are higher powers than me at work here.
-End copy.-
All of the documentation by the U.S. during the war was massive. All of the officers, nurses, spies, bean counters, and everybody else contributed to the pile. This was long before the digital age, or even microfiche, so the sheer scale of the paperwork is hardly conceivable. It could have been measured by the cargo holds of liberty ships.
After the war, the Army and Navy needed someplace to store it all. Any of it could have had unforeseen value, and destroying it was never an option. In 1951, with the Korean War raging and threatening to exacerbate the document problem, the Department of Defense decided to build a massive new warehouse archive to store it all. In 1956, the Military Personnel Records Center was finished. Ostensibly the archive was meant to store personnel records, but the military being the military, and the warehouse being of such a huge scale, it housed other records as well. Records such as the nurse’s diary, records of things unnatural. Supernatural. Only to be seen by top men.
One of the items discussed during the facility’s construction was the inclusion of a sprinkler fire prevention system. There was a concern that such a system could leak, and cause water damage to all the important documents. So the archive was built without one.
In 1973 the building burned down, taking millions of documents with it. The cause was never officially determined. At the time, and for many years after, the biggest problem was the bureaucratic nightmare it caused for millions of veterans and collecting the benefits they were entitled to.
To a very small community, namely us, the damage was a travesty. That’s the purpose of this project. To retrieve the documentation, study, and catalog it, this entry is only the first example. Naturally, the question arises- how do we retrieve these files if they were all destroyed in the fire? Well, that’s on a need-to-know basis, Lieutenant, and you don’t need to know.
Author's Notes: The War Files is meant to be an on-going series of horror stories set in and around WWII, and the very real Archive Fire. Maybe it would make a good podcast? This was sort of a pilot episode and thought it would fit the theme of this month's event. If you liked the story and want to read more, I'll probably post them either to my subreddit EBDavis or my substack ebdavis.substack.com
2023.06.05 15:34 FC0987654321 HELP ME!
I was looking in the mirror and I was unhappy with my body! I hate it, it's so round and fat! Why can't I be like my skinny-ass friend!? I hate my body so much, I've been thinking of getting a waist trainer but my mom won't let me! I hate the way I look to! Help!
submitted by FC0987654321 to offmychest [link] [comments]
2023.06.05 15:27 Regg_euds Quite humorous so many guys nowadays are so skinny fat they got larger boobs than I do
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2023.06.05 15:27 impamiizgraa Skinny sausages, avocado, sourdough toast (522 calorie lunch)
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2023.06.05 14:59 DruVatier Update on Pork Butt + Some Questions For Improvement
Thanks to everyone who chimed in to help me gauge time on my 1st pork butt smoke this weekend. It came out well, but I have some questions about how to improve.
THE COOK
submitted by DruVatier to Traeger [link] [comments]
THE COOK
- Fully thawed, I trimmed off the hanging bits, and then cut quite a bit of fat off. The fat cap was nearly an inch thick, and I took most of it off (but kept it).
- Rubbed the 10lb bone-in cut in mustard, then covered lavishly with Texas Sugar. Let it sweat for ~15 min while I prepped the smoker
- Filled my hopper to the brim, set my water pan (with apple juice) and put it on at 225 at 10pm and went to bed
- Woke up at 7a and the hopper was empty and there was an error message on the screen. Internal thermometers showed 165 and 157. Wasn't sure how to clear the error so I pulled the whole rack out, pulled the drip pan, and the firebox cover, made sure there wasn't anything weird in there, refilled the hopper (glad I bought a spare bag the night before) and waited. The error cleared so I put it all back together again, at which point the temps had fallen to ~155 and 145. Left it back on 225. Refilled the water pan.
- At about 130p it was finally up to 175 and 170, so I pulled it and wrapped it. In the bottom of the pan, I put the fat I'd trimmed off, and on top of the meat I sprinkled with more Texas Sugar, spritzed with apple juice heavily, and added a few slabs of unsalted butter.
- It took until ~4p to get up to 205, at which point I pulled it off and let it rest (on the counter in the pan, still covered) until ~5p when I shredded it.
- Obviously wake up earlier to check on it (I'd intended to get up at 5a, but, you know...
- It was good, but I didn't really taste the Texas Sugar flavoring at all in the actual meat. Would scoring or injecting have added more actual flavor?
- It came apart, but not nearly as easily as I see in the videos. What should I adjust in the future to have more of that fall-aparted-ness?
- It wasn't as juicy as I think I was hoping for. I wanted to wrap to keep a lot of the juice. Did I kill my potential juicy-ness by trimming so much off the fat cap?
2023.06.05 14:53 Brur91 Need help deciding on the right product/stack
Hi all,
Sorry for the long post.
I have only recently learned about SARMS, I never really looked into PEDs before and don’t feel comfortable going for steroids yet. Especially given that I am in the upper ranges for cholesterol.
I am a male in the 30-35 age group, and I really let myself down since Covid. Put on around 20kgs (of fat) and spent 3 years doing pretty much no exercise. Generally speaking, I have a tall/skinny figure, never really managed to put on too much muscle, but now I have a beer belly (but I don’t drink) and visible love handles.
I know that there is no magic pill, but I would like to try compliment my exercises with some additional boost. I have been looking at SR9009, but since there are so many choices I am a bit confused.
What would you recommend me to start with, especially considering my cholesterol situation? My aim is to bring my body fat to below 15% first before I focus on building muscles, but while losing that fat I would really like to avoid losing too much of my muscles (if there are any left lol), which I think I am inclined to (based on pre-Covid experiences when I followed shredding programmes). The ultimate goal is to reduce my weight from 90kgs to around 85kgs by replacing the fat with muscles.
submitted by Brur91 to sarmssourcetalk [link] [comments]
Sorry for the long post.
I have only recently learned about SARMS, I never really looked into PEDs before and don’t feel comfortable going for steroids yet. Especially given that I am in the upper ranges for cholesterol.
I am a male in the 30-35 age group, and I really let myself down since Covid. Put on around 20kgs (of fat) and spent 3 years doing pretty much no exercise. Generally speaking, I have a tall/skinny figure, never really managed to put on too much muscle, but now I have a beer belly (but I don’t drink) and visible love handles.
I know that there is no magic pill, but I would like to try compliment my exercises with some additional boost. I have been looking at SR9009, but since there are so many choices I am a bit confused.
What would you recommend me to start with, especially considering my cholesterol situation? My aim is to bring my body fat to below 15% first before I focus on building muscles, but while losing that fat I would really like to avoid losing too much of my muscles (if there are any left lol), which I think I am inclined to (based on pre-Covid experiences when I followed shredding programmes). The ultimate goal is to reduce my weight from 90kgs to around 85kgs by replacing the fat with muscles.
2023.06.05 13:48 IndependentExotic352 Do I show him this? Broken and just can't any more
So, it’s been almost a week since you initiated a quick fumble at lunchtime. We still haven’t had an alcohol free night or cuddling in bed (apart from the awkward 10 minutes of stroking my back over my shirt). I did try to cuddle with you (fully clothed) but after a few minutes you were apparently in pain. Mental or physical, I’m not sure which. Yet another rejection. I can't any more. We still haven't had another conversation about our dead bedroom. Do you even care? I don’t want to start yet another tearful discussion. I’ve told you what I need. I’ve told you how much I love you. I’ve told you how this is making me feel. I feel ugly, fat, repulsive. Unloved, unwanted, undesired. Rejected. Worthless.
