I live in SW Missouri in a town so small that it is still labeled as a village. So I thought I had narrowed it down to the miasis of tiny gnats or mothflies. But it just keeps getting weirder. I took 6 3mg ivermectin once a week for two weeks and cannot get any more without a visit to my primary but after searching the internet I'm terrified of being labeled with delusional parasitosis. Nothing here delusional or made up though. If nobody can positively ID this for me, please tell me of a legitimate and affordable online doctor, parasitologist, or entomologist that can lead me in the right direction? For the luvvvvv, just please? It all started with a terrible stinging when standing on the carpet of my new house about 3 months after moving in (mid March to early April to be exact) I washed EVERRRRYYYYYTHING with lysol and bleach additives and then dried everything, so hot that some of it melted and nothing fits. I then found something I thought was a wet louse of some sort(dont judge me, I'm not well educated in the way of bugs) I have kids though, so this kind of made sense, even though nobody was itching,but upon inspection there were no lice. Later I had that photo identified as a miniscule fly larvae of some sort resembling a bot fly. I sprayed and fogged and slept at hotels for over a week. Then I saw what looked like teeny tiny pieces of thread or hair with a bulbous end disappearing into the threads of my clothing and into the skin of my inner upper arm. I FREAKED out. And then the abundance of f*king LINT. Not just a little,like youd get from putting a new sweater through the laundry the forst time, but a LOTTTTTT of it, and in these weird little almost uniformly oblong round pieces. Everywhere. On the edges of door frames,in underpants, on fresh linen sheets...And it stings? What????? Oh no, not morgellans! I'm in school to be a mental and behavioral health professional and that diagnosis could potentially stunt (or even ruin) my future career. Then things just kept changing. I'm pretty sure I hatched an almost microscopic winged insect out of a mystery scab on my elbow and just about convinced myself I was absolutely bat-sht gone. I have strange new freckles where the stinging originally occured, but they change shape when pinched. I pinch them because I don't have freckles. I peeled one the other day, painfully, and it looks like a teeny tiny whale in the picture? Seriously.I know that sounds stupid, but it does. Then I started getting these terribly itchy but tiny blisters around my feet and under my arms. I pulled weird things out of those blisters that look almost like mosquito pupa when I put them in a dish with some water. Then I developed some weird volcano type marks with dark centers on my thighs and upper arms(where clothing sits) and again thought it was some minute form of miasis. Then I found a strange tiny black cacoon in my hair (that always itches and pulls for no visible reason by now)then I find that all of my scabs kinda look like a one eyed fish (or cartoon bird maybe?). I'll post pictures of it all, from start to finish here and in the comments. I'm not really crazy but I'm debating pretending like I am so somebody will sedate me and place me in a medical facility where surely somebody will notice these things happening to my body? Ahhh. I don't know what to do. I know some people on this page have had some of these symptoms because I've read all of their posts. I don't have any weird hairs or fibers coming from anywhere. I hope I never do.. but this needs to be figured out and stopped. I saw a strange new 'freckle' on my 12 yo daughters leg this afternoon- who doesnt have freckles- and I'm teetering on the ledge of 'toooooo much' at this point. Not my friggn babies. Somebody HAS to have some type of answers or a map to somebody who does. Please help me. Pictures 1,2,10,11,16 and 17 are from my nose 🤮 number 13,14,and 15 are some of the tiny cacoons from my hair 😭 picture 20 is the freckle I scraped out of my leg that dried to look like a weird tiny whale that looks exactly like #18 that came out of my nose. The rest are the same weird fish or bird shape that are the stinging scabs or itching, and almost invisible tiny flecks on my skin. Puhleeeeeez help me. This is SOMEthing. It's not nothing.

The World's first tooth-regrowing drug will be given to humans in September
“Well, I must say your body of work is quite impressive Dr. Branson, and we're excited for the opportunity to coordinate and collaborate with your lab.” Dr. Meyers smiled as she held out her hand to shake that of the lead researcher she was visiting. Dr. Branson returned the handshake, although she could detect a poorly-hidden nervousness beyond what she would have anticipated for a routine, if important, meeting.
“So, let's get down to brass tacks then: You've got data on the progress of your tooth-regeneration drug then?”
“Well, it's not just a drug, but more like a tuned cocktail. But yes, I've got the data here, particularly the initial animal testing we had performed to determine the beginning human dosages.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I will admit, this is my first time developing a drug all the way to clinical trials like this. My expertise is typically in handing them off well before this point, so you'll have to forgive me if I seem a bit nervous.”
Dr. Meyers fanned herself with the paper she'd printed out to read, hopefully on the Uber drive home. The summer heat in the poorly-ventilated university offices was starting to get noticeable, and she was grateful as Branson flipped on a reticulating fan stationed near the door of the small conference room he led her into.
Smiling, Branson started up the projector and loaded his presentation, saying briefly “I'll just skip past these parts. These are more for introducing our project and team to faculty administration,” he said, mashing the advance button several times until he finally stopped as an image of a white lab mouse appeared onscreen.
“We began our initial testing after computer analysis of predicted drug interactions and enhancers to determine gene regions of interest we wanted to upregulate and enhance. We knew we needed to shift to animal models almost immediately to begin identifying which drug cocktails had the highest effectiveness.”
For the first time since learning of the project and joining the group, Meyers could feel a shadow of doubt flicker across her mind. She did her best not to treat her colleague like a graduate student she was grilling for a doctoral defense, but rather give him the honest question she had.
“Branson, there are many different animal models to choose from, but rodents have a markedly-different dental growth pattern and morphology than humans. Was that considered in choosing them?”
“We knew animal models might prove imperfect, and knew it was a risk, but the issue was that the data we were working from was incomplete in terms of what treatments would produce what effects and in what ratios. We had plenty of petri-dish examples of what kind of cocktails best encouraged growth of bone or enamel individually, but ensuring that our data was identifying a candidate that produced both and without an inordinate-impact on morphology was what caused us to need to go into animal models shooting blind.”
She now saw why some colleagues had expressed surprise that she was going to be working with Branson’s lab. Dr. Branson, for his part, appeared not not too perturbed by Dr. Meyers’s concerns.
“While we would normally have significant issues in dental comparisons using an unmodified wild-type mouse, we actually have been using a specific variant that was bred to study human dental bone disease. Specifically, it's chimeric for human dentition and approximate structure.”
“I'm sorry, what?”
“It might be easier if I show you,” he said, clicking to the next slide. There, Dr. Meyers could feel an involuntary shudder as she saw a dissected mouse skull, showing that rather than the smaller side teeth and the two large characteristic incisors in the front, instead there was a haphazard semicircle of tiny little teeth. Some were canines, other human-style incisors, and yet more looked like miniature human molars. It resembled a hodge-podge attempt to mimic a human mouth and teeth by someone who was working with magazine cutouts of each tooth and a shaking and unsteady hand.
“It’s not perfect, of course, but genetically we found it to be quite consistent with performance and expression in human mouths. So yes, while we are starting with a bit of a blind shot in the dark, it's far less than you might expect.”
Dr. Meyers was still unsettled by the appearance of a human mouth inside a tiny mouse head, and tried and failed to not imagine the tiny mouth smiling, a horrific Photoshop come to life.
“Additionally,” he said, “It still retains quite a bit of plasticity and resilience to aberrant dental configurations, thanks to the already quite durable nature of the native mouse mouth structure.”
“Meaning?” asked Dr. Meyers.
“Meaning that despite fewer successes than we had initially hoped for, the survival rate of the mice is almost 100%, barring a few edge cases. Almost all the mice you see here are ones we still have and keep under study, even if their specific cocktail treatments proved to be failures.”
She leaned back, and finally starting to barely get used to the idea of weird little human mouths in tiny mice. “Might as well show me what you 've been able to produce so far.”
“Certainly,” said Dr. Branson, smiling as he advanced to the next section. “So to begin with, we had to determine the best administration route.”
“Oh,” said Dr. Meyers. “Wouldn’t intravenous be the preferred method this early in testing?”
“Well, we weren't sure on the uptake rate, so we decided to do the initial tests with groups given it both intravenously or orally. The drug is GI-tract stable.”
“That's good,” said Dr. Meyers, “But I'm also getting a distinct feeling there's a ‘But’?”
“Unfortunately, it appears the drugs are locally reactive,” he said. “While the mice may have robust and resilient to disruptions to their mouth structure, they had significantly less robustness for their vascular and gastrointestinal structures.”
He advanced the slide again, and Dr. Meyers could feel a bit of bile rising the back of her throat upon seeing the dissections of the unfortunate deceased mice. THere were tiny circulatory systems covered with hundreds or maybe even thousands of tiny tiny teeth lining the inside of the veins and arteries. For the ones that had the oral administration, these instead showed teeth coating the throat and stomach lining, and leading into and part way down the intestinal tract.
“Suffice to say all subsequent treatments were directly topical, and I'm pleased to announce we had no further mice that passed away due to the treatments.”
Dr. Meyers nodded slowly as he advanced a slide into the next section. “The first challenge after that was figuring out the specific cocktail ratio controlling dentical scale.”
“Scale?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Wouldn't that be inherently controlled by the phenotypic expression?”
“Well, normally and unaltered, yes,” said Dr. Branson, “But in this case, the cocktail is capable of overriding that, as we found out with these subjects. The two most extreme examples are shown here.”
The slides revealed a mouse with an open mouth and Dr. Meyers stared in amazement as she could see that the image revealed the mouse had only two teeth: enormous molars, one for each jaw, that effectively spanned the entire width and breadth of the roof and base of the mouth. “There were some hindrance issues related to the tongue and its proper development here,” said Dr. Branson, “But we felt this was at least a marked step in the right direction compared to the non-topical applications.”
The other picture showed a mouse with an open mouth that at first appeared just simply have white gums.Then the picture changed again, to show a confocal microscope view zooming in to reveal thousands of teeth and teeth-like structures dotting it like sandpaper.
“A little bit of figuring for the exact ratios and the proportions, and we were capable of hitting the scalar value almost exactly,” said Dr. Branson eagerly. “However, that also led to the next issue, which was that of frequency.”
Dr. Meyers watched with rapt attention and no small amount of uncomfortable nausea as the two extreme examples were displayed onscreen. This time, it was a picture of a mouse but with healthy pink gums this time, with a single white speck of a tooth on both jaws.
The opposite picture, though, was something more akin to what she had seen on sharks: three or four rows of normally sized and healthy teeth, but growing almost like waves, and filling the mouth.
“I'm assuming you were able to refine this aspect as well?”
Branson nodded. “It's a bit of a fine art, as the scalar value especially depended on the size of the body morphology it was being applied to, but yes, we were able to refine both of these and produce this instead.”
With a flourish, the slide deck clicked forward, now showing a side-by-side comparison according to the labels on the images. One was an unaltered mouse, still with the eerily-human-like dental structure, but next to it was what appeared to be an identical mouse jaw but this time labeled as being one in which the medication was being unapplied.
“That is outstanding,” she said, squinting closely. “While I'm not familiar with the nuances of that mouse model, to my eye that looks like a perfect match.”
Branson beamed and said “That was our thought, too. With this, we finally have a dosage and proportion for the cocktail, and I believe it is ready to advance to human trials.”
Dr. Meyers nodded, but this time with slight hesitation. “You've done some outstanding work here, but again I'm reminded that this is an artificially-made mouse model, a chimera with multiple sets of conflicting genetic instructions that might impact and skew your clinical outcomes. Have you tried this formulation on a wild-type mouse, with no dental modifications?”
Branson hesitated. “Not yet, but I believe my postdoc is actually performing that test as we speak. Would you like to come observe? The regeneration process takes less than an hour in most cases.”
Dr. Meyers couldn't resist her eagerness as she agreed, and followed Branson out down the hallway and into their lab proper. The smell of the mouse kennels was noticeable, but not as strong as she'd seen at some labs, and she commented as much to Branson, complimenting the cleanliness of his animal care. He accepted it graciously, saying “Oof course. I know it's uncommon to have such aggressive and early treatments in animal models, and so we wanted to make additionally sure we gave them the best possible conditions given those restrictions.”
After dawning a lab coat and PPE, Meyers followed Branson into a sterile treatment area. The post doc was already working in the hood and had the plastic mouse kennel ready.
Sticking the mouse in what almost look like an icing bag, they carefully opened the creature’s jaws and, dabbing a sterile swab into the end of an open-top container, smeared the colorful pink liquid on the creature's gums.
The mouse wiggled, and managed to catch the swab against the edge of its nose before the postdoc had pulled it back. As Dr. Meyers watched, she could see as the pink gums of the mouse soon began to sparkle with little white specks that quickly grew into comparatively-full-size mouse teeth, including a pair of distinctive incisors in the front.
There were also an unfortunate set of lumpy molars growing on the spots that had touched the end of the nose, but Branson smiled broadly, saying “There's some concerns we have about non-target application, but with the proper precautions and a more calm and willing patient, the the cocktail should be perfectly effective.”
“I would still be concerned about what safety-proofing measures you end up using,” said Dr. Meyers with some hesitation. “After all, I think people would be unpleasantly surprised if their dog got a hold of a foil tube, chewed it up, and then suddenly came out looking like something out of a dentist's nightmare.”
Dr. Branson nodded, but even Dr. Meyers had to admit that these were impressive results, and very promising. “Your sponsors are going to be quite pleased with this progress,” she said. “Are they here now?”
“They mostly have been supplying funds for us, but they've expressed keen interest in the success of this operation. The funding has been impressive, to say the least.”
Meyers nodded, feeling slightly jealous and wondering idly who would have deep-enough pockets to effortlessly finance such a line of research.
Stepping back from the scrying pool, Glimmer and Squeak both looked at each other, eyes wide as the mouse with a mouthful of human teeth faded from the glowing basin, replaced by the swirls of magical chaos. Their wings were buzzing with excitement.
“You’re telling me it was this easy the whole time?” Glimmer squealed with delight.
“Well, not exactly,” said Squeak. “They've only had this sort of technology for the last decade or so. Still, I think this was worth diverting the payments for a few hundred million children's teeth in the short term, in exchange for such long-term gains.”
“We're about to become the most influential and powerful fairies to ever to grace the Court of Bones! After all, who would deny us when we can create more teeth than even the most famished fairy could ever dream of eating?”

I have had this raised bump on my shoulder that has been itching terribly for years and growing a bit. The doctor finally took a biospy and told me all is normal. Can someone take a look at the report and let me know their thoughts? Should this be removed in totality?
Gross Description:
Specimen received in formalin, vial labeled with patient's name. 4 x 5 x 1mm skin wedge. Shave, tan, not pigmented, margins not involved, not oriented. 1 piece tissue received. Tissue specimen grossed. 2 portions submitted in block xxxxxxxx. All Tissue Submitted. Microscopic Description: The epidermis is acanthotic with basal layer hyperpigmentation and no atypia. There are multiple areas of small columns of parakeratosis overlying keratinocytic dyskeratosis. The dermis is fibrotic with dermal melanophages. Step sections are examined. Immunohistochemical Findings: Immunohistochemical stains, including appropriate positive controls, were performed. SOX-10 staining highlights background basal layer melanocytes and does not demonstrate a melanocytic proliferation.
Diagnosis: CONSISTENT WITH POROKERATOSIS (757.39 / Q82.8)

I am trying to pull data from the same cell in multiple work sheets. All these files are labeled by date. There is a file for every day of the year. These files are massive with lots of data and can not be combined. The master where I would like to pull data and store here to use as a template to measure performance. This has a row for every single day and displays the average, max, and low. I would like to match the row to match the file on where to pull the data from. Is there any way to do this without going back and forth between worksheets? If there is a way to continue to use the same template next year? I would eventually make other sheets in the master to measure by month.
Thank you in advance!

Rice is a staple crop that feeds millions worldwide. However, fungal diseases pose a significant threat to rice cultivation. These microscopic pathogens can quickly spread and cause devastating yield losses if left unchecked. Farmers must employ effective fungicide solutions to protect crops and ensure bountiful harvests.
Common Fungal Diseases in Rice
Another major threat is sheath blight caused by Rhizoctonia solani. This fungus primarily affects the sheaths, causing discolouration, lesions, and potentially significant yield reductions. Rice farmers also contend with brown spots, false smut, kernel smut, and other fungal diseases impacting grain quality and quantity.
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Many systemic fungicides feature targeted modes of action, disrupting critical fungal processes while minimizing harm to beneficial organisms.
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For optimal results, fungicides should be integrated into a holistic disease management program, combining cultural practices, resistant varieties, and biological controls.
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Following resistance management guidelines, such as rotating modes of action and adhering to label instructions, is crucial for long-term efficacy. Modern fungicides aim to minimize environmental impact, promoting sustainable agricultural practices.

DAY: May 27 2024
5-27-2024

THE CASE FOR OMEGA-3 SUPPLEMENTATION TO LOWER AGGRESSION

People who regularly eat fish or take fish oil supplements are getting omega-3 fatty acids, which play a critical role in brain function. Research has long shown a basis in the brain for aggressive and violent behavior, and that poor nutrition is a risk factor for behavior problems. Penn neurocriminologist Adrian Raine has for years been studying whether omega-3 supplementation could therefore reduce aggressive behavior, publishing five randomized controlled trials from different countries. He found significant effects but wanted to know whether these findings extended beyond his laboratory.
5-27-2024

WHAT ARE ALTERNATIVES TO OZEMPIC AND WEGOVY AND ARE THEY SAFE?

