Adderall ir recently makes me feel sick

It does some things really well, and is better than what I think is really his worst appearance (Fusion), but it's still so stupid imo.
Let's look at all of his appearances in the timeline so far
1) ZM - Samus kicks his ass, he needs to be rebuilt with cybernetics. Samus goes to Zebes, of course he's here. She then destroys his robot version which was presumably made so the space pirates could test out rebuilding him. 2) Prime - Samus is chasing him. This makes perfect sense, the backdrop of the entire game is Samus vs Ridley, she just happens to get caught up in the events of Tallon IV. 3) Prime 3 - Space Pirates are heavily involved here because of Dark Samus, Ridley being here fits very well. 4) Super - Samus goes to Zebes again after he steals the baby. Honestly probably his best appearance imo. Ridley is literally the guy this game, he starts the entire story. Still makes sense. He dies and Zebes gets blown up. 5) Other M - Ridley gets cloned and then grows from a baby to an adult Ridley, who then gets beat by Samus and frozen by a Queen Metroid. Still makes some sense but is kinda weird... 5) Fusion - A frozen clone of Ridley gets possessed by an X parasite. Apparently the Federation thought transporting a frozen corpse of a guy who literally has caused nothing but destruction and is wanted by his space pirate slaves is a good idea? And then it gets possessed by an X parasite? Not great, fairly shoehorned in, but ok.
These were all the canon appearances up until Samus Returns. Where Ridley shows up, and a fight with the baby and Samus happens. And it's great, it makes you feel so happy for those two, and then even sadder for the baby...
But it makes Samus look like an IDIOT.
See, in the original trilogy, Samus didn't know Ridley was alive. Or that the space pirates had rebuilt. She knew nothing. Even with the Prime series, she wouldn't have known that they had rebuilt on Zebes and that Mother Brain was back, even if she'd known that Ridley was back. But both of these make sense because Samus assumes that Ridley doesn't know about the baby. So her leaving Squishy on Ceres station makes sense because she's assuming it'll be safer and let her continue working, AND let them research metroids.
BUT if Samus knows that Ridley attacked the baby really recently, she looks like an idiot at the beginning of Super. She looks 100% incompetent. So while I hate his appearance in Fusion and think it's the worst, it doesn't really matter to me. He shows up and doesn't have an impact on much else, besides being a nice Easter egg in Other M. But in Samus Returns, he makes Samus from Super go from a tragic figure who got played by the enemy, to a fool who had idiotic planning against a cunning enemy. And I love the fight itself! I just wish instead of Ridley it had been another enemy, so we could get the cool fight without the giant story issue.

I'm not asking for medical advise, simply options to present to my doctor for approval!
I was prescribed modafinil off-label for ADHD.
My psychopharmacologist was willing to go out on a limb with me because methylphenidate (in the past, I was on Ritalin LA or Concerta) and, god forbid, amphetamine (I tried Adderall for two terrible days) both make me feel wired and obsessive (worsened OCD symptoms) while also impairing sleep. My guess is that too much norepinephrine causes problems for my brain and body.
The problem is that modafinil does not always help me focus properly. I do well with modafinil (from modafinia) and a small amount of caffeine, however caffeine is usually too long-acting for me and keeps me awake at night.
Two questions, and I'll check with my doctors first, so please feel free to recommend anything legal (USA):
Are there any other (preferably over-the-counter) mild stimulants that mildly raise norepinephrine? Theobromine? Something more niche that I'm not thinking about? Alternatively, is there anything that would improve my body's ability to break down and absorb extra norepinephrine? TL;DR: I have ADHD, and I don't do well on methylphenidate/amphetamine. Rx modafinil is fantastic, but I need a bit more norepinephrine, and coffee keeps me awake for too long. Suggestions?

My boyfriend (18M) and me (18M) have been dating for 11 months, this is our second time dating the first time was right after 8th grade and we dated for a little over a year until we decided the arguing was too much and we needed to break up, we blamed it on both of us being young and dumb and now we're together again. his family really likes me but my family dosent like him. anyway my main thing is recently I've been feeling a lot like I'm making the wrong decision. I feel like I'm too young to be tied down and in a committed relationship especially since I've always told everyone I'm not a relationship person. I'm very antisocial, can't deal with others feelings very well, and just need a lot of alone time. we are also very different as I'm more of a keep to myself, stay inside and be alone person and he keeps trying to get me to be around his friends and outside with him but I don't like his friends. anyway my main question: is it valid to think I'm too young to be in a committed relationship? I know statistically this relationship won't last because we're so young so some days it feels like a waste of time.
tl;dr I feel like I'm too young to be in a committed relationship even tho there's really nothing majorly wrong with the relationship

I've been a religious PD2 player for maybe 2 years now. Recently I noticed that I haven't been playing the game as much and tried to start playing it again, that just made me want to play it even less. Replaying PD2 after a bit made me realise how good the game but yet it made me want to quit because everything around it now feels kinda depressing. I mean the fact that it's likely the last good game of the franchise and it's likely that the game is going to be dropping in player numbers since the release of PD3 so that makes it feel like the end of a highway if you know what I mean. Not to mention the drab aesthetic of the maps set in the American New England with the dated graphics doesn't help either. I was wondering if anyone felt the same way so any input is welcome.