I don’t need you to get me off, I can do that myself. I need you to desire me, to want to be close to me, to touch me, to hold me skin on skin. To make love, not just an orgasm. I need passion. I need you. I love you, with all my heart and soul. I don’t think I have the strength to walk out on this marriage and carry on. And I don’t want to. So much pain. I’m not sure I’m strong enough for this. I really want to give up.
submitted by IndependentExotic352 to DeadBedrooms [link] [comments]
I don’t need you to get me off, I can do that myself. I need you to desire me, to want to be close to me, to touch me, to hold me skin on skin. To make love, not just an orgasm. I need passion. I need you. I love you, with all my heart and soul. I don’t think I have the strength to walk out on this marriage and carry on. And I don’t want to. So much pain. I’m not sure I’m strong enough for this. I really want to give up.
2023.06.05 13:38 aegis-release0k I broke my brother’s bed
tldr: slept in brother’s bed while he was on vacation, I broke it and don’t know how to remedy the situation
Last night, a very large house spider was crawling around near my bed. I’m used to it so I didn’t mind too much. But then I saw another one (or the same one) crawling around my bedsheet and I thought fuck that and decided to sleep in my brothers bed. I live in the same house as my brother. We are both in our mid 20s. He is on vacation. His bed was already slightly fucked up. A crack in it or something. But when I got up in the morning, I must have sat on it in the wrong way and heard a crack. Context: I am a fat person. The bed is not totally fucked, but he will almost definitely notice the bed is not the same as it was when he left. He is the type of person that doesn’t enjoy others getting up in his shit, eg. by borrowing his stuff. He’s also a bit of a neat freak.
So what should I do before he gets back? I could buy a new bed, same model, but he’d notice that because the bed was already damaged before I graced it with my ass. God help me.
submitted by aegis-release0k to Advice [link] [comments]
Last night, a very large house spider was crawling around near my bed. I’m used to it so I didn’t mind too much. But then I saw another one (or the same one) crawling around my bedsheet and I thought fuck that and decided to sleep in my brothers bed. I live in the same house as my brother. We are both in our mid 20s. He is on vacation. His bed was already slightly fucked up. A crack in it or something. But when I got up in the morning, I must have sat on it in the wrong way and heard a crack. Context: I am a fat person. The bed is not totally fucked, but he will almost definitely notice the bed is not the same as it was when he left. He is the type of person that doesn’t enjoy others getting up in his shit, eg. by borrowing his stuff. He’s also a bit of a neat freak.
So what should I do before he gets back? I could buy a new bed, same model, but he’d notice that because the bed was already damaged before I graced it with my ass. God help me.
2023.06.05 13:31 readingrachelx Housewife highlights/Daily shit talk - June 5th, 2023
NEW YORK
submitted by readingrachelx to RHDiscussion [link] [comments]
- Real Housewives of New York vet Luann de Lesseps looks radiant in a pink floral summer dress while shopping in NYC (Daily Mail)
- Joe Giudice claims he would never have been convicted and deported had he not appeared on the Real Housewives of New Jersey with ex-wife Teresa (Daily Mail exclusive)
- RHOBH Alum Teddi Mellencamp Thinks Teresa Giudice & Melissa Gorga Are ‘Obsessed With the Money’ (Two Ts in a Pod podcast/Heavy)
- Vanderpump Rules stars Ariana Madix and Scheana Shay match in baseball jerseys as they watch the Padres defeat the Cubs in San Diego (Daily Mail)
- Brittany Cartwright Gushes Over Motherhood & Shares How Her Postpartum Journey Influenced New Fashion Collaboration (Access Hollywood exclusive)
- Brittany Cartwright and Jax Taylor Are ‘Definitely Getting the Itch’ to Return to ‘Vanderpump Rules,’ Got ‘Teary’ at ‘WWHL’ (US Weekly exclusive)
- Brittany Cartwright Felt ‘Pressure’ to Lose Weight After 1st Pregnancy — But Is ‘Baby Crazy’ and Ready for No. 2 (US Weekly exclusive)
- Press release: Cupshe Celebrates 8th Birthday with Exclusive Collection in Collaboration with Chanel Iman, Heather Rae El Moussa, and Brittany Cartwright (PRWeb)
- Stassi Schroeder Addresses Raquel Leviss’ Behavior on Vanderpump Rules Finale, Says She’s a “Sociopath,” and Slams Tom Sandoval as “Puppet Master” (Reality Blurb)
- Stassi Schroeder Reveals Advice She Gave Tom Schwartz After Cheating Scandal (Straight Up With Stassi podcast/Heavy)
- Paige DeSorbo Shines in Blush Bridesmaid Dress (Paige DeSorbo Instagram/Bravo)
- Andy Cohen Reveals Dorinda Medley Is The ‘Real Housewives’ Star Who Texts Him the Most (Bitch Sesh podcast/Heavy)
- Andy Cohen Says Baby Daughter Lucy Is 'One of the First' Gestational Surrogacies in New York (Not Skinny But Not Fat podcast/People)
- Alcohol mixed with pills: Dr Michelle on ‘RHOWL’ strange behaviour (The South African)
- ‘Legal issue’: Two ‘RHOWL’ episodes removed from DStv (The South African)
2023.06.05 13:29 Academic-Opinion-610 Gyno as Natty 17year old
(sorry in advance if this is a stupid question, I’m new to this Reddit) I started working out 6months ago and I’m currently in the best shape of my life went from underweight skinny fat 16yr old 60kg(130lb) at 5’11 to 17yr old 75kg (165lb) at 6’0 with visible abs In 6months (maybe due to me hitting my late growth spurt as my doctor said I’m still gonna grow since my growth plates haven’t fused and my older brother is 6’2 and also had a growth spurt at 18) anyway since 2 weeks I’ve been noticing I have gyno on my right nipple it is puffy and sensitive and checks all the criteria for gyno, Does this mean I Have low test or could this be because of High test since it gets turned into estrogen? I have been taking a lot of supplements for hormone optimization (for HGH and Test specifically) and I’ve been sleeping minimum 9hrs on weekdays and even up to 12hrs on weekends for the last 6months and I’ve never been so dialed in my life stopped smoking weed and quit all my vices 6months ago when I started so I’m very confused as the general consensus online is that it’s due to low test, does anyone Know how to get rid of gyno or will it go away with time? I also have been taking ginkgo biloba root extract since a month now which in a rat study showed to increase growth hormone x11 and prolactin x11 (if you click on the study and don’t want to read all of that just scroll down to the results) could this be due to prolactin increase?
Any answers are greatly appreciated and if anyone has had similar experiences with natty gyno please share if/how it went away and I’m sorry If this post Is all over the place I never post anything on Reddit.
submitted by Academic-Opinion-610 to moreplatesmoredates [link] [comments]
Any answers are greatly appreciated and if anyone has had similar experiences with natty gyno please share if/how it went away and I’m sorry If this post Is all over the place I never post anything on Reddit.