With summer around the corner, telehealth outlets and medical spas are going into hyperdrive advertising the sale of semaglutide, the active ingredient in popular weight-loss drugs Ozempic and Wegovy. Recent shortages of the brand-name drugs have opened the door to copycat versions that, while legal, also raise some concerns for consumers, says Kelly Ann Barnes, Northeastern professor of pharmacy law. The copycat drugs are made by specialized pharmacies known as compounding pharmacies, which are allowed by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration to make off-label
5-27-2024

FIVE BASIC HABITS MAY HOLD THE KEY TO GOOD MENTAL HEALTH

Professor Nick Titov’s professional goal is to make himself redundant. he wants to empower more people with mild to moderate anxiety and depression to understand what they can do each day to care for their mental health. As part of this mission, Professor Titov and his team developed The Big 5, an evidence-based program encouraging five broad types of activities that are strongly linked with good mental health when performed regularly. Everyone’s
5-27-2024

COVID-19 FORECASTING TOOL ALLOWED HOSPITAL TO MANAGE PATIENT CAPACITY, RESOURCES AMID PANDEMIC’S THIRD WAVE

During the peak of the third wave of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2021, the health-care system’s capacity was stretched and hospitals across Canada relied on each other to share resources and provide care. Experts from
5-27-2024

RESEARCHERS IDENTIFY IMMUNE DYSFUNCTION AS A POSSIBLE ASPECT OF POLYCYSTIC OVARY SYNDROME PATHOLOGY

The peripubertal DHT-induced mouse model is a non-obese but insulin-resistant model of PCOS. a) Experimental design. b) Fat mass. c) Insulin levels at baseline and 15 min following glucose administration. d) Blood glucose levels during oGTT. e) HOMA-IR, calculated from fasted glucose and insulin levels. f) Glycosylated hemoglobin levels (HbA1c). A new study shows that hyperandrogenism—a key characteristic of polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS)—affects immune cell populations in reproductive, metabolic and immunological tissues in a PCOS-like mouse model. These findings are of great importance as
5-27-2024

RESEARCH IDENTIFIES BRAIN NETWORK LINK TO STUTTERING

Common acquired neurogenic stuttering network. Common areas that were sensitive and specific across both neurogenic stuttering cohorts. Amy = amygdala; ASt = amygdalostriatal transition area; Cl = claustrum; Pall = Pallidum; Put = putamen. A new study published in the journal Brain has identified a specific brain network hub that plays a key role in stuttering. The research, by Te Whare W?nanga o Waitaha University of Canterbury (UC) Associate Professor Catherine Theys, examines two different types of stuttering—developmental and acquired—to show a clear neural
5-27-2024

THYROID DISEASE ISN’T THE END FOR YOUR CAREER PROSPECTS, REPORT FINDS

How employers behave toward workers experiencing thyroid dysfunction could play a critical part in addressing the UK’s labor market challenges. With long-term sickness on the rise in the UK, researchers at the University of Aberdeen Business School have marked World Thyroid Day (May 25) by releasing new findings which, for the first time, explore the relationship between employer sympathy and the labor market prospects of people with thyroid conditions. One in 20 people in the UK have a thyroid problem, with a significant majority of sufferers being women. Posing serious
5-27-2024

STUDY FINDS HIGH-INCOME EARNERS AT LOWER RISK OF DYING FROM STROKE

High-income earners have a 32% lower risk of dying after a stroke compared to low-income earners. The equivalent for high education is 26% lower risk. The differences in stroke survival linked to socioeconomics are striking, according to a study at the University of Gothenburg.
5-27-2024

ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE COULD ALLEVIATE LONELINESS, SAYS EXPERT

Artificial Intelligence (AI) technology could offer companionship to lonely people amid an international epidemic of loneliness, says a robotics expert. Tony Prescott, a professor of cognitive robotics at the University of Sheffield, argues in his new book “The Psychology of Artificial Intelligence” that “relationships with AIs could support people” with forms of social interaction. Loneliness has been found to seriously impair human health, and Professor Prescott makes a case that advances in AI technology could offer a partial solution. He argues that people can spiral into loneliness, becoming
5-27-2024

ALZHEIMER’S REPORT HIGHLIGHTS IMMENSE CAREGIVER BURDEN—AND POTENTIAL WAYS FORWARD

Some 7 million Americans live with Alzheimer’s, and about 11 million provide unpaid care for them. Dementia caregiving can present unique challenges, including financial burdens and time constraints, as well as health complications. A report this year from the Alzheimer’s Association demonstrates the true cost of caregiving for those with the disease and calls to establish dementia care navigation throughout the U.S. to lift this burden. Not only is the estimated value of unpaid care near $14 billion in Pennsylvania alone, the report also revealed emotional and physical tolls. Nearly
5-27-2024

US FOOD AND DRUG ADMINISTRATION APPROVES ARTIFICIAL PANCREAS SYSTEM

An artificial pancreas developed by researchers at the University of Cambridge has been granted approval by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for use by individuals with type 1 diabetes aged 2 and older, including during pregnancy. This means that even more people living with the disease will be able to use this life-changing app. For the first time, the FDA authorized the use of the artificial pancreas system in pregnancy. CamAPS FX, produced by Cambridge spinout company CamDiab, is an Android app that can
5-27-2024

RESEARCH SAYS POMEGRANATES COULD OFFER A SOLUTION TO FATTY LIVER DISEASE

Researchers at Edith Cowan University (ECU) are investigating the effects ellagic acid, an antioxidant found in some fruits and vegetables, could have on halting and potentially reversing the damage caused by fatty liver disease. Non-alcoholic fatty liver disease (NAFLD) is the physiological manifestation of obesity in the liver. The prevalence of NAFLD has increased from 25.24% in 2015 to 29.38% in 2021, and this condition now accounts for 45.8% of all cases of chronic-liver-disease-related deaths worldwide. There currently exists no treatment for the long-term management of NAFLD; however, dietary interventions
5-27-2024

MAGIC MUSHROOMS MAY ONE DAY TREAT ANOREXIA, BUT NOT JUST YET

Anorexia nervosa is a severe mental health disorder where people fear weight gain. Those with the disorder have distorted body image and hold rigid beliefs their body is too big. They typically manage this through restricted eating, leading to the serious medical consequences of malnutrition. Anorexia has one of the highest death rates of any mental illness. Yet there are currently no effective drug treatments and the outcomes of psychotherapy (talk therapy) are poor. So we’re desperately in need of new and improved treatments. Psilocybin, commonly known as magic mushrooms,
5-27-2024

STUDY FINDS FEEDING INFANTS PEANUT PRODUCTS PROTECTS AGAINST ALLERGY INTO ADOLESCENCE

Feeding children peanuts regularly from infancy to age five reduced the rate of peanut allergy in adolescence by 71%, even after many years when the children ate or avoided peanut as desired. The new findings provide conclusive evidence that introducing peanuts into babies’ diets early will achieve long-term prevention of peanut allergy. Lead investigator Professor Gideon Lack from King’s College London said, “Decades of advice to avoid peanuts has made parents fearful of introducing peanuts at an early age. The evidence is clear that early introduction of peanut in infancy
5-27-2024

EATING MORE FRUITS AND VEGETABLES MAY LEAD TO OPTIMAL SLEEP DURATION

Good health depends on a healthy diet and sufficient exercise and sleep. There are clear associations among these components; for example, good nutrition provides energy for exercise, and many people report that getting enough exercise is important to their ability to get enough sleep. So how might nutrition affect sleep? A new study looks at the connection between fruit and vegetable intake and sleep duration.
5-27-2024

MONITORING THE H5N1 AVIAN INFLUENZA, BIRD FLU, OUTBREAK

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention continues to actively monitor the ongoing outbreak of H5N1 avian influenza, also known as bird flu, and says that the public health risk remains low. Dr. Matthew Binnicker, director of the Clinical Virology Laboratory at Mayo Clinic, says scientists and public health officials have known about avian influenza for decades. “What’s different today is that since 2020, we’re seeing the largest outbreak of avian influenza among wild birds, poultry and backyard bird flocks,” he says. “The virus has also been found in certain
5-27-2024

INTERNATIONAL STUDY REVEALS SURPRISING TWIST IN HOW DIABETES DRUGS HELP THE HEART

A randomized, placebo-controlled clinical trial has revealed surprising new insights into how SGLT2 inhibitor drugs, originally developed for diabetes, benefit patients with heart failure. Contrary to common assumptions, these drugs may improve cardiac outcomes and heart health without acting as diuretics. Heart failure is a condition where the heart cannot pump enough blood to meet the body’s demands, often leading to fluid
5-27-2024

FIRST SEIZURE CLINICS REDUCE THE NEED FOR FUTURE HEALTH CARE, RESEARCHERS FIND

Clinics specializing in first seizures reduce the need for patients to present at emergency departments or be admitted to hospital later, Monash University-led research has found. Timely attendance, particularly within 14 days of the seizure, was associated with reduced subsequent all-cause emergency presentations and all-cause hospital admission. Later hospital admissions were reduced by about 25%. First author Dr. Yingtong Li, an adjunct
5-27-2024

CELL-TARGETING TECHNOLOGY CAN ISOLATE NEURONAL SUBPOPULATIONS AND LINK THEM TO BEHAVIORAL STATES

As gene sequencing technologies become more powerful, our understanding of cellular diversity has grown in parallel. This led scientists at St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital to
5-27-2024

WATCH OUT FOR THESE HIGH HEAT DANGER SIGNS

Climate change is pushing daytime summer temperatures higher for longer periods of time, and that can spell real danger for folks who work outside, like gardeners and landscapers. Protecting yourself in the heat and knowing the warning signs of heat-related illness is crucial, said Chris Enroth, horticulture educator at University of Illinois Extension. He should know: It happened to him. “When I was working as a landscaper, we had to sod a large backyard during a day when the temperature was over 100 degrees Fahrenheit,” Enroth said. “We were hustling
5-27-2024

STAY SAFE FROM THE SUN AND THAT BACKYARD GRILL THIS MEMORIAL DAY

Memorial Day means firing up that backyard grill for the season, hopefully under warm, sunny skies. You can be sure to enjoy the day without hazards by taking a few simple precautions, said Dr. Mike Ren, an associate professor of family and community medicine at Baylor College of Medicine in Houston. Watch out for rising heat and humidity If Memorial day is a scorcher, hydration is key, Ren said. “A good rule of thumb is to drink water regularly throughout the day, aiming for 12 or more cups; when in
5-27-2024

HAD A JOINT REPLACED? STUDY SUGGESTS INFECTION RISK MAY RISE AFTER CHEMOTHERAPY

If you’re one of the millions of Americans walking around with a new knee or hip, your odds for an infection in that joint rise if you ever have to undergo cancer chemotherapy, researchers report. “Given the number of people of receiving total joint replacements each year, as well as the cost both physically, emotionally and financially for those who develop an infection and may need subsequent treatment, we need to understand what factors may increase the risk for postoperative infections,” said study author Dr. Janet Conway. She’s an orthopedic
5-27-2024

ANTIHYPERTENSIVES LINKED TO ECZEMATOUS DERMATITIS IN SENIORS, STUDY FINDS

Antihypertensive drugs are associated with an increased risk for eczematous dermatitis in older adults, and the effect sizes are largest for diuretics and calcium channel blockers, whether antihypertensive drug use is associated with eczematous dermatitis in a longitudinal cohort study of individuals aged 60 years and older without eczematous dermatitis at baseline. The researchers found that the overall prevalence of eczematous dermatitis was 6.7% among 1,561,358
5-27-2024

RESEARCH INDICATES KIDNEYS FROM DECEASED DONORS WHO WERE ON DIALYSIS ARE SUBOPTIMAL

Receipt of a kidney from a deceased donor who underwent dialysis is associated with an increased incidence of delayed graft function, compared outcomes of transplant recipients who received kidneys from deceased donors who underwent dialysis prior to kidney donation versus recipients of kidneys from deceased donors who did not undergo dialysis in a retrospective cohort study using data from 58 U.S. organ procurement organizations. Among the donors with
5-27-2024

NEW THERAPY PROVEN EFFECTIVE AGAINST REJECTION IN KIDNEY TRANSPLANTATION

Antibody-mediated rejection (AMR) is one of the most common causes of kidney transplant failure. To date, however, no treatment has proven effective in combating this complication in the long term. As part of an international and multidisciplinary clinical study led by Georg Böhmig and Katharina Mayer, Clinical Division of Nephrology and Dialysis, Department of Medicine III at MedUni Vienna and University Hospital Vienna, a new therapeutic principle in transplant medicine has been found to be both safe and highly effective. The results were recently published in the New England Journal
5-27-2024

SHARJAH UNIVERSITY PATENTS APPLICATION FOR DISTANCE COVID-19 DIAGNOSIS

Smart Identification of Health Status based on QR Code and User Health Data. Credit: author’s own creation The University of Sharjah has been granted a patent for inventing a smart gadget with the ability to filter user information that will allow doctors to diagnose COVID-19 and other ailments from a distance. The patent, granted by United States Patent and Trademark Office on 1 August 2023, comprises “a display unit, a color code detection unit, an image filter, an optical character recognition unit, a code detection unit and an elimination unit,”
5-27-2024

STUDY REVEALS WHERE DELAYS ARE WORST

When it comes to responding to a stroke, speed is a crucial factor; the longer it takes for someone experiencing a stroke to get to a hospital, the worse the outcome will be. Yet across the United States, delays to treatment can be significant. A Yale study uncovers new insights into factors associated with treatment delays and where in the United States patients are more likely to experience slower responses. The findings, which were published May 24 in the journal Stroke, highlight where interventions should

NEW STUDY SHOWS HEAT WAVES INCREASE RISK OF PRETERM, EARLY-TERM BIRTH

The increased frequency and intensity of heat waves due to climate change puts women at a higher risk of experiencing preterm and early-term labor—jeopardizing the health and well-being of their babies. An analysis of 53 million births that occurred in the 50 most populous U.S. metropolitan areas during the 25-year period 1993–2017, showed
5-27-2024

NOISE-CANCELLING HEADPHONES, EARPLUGS AND EARMUFFS—DO THEY REALLY HELP NEURODIVERGENT PEOPLE?

Noise can make it hard to concentrate, especially for people who are extra sensitive to it. Neurodivergent people (such as those who are autistic or have attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder—ADHD) can experience different sensory sensitivities. Their nervous system may process information differently when they are exposed to sensory experiences such as bright lights, loud noise, strong smells or busy environments. Decreased sound tolerance is estimated to affect up to 70% of autistic people and is described in three ways: hyperacusis (perceiving everyday sounds as loud or painful), misophonia (an aversion to
5-27-2024

MASSACHUSETTS SHELLS OUT NEARLY $400,000 FOR VACCINE RECORD CHECKS IN STATE-RUN SHELTERS

State officials have pumped nearly $400,000 into a program to review the vaccine records of families entering the emergency shelter system, including migrants from other countries who may have foreign documentation, according to the Healey administration. Officials at Boston-based John Snow, Inc., which has long worked with the state, have been contracted to review immunization documents. Since January, more than 1,200 children in state-run shelters have had their records checked, according to the Executive Office of Health and Human Services, or HHS. Vaccine record checks have occurred since September 2023
5-27-2024

LAWSUIT ACCUSES FLORIDA’S PALM BEACH COUNTY HOSPITAL NETWORK OF SHARING PATIENTS’ PRIVATE DATA

The Palm Beach Health Network has become the latest health provider accused of illegally sharing identities and private health information of its patients with the social media company Meta, owner of Facebook. A lawsuit filed Wednesday in U.S. District Court in West Palm Beach says the health network’s websites share code with Meta that enables patients to be targeted with advertising on Facebook based on “highly sensitive personal information” they share. It names as defendants the Palm Beach Health Network Physicians Group, doing business as Palm Beach Health Network, and
5-27-2024

CAN THE PLACEMENT OF DENTAL IMPLANTS IN HEAD AND NECK CANCER PATIENTS BE DONE BEFORE RADIATION THERAPY?

Globally, head and neck cancer accounts for 5% of all cancer types, with a mortality rate of 50%. However, in the Nordic countries, head and neck cancer accounts for only 2.6% of all cancers, with a mortality rate of just 30%. But more survivors mean that many must live with extensive damage and side effects
5-27-2024

STUDY FINDS CLIMATE CHANGE INCREASES RISK OF CRYPTOSPORIDIOSIS OUTBREAKS IN NEW ZEALAND

More cryptosporidiosis outbreaks could be on the cards for Aotearoa New Zealand as extreme rainfall events become more frequent, causing higher levels of the diarrhea-causing parasite to be washed into waterways, public health researchers warn. The researchers studied clusters of cryptosporidium outbreaks around the country between 1997 and 2015 and found 13 coincided with severe weather events. Their research is published in the journal Epidemiology & Infection. It is the first study to compare clusters of outbreaks of cryptosporidiosis to severe weather events in Aotearoa.
5-27-2024

RESEARCHERS EVALUATE IMPACT OF NEW FILM’S MESSAGE ON CHILDREN’S AND ADULTS’ BODY IMAGE, SELF-COMPASSION

Unrealistic expectations about what our bodies should look like—whether from the media, friends or family—make adults and children of all ages more vulnerable to body dissatisfaction, eating disorders and other mental health challenges. In a new study published in Body Image, Flinders University experts assessing the program’s usefulness in classrooms highlight the potential for the film “Embrace Kids,” directed by 2023 Australian of the Year Taryn Brumfitt, to achieve large-scale improvements in body image
5-27-2024

STUDY FINDS INCREASED SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, SUICIDE ATTEMPTS AMONG ADOLESCENTS EXPOSED TO EARLY PHASE OF WAR IN UKRAINE

Data Collection in the War-Affected Donetsk Region and Non-War Kirovograd Region. A new study carried out by a multinational research group showed high levels of suicidal thoughts and attempts in adolescents, which were strongly associated with wartime traumatic experiences, post-traumatic stress disorder, depression and anxiety. Dr. Sanju Silwal from the Research Center for Child Psychiatry in the University of Turku, Finland, one of the lead authors, says that the study was conducted in two regions that
5-27-2024

STUDY FINDS SIGNIFICANT DISPARITIES IN THE DELIVERY OF CANCER-RELATED CARE

It’s important to ensure that care provided at US hospitals that predominantly serve Black and Hispanic populations is as high-quality as the care provided at other US hospitals. New research reveals significant disparities in the delivery of cancer-related care at minority serving hospitals (MSHs) compared with non-MSHs, however. The findings are published in Cancer. For the study, investigators analyzed information from the National Cancer Database (which accrues approximately 70% of US cancer diagnoses) to identify patients eligible for definitive treatment for breast, prostate, non-small cell lung, and colon cancers between
5-27-2024

WHO SEEKS $7 BN WITH FUND-RAISING REVAMP

The World Health Organization launched Sunday a new financing mechanism that aims to raise $7 billion of funds that can be deployed more quickly and flexibly. The UN agency has traditionally relied on commitments from its 194 member states, but often these are apportioned to specific projects with several conditions attached, including deadlines that can prove too short. WHO chief Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus said commitment increases would contribute $4 billion to the agency’s budget of $11.1 billion over the four years through 2028. “The Investment Round aims to mobilize the
5-27-2024

SECOND PERSON DIES OF CHOLERA ON FRENCH ISLAND OF MAYOTTE

Scanning electron microscope image of Vibrio cholerae. Credit: Wikipedia A 62-year-old woman has died of cholera in Mayotte, bringing to two the death toll from the epidemic on the French island in the Indian Ocean, health authorities said on Sunday. The woman died on Saturday at her home in Mamoudzou, the capital, the ARS health authority said in a statement. “Response teams went to the scene to disinfect the home and take care of the deceased’s family and friends”, the statement added. In May, the disease claimed its first life
5-27-2024

ALTERING CELLULAR INTERACTIONS AROUND AMYLOID PLAQUES MAY OFFER NOVEL ALZHEIMER’S TREATMENT STRATEGIES

Researchers at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai have made a significant breakthrough in Alzheimer’s disease research by identifying a novel way to potentially slow down or even halt disease progression. The study, which focuses on the role of reactive astrocytes and the plexin-B1 protein in Alzheimer’s pathophysiology, provides crucial insights into brain
5-27-2024

BRAIN DAMAGE STUDY REVEALS PART OF THE BRAIN NECESSARY FOR HELPING OTHERS

Our willingness to help others is governed by a specific brain region pinpointed by researchers in a study of patients with brain damage to that region. Learning about where in the brain “helping” decisions are made is important for understanding how people might be motivated to tackle large global challenges, such as climate change, infectious disease and international conflict. It is also essential for finding new approaches to treating disorders of social interactions. The study, published in Nature Human Behaviour, was carried out by researchers at the University of Birmingham
5-27-2024

IMPROVING AI LARGE LANGUAGE MODELS HELPS THEM BETTER ALIGN WITH HUMAN BRAIN ACTIVITY

NSP as a computational account of discourse comprehension. (A) Humans integrate words and sentences to achieve a full understanding of discourse. In LLMs, the NSP task proposed by BERT can serve as a computational account of human discourse comprehension. (B) Illustration of the MLM task. (C) Illustration of the NSP task and its relevance to the Mason and Just model. (D) Illustration of Mason and Just’s neurocognitive model of discourse processing. Credit: Science Advances (2024). DOI: 10.1126/sciadv.adn7744 With generative artificial intelligence (GenAI) transforming the social interaction landscape in recent years,
5-27-2024

STUDY EXAMINES METABOLIC REPROGRAMMING OF BREAST CANCER TUMORS DURING NEOADJUVANT CHEMOTHERAPY

In a study published in Nature Communications, scientists have made significant strides in understanding the complex interplay between the immune system and cancer metabolism in breast cancer treatment. The research
5-27-2024

RESEARCHERS EXAMINE EVIDENCE FOR A NOVEL NEURONAL MECHANISM DRIVING ALZHEIMER’S DISEASE

An international team of clinicians and neuroscientists have published a new perspective on the process of neurodegeneration. Their findings review evidence for a mechanism upstream of amyloid including the key neurochemical driving this process. The paper, published in Alzheimer’s & Dementia, focuses on a selective group of neurons (“the isodendritic core”). These cells have a different provenance from neurons in the rest of the brain and have previously been identified as primarily
The research, by a team from Finland’s University of Helsinki, National Institute for Health and Welfare, and Turku University of Applied Sciences, is published in
5-27-2024

WHO CHIEF URGES COUNTRIES TO QUICKLY SEAL PANDEMIC DEAL

WHO countries have spent two years seeking an agreement on tackling pandemics. The World Health Organization chief on Monday urged countries to nail down a landmark global agreement on handling of future pandemics after they missed a hard deadline. Scarred by COVID-19—which killed millions, shredded economies and crippled health systems—nations have spent two years trying to forge binding commitments on pandemic prevention, preparedness and response. Negotiators failed to clinch a deal ahead of this week’s World Health Assembly—the annual gathering of WHO’s 194 member states—the deadline for concluding the talks.
5-27-2024

STUDY DEMONSTRATES HOW GUT MICROBES PROCESS STEROIDS—USING FLATULENCE

It turns out flatulence can serve a purpose beyond being uncomfortable or funny: Gas released by some gut bacteria stimulates other gut bacteria to produce a hormone involved in pregnancy and in an FDA-approved treatment for postpartum depression, according to new research led by Harvard Medical School scientists. The work shows how gut bacteria can produce new hormones from steroids in bile and, in doing so, act like an endocrine organ. This research adds to the growing list of ways gut microbiota may influence human
5-27-2024

PHYSICAL FRAILTY MAY PUT PEOPLE AT GREATER RISK OF DEPRESSION, STUDY FINDS

Individuals who meet at least one of the criteria for physical frailty are at higher risk of also developing depression, a new Yale study finds. The findings—which also include insights into the specific inflammatory molecules and changes in brain structure that could underlie this association between frailty and depression—point to a need for routine assessment of physical frailty in clinical practice, researchers said. The study was published May 23 in Nature Communications. In clinical settings, physical
5-27-2024

RESEARCH TEAM RESOLVES STRUCTURE OF CRUCIAL ENZYME FOR THE FIRST TIME

For the first time, a team co-led by CHU Sainte-Justine researcher and professor in the Faculty of Medicine at Université de Montréal, Alexey Pshezhetsky has succeeded in resolving the unique structure of the HGSNAT enzyme, a deficiency of which causes Sanfilippo syndrome, a rare pediatric disease affecting the central nervous system. Through collaboration with a team from Shanghai University, the structure of this enzyme and the mechanism of its function were revealed using high-performance

Hi, just received this medical report today, could someone explain this to me please? Im due to a GI again in a few days but would appreciate some help beforehand. Thanks! ☺️

(tldr towards the end)
  Recently I've been thinking I shouald be more open about my life and what I've been through. I know it's not nearly as bad as the abuses some have endured, but it's left me rather messed up in it's own way. It's a bunch of stuff I've barely ever shared with people, certainly never laid out in full like this before. Originally planned on only sharing this with a few close people, but at some point I started thinking it might be better to fully open up and just sorta dump my whole ass life story somewhere public? And this seemed as suitable a place as any?
Despite trying to keep it down to what felt like the most critical details, it somehow ended up becoming far, far longer than expected or planned. Long enough that I don't really expect anyone here to actually bother reading it. But whatever, I'm largely posting it for my own sake at this point.
  I am legally blind and also on the autistic spectrum. I'd ask that you don't pay too much mind to the autism part though. It's not that I have any problem with the way I am per se, but more than anything I wish I'd never been diagnosed with it.
I'm put in mind of the old Rosenhan experiment, where a handful of regular people falsely claimed to have hallucinations and got sent as patients to psychiatric hospitals. Despite acting completely normal once admitted, they were never able to be recognised as the mentally healthy people they were. The mental health system has improved drastically since then. However, at least in my experience, the way a diagnosis can stick to a person and significantly change of how some people will view and interact with that person is still very much a thing. Even if that diagnosis is accurate, this treatment can still be a problem.
  It started being a thing in primary school. Spent some of my time in a special classroom alongside a few other kids who... probably needed the support a lot more than I did. I admittedly did have some behaviour problems back then, but I'm pretty sure I was doing fine on learning. I remember not enjoying that I had to go to that class, nor liking the people running it, but I don't think my feelings about it were particularly strong back then.
Then middle school came and I think things were actually pretty good and normal at first. There were still various special needs workers and the like who'd sometimes come in to observe me in class, or pull me away for some one on one time with them or whatever. I was growing increasingly unfond of this sort of thing, but compared to before, most of my days were just regular student stuff. But over time I started acting out and getting stressed and things only got worse from there. I believe it started with there being a rule about students having to spend the entire lunch break outside if the weather was good. I have issues with light sensitivity and was not okay with this. Eventually I started refusing to go outside during lunch entirely. The teachers weren't okay with this and tensions rose (In hindsight, I really should've had sunglasses back then. No idea why I didn't)
I don't remember the exact reason, but at some point I got real stubborn and refused to do any work during class. Tensions rose more.
  This all led to me having to start seeing a psychiatrist, though that wasn't very constructive. There's two strong memories I have of him. One is of me and him sitting silently in a room where I was expected to be speaking but for whatever reason wasn't. The other is of him and mum talking about school stuff while I sat there listening, I'd sometimes speak up to try clarify or give context to stuff mum was saying but he'd insist I kept quiet or I'd have to leave the room.
He'd also have some one on one talks with mum while I waited outside. I only know what I've heard from mum talking about it many years later, and she has a tendency to exaggerate or embellish this kind of thing, so take this with a lump of salt. Supposedly he talked to her about how he was going to break me and then the real progress can begin. Then later, when that didn't work, he'd tell her I was the worst kid he'd ever dealt with and was untreatable. Though, again, no idea how true any of that is...
  So progress wasn't happening there, and things at school weren't getting better.
Somewhere along the line one of my special needs people, a visual resource worker who I'm sure was in no way qualified to make this kind of call, got the idea that I was depressed. So she started pushing to get me put on antidepressants. And I guess my psych was over having to deal with me at that point as he seemed to just go with it? And I was just a kid, so when I was told I needed to start taking a pill before school, I just did it without giving it any real thought.
Thing is, I wasn't depressed. I was stressed, angry, and full of anger related adrenalin. The pills did nothing to help any of those things. What they did do was mess with my ability to stay in control of all that. So the anger I'd been keeping bottled up started getting expressed. Physically. I'd often lash out against whoever was getting to me in that moment, which was typically teachers and staff but... not always.
I don't really like thinking about that time much. Don't like what I was. Obviously I put a lot of blame on the meds for messing me up so bad. But the anger itself is just something that's a part of me. As, I fear, is the way I lean towards getting physical when that anger becomes too much. It's something I've been sure to stay keenly aware of ever since.
To their arguable credit, the school did put up with me far longer than it had any right to. But their way of dealing with me wasn't exactly constructive. I don't really remember that time period super well tbh, but a few scattered memories that stand out are: A member of staff lifting me by the collar and holding me against a wall, two staff members dragging me home with one of them digging their fingernails into my hand hard enough it left two small scars (fully faded after a few years), a teacher holding me down over a desk forcing me to look at a piece of paper, and an already tense moment with me on the verge while a staff member was confrontationally saying something to the effect of "you shaking like that doesn't scare me". And then basically every clear weather day saw me being physically dragged by two or three staff members from the school building to the office building. Dragged right through the courtyard where all the other students were sitting for lunch. To be clear, this isn't me trying to play the victim per se, I really was quite bad back then. But, like, this started with me being stressed and angry at people. So I think you can probably see how things only compounded on themselves from there, each side constantly having a harder time and only making it harder for the other in turn.
  So yeah, eventually I got kicked out. Finally stopped taking the pills and only then did I become aware of just how much of an effect they'd been having on me, far too late for it to mean anything. Spent the next few months doing nothing but sitting at home playing computer games or whatever. Meanwhile the, uh, whatever places my various special needs workers come from, along with whatever other vague powers there are that get to decide the major life decisions for people like me, they were all trying to figure out where I should go from there.
  The answer was two years at a boarding school. A special boarding school meant specifically for kids with mental disabilities and learning difficulties.
It was not a good place for me.
(something I only just recently learned looking through some of the old papers my mum kept. Apparently some people thought I had a "fear of failure", and so sending me to a place where I would "perceive myself to be better than my peers" was expected to be good for me?? Perhaps it's that I'm still processing. I feel like I should be really upset to learn this, but for now I'm just too baffled)
  It's weird. Thinking back, this definitely feels like the darkest part of my life, as well as the part that's had the largest lasting impact on me. But when it comes to talking about it? It feels like there's rather little to say? (As I'm thinking about it, writing this out, I'm also finding I've forgotten a lot more of the details than I'd expected)
  To put things in some perspective, I'd learned to read before starting school. In primary school I was always in the top reading group of the class. Boarding school? I was one of the very few kids there who knew how to read at all (ages ranging for pre-teen to late teen). Then there was the boredom. I did have a few books and a gameboy, but that can only occupy a person so much. I ended up spending a lot of time literally just sitting around waiting for time to pass. Would go to the toilet at the slightest need just to fill in a few minutes.
But worst of all was the people. The kids there were... not people I'd think of as peers. Not really people I wanted to have as the entirety of my social experience. (though, spend enough time stuck with nothing but a certain group...) And then the adults were "friendly" but would often talk down to me or interact with me in ways I'd consider far more insulting than something like "the R word". Didn't matter that I was well behaved, properly educated, and unmedicated. I was a kid who had been sent there, so they saw and treated me the same as any other.
  Overall I think if I compared my experience there to being like a mentally healthy person being falsely committed to a mental institute? That maybe wouldn't be an entirely fair comparison, but I don't think it's an entirely wrong one either. I did not belong there.
  As for the school side of things... the principal had a talk with me early on where I made it clear just how much I didn't want to be there and would much rather be going to a normal school. He told me that was an option. That there were kids here who got to go to the local schools instead of the classes here. I expressed interest, but I was still new there and he wasn't willing to trust me right off the bat. Since It was getting close to the end of the school year, and I was due to start high school the year after, the deal was that if I could prove I could behave and be non-disruptive in class for the rest of the year I'd get to go to the local high school at the start of the next. This was of course a very easy goal to reach, now that I didn't have the meds messing me up. The deal didn't actually require me to do any of the work in class, and the work the class was doing was frankly so far beneath me that it was less mind numbing to just sit back and let my thoughts wander. So class became even more of me sitting around waiting for time to pass. Dull, but at least now I had something to look forward to!
As the time to start at the high school got near, the principal and I had more talks about how things were going to work. It was only here that I realised there'd been a miscommunication. All the boarding school kids that went to the high school all went into the same class, with a teacher who worked for the boarding school. Attending normal classes like I'd spent months looking forward to was simply not an option. Though he did make sure to stress how great this particular teacher was. Been working there for however many years and he'd never had a single student complain about her. In hindsight I probably should've taken that as more of a red flag.
She felt less like a teacher and more like a babysitter. I mentioned that the previous classes weren't suited for me, but at least there I could see the other students being challenged and learning stuff. Here? There was the occasional moment where a student would ask question and have something explained, but the bulk of the time it felt like they were just being kept busy with a level of work they were already confident in. It's extremely rude to say, but I'm honestly not sure she was even smart enough to be working as a teacher. The work I was given was still beneath me, but I started out doing it anyway out of some hope that I'd be given harder stuff if I proved I was capable. As time went on I came to realise just how pointless that hope was. So after a few months I once again I stopped doing any of the work. It was demeaning. And so sitting in class doing nothing became the entire rest of my school year.
Oh, but there was one very special moment in the later part of the year! The teacher gave me a book to look at. A teacher book of worksheets that could be photocopied and handed out. She told me it was all stuff for my level. That I could take a look through it and if anything interested me she'd make a copy for me to do. And did I mention this was the exact same work everyone else my age was doing? Because she made sure to assure me of that at least two or three times. So I opened to a random page and had a look, then immediately started searching the book to see who it was actually meant for. Sure enough it wasn't meant for high school students, or even middle school students. Primary. Mid-late primary aged students with learning disabilities. I'd expected little, but wow!
  Of course, this boarding school was never intended to be more than a two year thing, so the powers that be still had to decide what I'd do when I got out. And... it was decided that I'd get to go back into high school back home. The catholic one, so it'd be a fresh start away from all the students who knew me from the mess at middle school. And I'd be attending regular classes as a regular student, for real this time. I'd also be starting at the start of the school year which, with the way the timing of things worked out, meant getting about half a year cut off from the two year stint. Great news all around! It did mean starting the first year of high school over again, since the boarding school never even tried teaching me anything at the proper level, so I'd be a year older than the rest of kids in my classes, but whatever. (though why this all couldn't have just happened a year earlier I'll never know. No idea what was going on behind the scenes with the people making these decisions, but on my end the whole boarding school thing felt like nothing but a huge waste of time with a bunch of added mental trauma on the side)
  So I once again had something to look forward to. A fresh start as a normal student!? The one thing I'd been wanting so deeply since I got kicked out of middle school? I got pretty emotionally invested in the idea, and it really helped carry me through the however many months left of boarding school I still had to get through first.
  Stupid.
Naive.
Should've known better.
Would've known better if I'd let myself think about it for even a moment.
  As much as things had been especially bad the past few years, things had stopped being good and normal for me since long before that. Of course I'd still be getting judged and defined by labels by adults who hadn't even met me. Of course I'd still have to deal with them treating me different than everyone else. Of course it would be worse than before now that a special needs school was part of my history.
There was the usual stuff of course. Being talked down do or having basic stuff extremely overexplained to me. Getting specifically told what an amazingly super good job I was doing when I followed instructions exactly the same as everyone else in class was doing. Same sort of thing any time I did well on a test, only then it was with multiple teachers throughout the day. Doing the best in class was even worse. One teacher I even learned to recognise when they were about to start speaking to me because of a noticeable hesitation they'd have. Every time. Only for me. There was one time where a teacher, without asking, decided to be helpful and go through and organise everything in my bag for me. Middle of class, in front of everyone. And even weird stuff like one teacher who'd hand out worksheets and would always hand one to me last. No matter where I was sitting they'd somehow manage to path around the room in a way that made me last. Exactly the same sheet as everyone else. Not sure they even realised they were doing it. Like, wat? How do I even parse behaviour like that?
And one fun moment that really stands out: Teacher who often writes stuff on the board for the class to copy down in our books. Speaks aloud the words as she writes. Later has questions about how I'm able to copy it down when I can't see that far. Tell her I just listen to what she says, she insists she isn't saying anything. Stops speaking when writing after that. Sure. Sometimes people automatically stop a subconscious habit when it's pointed out to them. Don't give it much thought, just waited for the kid next to me to finish then asked to copy off them. nbd. About a week later mum gets a call from the principal. Apparently "some teachers" suspected that I was faking my low vision. Seriously, what the hell!? Is a lifetime of me successfully deceiving all the experts I've ever seen really more believable than me being capable of finding a simple solution to an everyday problem?
...actually those last four examples were all the same teacher. There were others who talked down to or treated me weird, but this one really stood out. Sometimes wonder if things would've gone differently if I hadn't had to deal with someone that bad so soon after starting there.
Also, I didn't learn this for sure until a fair bit later (though I did have some suspicions), but I understand some staff had some kind of big talk with all the other students in my year. About asperger's and about me and what to expect. I actually have very little idea about what was said here (though apparently violent behaviour was mentioned) but I'm pretty sure I should be pissed. After all, a big part of the reason I came to this school specifically was to have it be a clean slate!
  In some ways things were even worse than boarding school. At least there I was technically treated about the same as everyone else, much as I hated being grouped with them. Now? Stuff like hearing a teacher talk normally to one student, then hear the drastic change in tone of voice the moment they started talking to me? It made things hit in a much sharper way, so to speak.
I don't know if it was because of that, because I'd let myself get my hopes up, or just me being worn down and done with things. But at this point being blatantly talked down to or othered by people was starting to become a pretty big trigger for me, anger wise. It was only getting worse as time went by.
I'd managed to keep things in control, but after about half a year of doing my best, putting up with everything and getting zero sign that things were ever going to improve, I got the sense that I wasn't going to be able to keep this up forever. That unless something changed it would only be a matter of time before things went real bad.
Thinking back, there's probably better ways I could've handled it. But at the time I just let myself fall back into old, safe patterns. I stopped doing any of the work, stopped trying to interact with the teachers I couldn't tolerate, basically just started spending my days sitting in class doing nothing, being as quiet and unresponsive as possible.
This must sound pretty counterintuitive, huh? Acting like this when I'd so desperately wanted to be seen and treated like a regular person? And yet, it worked just as I thought it would. There was a bit of an adjusting period, but after a few months of them failing to get anything out of me they'd mostly just leave me alone. Things started to become far less stressful and I finally started to feel like I'd be able to see high school all the way through to the end.
Sure there were still occasional moments where one of the bad ones would speak or try to interact with me in some way, and the way they treated me in those moments was the same as it'd ever been, but the sheer drop in frequency was enough to make things feel manageable.
...I want to repeat that for emphasis. I started out doing all my school and homework, from being active in class, talking, and generally doing everything I could do to try and be seen as a normal student. And then suddenly went to refusing to write anything down or give any response when they tried to talk to me. And the way they treated me was the same as it'd ever been. The way they talked down to and othered me did not get any worse for this change. It started out as bad as it would ever be right from day one, and nothing I said or did was ever going to change it.
So spending every class sitting around doing nothing became my new normal, again. I still listened and stuff, took in what I could. It wasn't ideal for learning, but I think I managed okay.
To be clear, when I talk about how badly some of the staff treated me, there were also a bunch of teachers who talked to and treated me perfectly normal. Even when I didn't do much in class. The first few years just happened to stick me with a bunch of the worst ones. Things did get a lot better for me after that, especially when I got more freedom to pick my classes. (Mum likes to talk up how smart I am for picking all the sciences. Truth is my only focus when picking classes was to try to get as many good teachers as I could)
Even as things got better I still didn't do the bulk of the work in class, though I did take tests and do at least some of the projects for credits. I already had something that was working for me and didn't want to rock the boat. Another sudden change in behaviour would've surely drawn a lot of unwanted attention.
Naturally some people from the school became pretty sceptical about my chances of passing. Literally having mum sign a paper saying she wouldn't hold the school accountable for my failure at the start of one school year, then trying to stop me from even taking the exams at the end of that same year.
It was actually pretty amusing thinking back. Four times a year there would be a meeting between mum and the school to talk about me. "They will never be able to pass, they haven't done enough work" "The qualifications for this year are a lot harder than last year, they won't be able to pass this time unless they change their behaviour" Up until final year when literally every meeting was about what I'd do the following year when (not if) I failed to graduate. Discussing stuff like if I'd be able to get along with the previous year of kids if I repeated, or if working in the school laundry would be a good place for me.
I did pass in the end. Admittedly only barely, but still.
(None of the good teachers ever showed up to these meetings btw, kinda goes with me considering them the good ones I guess. But it did leave the school side of the meetings rather one sided. It made for a weird moment in my final year when talking to my physics teacher and he casually mentioned the possibility of me scoring higher than the basic passing marks, while others from the school were literally planning for my failure)
  For the final years of high school I was pretty much running on some mix of inertia, stubbornness, and spite. But that's all I had going for me. So, while passing despite expectations to the contrary was satisfying in a metaphorical middle finger kind of way, I had no motivations for anything beyond that. I was done.
My mum and a handful of other people would talk about what a waste it was for me to never go onto university or anything because I'm smart or whatever. But I really was just totally done with everything at that point.
Thinking back, I have some mixed feelings about this. I can kinda imagine a scenario where I go off to uni and it ends up being super good and healthy for me. But I can also very easily imagine the opposite. Like, sure, everybody talks about college and university and how vastly different they are from everything before it. But I'm not part of that 'everybody'. I can't trust that things being that way for everyone else means they'll be that way for me. Seeing my peers all starting to live hands off and independent would've only made it hurt more if I still had to deal with any staff there treating me like I'm incapable, or dealing with the various special needs people who would no doubt still be trying to be involved in my life. Plus, I'd already gotten my hopes up before, thinking that high school would've been different, and got burned for it. Didn't have much optimism left in me after that. And it's not like there were any subjects or anything that had me interested in further education in the first place. ...Which does mean all the time, stress and energy I spent into getting all my high school qualifications ended being a complete waste. But whatever. Sunk cost fallacy or something.
  Never entered any sort of workforce either. I spent all my time at home living as a dependent. Playing games, watching anime, just finding ways to pass the time. I wouldn't say I was happy or fulfilled per se, but I wasn't unhappy either. Wasn't stressed or angry. It was the closest I'd been to content in a very long time.
And then over ten years passed and literally nothing has changed. It's embarrassing to still be comparing things to my time at school when that was so long ago now. But it really does still feel like living this quiet, out of the way existence that doesn't draw anyones attention really is as good as things can get for me.
  So... that's basically the story of how my life ended up becoming broken, empty and meaningless. And, much as I wish things had gone differently, I've more or less made peace with where I'm at.
  tldr: Being diagnosed as autistic caused many people to start othering me, treating me as something far different and/or less capable than my would be peers. As a kid I was put on ill-prescribed medication, then later was sent to a special needs boarding school. All of these things did far more harm than good for me growing up. I admittedly wasn't always the best behaved kid, but even when I got a lot better the way people saw and treated me was the same. Even with adults I was meeting for the first time. By high school I was developing some pretty serious and potentially violent anger issues. Issues that were triggered specifically by adults treating me differently. So simply putting up with it wasn't looking to be a safe option at that point. No matter how well I behaved, or how much I proved myself capable, the way I was treated never showed any hint of getting better. Instead, I found that being withdrawn, saying and doing as little around these people as possible would have them mostly leave me alone. It's the only thing I ever found that made their treatment of me more manageable, and it worked pretty consistently. It made my anger much less of a concern. Though it probably wasn't healthy for me in other ways, long term. Multiple times, for various reasons, I got my hopes up about things changing or getting better in some way, but I was let down every time. So now I just spend my life in my room passing the time, because that's about as good as things get for me and I no longer have it in me to hope for anything more.
  Feel free to question, comment, whatever. Brutal honesty preferred. I can imagine some people having rather critical opinions about some of this, so don't worry about holding back, haha.
  ...
Fuck labels. Fuck the institutions that give them their power. Fuck the people who place them on others. Fuck the people who judge others because of them. Fuck the people who think they know who someone is because of them. Fuck 'em.
People are people.