2023.06.05 13:21 abyzco Benefits Of Instrumental Music On Stress Relief
Music has long been known for its healing properties, particularly its ability to calm the mind and soothe the soul. Instrumental music in particular has been found to have a significant impact on stress relief and depressive disorders.
As a result, many therapists and mental health professionals have started incorporating music therapy into their treatment plans. In this blog post, we’ll explore the scientific research behind the benefits of instrumental music on stress relief and depressive disorders, and how you can incorporate it into your daily routine to promote better mental health.
So sit back, relax, and let the calming power of music wash over you as we take a deeper dive into this fascinating topic.
Relaxing music can be a powerful tool when it comes to managing stress and improving mental health. It has been proven to have a calming effect on the body and mind, and can help promote a sense of tranquility and peace.
When listening to relaxing music, the body releases endorphins, which are natural feel-good chemicals that help to reduce stress and enhance mood. This can lead to reduced levels of anxiety, improved sleep quality, and an overall improvement in emotional well-being.
In addition to its psychological benefits, relaxing music can also have physical benefits, such as reducing the heart rate and lowering blood pressure. This makes it a great option for those who struggle with cardiovascular issues or other stress-related health problems.
There are a variety of different types of relaxing music to choose from, including classical, nature sounds, and spa music. Whatever type of music you choose, the key is to make sure it is something that resonates with you and helps you to unwind.
Whether you listen to relaxing music during your morning commute or as a way to wind down before bed, incorporating it into your daily routine can have a profound impact on your mental and physical health. So why not give it a try and experience the benefits for yourself?
Meditation music is a popular form of instrumental music that has been proven to benefit people suffering from stress, anxiety, and depressive disorders. It is a form of music that is composed specifically to induce a state of deep relaxation and inner peace.
The calming and soothing effects of meditation music have been recognized across cultures and traditions, with this type of music being used in spiritual practices across the globe. When music is combined with meditation practices, it can help people to clear their minds, relax their bodies, and achieve a state of mindfulness.
Studies have shown that meditation music can have a significant impact on the body and brain. It can help to reduce stress hormones, such as cortisol, and increase the levels of endorphins that promote a sense of calmness and well-being. It can also lower blood pressure, reduce heart rate, and improve sleep quality.
Meditation music has a range of different styles and sounds, including ambient, nature sounds, and Indian meditation music, to name a few. The choice of music largely depends on individual preferences, but it's important to choose something that feels comfortable and facilitates relaxation.
Incorporating meditation music into daily routines can help to promote better mental health, reduce stress levels, and improve overall well-being. It can be enjoyed in a variety of settings, from home to the workplace, and can be a powerful tool to help people manage their stress levels. So why not give it a try and experience the benefits for yourself?
Sleep is the foundation of good health, and a lack of it can cause a host of disorders. In today's fast-paced world, however, getting enough sleep can be a challenge. The good news is that music can help you get the restful slumber you need by calming your mind and relaxing your body.
Sleep music is a type of instrumental music that is designed to induce a state of deep relaxation and facilitate sleep. It is typically slow and repetitive, with a soothing melody that lulls the listener into a peaceful state. The music is played at a soft volume to avoid disrupting sleep.
Sleep music has been proven to be an effective tool in helping people fall asleep faster and stay asleep longer. It can lower stress hormones, reduce heart rate, and promote a sense of calmness. It can also help to block out external noises like traffic, barking dogs or loud neighbors that could disturb sleep.
One of the most effective types of sleep music is binaural beats. Binaural beats are a type of sound wave that can help to synchronize brain waves and promote relaxation. They work by playing two different sounds at different frequencies into each ear, creating a third frequency that the brain synchronizes to. This synchronization can help to induce a state of deep relaxation and sleep.
Sleep music can be enjoyed in many different forms, from traditional instrumental music to more modern ambient and nature sounds. Whatever your preference, it's important to choose something that resonates with you and helps you relax. Incorporating sleep music into your bedtime routine can help you get the restful slumber you need to wake up feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day.
Get the best calm relaxing meditation sleep music at abyzco: youtube.com/@abyzco
submitted by abyzco to u/abyzco [link] [comments]
As a result, many therapists and mental health professionals have started incorporating music therapy into their treatment plans. In this blog post, we’ll explore the scientific research behind the benefits of instrumental music on stress relief and depressive disorders, and how you can incorporate it into your daily routine to promote better mental health.
So sit back, relax, and let the calming power of music wash over you as we take a deeper dive into this fascinating topic.
Relaxing music can be a powerful tool when it comes to managing stress and improving mental health. It has been proven to have a calming effect on the body and mind, and can help promote a sense of tranquility and peace.
When listening to relaxing music, the body releases endorphins, which are natural feel-good chemicals that help to reduce stress and enhance mood. This can lead to reduced levels of anxiety, improved sleep quality, and an overall improvement in emotional well-being.
In addition to its psychological benefits, relaxing music can also have physical benefits, such as reducing the heart rate and lowering blood pressure. This makes it a great option for those who struggle with cardiovascular issues or other stress-related health problems.
There are a variety of different types of relaxing music to choose from, including classical, nature sounds, and spa music. Whatever type of music you choose, the key is to make sure it is something that resonates with you and helps you to unwind.
Whether you listen to relaxing music during your morning commute or as a way to wind down before bed, incorporating it into your daily routine can have a profound impact on your mental and physical health. So why not give it a try and experience the benefits for yourself?
Meditation music is a popular form of instrumental music that has been proven to benefit people suffering from stress, anxiety, and depressive disorders. It is a form of music that is composed specifically to induce a state of deep relaxation and inner peace.
The calming and soothing effects of meditation music have been recognized across cultures and traditions, with this type of music being used in spiritual practices across the globe. When music is combined with meditation practices, it can help people to clear their minds, relax their bodies, and achieve a state of mindfulness.
Studies have shown that meditation music can have a significant impact on the body and brain. It can help to reduce stress hormones, such as cortisol, and increase the levels of endorphins that promote a sense of calmness and well-being. It can also lower blood pressure, reduce heart rate, and improve sleep quality.
Meditation music has a range of different styles and sounds, including ambient, nature sounds, and Indian meditation music, to name a few. The choice of music largely depends on individual preferences, but it's important to choose something that feels comfortable and facilitates relaxation.
Incorporating meditation music into daily routines can help to promote better mental health, reduce stress levels, and improve overall well-being. It can be enjoyed in a variety of settings, from home to the workplace, and can be a powerful tool to help people manage their stress levels. So why not give it a try and experience the benefits for yourself?
Sleep is the foundation of good health, and a lack of it can cause a host of disorders. In today's fast-paced world, however, getting enough sleep can be a challenge. The good news is that music can help you get the restful slumber you need by calming your mind and relaxing your body.
Sleep music is a type of instrumental music that is designed to induce a state of deep relaxation and facilitate sleep. It is typically slow and repetitive, with a soothing melody that lulls the listener into a peaceful state. The music is played at a soft volume to avoid disrupting sleep.