Hi Wizards,
I'm working on a project for work to streamline some stuff and save time in the future.
Main issues are labeled in bold for easier reference.
I have a few different workbooks, We'll Call them "Work 1-10" (The only reason this is really relevant is because I have to do it multiple times and necessitates the need for a master book)
I have a master workbook we'll call "Master"
In "Work" books I have 2 sheets. One is where I modify data, and Two is where I have the data pulled from "Master" using the VBA Code. These are labeled as "Work" and "Data"
I'm trying to have "Master" data pull into "Data". In "Work" I have a Dropdown in Column A that I'm trying to assign the source to a table in the "Data" tab that auto updates. My problem here is that when the "Data" tab updates, my source reference disappears and the dropdown no longer works.
My second issue is that in the same rows for the dropdown, I have VLOOKUP codes pulling the rest of the data from the table. This code also generates a Reference error after the updates. This is the VLOOKUP code. =VLOOKUP(A8,TableName,2,0)
This is the code. It pulls the data, formatting and tables and pulls to the "Data" Tab in "Work" books. (It gives me a "400" error but it still works correctly. (I used ChatGPT and have a moderate understanding of it)
Sub UpdateDataFromMasterMaterials()
Dim srcWorkbook As Workbook
Dim destWorkbook As Workbook
Dim srcSheet As Worksheet
Dim destSheet As Worksheet
Dim namedRange As Name
Dim srcTable As ListObject
Dim destTable As ListObject
Dim destRange As Range
Dim sourcePath As String
' Set the source and destination workbooks
Set destWorkbook = ThisWorkbook
' Construct the relative path to the source workbook
sourcePath = destWorkbook.Path & "\Master.xlsx"
' Open the source workbook
Set srcWorkbook = Workbooks.Open(sourcePath, ReadOnly:=True)
Set srcSheet = srcWorkbook.Sheets("Master_Sheet")
Set destSheet = destWorkbook.Sheets("Data") ' Adjust to your destination sheet name
' Clear the destination sheet
destSheet.Cells.Clear
' Copy the data and formatting from source to destination
srcSheet.UsedRange.Copy
destSheet.Range("A1").PasteSpecial Paste:=xlPasteAll
' Recreate named ranges in the destination workbook
For Each namedRange In srcWorkbook.Names
If namedRange.RefersToRange.Worksheet.Name = srcSheet.Name Then
destWorkbook.Names.Add Name:=namedRange.Name, RefersTo:=namedRange.RefersTo
End If
Next namedRange
' Recreate tables in the destination workbook
For Each srcTable In srcSheet.ListObjects
Set destRange = destSheet.Range(srcTable.Range.Address)
Set destTable = destSheet.ListObjects.Add(xlSrcRange, destRange, , xlYes)
destTable.Name = srcTable.Name
destTable.TableStyle = srcTable.TableStyle
Next srcTable
' Close the source workbook without saving
srcWorkbook.Close False
' Clean up
Application.CutCopyMode = False
End Sub
In "ThisWorkbook" in VBA I have the following code to auto update on open. (It's not working correctly)
Private Sub Workbook_Open()
Call UpdateDataFromMasterMaterials
End Sub
Any help would be greatly appreciated. I am open to using additional tools, but it needs to be easily understandable by someone else who doesn't understand excel quite as much so there can't be too many additional steps. Please let me know if you need any more info or if this is even possible.
Thank you!