Sleep music has been proven to be an effective tool in helping people fall asleep faster and stay asleep longer. It can lower stress hormones, reduce heart rate, and promote a sense of calmness. It can also help to block out external noises like traffic, barking dogs or loud neighbors that could disturb sleep.
One of the most effective types of sleep music is binaural beats. Binaural beats are a type of sound wave that can help to synchronize brain waves and promote relaxation. They work by playing two different sounds at different frequencies into each ear, creating a third frequency that the brain synchronizes to. This synchronization can help to induce a state of deep relaxation and sleep.
Sleep music can be enjoyed in many different forms, from traditional instrumental music to more modern ambient and nature sounds. Whatever your preference, it's important to choose something that resonates with you and helps you relax. Incorporating sleep music into your bedtime routine can help you get the restful slumber you need to wake up feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day.
Get the best calm relaxing meditation sleep music at abyzco: youtube.com/@abyzco
2023.06.05 13:09 KooKooKangaRoo42 My Chiari Surgery Experience (Part II) - Emotional Effects
6/5/23 Update (Part II of my Amazing Chiari Recovery Tale): "The Cerebellum Ain't Just About Balance, Baby"
So I want to make something very clear. From here on out, I wouldn't consider this a typical Chiari recovery tale at all anymore. As far as I know, it is not usual to have this level of emotion regulation benefit from a Chiari Surgery. But... that doesn't mean it /can't/ happen. Because clearly it's happened for me.
If you watch Dr. Stieg's "This Is Your Brain Podcast: Chiari in Adults" (the same one that convinced me to drive to NYC for consultation with him:
https://www.youtube.com/live/KyGGoA3Y2ko?feature=share
.... you'll see he takes questions at the end. And one of the questions he answers is about whether there are any big cognitive and emotional effects from Chiari. And he essentially says no -- unless there's hydrocephalus, water on the brain, being caused too, why whould there be? The cerebellum isn't really involved with higher cognitive and emotional stuff. It's more about the balance and all that. Of course, the stress and misery and anxiety of living with any chronic pain condition affects people's mental health. So certainly resolving the Chiari may still sort of indirectly help with their mental health in all sorts of very significant ways.
Ok. Fair enough. But here's where, if I were having an argument with him about this here and now (which I guess I am! Because that's apparently just how I am -- sorry, Dr. Stieg, intending no disrespect to your knowledge and authority -- you're the best!)... I would turn the same phrase he used with me in discussing my physical symptom resolution right back at him: "The proof is in the pudding." What he meant when he used that phrase was that, although of course we are going to do a follow-up MRI in a few months, and see how things stand, the imaging is not really important. The evidence is clear. I had the surgery, and all my physical problems (the crippling head aches and neck aches, the trouble choking on liquids and drooling, the numb/weak hands, episodes of dizziness, etc.) almost instantly resolved. We already know the surgery worked. I would say the proof is in the pudding about the drastic mental health/emotional changes I have experienced since the Chiari decompression as well.
So first, I guess I'm gonna have to get real with ya about the the psychiatric struggles. (Oh well. I never was that private of a person to start. I'll talk to just about anyone about just about anything. Always been that way.) So my struggles in this area, summarized:
I had my first bad episode of depression when I was about 13. There were definite stressors, and I would define it as the worst year of my life. Among the stressors, in brief: I was in 7th grade, first year of junior high. I was HORRIBLY bullied, harassed, and teased by the other kids. Mostly girls. They'd wait for me at my locker in mean girl gaggles, taunt and laugh at me throughout the halls, etc. It was *BAD*. Very bad. I can only speculate as to the reasons I got it so bad. I had gender-non-conforming interests. I hated wearing dresses and didn't like the stupid girl stuff I was supposed to care about. I liked Dungeons & Dragons and fighting video games and would rather hang out with my brother and his friends than any of the boring girls I knew. I kind of felt like I /was/ a boy, actually. No different from my brother. But needless to say, no one else really saw it that way. What they DID see... was that I was different, and not following the rules of what I was supposed to like and how I was supposed to act. And boy. The shit I got for it. Like I said... it was bad. They called me "The Thing" when they passed me in the halls ("Look at that THING! What is it? A boy or a girl? We don't know -- we'll just have to call it THING. Ha ha!"). They harassed and teased me about my breasts, because I was one of the first to develop ("There goes the goddess of puberty -- ha ha, goddess of puberty!") And, of course, I was smart - a nerd - always raising my hand to answer the questions in class - so that probably didn't help my popularity any either.
Anyway. No one ever stuck up for me. There were the kids who actively harassed me, and the ones who desperately avoided me to avoid being associated with me. I had no friends in the 7th grade. I had a few, back in the 6th. But lost them all when the 3 elementary schools got merged into the big junior high or whatever. Absolutely NO ONE thought it would be a good idea to associate with me. And so they didn't. It was SO bad, SO miserable, I thought about doing all kinds of crazy things to escape having to go back to school. Maybe... if I did something REALLY crazy, like stab my brother or something (who, by the way, I adored, but that was how desperate I was - like, you know, just a LITTLE stab wound, just for show) -- they'd just put me in a psych hospital or something and I'd never have to go back to school again? I obviously spent a lot of time thinking about killing myself. My mother ultimately ended up having to move me to an entirely different school because of the level of bullying. And it did help somewhat. (Also, the next year, I met my first boyfriend - which meant that I finally also had a friend - and it's no exaggeration to say that probably saved my life. We were inseparable for the next 3 years. He didn't care that I was a girl who kicked ass at Streetfighter. We spent our time playing Streetfighter together.)
13 was also the year my parents divorced. So like I said. A bad, bad year. And... I know that is about the time when I started to come emotionally off the rails and things changed for me. So I always sort of just assumed... that my brokenness was all the result of this social trauma I'd been through or what not. I mean, we all try to make sense of ourselves and our experiences somehow, through some sort of story, explanation. And that became my self-narrative.
Specifically, the sort of mental health struggles I ended up with were major emotion regulation issues. Like way exaggerated reactions to small things. High level of emotional reactivity, particularly rejection sensitivity, and high level of obsessive-compulsive level rumination and depression. Struggled with these things basically for life since, and always just assumed, well, that's how I am. Guess my experiences broke me, or maybe I was broken for birth. The way I tend to characterize myself in short-hand is as a "mini-borderline." (I'm a genuine licensed psychologist, so I can throw terms like that around if I want to!) And you can look up symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder if you're interested in learning more about that. But here is how I would qualitatively describe my problems:
A high level of emotional immaturity. It is like a 4-year-old child is running the show emotionally. And I can SEE it happening at the time (I have no problem with my higher cognitive functions!) -- I can no I am being ridiculous, over-reacting, being childish, whatever, but I unfortunately can't CONTROL that reaction. My stunted capacity for emotional regulation lost me a lot of friends. A lot of relationships. I was "too much" for a lot of people to deal with in that way. When I was sad, I was *TOO* intensely sad, boyfriends told me. SCARY sad. I was clingy. I was needy. I couldn't self-soothe. I hated being alone more than anything. My 4-year-old emotional self was always quivering in fear and always looking for somebody to save them. But there was never anybody around when they desperately needed that comfort and reassurance.