(tldr towards the end)
  Recently I've been thinking I should be more open about my life and what I've been through. I know it's not nearly as bad as the abuses some have endured, but it's left me rather messed up in it's own way. It's a bunch of stuff I've barely ever shared with people, certainly never laid out in full like this before. Originally planned on only sharing this with a few close people, but at some point I started thinking it might be better to fully open up and just sorta dump my whole ass life story somewhere public? And this seemed as suitable a place as any?
Despite trying to keep it down to what felt like the most critical details, it somehow ended up becoming far, far longer than expected or planned. Long enough that I don't really expect anyone here to actually bother reading it. But whatever, I'm largely posting it for my own sake at this point.
  I am legally blind and also on the autistic spectrum. I'd ask that you don't pay too much mind to the autism part though. It's not that I have any problem with the way I am per se, but more than anything I wish I'd never been diagnosed with it.
I'm put in mind of the old Rosenhan experiment, where a handful of regular people falsely claimed to have hallucinations and got sent as patients to psychiatric hospitals. Despite acting completely normal once admitted, they were never able to be recognised as the mentally healthy people they were. The mental health system has improved drastically since then. However, at least in my experience, the way a diagnosis can stick to a person and significantly change of how some people will view and interact with that person is still very much a thing. Even if that diagnosis is accurate, this treatment can still be a problem.
  It started being a thing in primary school. Spent some of my time in a special classroom alongside a few other kids who... probably needed the support a lot more than I did. I admittedly did have some behaviour problems back then, but I'm pretty sure I was doing fine on learning. I remember not enjoying that I had to go to that class, nor liking the people running it, but I don't think my feelings about it were particularly strong back then.
Then middle school came and I think things were actually pretty good and normal at first. There were still various special needs workers and the like who'd sometimes come in to observe me in class, or pull me away for some one on one time with them or whatever. I was growing increasingly unfond of this sort of thing, but compared to before, most of my days were just regular student stuff. But over time I started acting out and getting stressed and things only got worse from there. I believe it started with there being a rule about students having to spend the entire lunch break outside if the weather was good. I have issues with light sensitivity and was not okay with this. Eventually I started refusing to go outside during lunch entirely. The teachers weren't okay with this and tensions rose (In hindsight, I really should've had sunglasses back then. No idea why I didn't)
I don't remember the exact reason, but at some point I got real stubborn and refused to do any work during class. Tensions rose more.
  This all led to me having to start seeing a psychiatrist, though that wasn't very constructive. There's two strong memories I have of him. One is of me and him sitting silently in a room where I was expected to be speaking but for whatever reason wasn't. The other is of him and mum talking about school stuff while I sat there listening, I'd sometimes speak up to try clarify or give context to stuff mum was saying but he'd insist I kept quiet or I'd have to leave the room.
He'd also have some one on one talks with mum while I waited outside. I only know what I've heard from mum talking about it many years later, and she has a tendency to exaggerate or embellish this kind of thing, so take this with a lump of salt. Supposedly he talked to her about how he was going to break me and then the real progress can begin. Then later, when that didn't work, he'd tell her I was the worst kid he'd ever dealt with and was untreatable. Though, again, no idea how true any of that is...
  So progress wasn't happening there, and things at school weren't getting better.
Somewhere along the line one of my special needs people, a visual resource worker who I'm sure was in no way qualified to make this kind of call, got the idea that I was depressed. So she started pushing to get me put on antidepressants. And I guess my psych was over having to deal with me at that point as he seemed to just go with it? And I was just a kid, so when I was told I needed to start taking a pill before school, I just did it without giving it any real thought.
Thing is, I wasn't depressed. I was stressed, angry, and full of anger related adrenalin. The pills did nothing to help any of those things. What they did do was mess with my ability to stay in control of all that. So the anger I'd been keeping bottled up started getting expressed. Physically. I'd often lash out against whoever was getting to me in that moment, which was typically teachers and staff but... not always.
I don't really like thinking about that time much. Don't like what I was. Obviously I put a lot of blame on the meds for messing me up so bad. But the anger itself is just something that's a part of me. As, I fear, is the way I lean towards getting physical when that anger becomes too much. It's something I've been sure to stay keenly aware of ever since.
To their arguable credit, the school did put up with me far longer than it had any right to. But their way of dealing with me wasn't exactly constructive. I don't really remember that time period super well tbh, but a few scattered memories that stand out are: A member of staff lifting me by the collar and holding me against a wall, two staff members dragging me home with one of them digging their fingernails into my hand hard enough it left two small scars (fully faded after a few years), a teacher holding me down over a desk forcing me to look at a piece of paper, and an already tense moment with me on the verge while a staff member was confrontationally saying something to the effect of "you shaking like that doesn't scare me". And then basically every clear weather day saw me being physically dragged by two or three staff members from the school building to the office building. Dragged right through the courtyard where all the other students were sitting for lunch. To be clear, this isn't me trying to play the victim per se, I really was quite bad back then. But, like, this started with me being stressed and angry at people. So I think you can probably see how things only compounded on themselves from there, each side constantly having a harder time and only making it harder for the other in turn.
  So yeah, eventually I got kicked out. Finally stopped taking the pills and only then did I become aware of just how much of an effect they'd been having on me, far too late for it to mean anything. Spent the next few months doing nothing but sitting at home playing computer games or whatever. Meanwhile the, uh, whatever places my various special needs workers come from, along with whatever other vague powers there are that get to decide the major life decisions for people like me, they were all trying to figure out where I should go from there.
  The answer was two years at a boarding school. A special boarding school meant specifically for kids with mental disabilities and learning difficulties.
It was not a good place for me.
(something I only just recently learned looking through some of the old papers my mum kept. Apparently some people thought I had a "fear of failure", and so sending me to a place where I would "perceive myself to be better than my peers" was expected to be good for me?? Perhaps it's that I'm still processing. I feel like I should be really upset to learn this, but for now I'm just too baffled)
  It's weird. Thinking back, this definitely feels like the darkest part of my life, as well as the part that's had the largest lasting impact on me. But when it comes to talking about it? It feels like there's rather little to say? (As I'm thinking about it, writing this out, I'm also finding I've forgotten a lot more of the details than I'd expected)
  To put things in some perspective, I'd learned to read before starting school. In primary school I was always in the top reading group of the class. Boarding school? I was one of the very few kids there who knew how to read at all (ages ranging for pre-teen to late teen). Then there was the boredom. I did have a few books and a gameboy, but that can only occupy a person so much. I ended up spending a lot of time literally just sitting around waiting for time to pass. Would go to the toilet at the slightest need just to fill in a few minutes.
But worst of all was the people. The kids there were... not people I'd think of as peers. Not really people I wanted to have as the entirety of my social experience. (though, spend enough time stuck with nothing but a certain group...) And then the adults were "friendly" but would often talk down to me or interact with me in ways I'd consider far more insulting than something like "the R word". Didn't matter that I was well behaved, properly educated, and unmedicated. I was a kid who had been sent there, so they saw and treated me the same as any other.
  Overall I think if I compared my experience there to being like a mentally healthy person being falsely committed to a mental institute? That maybe wouldn't be an entirely fair comparison, but I don't think it's an entirely wrong one either. I did not belong there.
  As for the school side of things... the principal had a talk with me early on where I made it clear just how much I didn't want to be there and would much rather be going to a normal school. He told me that was an option. That there were kids here who got to go to the local schools instead of the classes here. I expressed interest, but I was still new there and he wasn't willing to trust me right off the bat. Since It was getting close to the end of the school year, and I was due to start high school the year after, the deal was that if I could prove I could behave and be non-disruptive in class for the rest of the year I'd get to go to the local high school at the start of the next. This was of course a very easy goal to reach, now that I didn't have the meds messing me up. The deal didn't actually require me to do any of the work in class, and the work the class was doing was frankly so far beneath me that it was less mind numbing to just sit back and let my thoughts wander. So class became even more of me sitting around waiting for time to pass. Dull, but at least now I had something to look forward to!
As the time to start at the high school got near, the principal and I had more talks about how things were going to work. It was only here that I realised there'd been a miscommunication. All the boarding school kids that went to the high school all went into the same class, with a teacher who worked for the boarding school. Attending normal classes like I'd spent months looking forward to was simply not an option. Though he did make sure to stress how great this particular teacher was. Been working there for however many years and he'd never had a single student complain about her. In hindsight I probably should've taken that as more of a red flag.
She felt less like a teacher and more like a babysitter. I mentioned that the previous classes weren't suited for me, but at least there I could see the other students being challenged and learning stuff. Here? There was the occasional moment where a student would ask question and have something explained, but the bulk of the time it felt like they were just being kept busy with a level of work they were already confident in. It's extremely rude to say, but I'm honestly not sure she was even smart enough to be working as a teacher. The work I was given was still beneath me, but I started out doing it anyway out of some hope that I'd be given harder stuff if I proved I was capable. As time went on I came to realise just how pointless that hope was. So after a few months I once again I stopped doing any of the work. It was demeaning. And so sitting in class doing nothing became the entire rest of my school year.
Oh, but there was one very special moment in the later part of the year! The teacher gave me a book to look at. A teacher book of worksheets that could be photocopied and handed out. She told me it was all stuff for my level. That I could take a look through it and if anything interested me she'd make a copy for me to do. And did I mention this was the exact same work everyone else my age was doing? Because she made sure to assure me of that at least two or three times. So I opened to a random page and had a look, then immediately started searching the book to see who it was actually meant for. Sure enough it wasn't meant for high school students, or even middle school students. Primary. Mid-late primary aged students with learning disabilities. I'd expected little, but wow!
  Of course, this boarding school was never intended to be more than a two year thing, so the powers that be still had to decide what I'd do when I got out. And... it was decided that I'd get to go back into high school back home. The catholic one, so it'd be a fresh start away from all the students who knew me from the mess at middle school. And I'd be attending regular classes as a regular student, for real this time. I'd also be starting at the start of the school year which, with the way the timing of things worked out, meant getting about half a year cut off from the two year stint. Great news all around! It did mean starting the first year of high school over again, since the boarding school never even tried teaching me anything at the proper level, so I'd be a year older than the rest of kids in my classes, but whatever. (though why this all couldn't have just happened a year earlier I'll never know. No idea what was going on behind the scenes with the people making these decisions, but on my end the whole boarding school thing felt like nothing but a huge waste of time with a bunch of added mental trauma on the side)
  So I once again had something to look forward to. A fresh start as a normal student!? The one thing I'd been wanting so deeply since I got kicked out of middle school? I got pretty emotionally invested in the idea, and it really helped carry me through the however many months left of boarding school I still had to get through first.
  Stupid.
Naive.
Should've known better.
Would've known better if I'd let myself think about it for even a moment.
  As much as things had been especially bad the past few years, things had stopped being good and normal for me since long before that. Of course I'd still be getting judged and defined by labels by adults who hadn't even met me. Of course I'd still have to deal with them treating me different than everyone else. Of course it would be worse than before now that a special needs school was part of my history.
There was the usual stuff of course. Being talked down do or having basic stuff extremely overexplained to me. Getting specifically told what an amazingly super good job I was doing when I followed instructions exactly the same as everyone else in class was doing. Same sort of thing any time I did well on a test, only then it was with multiple teachers throughout the day. Doing the best in class was even worse. One teacher I even learned to recognise when they were about to start speaking to me because of a noticeable hesitation they'd have. Every time. Only for me. There was one time where a teacher, without asking, decided to be helpful and go through and organise everything in my bag for me. Middle of class, in front of everyone. And even weird stuff like one teacher who'd hand out worksheets and would always hand one to me last. No matter where I was sitting they'd somehow manage to path around the room in a way that made me last. Exactly the same sheet as everyone else. Not sure they even realised they were doing it. Like, wat? How do I even parse behaviour like that?
And one fun moment that really stands out: Teacher who often writes stuff on the board for the class to copy down in our books. Speaks aloud the words as she writes. Later has questions about how I'm able to copy it down when I can't see that far. Tell her I just listen to what she says, she insists she isn't saying anything. Stops speaking when writing after that. Sure. Sometimes people automatically stop a subconscious habit when it's pointed out to them. Don't give it much thought, just waited for the kid next to me to finish then asked to copy off them. nbd. About a week later mum gets a call from the principal. Apparently "some teachers" suspected that I was faking my low vision. Seriously, what the hell!? Is a lifetime of me successfully deceiving all the experts I've ever seen really more believable than me being capable of finding a simple solution to an everyday problem?
...actually those last four examples were all the same teacher. There were others who talked down to or treated me weird, but this one really stood out. Sometimes wonder if things would've gone differently if I hadn't had to deal with someone that bad so soon after starting there.
Also, I didn't learn this for sure until a fair bit later (though I did have some suspicions), but I understand some staff had some kind of big talk with all the other students in my year. About asperger's and about me and what to expect. I actually have very little idea about what was said here (though apparently violent behaviour was mentioned) but I'm pretty sure I should be pissed. After all, a big part of the reason I came to this school specifically was to have it be a clean slate!
  In some ways things were even worse than boarding school. At least there I was technically treated about the same as everyone else, much as I hated being grouped with them. Now? Stuff like hearing a teacher talk normally to one student, then hear the drastic change in tone of voice the moment they started talking to me? It made things hit in a much sharper way, so to speak.
I don't know if it was because of that, because I'd let myself get my hopes up, or just me being worn down and done with things. But at this point being blatantly talked down to or othered by people was starting to become a pretty big trigger for me, anger wise. It was only getting worse as time went by.
I'd managed to keep things in control, but after about half a year of doing my best, putting up with everything and getting zero sign that things were ever going to improve, I got the sense that I wasn't going to be able to keep this up forever. That unless something changed it would only be a matter of time before things went real bad.
Thinking back, there's probably better ways I could've handled it. But at the time I just let myself fall back into old, safe patterns. I stopped doing any of the work, stopped trying to interact with the teachers I couldn't tolerate, basically just started spending my days sitting in class doing nothing, being as quiet and unresponsive as possible.
This must sound pretty counterintuitive, huh? Acting like this when I'd so desperately wanted to be seen and treated like a regular person? And yet, it worked just as I thought it would. There was a bit of an adjusting period, but after a few months of them failing to get anything out of me they'd mostly just leave me alone. Things started to become far less stressful and I finally started to feel like I'd be able to see high school all the way through to the end.
Sure there were still occasional moments where one of the bad ones would speak or try to interact with me in some way, and the way they treated me in those moments was the same as it'd ever been, but the sheer drop in frequency was enough to make things feel manageable.
...I want to repeat that for emphasis. I started out doing all my school and homework, from being active in class, talking, and generally doing everything I could do to try and be seen as a normal student. And then suddenly went to refusing to write anything down or give any response when they tried to talk to me. And the way they treated me was the same as it'd ever been. The way they talked down to and othered me did not get any worse for this change. It started out as bad as it would ever be right from day one, and nothing I said or did was ever going to change it.
So spending every class sitting around doing nothing became my new normal, again. I still listened and stuff, took in what I could. It wasn't ideal for learning, but I think I managed okay.
To be clear, when I talk about how badly some of the staff treated me, there were also a bunch of teachers who talked to and treated me perfectly normal. Even when I didn't do much in class. The first few years just happened to stick me with a bunch of the worst ones. Things did get a lot better for me after that, especially when I got more freedom to pick my classes. (Mum likes to talk up how smart I am for picking all the sciences. Truth is my only focus when picking classes was to try to get as many good teachers as I could)
Even as things got better I still didn't do the bulk of the work in class, though I did take tests and do at least some of the projects for credits. I already had something that was working for me and didn't want to rock the boat. Another sudden change in behaviour would've surely drawn a lot of unwanted attention.
Naturally some people from the school became pretty sceptical about my chances of passing. Literally having mum sign a document saying she wouldn't hold the school accountable for my failure at the start of one school year, then trying to stop me from even taking the exams at the end of that same year.
It was actually pretty amusing thinking back. Four times a year there would be a meeting between mum and the school to talk about me. "They will never be able to pass, they haven't done enough work" "The qualifications for this year are a lot harder than last year, they won't be able to pass this time unless they change their behaviour" Up until final year when literally every meeting was about what I'd do the following year when (not if) I failed to graduate. Discussing stuff like if I'd be able to get along with the previous year of kids if I repeated, or if working in the school laundry would be a good place for me.
I did pass in the end. Admittedly only barely, but still.
(None of the good teachers ever showed up to these meetings btw, kinda goes with me considering them the good ones I guess. But it did leave the school side of the meetings rather one sided. It made for a weird moment in my final year when talking to my physics teacher and he casually mentioned the possibility of me scoring higher than the basic passing marks, while others from the school were literally planning for my failure)
  For the final years of high school I was pretty much running on some mix of inertia, stubbornness, and spite. But that's all I had going for me. So, while passing despite expectations to the contrary was satisfying in a metaphorical middle finger kind of way, I had no motivations for anything beyond that. I was done.
My mum and a handful of other people would talk about what a waste it was for me to never go onto university or anything because I'm smart or whatever. But I really was just totally done with everything at that point.
Thinking back, I have some mixed feelings about this. I can kinda imagine a scenario where I go off to uni and it ends up being super good and healthy for me. But I can also very easily imagine the opposite. Like, sure, everybody talks about college and university and how vastly different they are from everything before it. But I'm not part of that 'everybody'. I can't trust that things being that way for everyone else means they'll be that way for me. Seeing my peers all starting to live hands off and independent would've only made it hurt more if I still had to deal with any staff there treating me like I'm incapable, or dealing with the various special needs people who would no doubt still be trying to be involved in my life. Plus, I'd already gotten my hopes up before, thinking that high school would've been different, and got burned for it. Didn't have much optimism left in me after that. And it's not like there were any subjects or anything that had me interested in further education in the first place. ...Which does mean all the time, stress and energy I spent into getting all my high school qualifications ended being a complete waste. But whatever. Sunk cost fallacy or something.
  Never entered any sort of workforce either. I spent all my time at home living as a dependent. Playing games, watching anime, just finding ways to pass the time. I wouldn't say I was happy or fulfilled per se, but I wasn't unhappy either. Wasn't stressed or angry. It was the closest I'd been to content in a very long time.
And then over ten years passed and literally nothing has changed. It's embarrassing to still be comparing things to my time at school when that was so long ago now. But it really does still feel like living this quiet, out of the way existence that doesn't draw anyones attention really is as good as things can get for me.
  So... that's basically the story of how my life ended up becoming broken, empty and meaningless. And, much as I wish things had gone differently, I've more or less made peace with where I'm at.
  tldr: Being diagnosed as autistic caused many people to start othering me, treating me as something far different and/or less capable than my would be peers. As a kid I was put on ill-prescribed medication, then later was sent to a special needs boarding school. All of these things did far more harm than good for me growing up. I admittedly wasn't always the best behaved kid, but even when I got a lot better the way people saw and treated me was the same. Even with adults I was meeting for the first time. By high school I was developing some pretty serious and potentially violent anger issues. Issues that were triggered specifically by adults treating me differently. So simply putting up with it wasn't looking to be a safe option at that point. No matter how well I behaved, or how much I proved myself capable, the way I was treated never showed any hint of getting better. Instead, I found that being withdrawn, saying and doing as little around these people as possible would have them mostly leave me alone. It's the only thing I ever found that made their treatment of me more manageable, and it worked pretty consistently. It made my anger much less of a concern. Though it probably wasn't healthy for me in other ways, long term. Multiple times, for various reasons, I got my hopes up about things changing or getting better in some way, but I was let down every time. So now I just spend my life in my room passing the time, because that's about as good as things get for me and I no longer have it in me to hope for anything more.
  Feel free to question, comment, whatever. Brutal honesty preferred. I can imagine some people having rather critical opinions about some of this, so don't worry about holding back, haha.
  ...
Fuck labels. Fuck the institutions that give them their power. Fuck the people who place them on others. Fuck the people who judge others because of them. Fuck the people who think they know who someone is because of them. Fuck 'em.
People are people.

First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and support from the last post. A lot has happened since then, and a bunch of context is needed, so I hope you'll bear with me as I explain the details.
***
Back during the peak of the blinking crisis, I remember having a lot of difficulty sleeping. It was common for me to average only four or five hours a night, and the little sleep I did get was marred by terrible nightmares. One in particular recurred many times.
I was only eight, but somehow I was in the driver's seat of our family's old SUV. My arms were long enough to steady the wheel, but my legs didn't quite meet the pedals. It didn't matter though, since the car seemed content to continue on at a constant pace. I looked over and saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her face was a blurry likeness pieced together from the dozen or so picture's I'd seen of her over the years. I tried to bring her into focus, not only because I missed her dearly, but because she was speaking—pleading, even. She waved frantically at me, then brought her leg up and slammed it down on the floor mat several times. I didn't understand what had her so upset until she pointed out the front windshield, and I saw we were hurdling directly toward a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road.
Panicking, I stomped for the brake, but my seatbelt protested and pulled me back like an invigorated dog on a short leash. I sat up and tried clicking it off, but it wouldn't budge. My breaths became hollow cries, and I felt my heart beat against the bars of its bony prison. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it to the left, then right, attempting to swerve off the road, but it was as if whatever kind of glue was locking up the seatbelt was also fixing the steering wheel in place.
"Mom! what do I do!?" I yelled, tears streaming from my eyes. She was yelling back at me, but it was as if there was a divider between us, and neither of us could hear each other. I turned back just in time to see the giant Oak tree meet the front bumper, and then I jolted awake with a piercing pain in my chest that radiated up through my throat in the form of a giant scream. My little legs kicked under the covers and tears rained down on my pillow until my dad ran in and knelt at my bed.
"Lauren, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"
I grabbed my pillow and hugged it so my face was covered, then effused a "Mmm-hmm" in a long wheeze while rocking to either side.
"Oh, honey," he soothed and brushed my hair, then the tears from my face when I would allow it.
Time would pass in silence, and when I began to get the sense that my dad was ready to leave, I'd chirp out, "stay" in that way children do when they're embarrassed about wanting something.
"Always," my dad would reply; then he'd post up on the floor with my large tomato plushie as a pillow.
One night in particular, it was deep in the night, and I had woken to a tapping sound outside my window. I was so afraid that a monster had snuck into my room while I wasn't looking that I made him lay next to me and face outward. I'd peek my eyes open every minute or so to check and make sure my dad was there, staking out the room. Eventually, he rolled in close and said something that I still remember to this day.
"Hey, baby, guess what." he whispered.
"Mmm" I mumbled.
"I think you scared the monster away."
I tried to picture this through the fog of my fatigue. Something seemed off about the statement, like it wasn't logically possible, but before I could piece together the words to express that, my dad cut back in.
"It was scared because it realized you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is?"
I shook my head, making sure to rub my forehead against his shoulder so he could sense it in the dark room.
"You're greatest power is that you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them. And there's all kinds of stories. Happy ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. Tell me, this monster you think snuck in, would you say he's part of a scary story?"
"I don't know," I said, confused. "Maybe"
"Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I want you to remember this. You have the ability to tell any kind of story you want. Maybe there are monsters, but that means there's heroes and angels, too, right?"
I was beginning to doze off to the comforting sound of my dad's deep voice, but I gave another affirmative "Mm-hmm".
"So, if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story. A story that will bring you peace. Do you understand?"
But I was already out.
***
I woke up the next morning to the feeling that someone was in the hotel room with me. The drapes were drawn and the only sound was the AC unit blowing cold air, but when I looked toward the dark corner of the empty coat rack, my mind conjured the face of my dad, smiling at me, chanting that same, awful line—Oh, Lauren… you know who we are.
I was no longer a child, but it took a couple minutes of cold focus before I muscled the courage to ascend from the safety of my covers and flick on the lamp light. The small amber radius extended to where my dad's feet would have been if he was standing there. But there was no one. I let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the mattress, thinking back on all those years growing up. The same man who had helped me conquer my fear of the dark was now the monster hiding in its shadow.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the clock read 10:15. My meeting with Trent was in three hours. I moaned and stretched my arms back until they knocked against the headboard, then I collapsed back onto the mattress, meditating, gathering energy like a compressed spring. All at once, I jumped up and glided over to the drapes, opening them in a single, fluid motion. I grimaced at the sunlight, but the warmth felt good against my face. I stopped by the nightstand and gulped down the final few swigs of a bottle of Mello Yello that I had purchased from a vending machine the previous night, then undressed and hopped in the shower.
The warm water wasn't enough to wash away the previous night's memories. When I closed my eyes to lather my hair, I was back in my living room, standing opposite the demon that had taken on my dad's form. His smile. His laugh. It was like someone in my head was flipping a switch between the man I loved growing up and a terrible monster. But the fear was more powerful. I heard something drop onto the tile floor on the other side of the curtain. The noise made me gasp, and I opened my eyes while shampoo was still streaming down my face. I swiped the shampoo out of my now burning eyes and squinted at the curtain, trying to see through it, but I couldn't make anything out. "I-is anyone," I started, trembling, afraid to finish the sentence. I reached out and pinched the end of the curtain. My heart was in overdrive. I swallowed, then pulled it toward me and peeked out. I scanned the room, but I couldn't see anything out of place.
It wasn't until after I finished showering and wound myself up in one of the hotel's too-small towels that I saw what had made the noise. I bent down and picked up the stub of a razor blade that had fallen onto the tile right next to the puffy, gray shower rug. It wasn't mine, and I was pretty sure hotels didn't keep unguarded razor blades just laying around. When I held it up, it occurred to me that if it had simply fallen a few inches to the left, it would have been buried in the rug, and perhaps I would have stepped on it. I stared at myself in its steely reflection. Cold. Lonely. Small. What if I—was all I was able to think before the blade blinked out of my hand.
I threw on some clothes, packed up the few belongings I had into my purse, then checked out of my room. I didn't feel safe going back home after what happened, but I also didn't want to go anywhere else. I got in my car and drove aimlessly up and down the town's streets, focusing only on the car ahead of me. Anytime I started to travel down an avenue of thought, I'd make a turn, or speed up, or hit the brakes: anything to keep my mind distracted. It was sweltering outside, but I'd turn the heat on for minutes at a time until I felt drenched, then toggle max AC until I was cool, then back to heat. I repeated the basic driving tenet "10 and 2", "10 and 2", "10 and 2" like a mantra—a chant to focus my attention on a single point, and then I pictured that point disappearing. I began to think that maybe I wanted to disappear.
I fully intended to keep going that way until 1:00, but after about thirty minutes, my meandering route had led me to St. Mark's Catholic Church, where a large group of people were gathered around a long line of tables in front of the building. I slowed down. At the front of the venue was a large, white cardboard sign which read, "Plant a Seed, Share the Joy". I wasn't sure what that meant, but my boredom had come to a head, and I rationalized that if there's any place on God's green earth that would be safe, it was this one. I parked along the closest side-street, then walked over to the church.
Rows of white tables were covered with cardboard boxes filled with small plants that were wrapped up in individual paper pots. I watched from a distance as people behind the tables carefully removed the plants, one by one, and offered them to passersby. I continued down the line, a sheep in the herd, and allowed myself to sink into childhood memories. I had somehow made it out the other end near the Narthex when I heard a woman's voice call to me.
"Hey, deary, have you gotten one yet?"
I turned and saw a small, gray-haired lady with rose-colored glasses. "Oh, no," I started, attempting to decline, then paused. The old lady grabbed one of the plants and held it out for me.
"Here," she said. "Come on, I won't bite."
As far as you know, I thought, and stumbled forward with a sigh. "Thanks," I said and took the plant. "What is this all for, anyway?"
"It's a giveaway," the old woman responded. "Staff have been growing these plants—tomatoes and garlic, mainly—so they could offer them to members of the Parish. The idea is to have the members grow the produce, then donate it to St. Mark's Food Pantry to give to those in need."
"Oh, that's actually pretty cool." I replied and inspected my plant which was at present nothing more than a small green stem. "So which kind is this one?"
"That one is—" the old lady stopped and inspected the other plants near where she had grabbed mine—"tomato."
"Tomato," I repeated. "Well, thanks again."
"Of course, dear." the old lady beamed. "We're all responsible for each other."
I nodded, then continued back through the crowd toward my car when, through the large vestibule windows, I saw a Priest speaking to a young couple. It had been a little over a decade since I had attended a service (I stopped going during High School when I started studying other religions), and I didn't recognize this Priest. He was short (just over five feet tall), bald, and African American. He wore the customary black robe and white collar, and there was something in his smile and the way seemed to be affirming the couple that made me yearn to speak with him. I considered for a moment, a bit embarrassed to be stepping back into church after all this time, but the thought of being able to burn ten minutes talking with someone who might have some insight into my situation was too tempting to pass up.
I waited near a portrait of Mary Magdalene, my tomato plant in hand, staring off at the pristine series of stained glass images portraying the death and resurrection of Jesus. About a minute in, the Priest met my eyes; he smiled, his way of telling me he knew I was waiting, then finished up with the couple and made his way over. He had a bit of an accent when he spoke—it was Ugandan, from best I could tell—and a proclivity for laughing at the end of his sentences.
"Hello, Miss, I don't believe I've had the privilege," he said and held out his hand. He leaned in as he spoke, and his smile tugged on the corners of his eyes which were already marked with use.
I shook his hand and returned what I'm sure was a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. My name's Lauren. I used to come here when I was little. It's—been a while."
"Well, I see you picked a good day to visit. If you're into gardening, that is." He remarked with a laugh and gestured toward the plant. "It's nice to meet you, Lauren. My name's Martin—Father Martin, if you prefer."
"Father Martin," I repeated, "I have a friend named Martin. It's a good name."
He laughed and said, "Thank you, I'll pass that one along to my mother. She loves the praise."
I laughed back. He carried himself in such a carefree way that I was put immediately at ease. Almost to the point where I forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. "Um," I started, attempting to word my question in a way that didn't sound like I needed psychiatric help. "I have a couple of religious questions for you, if you have time."
"That's what I'm for. Ask away."
"They're about… miracles. Like the ones in the Bible. I was wondering, do you think that miracles still happen today?"
"Miracles, huh," he started. "You mean like water into wine?"
"Kind of, yeah,"
"Hmm…" he contemplated. "Well, I haven't seen them, myself. You know, I may be a Priest, but I also have a degree in Physics. I think God made the world according to laws, right? But I do think God has the power to intervene. Yes. I just have never seen it… like … you know, the biblical type of miracles. To me, there are miracles happening all around us—miracles we can't see."
"Exactly," I responded, thinking about how no one else could see the blinks, "those kinds of miracles. What are those miracles we can't see?"
One of Father Martin's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I think the greatest miracle is the miracle of God's love which was perfected in Christ and offered to each of us. It's his power to heal even the most troubled mind. By coming into alignment with God's will for us, we can see the true purpose of this existence."
No, he's not getting it, I thought. I scrambled to my other entry-point. "What about the story of Job? God made a bet with the Devil that Job would stay faithful to him no matter what the Devil did to him. Do you think that kind of situation is possible?"
Father Martin's expression drooped into a concerned frown. "There's quite the difference between miracles and the story of Job. I suppose I see what you're getting at, though. Job's suffering is in some ways the antithesis to positive miracles. In this life, we are tested, sometimes to the point of losing everything, but even that person who has more reason to hate God than anyone else can once again find peace and eternal happiness through faith. In fact, it's often the person who is lowest in the pit of suffering that needs the Light of Christ more than anyone else."
I thought back on the first night that I prayed. It was in my moment of greatest helplessness that I reached out to God, and I thought I had found my answer in Him. But now, after what happened last night, after all these years of chaos—not merely losing things that were important to me, but my very sanity—I needed more than just blind faith. I couldn't just sit idly by and hope things would get better. I smiled at the Priest and said, "Thank you, Father, this has been very insightful."
"Of course, sister. I'm sorry if I couldn't have been of more help."
"No, I think I understand now. I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared."
Father Martin nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, will you let me leave you with a prayer?"
I was a bit taken off guard by the request, but I accepted. "Sure, Father."
I watched as he made the sign of the cross, then he lifted his hands and closed his eyes. "Dear God, I am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting with Lauren today, especially on a day such as this where we are offering gifts for those who need them. You have heard her desire to confront the things that are troubling her. I ask that you bless her with strength and peace and a clear conscience, that she may overcome these challenges. God, bless us with your spirit, that we may see your hand in our lives. Amen."
"Amen," I said.
As I was leaving, Father Martin called out to me and said, "Oh, just so you know, this Friday at 7 we are having a barbecue at the Parish Center. I would love to see you there, if you're able and wanting."
Turning back, I smiled and said, "Oh, ok, thanks Father. I'll think about it."
The priest nodded, and with a smile, he sent me off.
***
I walked into the Deli at 1:00 on the dot. The customers who had arrived for the lunch rush were already cleaning up their trash and heading out. I dodged past a few of them on my way down the long, narrow path leading to the front counter. While I waited behind a couple of elderly folk who were picking which soup they wanted to pair with their Ultimate Grilled Cheese, I looked around for Trent. He hadn't sent me a picture or any way of contacting him throughout the day, so I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I figured I'd see some man half-hidden behind a newspaper, scouting me out. Maybe I watch too many movies, I thought.
"Ahem, ma'am. You're up." croaked the teenager behind the register.
"Oh, right, sorry" I replied and stepped up to the counter. "Uhh," I muttered, scanning the menu for something that looked edible. "Could I just get…" I made sure to mouth every syllable as they were words of their own.
"We have a deal—the try two combo. Sandwich and a soup for $9.99." the cashier repeated for what was probably the fiftieth time that day.
"Yes, that sounds good. I'll do the Italian sandwich and potato soup. And a drink, please."
After I paid for the food, I wandered around the tables, hoping to find someone who looked like a Trent. I was picturing a short guy, runner's build, with long brown hair, tucked somewhere neatly away in the corner. So I was not prepared when the Hulk's stunt double growled my name from a table smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. He had a pale, square face that was spotted with freckles and a sinking property that comes with the lethal combination of stress and age. His hair was relatively short. Probably it was brown or auburn, but since it was slicked back, it looked almost black. And he wore what looked like janitor coveralls. There was even a cloth tag pinned to his chest which read, "Trent".
"Lauren?" He repeated.
"Yes, that's me." I said and took a seat across from him. I saw a brown tray on the table in front of him, and on the tray was a large, white soup bowl. It was empty and beginning to crust along the edges. He must have been here for some time already. "I didn't know where you'd be, so I was worried we might miss each other. I'm glad you found me though." I said while looking over Trent more thoroughly. His large hands were stretched out in front of him on the table. He wasn't wearing a ring, so he probably wasn't married. And his face, it was stern. He seemed like a no-bullshit kind of guy. Then I saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue—probably the most stunning I'd ever seen.
"We only spoke on the internet, so I hope you don't mind, but I usually run a preliminary test on anyone I meet who claims to have abilities such as yours." Trent said while reaching into his pocket and removing a device that had the size and shape of an electric razor. "All you have to do is look into it. It takes maybe five seconds. Ten at most."
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly. "Do I just—" I asked while reaching for the device.
Trent clicked a button and released the cylindrical head which opened, revealing a glass circle about the size of an iris. "I'll hold it, just look into the center. A red cross should appear, then it'll take the picture."
"Okay…" I replied and did as he instructed, leaning my head forward to look into the device. Sure enough, a red cross appeared. "Is it…" was all I got out before the light turned blue and I saw a gray fog disperse and billow throughout the inside of the tube, extending for what I perceived to be miles. My jaw went slack and I couldn't breathe for maybe five seconds. Then Trent reshuttered the device and turned it over.
"Damn, 72." He said with a hint of shock. "That's the highest I've scanned to date." He looked back at me, more relaxed now, and muttered to himself. "How have you been able to function for this long? At this level, you should basically be half in, half out."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration and fatigue and impatience which all poured out at once. "Listen, Trent," I said as sternly as I could, "I came here because you said you knew what was wrong with me and that you could help me. I get you have to make sure I am who I said I am, but now it's your turn to pay up. How do I know you know anything about my condition? You said my mom might still be alive. What does that even mean? I saw her die right in front of me. I want answers."
I waited for Trent to respond, but he only lifted his head. I turned around and saw a girl holding a tray of food.
"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt. I have an order 36 for Lauren."
"Oh, yes, thank you." I said. The worker placed the tray down on the table in front of me, and when I saw the food, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Trent must have also realized this, because he folded his arms and said, "go ahead and eat. I'll explain while you do."
I wanted to protest, but my salivating mouth made other plans. "Fine," I said. I grabbed the metal spoon off the tray and started on the soup, bracing against the steaming heat of the potato chunks.
As I ate, Trent moved all of the items on his tray off to the side, then he flipped the tray over so it was raised slightly off the table. He took his cup and placed it face down in the center, then he rolled up a few of his used, blue mayonnaise packets and charted a track across the tray.
"What are you doing?" I croaked out between bites.
Trent ignored me and continued by ripping up a napkin into strips and placing them alongside the mayonnaise packets. Finally, he snapped ten toothpicks in half and stuck them in the tomb of a dozen overlayed napkins. "It's your diorama," he said at last.
"It's my what?"
"From the story you sent me. Your diorama. When I read about it, it gave me a good idea of how to explain the 'blinking'."
I pointed at the cup in the center. "Is that supposed to be a pyramid? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong geometric neighborhood with that one."
"It's an analogy," he said.
"Of an analogy," I quipped back.
"Look," he picked out one of the toothpicks and held it out in front of me. "This could be a person, an animal, a crowbar—whatever you want. The point is, this diorama is a stand in for our universe. This is everything that exists, that we can see. Okay?"
"Okay,"
"Now, me," Trent placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not in the diorama. I don't exist in the universe."
"In the universe where a cup is a pyramid, or the actual universe?" I said, unable to control myself.
Trent grimaced.
"Sorry, keep going. I get it."
"Things pop into," Trent threw the toothpick back onto the tray, "or out of," he picked the toothpick back up, "our universe at will, based on forces," he patted his chest again, "that exist in other realms" he gestured to the room, "that are connected to our universe," he tapped two fingers against the tray. "These things could be objects, like, say, a toothpick, or entities, like the one you encountered yesterday. The blinking experience that you described aligns with the typical experience of a moderate Antenna. That's what I call people like us—Antennas; because we can pick up on signals others can't."
"We—you mean you see the blinking, too?"
"Yes, but not to the same extent as you. If all the blinks are gathered in a giant picture that you can see, I'm traversing the image through binoculars, maybe even a microscope, depending on where we are."
I thought about this. I guess it was possible there were other people like me out there, but since I had never met anyone, I didn't really consider the idea until now. And then for him to say my ability was somehow much stronger than his… "But," I started, "I haven't even seen that many blinks since I was a child. It's just more focused and malicious now."
"Yeah," Trent scratched his head, "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying. And, look, that's all well and good, but I don't want to give you the false impression that I'm some kind of religious leader. I like to look for logical, scientific explanations for things. So that's the frame I'm coming at this from."
I took a sip from my drink. "That's fine," I said, "the truth is that's why I reached out to you in the first place. I wanted an explanation I could understand. An explanation that was directly related to what I'm going through."
"Then we should get along just fine."
I was scooping out the last potato that was stubbornly gliding along the bottom of the bowl when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the old man from the line shooting up from his bench and standing in army-erect form. I felt a tingling sensation tickle the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn toward him. I knew what I'd see if I did. "Trent," I whispered, trying to tip him off.
"Huh?" he grunted. Then when he saw my expression, he snuck his right hand under the table and said, "Do you see it? Is it here?"
I cocked my head to the left, signaling toward the old man that was now facing us, but Trent didn't seem to notice him: his eyes just kept scanning the entire front of the restaurant. Then I saw the old man take a step in our direction.
"Lauuurennnn, oh Lauuuurennnn, I've been looking for you, Laurenn." The old man said in a low, gravelly voice that gave the impression he was gurgling liquid tar. I turned and saw his face. It was cold and expressionless, and a butter knife was poking out of his left fist. When I met his eyes, he smiled that horrible smile."You're a slippery bitch, you know that?" He spat. "Why can't you just stay put? Don't you get tired of running from your old friend? Or have you forgotten about me?"
"Trent," I mumbled out. "Right there."
"And this guy. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. If that's not clear, you really are a lost little lamb."
"Quick, give me your hand," Trent instructed.
I was silent, my eyes still pinned to the old man.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk," the demon possessed senior wagged his finger at me, taking a step, then another step, shortening the distance as much as he could while I was entranced. Then, suddenly, he sprinted forward at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Trent!" I screamed.
"Lauren, give me your hand!"
I spun around and grabbed Tren'ts outstretched arm just as the old man lifted the butter knife over his head like a pickaxe. Then I saw Trent pull out what looked like a toy gun from under the table and point it at the demon.
"Got you," Trent remarked. I braced for a gunshot, but there was no noise. After a couple seconds, I looked back and saw the old man sitting in the booth opposite his wife, his hand tremoring as he reached for his large drink.
"What did you?" I asked, but Trent was already pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, we have to go," he said, "the effect is temporary, he'll be—"
Before he could get out the last word, I saw the cup-pyramid on Trent's tray blink out of existence. The sound of a plate shattering rang out from a table up ahead. The lone woman standing there slowly turned around, smiling, with a fork in one hand and a piece of the broken plate in the other. Trent shot her with the toy gun as we ran past and then barreled through the front door.
"Where—are we going?" I asked between gasps.
"My van. It's loaded with kit."
"And then where?"
"Your house" replied Trent who stashed his gun back in his pocket and took out a key fob.
"My house? But that's where he—it appeared."
"Yeah, and that's where you banished it."
Trent waved me into the passenger seat of his RAM 3500 Promaster. I noticed right away the dash which looked more like it belonged in a new limited-edition EV than a cargo van. The ignition kicked on automatically, and I heard the beep of a sonar ping precede an English woman's voice calling out like some auxed-in GPS saying, "scanning for anomalies". Trent shifted the van into gear, and I heard the wheels sputter as we accelerated backward and whipped out of the small parking lot.
"What's your address?" Trent asked. I gave it to him, and then speaking to his dash, he said, "Car, take us to ****."
"Redirecting to ****," replied the British woman. "Currently detecting 31 novel emergences. Updating pings every 300 milliseconds. Chance of contact: 0.23%"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"The van has sensor equipment which can detect blinks. It's much more accurate than either of us."
"And it sees 31?"
"Yes, that's not as many as it sounds." Trent said and tore past a car that blinked out of existence right as we turned onto the main street.
We drove on for another couple minutes, the Englishwoman updating the number of novel emergences every ten seconds or so. Her constant babbling eventually became a comforting background noise, and I was able to think again.
"In the message you sent me, you said my mom may still be alive." I looked at Trent to see if he would react to me bringing her up, but he remained stolid. "What did you mean by that?"
Trent thumbed his steering wheel. "I shouldn't have sent that." He said at last.
"Shouldn't have… What do you mean? You can't just say that now."
Trent took one hand off the wheel and turned toward me. "Look, we're going back to your house because we need to determine your origin point. All Antennas have them. It's a place of high energy where many realms intersect, kind of like a station, and it's the place where you first acquired your abilities. Based on everything you wrote, I'm guessing that place is where the forest where the accident happened when you were a young child. But I need to confirm it. Once I confirm that that's the place…" Trent hesitated.
"Then… what? You want us to go back there? To the place where my mom died, or at least where I think she died until you told me she might be alive but are now taking it back? That place?"
"It's the only way to—"
"Now detecting novel agent," the Englishwoman interrupted. We both perked up as she gave another update. "Net anomalies: 437. Novel Agents: 1. Chance of contact: 78%."
"Shit," Trent muttered. "Car, course correct."
"Attempting course correct to avoid collision. Attempts made: 10, 50, 75, 79… No alternate route detected. Chance of contact: 96%."
"Time until contact?"
"Time until contact: 13 seconds."
I shuddered. Looking out the front windshield, I saw cars pop out of existence left and right, opening up a clear path to the four way intersection ahead. In a blink, the streetlights all turned green, and then they vanished completely. It was as if the entire world was being stripped down bare, and all that remained was the road, boxed in by the rows of buildings along either side. In the distance I could see a large tanker barreling toward us.
"Trent,"
"I know," he replied and clicked a different button on the console which opened a new toggle for the shifter labeled "TD". He pushed the stick forward, engaging the new mode, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the ground. "You're going to want to hold on."
"What are you doing!?" I yelled, grabbing onto my seatbelt.
"No time to explain. Car, release phase lock."
"Phase lock released."
I watched in horror as the color drained from the road and buildings and sky, transforming it all into a dim tunnel, with only the headlights of the oncoming semi-truck visible up ahead. I had the sudden thought that this was all a dream, just like the ones from my childhood. I looked over and no longer saw Trent, but my mother. And then I realized this wasn't a dream. This was hell. I was being forced to relive the worst moment of my life, over and over again. Just when I thought I had escaped, I was pulled right back into that car, helpless as we approached but never arrived at our impending fate. I closed my eyes right as the lights engulfed the windshield and braced for the usual pain in my chest, for the feeling of breaking.
But it didn't come.
"Shift" was the last word out of Trent's mouth, and then I was infused with the sensation of being at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. I was suspended there for what felt like hours, but somehow I knew that not even a second had passed. Everything inside the van: the dashboard, windows, ceiling, doors, even Trent himself began to radiate enigmatic particles. They were a mass of constant motion, like raindrops falling through the air but never landing. I looked down at my hand, but it was gone. Diffused into an unknowable number of untraceable particles. The world outside, once devoid of color, was now nothing but color. When I tried to focus on a particular spot in the infinite geometric folds of whatever realm we were traversing through, I could sometimes detect a trace of our world.
The old lady from the church. She appeared as if through a window, standing behind a table, holding out a plant. Only this image was so much brighter. And the plant she was holding was pure gold. Then I'd catch a glimpse of the razor blade. It was large, many hundreds of times larger than the van, and surrounded by darkness. These ghostly images appeared like holograms or reflections that caught the light at just the right angle, then dissipated.
I stayed there, looping between the archetypes of my life for a long, long time.
***
I knew we were returning when I felt the first sense of motion. Breath filled my lungs for the first time in what felt like a day. I blinked. And then we were back in town, driving down the same road with the blue sky above. People were jogging on the sidewalk past the little street shops. The streetlights were active. I checked the side mirror and saw the tanker had just passed by.
I looked over at Trent, who met my eyes. We shared a look of knowing, and unknowing. For some reason, that was enough, and we continued on in silence.
***
We agreed to stay the night at my house.
Trent had parked a couple blocks away in front of a couple vacant houses so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighbors. Then he lugged a large duffel bag with his equipment in and set it up in the living room. He scanned the scrapbook which contained the newspaper clippings from the accident several times and confirmed that was likely my 'origin point'. I simply nodded and then went back out onto the back porch. I sat there for hours, basking in the sun. Something had changed in the past day, but I couldn't pick out what it was. Too much had happened. I had too little time to process any of it.
When the sun set, I went inside and Trent told me about his plans for the next couple days. He said he needed to run a few errands in the morning, then meet up with a couple of his associates. After that, we could begin our drive to Southern Illinois. He said it was likely that the entity that was chasing me had first tied itself to me during my childhood accident. For whatever reason, we came into contact, and now it didn't want to leave. Trent would help me get rid of it. He didn't go into many details regarding how that was to happen, but I don't think in my tired state I would have been able to understand much anyway. He had a plan, and that was enough for me. At least for a while.
After our meeting, I made sure Trent had enough pillows and blankets like a proper host, then I retired to my room. I laid down on my twin bed and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then I turned and saw the participation awards for my junior soccer league stashed on my dresser. I pictured myself on the field, running with the ball, out ahead of everyone except the goalie. I took a shot, but it was blocked. Then I ran back to defend. How can such a simple game be so much fun? Was the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up only once during the night. It was still dark out. The room was warm despite the small, flower petal fan churning away, shifting the hot, humid air from one pocket of the room to the next. I waited in apprehension, sensing that something had disturbed me. I saw the tomato plushie peeking out at me from the slightly ajar closet door where I had stashed it so many years ago. I felt like I was missing something. Something important.
And then I heard it.
There was a tapping at my window.