No problem with higher cognitive capacities. And was always of course embarrassed, ashamed, and so on for knowing there was something wrong with me and I wasn't able to function like other people in a "mature" emotional way. But I couldn't change it. Not after more than 10 years of Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy or Dialective Behavioral Therapy or insight-oriented therapy or trauma-based therapy. Not after trying a dozen different anti-depressants and mood stabilizers. I guessed it was just who I was. I guessed I was just too broken by my trauma history or whatever to ever really fix.
And that was the story I told myself. To make sense of who I was and why.
Only... what IF. It had never really been true. What if... there had been a pretty significant organic component the whole entire time? What if it had a little something to do with my brain sliding into my spinal canal and blocking CSF flow? Well... let's talk about the what-if.
In doing my week of deep-dive research into Chiari (since being diagnosed on 5/5/23, and meeting with Dr. Stieg for MRI review and consultation on 5/18), I learned a thing or two about Chiari
For example, I learned from Dr. Judy Hwang at Johns Hopkins
https://youtu.be/xQjToJy4LO8
... that although Chiari is congenital, there is OFTEN a particular moment that people can remember that triggered their symptoms. That these are often things like head blows and whiplash. (Which, of course, makes total sense. The force of the incident made the herniation worse, or as she mentions, due to the Chiari the person probably doesn't have the natural reserve of CSF that they should bathing and protecting the brain either.
And I learned this. That there's a good amount of evidence to show the cerebellum ain't just about balance, baby:
https://www.imrpress.com/journal/JIN/17/4/10.31083/j.jin.2018.04.0414/htm
"Recently, different studies have provided evidence that the presence of cerebellar degeneration or stroke may involve cognitive deficits beyond motor impairment, including the ability to form concepts and other language disorders [1, 2], impairment in executive functions [3], and visuospatial deficits [4], accompanied in many cases by a regressive personality, and emotional lability or dramatic mood swings."
[...] "cerebellar cognitive affective syndrome described by Schmahmann and Sherman [5] as characterized by the following: (a) Disturbances of executive function, including deficient planning, set-shifting, abstract reasoning, working memory, and decreased verbal fluency, (b) Impaired spatial cognition, including visuospatial disorganization and impaired visuospatial memory, (c) Linguistic difficulties, including dysprosodia, agrammatism, and mild anomia, and (d) Personality change, characterized by flattening or blunting of affect, and disinhibited or inappropriate behavior. [...] Personality changes include flattening or blunting of affect, disinhibited behaviors, such as over-familiarity, flamboyance, impulsive actions, humorous but inappropriate and flippant comments, regressive, childlike behaviors, and obsessive-compulsive traits."
Now, far be it from me to gain-say personal hero and actual expert in the field Dr. Philip Stieg (those who know me are probably laughing -- I am the sort of person who will argue with anyone about anything. KIND of a favorite personal hobby, and at times a bit annoying, as I'm sure my family and friends would attest). I know he said in that lecture that Chiari wouldn't be expected to have significant cognitive or emotional effects unless hydrocephalus was also at play.
And maybe this is all just simple, 100% placebo effect. And the seemingly miraculous benefits will all fade away soon. I'm just sayng... since waking up from my Chiari surgery, my mood has been wonderful. Calm, happy. No more depression, anxious rumination, weird obsessive-compulsive fixations... I kept assuming, of course, that this was just a temporary effect of pain medications, or muscle relaxant medications, or steroids, or SOMETHING. Maybe the steroids had triggered a hypomanic high, as the body's hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis was working on straightening itself back out. Maybe it was just the VAST, VAST relief of pretty much all the physical pain and problems that had been torturing me for the past 7 years suddenly being gone. I mean, obviously a mood this great wasn't actually going to LAST. Right? But nice to enjoy it while it does, anyway. I literallly called my first week after surgery "magical." My magical week. Emotionally calm and happy in a way I literally could not remember EVER having experienced. Sure, my neck and skull had been split open and hurt a little. But I honestly didn't care. I just felt so overall good. And DIFFERENT, emotionally. And it manifested in all kinds of little ways
I told you about my 4-year-old child emotional part. Always needy and scared. It's practically like I have no sense of object-permanence - like within a few days of a friend being out of sight, I can't even be sure that they exist anymore. And so that causes a lot of issues for me with this one particularly close friend of ours. He's not really a caller or a texter or a stay in touch type. Which has caused me all kinds of misery and struggles, because of my own emotional deficits and neediness. But.... from the moment I woke up from surgery. I didn't /have/ that constant quivering 4-year-old fear anymore. I knew this friend was my friend and cared about me. I knew I'd seem him again soon, even if not right then. It was completely, competely different. Another example -- weird obsessive-compulsive stuff around eating. I would often be petrified with fear, due to this overpowering conviction that if I got too fat, no one would love me anymore. I'd do weird highly unhealthy restricted eating and over-exercising things when I got into that mode because I was just so fixated on it and terrified about it. Another 5 lbs, and maybe no one would be capable of loving me anymore.
I noticed immediately after the Chiari surgery I had no concerns about it. I was able to eat when I was hungry without any worry at all. I knew people would love me whether I was fat or not. It had nothing to do with whether my friends (or my husband) loved me. I could just like... eat like a normal person without worrying about it at all. As much as I wanted. Whenever I was hungry. So nice, right???
So even though I warned myself not to get ahead of myself, and that these were probably just temporary effects of feeling a whole hell of a lot of instant pain relief... as the days passed... and passed... and I remained content and happy and basically didn't have ANY of my former mental health struggles at all... I began to wonder if something else had really been going on here all along. And thinking back, and back, on when my real mood regulation difficulties first began. Age 13. And what Dr. Judy Hwang had said about trauma. About a lot of people being able to recall a particular trauma -- head blow, whiplash -- around the time their symptoms began. And then I remembered something that I'd never even told Dr. Stieg about my history -- because it hadn't fit the personal narrative I'd created, right, of my own emotional struggles, and I'd kind of forgotten about it.
I *did* have my first traumatic brain injury at age 13. My family was frolicking at a winter party and we foolishly decided it would be a good idea to try to navigate this metal canoe down this steep icy hill as a sled. We hit a tree. I hit my head and was have thrown out. I was unconcious and seizing on the ground. I had a bit of a headache and concussion afterward, but doc said I could count down by 7s, and was probably fine.
What if I had Chiari to start, and it was worse herniated by the TBI, and *that* is why all the real emotional struggles began for me at that time? And what if it had been this cognitive-affective cerebellar syndrome thing *ALL* the goddamned time, my whole entire life since? I've had MORE trauma since, whiplash from car accident in recent years, so that could again explain a worsening of herniation and rapid escalation of symptoms in recent years.
Another thing I wonder about is my severe visual-spacial deficits. I am one of those people who can drive a route every day, a thousand times, and still need a GPS to get there. I have a true disability in that regard. I wonder if that has anything to do with the Chiari. I wonder if that should have been a clue all along to the organic nature of the problem
So I am still thinking, and processing, and exploring, and figuring out.
But the excting upshot is, it really DOES appear so far that the Chiari surgery solved not only all my PHYSICAL problems... but emotional problems I'd been struggling with since the age of 13 as well.
Here's another thing in favor of a cerebellar cognitive-affective syndrome being a significant cotributing cause toward my emotional regulation issues. Let's look at what happened with my mood the first week post-surgery:
Day 1 (5/24): (immediately after waking up from surgery)
A little lability. That night at dinner, I cried because I couldn't get the food cart slid over enough over the hospital bed to eat without dropping two pieces of saucy pasta on my night shirt, and couldn't move my neck more forward to eat because of the surgery. (My husband solved the problem by holding the plate close to my mouth while I ate. Thanks, dear. After food I felt better.
Day 2 (5/25): Wonderful mood
Day 3 (5/26): Wonderful mood
Day 4 (5/27): Wonderful mood
Day 5 (5/28): Wonderful mood
Day 6 (5/29): Wonderful mood
Day 7 (5/30): Wonderful mood
Day 8 (5/31): Wonderful mood.
So 8 days of consecutive great mood and none of my typica emotional issues or struggles.
BUT then... we have Day 9. 6/1. When I started to feel really terrible. In all the ways I /usually/ feel terrible again. Here's an excerpt I was writing to my friend about it: "Well, first major downturn in mood last night at about 10:30 pm. I guess I am still me. And Chiari surgery didn’t fix EVERYTHING. I was feeling *SO* good for a few days I guess I must have left my hopes get a little unrealistically high." Back to pacing, crying, agitated, depressive rumination, feeling that nobody loved me. Like I'd always felt before. Assumed that was going to be the end of my "magical" post-surgery week.
Except that... it WASN'T the end of my happy mood bubble. I continued feeling pretty good every day since then. But you know what WAS different that night? The one night I felt so terrible? I'd apparently developed a strep infection. So that gets you thinking, doesn't it? An infection, causing maybe some swelling... and triggering a return to symptoms like I had always had before. Strep was treated with antibiotics and my mood has continued to be wonderful since, with no returns to the old emotional troubles since. No depresssion, my extreme mood reactivity, no anxious panicky feelings of friends "disappearing" when they are out of my side. Just a seemingly full and complete ability to emotionally process as an adult rather than a 4-year-old.
So. Could all those emotion regulation problems REALLY just have been the result of cerebellar cognitive-affective syndrome? What story do I tell myself now? About why I have always been the way I have... and how that has suddenly so drastically changed?
And kind of drastic it is. Let me give you an example of my typical emotional functioning before Chiari surgery was like.
Strep/swollen brain night (old brain): "Boo hoo, I have no friends, my friend's aren't talking to me, nobody loves me, I have no friends, no cards." Followed by rantic pacing and crying. I then proceeded to send one of my dearest friends an e-mail accusing him of wishing I had died or clearly not caring at all if I had. (Clingy, terrified 4-year-old clearly driving the emotional truck. It is embarrassing, the way that 4-year-old acts. But I could never control it.
And then here, for point of comparison, is my emotional functioning AFTER Chiari surgery: (once I got the strep infection sorted) New Chiari-fixed brain: "Wow. I should probably let all my friends know what's going on." Proceeds to email 15 friends and tell them what is going on, receiving lots of instant emails and concern and support from everyone and one particularly impressive get well bouquet.
It seems like it iso much easier for me to function like a reasonable, emotionally mature adult and process emotional information appropriately. Now that brain is no longer falling down my spine. And I guess that's really maybe not so suprising, right??
So overall, I continue to be amazed and delighted by the results of my surgery. But there is really a LOT to process here. I feel like a whole brand new person, a Version 2.0. I hope my friends like the new me! It is definitely going to take some time to get to know this new me myself. But don't get me wrong -- I totally can't wait to get started!!
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So I want to make something very clear. From here on out, I wouldn't consider this a typical Chiari recovery tale at all anymore. As far as I know, it is not usual to have this level of emotion regulation benefit from a Chiari Surgery. But... that doesn't mean it /can't/ happen. Because clearly it's happened for me.
If you watch Dr. Stieg's "This Is Your Brain Podcast: Chiari in Adults" (the same one that convinced me to drive to NYC for consultation with him:
https://www.youtube.com/live/KyGGoA3Y2ko?feature=share
.... you'll see he takes questions at the end. And one of the questions he answers is about whether there are any big cognitive and emotional effects from Chiari. And he essentially says no -- unless there's hydrocephalus, water on the brain, being caused too, why whould there be? The cerebellum isn't really involved with higher cognitive and emotional stuff. It's more about the balance and all that. Of course, the stress and misery and anxiety of living with any chronic pain condition affects people's mental health. So certainly resolving the Chiari may still sort of indirectly help with their mental health in all sorts of very significant ways.
Ok. Fair enough. But here's where, if I were having an argument with him about this here and now (which I guess I am! Because that's apparently just how I am -- sorry, Dr. Stieg, intending no disrespect to your knowledge and authority -- you're the best!)... I would turn the same phrase he used with me in discussing my physical symptom resolution right back at him: "The proof is in the pudding." What he meant when he used that phrase was that, although of course we are going to do a follow-up MRI in a few months, and see how things stand, the imaging is not really important. The evidence is clear. I had the surgery, and all my physical problems (the crippling head aches and neck aches, the trouble choking on liquids and drooling, the numb/weak hands, episodes of dizziness, etc.) almost instantly resolved. We already know the surgery worked. I would say the proof is in the pudding about the drastic mental health/emotional changes I have experienced since the Chiari decompression as well.
So first, I guess I'm gonna have to get real with ya about the the psychiatric struggles. (Oh well. I never was that private of a person to start. I'll talk to just about anyone about just about anything. Always been that way.) So my struggles in this area, summarized:
I had my first bad episode of depression when I was about 13. There were definite stressors, and I would define it as the worst year of my life. Among the stressors, in brief: I was in 7th grade, first year of junior high. I was HORRIBLY bullied, harassed, and teased by the other kids. Mostly girls. They'd wait for me at my locker in mean girl gaggles, taunt and laugh at me throughout the halls, etc. It was *BAD*. Very bad. I can only speculate as to the reasons I got it so bad. I had gender-non-conforming interests. I hated wearing dresses and didn't like the stupid girl stuff I was supposed to care about. I liked Dungeons & Dragons and fighting video games and would rather hang out with my brother and his friends than any of the boring girls I knew. I kind of felt like I /was/ a boy, actually. No different from my brother. But needless to say, no one else really saw it that way. What they DID see... was that I was different, and not following the rules of what I was supposed to like and how I was supposed to act. And boy. The shit I got for it. Like I said... it was bad. They called me "The Thing" when they passed me in the halls ("Look at that THING! What is it? A boy or a girl? We don't know -- we'll just have to call it THING. Ha ha!"). They harassed and teased me about my breasts, because I was one of the first to develop ("There goes the goddess of puberty -- ha ha, goddess of puberty!") And, of course, I was smart - a nerd - always raising my hand to answer the questions in class - so that probably didn't help my popularity any either.