Part 1
First of all, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and support from the last post. A lot has happened since then, and a bunch of context is needed, so I hope you'll bear with me as I explain the details.
***
Back during the peak of the blinking crisis, I remember having a lot of difficulty sleeping. It was common for me to average only four or five hours a night, and the little sleep I did get was marred by terrible nightmares. One in particular recurred many times.
I was only eight, but somehow I was in the driver's seat of our family's old SUV. My arms were long enough to steady the wheel, but my legs didn't quite meet the pedals. It didn't matter though, since the car seemed content to continue on at a constant pace. I looked over and saw my mom in the passenger seat. Her face was a blurry likeness pieced together from the dozen or so picture's I'd seen of her over the years. I tried to bring her into focus, not only because I missed her dearly, but because she was speaking—pleading, even. She waved frantically at me, then brought her leg up and slammed it down on the floor mat several times. I didn't understand what had her so upset until she pointed out the front windshield, and I saw we were hurdling directly toward a giant tree that had fallen in the middle of the road.
Panicking, I stomped for the brake, but my seatbelt protested and pulled me back like an invigorated dog on a short leash. I sat up and tried clicking it off, but it wouldn't budge. My breaths became hollow cries, and I felt my heart beat against the bars of its bony prison. I grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it to the left, then right, attempting to swerve off the road, but it was as if whatever kind of glue was locking up the seatbelt was also fixing the steering wheel in place.
"Mom! what do I do!?" I yelled, tears streaming from my eyes. She was yelling back at me, but it was as if there was a divider between us, and neither of us could hear each other. I turned back just in time to see the giant Oak tree meet the front bumper, and then I jolted awake with a piercing pain in my chest that radiated up through my throat in the form of a giant scream. My little legs kicked under the covers and tears rained down on my pillow until my dad ran in and knelt at my bed.
"Lauren, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"
I grabbed my pillow and hugged it so my face was covered, then effused a "Mmm-hmm" in a long wheeze while rocking to either side.
"Oh, honey," he soothed and brushed my hair, then the tears from my face when I would allow it.
Time would pass in silence, and when I began to get the sense that my dad was ready to leave, I'd chirp out, "stay" in that way children do when they're embarrassed about wanting something.
"Always," my dad would reply; then he'd post up on the floor with my large tomato plushie as a pillow.
One night in particular, it was deep in the night, and I had woken to a tapping sound outside my window. I was so afraid that a monster had snuck into my room while I wasn't looking that I made him lay next to me and face outward. I'd peek my eyes open every minute or so to check and make sure my dad was there, staking out the room. Eventually, he rolled in close and said something that I still remember to this day.
"Hey, baby, guess what." he whispered.
"Mmm" I mumbled.
"I think you scared the monster away."
I tried to picture this through the fog of my fatigue. Something seemed off about the statement, like it wasn't logically possible, but before I could piece together the words to express that, my dad cut back in.
"It was scared because it realized you're a superhero. And you know what your greatest superpower is?"
I shook my head, making sure to rub my forehead against his shoulder so he could sense it in the dark room.
"You're greatest power is that you get to tell the monsters what to do. Because the monsters are only as strong as the stories you tell about them. And there's all kinds of stories. Happy ones. Sad ones. Scary ones. Tell me, this monster you think snuck in, would you say he's part of a scary story?"
"I don't know," I said, confused. "Maybe"
"Hmm," he hummed, contemplating. "Well, I want you to remember this. You have the ability to tell any kind of story you want. Maybe there are monsters, but that means there's heroes and angels, too, right?"
I was beginning to doze off to the comforting sound of my dad's deep voice, but I gave another affirmative "Mm-hmm".
"So, if you're ever scared, honey, just dream up a better story. A story that will bring you peace. Do you understand?"
But I was already out.
***
I woke up the next morning to the feeling that someone was in the hotel room with me. The drapes were drawn and the only sound was the AC unit blowing cold air, but when I looked toward the dark corner of the empty coat rack, my mind conjured the face of my dad, smiling at me, chanting that same, awful line—Oh, Lauren… you know who we are.
I was no longer a child, but it took a couple minutes of cold focus before I muscled the courage to ascend from the safety of my covers and flick on the lamp light. The small amber radius extended to where my dad's feet would have been if he was standing there. But there was no one. I let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the mattress, thinking back on all those years growing up. The same man who had helped me conquer my fear of the dark was now the monster hiding in its shadow.
I looked over my shoulder and saw the clock read 10:15. My meeting with Trent was in three hours. I moaned and stretched my arms back until they knocked against the headboard, then I collapsed back onto the mattress, meditating, gathering energy like a compressed spring. All at once, I jumped up and glided over to the drapes, opening them in a single, fluid motion. I grimaced at the sunlight, but the warmth felt good against my face. I stopped by the nightstand and gulped down the final few swigs of a bottle of Mello Yello that I had purchased from a vending machine the previous night, then undressed and hopped in the shower.
The warm water wasn't enough to wash away the previous night's memories. When I closed my eyes to lather my hair, I was back in my living room, standing opposite the demon that had taken on my dad's form. His smile. His laugh. It was like someone in my head was flipping a switch between the man I loved growing up and a terrible monster. But the fear was more powerful. I heard something drop onto the tile floor on the other side of the curtain. The noise made me gasp, and I opened my eyes while shampoo was still streaming down my face. I swiped the shampoo out of my now burning eyes and squinted at the curtain, trying to see through it, but I couldn't make anything out. "I-is anyone," I started, trembling, afraid to finish the sentence. I reached out and pinched the end of the curtain. My heart was in overdrive. I swallowed, then pulled it toward me and peeked out. I scanned the room, but I couldn't see anything out of place.
It wasn't until after I finished showering and wound myself up in one of the hotel's too-small towels that I saw what had made the noise. I bent down and picked up the stub of a razor blade that had fallen onto the tile right next to the puffy, gray shower rug. It wasn't mine, and I was pretty sure hotels didn't keep unguarded razor blades just laying around. When I held it up, it occurred to me that if it had simply fallen a few inches to the left, it would have been buried in the rug, and perhaps I would have stepped on it. I stared at myself in its steely reflection. Cold. Lonely. Small. What if I—was all I was able to think before the blade blinked out of my hand.
I threw on some clothes, packed up the few belongings I had into my purse, then checked out of my room. I didn't feel safe going back home after what happened, but I also didn't want to go anywhere else. I got in my car and drove aimlessly up and down the town's streets, focusing only on the car ahead of me. Anytime I started to travel down an avenue of thought, I'd make a turn, or speed up, or hit the brakes: anything to keep my mind distracted. It was sweltering outside, but I'd turn the heat on for minutes at a time until I felt drenched, then toggle max AC until I was cool, then back to heat. I repeated the basic driving tenet "10 and 2", "10 and 2", "10 and 2" like a mantra—a chant to focus my attention on a single point, and then I pictured that point disappearing. I began to think that maybe I wanted to disappear.
I fully intended to keep going that way until 1:00, but after about thirty minutes, my meandering route had led me to St. Mark's Catholic Church, where a large group of people were gathered around a long line of tables in front of the building. I slowed down. At the front of the venue was a large, white cardboard sign which read, "Plant a Seed, Share the Joy". I wasn't sure what that meant, but my boredom had come to a head, and I rationalized that if there's any place on God's green earth that would be safe, it was this one. I parked along the closest side-street, then walked over to the church.
Rows of white tables were covered with cardboard boxes filled with small plants that were wrapped up in individual paper pots. I watched from a distance as people behind the tables carefully removed the plants, one by one, and offered them to passersby. I continued down the line, a sheep in the herd, and allowed myself to sink into childhood memories. I had somehow made it out the other end near the Narthex when I heard a woman's voice call to me.
"Hey, deary, have you gotten one yet?"
I turned and saw a small, gray-haired lady with rose-colored glasses. "Oh, no," I started, attempting to decline, then paused. The old lady grabbed one of the plants and held it out for me.
"Here," she said. "Come on, I won't bite."
As far as you know, I thought, and stumbled forward with a sigh. "Thanks," I said and took the plant. "What is this all for, anyway?"
"It's a giveaway," the old woman responded. "Staff have been growing these plants—tomatoes and garlic, mainly—so they could offer them to members of the Parish. The idea is to have the members grow the produce, then donate it to St. Mark's Food Pantry to give to those in need."
"Oh, that's actually pretty cool." I replied and inspected my plant which was at present nothing more than a small green stem. "So which kind is this one?"
"That one is—" the old lady stopped and inspected the other plants near where she had grabbed mine—"tomato."
"Tomato," I repeated. "Well, thanks again."
"Of course, dear." the old lady beamed. "We're all responsible for each other."
I nodded, then continued back through the crowd toward my car when, through the large vestibule windows, I saw a Priest speaking to a young couple. It had been a little over a decade since I had attended a service (I stopped going during High School when I started studying other religions), and I didn't recognize this Priest. He was short (just over five feet tall), bald, and African American. He wore the customary black robe and white collar, and there was something in his smile and the way seemed to be affirming the couple that made me yearn to speak with him. I considered for a moment, a bit embarrassed to be stepping back into church after all this time, but the thought of being able to burn ten minutes talking with someone who might have some insight into my situation was too tempting to pass up.
I waited near a portrait of Mary Magdalene, my tomato plant in hand, staring off at the pristine series of stained glass images portraying the death and resurrection of Jesus. About a minute in, the Priest met my eyes; he smiled, his way of telling me he knew I was waiting, then finished up with the couple and made his way over. He had a bit of an accent when he spoke—it was Ugandan, from best I could tell—and a proclivity for laughing at the end of his sentences.
"Hello, Miss, I don't believe I've had the privilege," he said and held out his hand. He leaned in as he spoke, and his smile tugged on the corners of his eyes which were already marked with use.
I shook his hand and returned what I'm sure was a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. My name's Lauren. I used to come here when I was little. It's—been a while."
"Well, I see you picked a good day to visit. If you're into gardening, that is." He remarked with a laugh and gestured toward the plant. "It's nice to meet you, Lauren. My name's Martin—Father Martin, if you prefer."
"Father Martin," I repeated, "I have a friend named Martin. It's a good name."
He laughed and said, "Thank you, I'll pass that one along to my mother. She loves the praise."
I laughed back. He carried himself in such a carefree way that I was put immediately at ease. Almost to the point where I forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. "Um," I started, attempting to word my question in a way that didn't sound like I needed psychiatric help. "I have a couple of religious questions for you, if you have time."
"That's what I'm for. Ask away."
"They're about… miracles. Like the ones in the Bible. I was wondering, do you think that miracles still happen today?"
"Miracles, huh," he started. "You mean like water into wine?"
"Kind of, yeah,"
"Hmm…" he contemplated. "Well, I haven't seen them, myself. You know, I may be a Priest, but I also have a degree in Physics. I think God made the world according to laws, right? But I do think God has the power to intervene. Yes. I just have never seen it… like … you know, the biblical type of miracles. To me, there are miracles happening all around us—miracles we can't see."
"Exactly," I responded, thinking about how no one else could see the blinks, "those kinds of miracles. What are those miracles we can't see?"
One of Father Martin's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin. "Well, I think the greatest miracle is the miracle of God's love which was perfected in Christ and offered to each of us. It's his power to heal even the most troubled mind. By coming into alignment with God's will for us, we can see the true purpose of this existence."
No, he's not getting it, I thought. I scrambled to my other entry-point. "What about the story of Job? God made a bet with the Devil that Job would stay faithful to him no matter what the Devil did to him. Do you think that kind of situation is possible?"
Father Martin's expression drooped into a concerned frown. "There's quite the difference between miracles and the story of Job. I suppose I see what you're getting at, though. Job's suffering is in some ways the antithesis to positive miracles. In this life, we are tested, sometimes to the point of losing everything, but even that person who has more reason to hate God than anyone else can once again find peace and eternal happiness through faith. In fact, it's often the person who is lowest in the pit of suffering that needs the Light of Christ more than anyone else."
I thought back on the first night that I prayed. It was in my moment of greatest helplessness that I reached out to God, and I thought I had found my answer in Him. But now, after what happened last night, after all these years of chaos—not merely losing things that were important to me, but my very sanity—I needed more than just blind faith. I couldn't just sit idly by and hope things would get better. I smiled at the Priest and said, "Thank you, Father, this has been very insightful."
"Of course, sister. I'm sorry if I couldn't have been of more help."
"No, I think I understand now. I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared."
Father Martin nodded in understanding. "Well, in that case, will you let me leave you with a prayer?"
I was a bit taken off guard by the request, but I accepted. "Sure, Father."
I watched as he made the sign of the cross, then he lifted his hands and closed his eyes. "Dear God, I am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting with Lauren today, especially on a day such as this where we are offering gifts for those who need them. You have heard her desire to confront the things that are troubling her. I ask that you bless her with strength and peace and a clear conscience, that she may overcome these challenges. God, bless us with your spirit, that we may see your hand in our lives. Amen."
"Amen," I said.
As I was leaving, Father Martin called out to me and said, "Oh, just so you know, this Friday at 7 we are having a barbecue at the Parish Center. I would love to see you there, if you're able and wanting."
Turning back, I smiled and said, "Oh, ok, thanks Father. I'll think about it."
The priest nodded, and with a smile, he sent me off.
***
I walked into the Deli at 1:00 on the dot. The customers who had arrived for the lunch rush were already cleaning up their trash and heading out. I dodged past a few of them on my way down the long, narrow path leading to the front counter. While I waited behind a couple of elderly folk who were picking which soup they wanted to pair with their Ultimate Grilled Cheese, I looked around for Trent. He hadn't sent me a picture or any way of contacting him throughout the day, so I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I figured I'd see some man half-hidden behind a newspaper, scouting me out. Maybe I watch too many movies, I thought.
"Ahem, ma'am. You're up." croaked the teenager behind the register.
"Oh, right, sorry" I replied and stepped up to the counter. "Uhh," I muttered, scanning the menu for something that looked edible. "Could I just get…" I made sure to mouth every syllable as they were words of their own.
"We have a deal—the try two combo. Sandwich and a soup for $9.99." the cashier repeated for what was probably the fiftieth time that day.
"Yes, that sounds good. I'll do the Italian sandwich and potato soup. And a drink, please."
After I paid for the food, I wandered around the tables, hoping to find someone who looked like a Trent. I was picturing a short guy, runner's build, with long brown hair, tucked somewhere neatly away in the corner. So I was not prepared when the Hulk's stunt double growled my name from a table smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. He had a pale, square face that was spotted with freckles and a sinking property that comes with the lethal combination of stress and age. His hair was relatively short. Probably it was brown or auburn, but since it was slicked back, it looked almost black. And he wore what looked like janitor coveralls. There was even a cloth tag pinned to his chest which read, "Trent".
"Lauren?" He repeated.
"Yes, that's me." I said and took a seat across from him. I saw a brown tray on the table in front of him, and on the tray was a large, white soup bowl. It was empty and beginning to crust along the edges. He must have been here for some time already. "I didn't know where you'd be, so I was worried we might miss each other. I'm glad you found me though." I said while looking over Trent more thoroughly. His large hands were stretched out in front of him on the table. He wasn't wearing a ring, so he probably wasn't married. And his face, it was stern. He seemed like a no-bullshit kind of guy. Then I saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue—probably the most stunning I'd ever seen.
"We only spoke on the internet, so I hope you don't mind, but I usually run a preliminary test on anyone I meet who claims to have abilities such as yours." Trent said while reaching into his pocket and removing a device that had the size and shape of an electric razor. "All you have to do is look into it. It takes maybe five seconds. Ten at most."
"Oh, um, sure," I said reluctantly. "Do I just—" I asked while reaching for the device.
Trent clicked a button and released the cylindrical head which opened, revealing a glass circle about the size of an iris. "I'll hold it, just look into the center. A red cross should appear, then it'll take the picture."
"Okay…" I replied and did as he instructed, leaning my head forward to look into the device. Sure enough, a red cross appeared. "Is it…" was all I got out before the light turned blue and I saw a gray fog disperse and billow throughout the inside of the tube, extending for what I perceived to be miles. My jaw went slack and I couldn't breathe for maybe five seconds. Then Trent reshuttered the device and turned it over.
"Damn, 72." He said with a hint of shock. "That's the highest I've scanned to date." He looked back at me, more relaxed now, and muttered to himself. "How have you been able to function for this long? At this level, you should basically be half in, half out."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a mixture of pain and frustration and fatigue and impatience which all poured out at once. "Listen, Trent," I said as sternly as I could, "I came here because you said you knew what was wrong with me and that you could help me. I get you have to make sure I am who I said I am, but now it's your turn to pay up. How do I know you know anything about my condition? You said my mom might still be alive. What does that even mean? I saw her die right in front of me. I want answers."
I waited for Trent to respond, but he only lifted his head. I turned around and saw a girl holding a tray of food.
"Um, hi, sorry to interrupt. I have an order 36 for Lauren."
"Oh, yes, thank you." I said. The worker placed the tray down on the table in front of me, and when I saw the food, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Trent must have also realized this, because he folded his arms and said, "go ahead and eat. I'll explain while you do."
I wanted to protest, but my salivating mouth made other plans. "Fine," I said. I grabbed the metal spoon off the tray and started on the soup, bracing against the steaming heat of the potato chunks.
As I ate, Trent moved all of the items on his tray off to the side, then he flipped the tray over so it was raised slightly off the table. He took his cup and placed it face down in the center, then he rolled up a few of his used, blue mayonnaise packets and charted a track across the tray.
"What are you doing?" I croaked out between bites.
Trent ignored me and continued by ripping up a napkin into strips and placing them alongside the mayonnaise packets. Finally, he snapped ten toothpicks in half and stuck them in the tomb of a dozen overlayed napkins. "It's your diorama," he said at last.
"It's my what?"
"From the story you sent me. Your diorama. When I read about it, it gave me a good idea of how to explain the 'blinking'."
I pointed at the cup in the center. "Is that supposed to be a pyramid? Because I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong geometric neighborhood with that one."
"It's an analogy," he said.
"Of an analogy," I quipped back.
"Look," he picked out one of the toothpicks and held it out in front of me. "This could be a person, an animal, a crowbar—whatever you want. The point is, this diorama is a stand in for our universe. This is everything that exists, that we can see. Okay?"
"Okay,"
"Now, me," Trent placed a hand over his heart. "I'm not in the diorama. I don't exist in the universe."
"In the universe where a cup is a pyramid, or the actual universe?" I said, unable to control myself.
Trent grimaced.
"Sorry, keep going. I get it."
"Things pop into," Trent threw the toothpick back onto the tray, "or out of," he picked the toothpick back up, "our universe at will, based on forces," he patted his chest again, "that exist in other realms" he gestured to the room, "that are connected to our universe," he tapped two fingers against the tray. "These things could be objects, like, say, a toothpick, or entities, like the one you encountered yesterday. The blinking experience that you described aligns with the typical experience of a moderate Antenna. That's what I call people like us—Antennas; because we can pick up on signals others can't."
"We—you mean you see the blinking, too?"
"Yes, but not to the same extent as you. If all the blinks are gathered in a giant picture that you can see, I'm traversing the image through binoculars, maybe even a microscope, depending on where we are."
I thought about this. I guess it was possible there were other people like me out there, but since I had never met anyone, I didn't really consider the idea until now. And then for him to say my ability was somehow much stronger than his… "But," I started, "I haven't even seen that many blinks since I was a child. It's just more focused and malicious now."
"Yeah," Trent scratched his head, "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying. And, look, that's all well and good, but I don't want to give you the false impression that I'm some kind of religious leader. I like to look for logical, scientific explanations for things. So that's the frame I'm coming at this from."
I took a sip from my drink. "That's fine," I said, "the truth is that's why I reached out to you in the first place. I wanted an explanation I could understand. An explanation that was directly related to what I'm going through."
"Then we should get along just fine."
I was scooping out the last potato that was stubbornly gliding along the bottom of the bowl when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the old man from the line shooting up from his bench and standing in army-erect form. I felt a tingling sensation tickle the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn toward him. I knew what I'd see if I did. "Trent," I whispered, trying to tip him off.
"Huh?" he grunted. Then when he saw my expression, he snuck his right hand under the table and said, "Do you see it? Is it here?"
I cocked my head to the left, signaling toward the old man that was now facing us, but Trent didn't seem to notice him: his eyes just kept scanning the entire front of the restaurant. Then I saw the old man take a step in our direction.
"Lauuurennnn, oh Lauuuurennnn, I've been looking for you, Laurenn." The old man said in a low, gravelly voice that gave the impression he was gurgling liquid tar. I turned and saw his face. It was cold and expressionless, and a butter knife was poking out of his left fist. When I met his eyes, he smiled that horrible smile."You're a slippery bitch, you know that?" He spat. "Why can't you just stay put? Don't you get tired of running from your old friend? Or have you forgotten about me?"
"Trent," I mumbled out. "Right there."
"And this guy. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. If that's not clear, you really are a lost little lamb."
"Quick, give me your hand," Trent instructed.
I was silent, my eyes still pinned to the old man.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk," the demon possessed senior wagged his finger at me, taking a step, then another step, shortening the distance as much as he could while I was entranced. Then, suddenly, he sprinted forward at a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man his age.
"Trent!" I screamed.
"Lauren, give me your hand!"
I spun around and grabbed Tren'ts outstretched arm just as the old man lifted the butter knife over his head like a pickaxe. Then I saw Trent pull out what looked like a toy gun from under the table and point it at the demon.
"Got you," Trent remarked. I braced for a gunshot, but there was no noise. After a couple seconds, I looked back and saw the old man sitting in the booth opposite his wife, his hand tremoring as he reached for his large drink.
"What did you?" I asked, but Trent was already pulling me out of my seat. "Come on, we have to go," he said, "the effect is temporary, he'll be—"
Before he could get out the last word, I saw the cup-pyramid on Trent's tray blink out of existence. The sound of a plate shattering rang out from a table up ahead. The lone woman standing there slowly turned around, smiling, with a fork in one hand and a piece of the broken plate in the other. Trent shot her with the toy gun as we ran past and then barreled through the front door.
"Where—are we going?" I asked between gasps.
"My van. It's loaded with kit."
"And then where?"
"Your house" replied Trent who stashed his gun back in his pocket and took out a key fob.
"My house? But that's where he—it appeared."
"Yeah, and that's where you banished it."
Trent waved me into the passenger seat of his RAM 3500 Promaster. I noticed right away the dash which looked more like it belonged in a new limited-edition EV than a cargo van. The ignition kicked on automatically, and I heard the beep of a sonar ping precede an English woman's voice calling out like some auxed-in GPS saying, "scanning for anomalies". Trent shifted the van into gear, and I heard the wheels sputter as we accelerated backward and whipped out of the small parking lot.
"What's your address?" Trent asked. I gave it to him, and then speaking to his dash, he said, "Car, take us to ****."
"Redirecting to ****," replied the British woman. "Currently detecting 31 novel emergences. Updating pings every 300 milliseconds. Chance of contact: 0.23%"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"The van has sensor equipment which can detect blinks. It's much more accurate than either of us."
"And it sees 31?"
"Yes, that's not as many as it sounds." Trent said and tore past a car that blinked out of existence right as we turned onto the main street.
We drove on for another couple minutes, the Englishwoman updating the number of novel emergences every ten seconds or so. Her constant babbling eventually became a comforting background noise, and I was able to think again.
"In the message you sent me, you said my mom may still be alive." I looked at Trent to see if he would react to me bringing her up, but he remained stolid. "What did you mean by that?"
Trent thumbed his steering wheel. "I shouldn't have sent that." He said at last.
"Shouldn't have… What do you mean? You can't just say that now."
Trent took one hand off the wheel and turned toward me. "Look, we're going back to your house because we need to determine your origin point. All Antennas have them. It's a place of high energy where many realms intersect, kind of like a station, and it's the place where you first acquired your abilities. Based on everything you wrote, I'm guessing that place is where the forest where the accident happened when you were a young child. But I need to confirm it. Once I confirm that that's the place…" Trent hesitated.
"Then… what? You want us to go back there? To the place where my mom died, or at least where I think she died until you told me she might be alive but are now taking it back? That place?"
"It's the only way to—"
"Now detecting novel agent," the Englishwoman interrupted. We both perked up as she gave another update. "Net anomalies: 437. Novel Agents: 1. Chance of contact: 78%."
"Shit," Trent muttered. "Car, course correct."
"Attempting course correct to avoid collision. Attempts made: 10, 50, 75, 79… No alternate route detected. Chance of contact: 96%."
"Time until contact?"
"Time until contact: 13 seconds."
I shuddered. Looking out the front windshield, I saw cars pop out of existence left and right, opening up a clear path to the four way intersection ahead. In a blink, the streetlights all turned green, and then they vanished completely. It was as if the entire world was being stripped down bare, and all that remained was the road, boxed in by the rows of buildings along either side. In the distance I could see a large tanker barreling toward us.
"Trent,"
"I know," he replied and clicked a different button on the console which opened a new toggle for the shifter labeled "TD". He pushed the stick forward, engaging the new mode, then pressed the accelerator all the way to the ground. "You're going to want to hold on."
"What are you doing!?" I yelled, grabbing onto my seatbelt.
"No time to explain. Car, release phase lock."
"Phase lock released."
I watched in horror as the color drained from the road and buildings and sky, transforming it all into a dim tunnel, with only the headlights of the oncoming semi-truck visible up ahead. I had the sudden thought that this was all a dream, just like the ones from my childhood. I looked over and no longer saw Trent, but my mother. And then I realized this wasn't a dream. This was hell. I was being forced to relive the worst moment of my life, over and over again. Just when I thought I had escaped, I was pulled right back into that car, helpless as we approached but never arrived at our impending fate. I closed my eyes right as the lights engulfed the windshield and braced for the usual pain in my chest, for the feeling of breaking.
But it didn't come.
"Shift" was the last word out of Trent's mouth, and then I was infused with the sensation of being at the pinnacle of a roller coaster. I was suspended there for what felt like hours, but somehow I knew that not even a second had passed. Everything inside the van: the dashboard, windows, ceiling, doors, even Trent himself began to radiate enigmatic particles. They were a mass of constant motion, like raindrops falling through the air but never landing. I looked down at my hand, but it was gone. Diffused into an unknowable number of untraceable particles. The world outside, once devoid of color, was now nothing but color. When I tried to focus on a particular spot in the infinite geometric folds of whatever realm we were traversing through, I could sometimes detect a trace of our world.
The old lady from the church. She appeared as if through a window, standing behind a table, holding out a plant. Only this image was so much brighter. And the plant she was holding was pure gold. Then I'd catch a glimpse of the razor blade. It was large, many hundreds of times larger than the van, and surrounded by darkness. These ghostly images appeared like holograms or reflections that caught the light at just the right angle, then dissipated.
I stayed there, looping between the archetypes of my life for a long, long time.
***
I knew we were returning when I felt the first sense of motion. Breath filled my lungs for the first time in what felt like a day. I blinked. And then we were back in town, driving down the same road with the blue sky above. People were jogging on the sidewalk past the little street shops. The streetlights were active. I checked the side mirror and saw the tanker had just passed by.
I looked over at Trent, who met my eyes. We shared a look of knowing, and unknowing. For some reason, that was enough, and we continued on in silence.
***
We agreed to stay the night at my house.
Trent had parked a couple blocks away in front of a couple vacant houses so as not to arouse suspicion from the neighbors. Then he lugged a large duffel bag with his equipment in and set it up in the living room. He scanned the scrapbook which contained the newspaper clippings from the accident several times and confirmed that was likely my 'origin point'. I simply nodded and then went back out onto the back porch. I sat there for hours, basking in the sun. Something had changed in the past day, but I couldn't pick out what it was. Too much had happened. I had too little time to process any of it.
When the sun set, I went inside and Trent told me about his plans for the next couple days. He said he needed to run a few errands in the morning, then meet up with a couple of his associates. After that, we could begin our drive to Southern Illinois. He said it was likely that the entity that was chasing me had first tied itself to me during my childhood accident. For whatever reason, we came into contact, and now it didn't want to leave. Trent would help me get rid of it. He didn't go into many details regarding how that was to happen, but I don't think in my tired state I would have been able to understand much anyway. He had a plan, and that was enough for me. At least for a while.
After our meeting, I made sure Trent had enough pillows and blankets like a proper host, then I retired to my room. I laid down on my twin bed and stared up at the cream-colored ceiling. Then I turned and saw the participation awards for my junior soccer league stashed on my dresser. I pictured myself on the field, running with the ball, out ahead of everyone except the goalie. I took a shot, but it was blocked. Then I ran back to defend. How can such a simple game be so much fun? Was the last thought I had before drifting off to sleep.
I woke up only once during the night. It was still dark out. The room was warm despite the small, flower petal fan churning away, shifting the hot, humid air from one pocket of the room to the next. I waited in apprehension, sensing that something had disturbed me. I saw the tomato plushie peeking out at me from the slightly ajar closet door where I had stashed it so many years ago. I felt like I was missing something. Something important.
And then I heard it.
There was a tapping at my window.