Anyway. No one ever stuck up for me. There were the kids who actively harassed me, and the ones who desperately avoided me to avoid being associated with me. I had no friends in the 7th grade. I had a few, back in the 6th. But lost them all when the 3 elementary schools got merged into the big junior high or whatever. Absolutely NO ONE thought it would be a good idea to associate with me. And so they didn't. It was SO bad, SO miserable, I thought about doing all kinds of crazy things to escape having to go back to school. Maybe... if I did something REALLY crazy, like stab my brother or something (who, by the way, I adored, but that was how desperate I was - like, you know, just a LITTLE stab wound, just for show) -- they'd just put me in a psych hospital or something and I'd never have to go back to school again? I obviously spent a lot of time thinking about killing myself. My mother ultimately ended up having to move me to an entirely different school because of the level of bullying. And it did help somewhat. (Also, the next year, I met my first boyfriend - which meant that I finally also had a friend - and it's no exaggeration to say that probably saved my life. We were inseparable for the next 3 years. He didn't care that I was a girl who kicked ass at Streetfighter. We spent our time playing Streetfighter together.)
13 was also the year my parents divorced. So like I said. A bad, bad year. And... I know that is about the time when I started to come emotionally off the rails and things changed for me. So I always sort of just assumed... that my brokenness was all the result of this social trauma I'd been through or what not. I mean, we all try to make sense of ourselves and our experiences somehow, through some sort of story, explanation. And that became my self-narrative.
Specifically, the sort of mental health struggles I ended up with were major emotion regulation issues. Like way exaggerated reactions to small things. High level of emotional reactivity, particularly rejection sensitivity, and high level of obsessive-compulsive level rumination and depression. Struggled with these things basically for life since, and always just assumed, well, that's how I am. Guess my experiences broke me, or maybe I was broken for birth. The way I tend to characterize myself in short-hand is as a "mini-borderline." (I'm a genuine licensed psychologist, so I can throw terms like that around if I want to!) And you can look up symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder if you're interested in learning more about that. But here is how I would qualitatively describe my problems:
A high level of emotional immaturity. It is like a 4-year-old child is running the show emotionally. And I can SEE it happening at the time (I have no problem with my higher cognitive functions!) -- I can no I am being ridiculous, over-reacting, being childish, whatever, but I unfortunately can't CONTROL that reaction. My stunted capacity for emotional regulation lost me a lot of friends. A lot of relationships. I was "too much" for a lot of people to deal with in that way. When I was sad, I was *TOO* intensely sad, boyfriends told me. SCARY sad. I was clingy. I was needy. I couldn't self-soothe. I hated being alone more than anything. My 4-year-old emotional self was always quivering in fear and always looking for somebody to save them. But there was never anybody around when they desperately needed that comfort and reassurance.
No problem with higher cognitive capacities. And was always of course embarrassed, ashamed, and so on for knowing there was something wrong with me and I wasn't able to function like other people in a "mature" emotional way. But I couldn't change it. Not after more than 10 years of Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy or Dialective Behavioral Therapy or insight-oriented therapy or trauma-based therapy. Not after trying a dozen different anti-depressants and mood stabilizers. I guessed it was just who I was. I guessed I was just too broken by my trauma history or whatever to ever really fix.
And that was the story I told myself. To make sense of who I was and why.
Only... what IF. It had never really been true. What if... there had been a pretty significant organic component the whole entire time? What if it had a little something to do with my brain sliding into my spinal canal and blocking CSF flow? Well... let's talk about the what-if.
In doing my week of deep-dive research into Chiari (since being diagnosed on 5/5/23, and meeting with Dr. Stieg for MRI review and consultation on 5/18), I learned a thing or two about Chiari
For example, I learned from Dr. Judy Hwang at Johns Hopkins
https://youtu.be/xQjToJy4LO8
... that although Chiari is congenital, there is OFTEN a particular moment that people can remember that triggered their symptoms. That these are often things like head blows and whiplash. (Which, of course, makes total sense. The force of the incident made the herniation worse, or as she mentions, due to the Chiari the person probably doesn't have the natural reserve of CSF that they should bathing and protecting the brain either.
And I learned this. That there's a good amount of evidence to show the cerebellum ain't just about balance, baby:
https://www.imrpress.com/journal/JIN/17/4/10.31083/j.jin.2018.04.0414/htm
"Recently, different studies have provided evidence that the presence of cerebellar degeneration or stroke may involve cognitive deficits beyond motor impairment, including the ability to form concepts and other language disorders [1, 2], impairment in executive functions [3], and visuospatial deficits [4], accompanied in many cases by a regressive personality, and emotional lability or dramatic mood swings."
[...] "cerebellar cognitive affective syndrome described by Schmahmann and Sherman [5] as characterized by the following: (a) Disturbances of executive function, including deficient planning, set-shifting, abstract reasoning, working memory, and decreased verbal fluency, (b) Impaired spatial cognition, including visuospatial disorganization and impaired visuospatial memory, (c) Linguistic difficulties, including dysprosodia, agrammatism, and mild anomia, and (d) Personality change, characterized by flattening or blunting of affect, and disinhibited or inappropriate behavior. [...] Personality changes include flattening or blunting of affect, disinhibited behaviors, such as over-familiarity, flamboyance, impulsive actions, humorous but inappropriate and flippant comments, regressive, childlike behaviors, and obsessive-compulsive traits."
Now, far be it from me to gain-say personal hero and actual expert in the field Dr. Philip Stieg (those who know me are probably laughing -- I am the sort of person who will argue with anyone about anything. KIND of a favorite personal hobby, and at times a bit annoying, as I'm sure my family and friends would attest). I know he said in that lecture that Chiari wouldn't be expected to have significant cognitive or emotional effects unless hydrocephalus was also at play.
And maybe this is all just simple, 100% placebo effect. And the seemingly miraculous benefits will all fade away soon. I'm just sayng... since waking up from my Chiari surgery, my mood has been wonderful. Calm, happy. No more depression, anxious rumination, weird obsessive-compulsive fixations... I kept assuming, of course, that this was just a temporary effect of pain medications, or muscle relaxant medications, or steroids, or SOMETHING. Maybe the steroids had triggered a hypomanic high, as the body's hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis was working on straightening itself back out. Maybe it was just the VAST, VAST relief of pretty much all the physical pain and problems that had been torturing me for the past 7 years suddenly being gone. I mean, obviously a mood this great wasn't actually going to LAST. Right? But nice to enjoy it while it does, anyway. I literallly called my first week after surgery "magical." My magical week. Emotionally calm and happy in a way I literally could not remember EVER having experienced. Sure, my neck and skull had been split open and hurt a little. But I honestly didn't care. I just felt so overall good. And DIFFERENT, emotionally. And it manifested in all kinds of little ways
I told you about my 4-year-old child emotional part. Always needy and scared. It's practically like I have no sense of object-permanence - like within a few days of a friend being out of sight, I can't even be sure that they exist anymore. And so that causes a lot of issues for me with this one particularly close friend of ours. He's not really a caller or a texter or a stay in touch type. Which has caused me all kinds of misery and struggles, because of my own emotional deficits and neediness. But.... from the moment I woke up from surgery. I didn't /have/ that constant quivering 4-year-old fear anymore. I knew this friend was my friend and cared about me. I knew I'd seem him again soon, even if not right then. It was completely, competely different. Another example -- weird obsessive-compulsive stuff around eating. I would often be petrified with fear, due to this overpowering conviction that if I got too fat, no one would love me anymore. I'd do weird highly unhealthy restricted eating and over-exercising things when I got into that mode because I was just so fixated on it and terrified about it. Another 5 lbs, and maybe no one would be capable of loving me anymore.
I noticed immediately after the Chiari surgery I had no concerns about it. I was able to eat when I was hungry without any worry at all. I knew people would love me whether I was fat or not. It had nothing to do with whether my friends (or my husband) loved me. I could just like... eat like a normal person without worrying about it at all. As much as I wanted. Whenever I was hungry. So nice, right???
So even though I warned myself not to get ahead of myself, and that these were probably just temporary effects of feeling a whole hell of a lot of instant pain relief... as the days passed... and passed... and I remained content and happy and basically didn't have ANY of my former mental health struggles at all... I began to wonder if something else had really been going on here all along. And thinking back, and back, on when my real mood regulation difficulties first began. Age 13. And what Dr. Judy Hwang had said about trauma. About a lot of people being able to recall a particular trauma -- head blow, whiplash -- around the time their symptoms began. And then I remembered something that I'd never even told Dr. Stieg about my history -- because it hadn't fit the personal narrative I'd created, right, of my own emotional struggles, and I'd kind of forgotten about it.
I *did* have my first traumatic brain injury at age 13. My family was frolicking at a winter party and we foolishly decided it would be a good idea to try to navigate this metal canoe down this steep icy hill as a sled. We hit a tree. I hit my head and was have thrown out. I was unconcious and seizing on the ground. I had a bit of a headache and concussion afterward, but doc said I could count down by 7s, and was probably fine.
What if I had Chiari to start, and it was worse herniated by the TBI, and *that* is why all the real emotional struggles began for me at that time? And what if it had been this cognitive-affective cerebellar syndrome thing *ALL* the goddamned time, my whole entire life since? I've had MORE trauma since, whiplash from car accident in recent years, so that could again explain a worsening of herniation and rapid escalation of symptoms in recent years.
Another thing I wonder about is my severe visual-spacial deficits. I am one of those people who can drive a route every day, a thousand times, and still need a GPS to get there. I have a true disability in that regard. I wonder if that has anything to do with the Chiari. I wonder if that should have been a clue all along to the organic nature of the problem
So I am still thinking, and processing, and exploring, and figuring out.
But the excting upshot is, it really DOES appear so far that the Chiari surgery solved not only all my PHYSICAL problems... but emotional problems I'd been struggling with since the age of 13 as well.
Here's another thing in favor of a cerebellar cognitive-affective syndrome being a significant cotributing cause toward my emotional regulation issues. Let's look at what happened with my mood the first week post-surgery:
Day 1 (5/24): (immediately after waking up from surgery)
A little lability. That night at dinner, I cried because I couldn't get the food cart slid over enough over the hospital bed to eat without dropping two pieces of saucy pasta on my night shirt, and couldn't move my neck more forward to eat because of the surgery. (My husband solved the problem by holding the plate close to my mouth while I ate. Thanks, dear. After food I felt better.
Day 2 (5/25): Wonderful mood
Day 3 (5/26): Wonderful mood
Day 4 (5/27): Wonderful mood
Day 5 (5/28): Wonderful mood
Day 6 (5/29): Wonderful mood
Day 7 (5/30): Wonderful mood
Day 8 (5/31): Wonderful mood.
So 8 days of consecutive great mood and none of my typica emotional issues or struggles.
BUT then... we have Day 9. 6/1. When I started to feel really terrible. In all the ways I /usually/ feel terrible again. Here's an excerpt I was writing to my friend about it: "Well, first major downturn in mood last night at about 10:30 pm. I guess I am still me. And Chiari surgery didn’t fix EVERYTHING. I was feeling *SO* good for a few days I guess I must have left my hopes get a little unrealistically high." Back to pacing, crying, agitated, depressive rumination, feeling that nobody loved me. Like I'd always felt before. Assumed that was going to be the end of my "magical" post-surgery week.
Except that... it WASN'T the end of my happy mood bubble. I continued feeling pretty good every day since then. But you know what WAS different that night? The one night I felt so terrible? I'd apparently developed a strep infection. So that gets you thinking, doesn't it? An infection, causing maybe some swelling... and triggering a return to symptoms like I had always had before. Strep was treated with antibiotics and my mood has continued to be wonderful since, with no returns to the old emotional troubles since. No depresssion, my extreme mood reactivity, no anxious panicky feelings of friends "disappearing" when they are out of my side. Just a seemingly full and complete ability to emotionally process as an adult rather than a 4-year-old.
So. Could all those emotion regulation problems REALLY just have been the result of cerebellar cognitive-affective syndrome? What story do I tell myself now? About why I have always been the way I have... and how that has suddenly so drastically changed?
And kind of drastic it is. Let me give you an example of my typical emotional functioning before Chiari surgery was like.
Strep/swollen brain night (old brain): "Boo hoo, I have no friends, my friend's aren't talking to me, nobody loves me, I have no friends, no cards." Followed by rantic pacing and crying. I then proceeded to send one of my dearest friends an e-mail accusing him of wishing I had died or clearly not caring at all if I had. (Clingy, terrified 4-year-old clearly driving the emotional truck. It is embarrassing, the way that 4-year-old acts. But I could never control it.
And then here, for point of comparison, is my emotional functioning AFTER Chiari surgery: (once I got the strep infection sorted) New Chiari-fixed brain: "Wow. I should probably let all my friends know what's going on." Proceeds to email 15 friends and tell them what is going on, receiving lots of instant emails and concern and support from everyone and one particularly impressive get well bouquet.
It seems like it iso much easier for me to function like a reasonable, emotionally mature adult and process emotional information appropriately. Now that brain is no longer falling down my spine. And I guess that's really maybe not so suprising, right??
So overall, I continue to be amazed and delighted by the results of my surgery. But there is really a LOT to process here. I feel like a whole brand new person, a Version 2.0. I hope my friends like the new me! It is definitely going to take some time to get to know this new me myself. But don't get me wrong -- I totally can't wait to get started!!
2023.06.05 12:45 EmergencyAnxiety5228 My brother calls me fat to make himself feel better
My brother works out every day so he’s really fit and muscular. Meanwhile I stopped a couple years ago so I’m on the higher side of average (5’4 and 117 pounds, pretty skinny fat basically but you can’t tell if I wear a normal shirt, tho my shoulders do look kinda chubby at certain angles)
It annoys me because my brother has started to call me fat and grab my arm/take close up pictures of my arms and show me the pictures grinning and saying I’m fat. I think it makes him feel good cuz his arms are rly fit. It really pisses me off, and I haven’t really felt insecure of my arms until now. How do I handle this?
submitted by EmergencyAnxiety5228 to Advice [link] [comments]
It annoys me because my brother has started to call me fat and grab my arm/take close up pictures of my arms and show me the pictures grinning and saying I’m fat. I think it makes him feel good cuz his arms are rly fit. It really pisses me off, and I haven’t really felt insecure of my arms until now. How do I handle this?
2023.06.05 12:09 clementheng Double Bed Room. Winfow Facing outside
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