Yesterday, I took my 2 y/o boy to be seen for an ear issue (he's been shaking his head a lot lately). The tech swabbed his ears and a ton of black wax came out, which was then checked under a microscope. The vet said it was a result of a double ear infection, with the right ear being worse.
He also dove between the bed and wall a few weeks ago when he was scared by the apartment landscapers' equipment. His right eye was red and a little puffy but went away after several days. We noticed he still squints that eye off and on, so asked about that too. They stained his eye to check. He has a white (kind of clear?) spot in the center of that eye, which they said was a corneal scratch.
They cleaned his ears, put medicine in them, gave him a steroid for inflammation in the ears, and sent me home with ointment to put in his eye. (I did hear him scream once across the hall, and started crying.) He was very sleepy when we got home, so I checked on him frequently but tried to let him sleep as much as possible. He is still eating and drinking as normal. Our other cats are being very sweet to him, trying to bathe his face & ears.
This morning I noticed what looks like a bruise on the tip of both ears, with the right being worse. He is acting a LOT more like himself today, thankfully. I tried not to read about the side effects of the ear medicine (I'm your "Dr. Google" patient, but I try not to overstep the doctor. It's mainly for my own research, or to ask a question so I kind of know what to expect when we go home), because I know many medications are used "off label". But the bruise (??) is really bothering me. At first, I thought maybe he had something on his ear tips, so I gently tried to clean it off with a kitty wipe.
Is this common?
This is what I was charged for yesterday. I don't know why it says "RX Counseling Declined", because I had the option of taking drops home, but the Dr. was pushing for in-office so it would already be done. We've gone there pretty much since they opened several years ago, so I trust their recommendation. I did ask a lot of questions about the ear medication, and he said if this were his cat, this is exactly the route he'd take.
Here is how his ears look this morning. Apologies for the strange angles. He moved at the last moment in the first one. He also likes to watch the water go down the toilet, and the lighting was great. 😂 It's on both ear tips, but the right is a little bigger, if that makes sense
Any advice / reassurance would be amazing. I already feel like the worst cat mom ever, especially since the vet was very angry when he first came in. I had no idea it was this bad. His follow up is next Saturday. Thank you! ♡