I (24F) started dating my very close friend(25M) after about 4-5 years of messing around everything was going good until the relationship started to feel like I was doing all the work and he was quite literally doing nothing. We hit a bump in our relationship when I got pregnant and he said he did not want it and I respected his wishes. During the time of the pregnancy he practically left me alone to figure out getting rid of the baby and on top of that I was super sick with no help from him. He became so mean up until I actually got the procedure done. He then decided to revert back to normal behavior after this. This felt like the biggest road block in our relationship and I no longer felt the same way. I was depressed and I started spending less time around him because the procedure really bothered me physically and mentally. I literally had to process this ALONE. Fast forward I met this guy who basically became my rebound which gave me the courage to leave.
My (25M) ex decided to harass me for months after I told him I wanted nothing to do with him. I felt back but everytime I would think of the pregnancy it was hard to go back. Recently I started to forgive him and entertain conversation with him but not too much because I had my rebound…however I still do have feelings for my ex but i suppressed them. He would constantly tell me how much he loves and misses me up until about 3 weeks ago. He asked if he could follow me on social media and I allowed him only to see now he’s dating someone new..this opened a flood gate of feelings I was not ready to deal with. I feel hurt because it felt like he did that on purpose but also I feel like why am I mad I rejected him and never spoke my true feelings. Am I wrong for feeling sad about his new found relationship? Is it too late to tell him how I really felt all this time ? I also feel bad because my rebound doesn’t even deserve this….i just started to feel all these feelings I never got to deal with after ending things with my ex..

Hi, I just got into Path of Achra and Rift Wizard 2 recently. Still new to these kind of roguelikes even though I played games like Slay the Spire before which are a different kind of roguelikes.
I always have a bad habit in those games that I brought on to PoA and RW2 which is rushing through turns too much and being impatient. I made a post few days ago regarding taking time to think through turns but for some reason I find it hard for myself to play super slow and try to read every single text in the game, especially in RW2 where there are many enemy types, spells and skills which overwhelms me every time i try to read every thing.
Not sure how to fix this habit because even though I used to play Slay The Spire and reached ascension 20, my brain still feels overwhelmed and tired when I had to think hard on difficult turns which makes me end up autopilot inevitably and cause me to lose.
Any advice is appreciated, because I am sure this habit will keep on happening for any future games I play as well unless I fix it.

Me f20 and my partner m21 have recently found out that I am 6 weeks pregnant and I can’t decide whether to abort our baby or not. I am struggling with this decision so much as he has left it up to me because his mother has made him believe he doesn’t have a say in the matter. The whole reason abortion is on the table as an option is simply of financial reasons, my partner and I both work full time jobs and he plans on going into a better paying role in the close future but as of right now we could not afford a baby. The only downsides of aborting the baby is that I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else which means I would have no support around me for a very emotionally and physically hard time, the reasoning for not being able to tell anyone is my parents would hate me for it as they have told me I am never allowed to abort my future children as they struggled with conceiving and his parents just simply would not be able to keep it to themselves and they have other relatives that have very strong opinions on this matter. Now if we do keep the baby I feel that my partner would be very financially stressed even though I have been told that for the first few years you don’t really spend that much money on a baby as they don’t require much and we have a great support system and people would be happy to buy majority of our big items. We also currently live with his parents and he feels that we would need to move out the second we tell people but I don’t think that would be the case, He says he is happy with what ever decision I make but I definitely feel a unintentional push from multiple factors and I’m just really struggling with what to do. If anyone just has some opinions or is happy to right out tell me what to do it would really be appreciated.

First/Previous
Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
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I F (27) hv a huge crush on my high school senior (28). Started talking to him in 2014 to borrow his past year exams sets. Started following his social medias in 2015. We were in relationships before so we didnt talk much but after i got out from my previous relationship around 2 years ago, I noticed he kinda liked and replied to my Instagram stories and we started to text on DM since early last year up until now. He bought me cakes twice last year, we met up for a couple of times and I really had fun. And somehow i noticed i already developed my feelings towards him.
My concerns now; i fear to be rejected by him. I know i should’ve just shoot my shot. Im also confused whether he’s just being nice or he does feel the same. Ive been thinking of confessing because recently he asked me about my talking stages and he did tell me he’s ready to find a girlfriend now
I did go out with multiple guys for dates after i broke up but honestly one thing i like about him he just listens. He doesnt judge. He doesnt make silly jokes and he’s just being him. I always look for butterflies, sparks and compliments but whenever I’m with him, Im just being me. I can be vulnerable and rely on him on somethings

Me f20 and my partner m21 have recently found out that I am 6 weeks pregnant and I can’t decide whether to abort our baby or not. I am struggling with this decision so much as he has left it up to me because his mother has made him believe he doesn’t have a say in the matter. The whole reason abortion is on the table as an option is simply of financial reasons, my partner and I both work full time jobs and he plans on going into a better paying role in the close future but as of right now we could not afford a baby. The only downsides of aborting the baby is that I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else which means I would have no support around me for a very emotionally and physically hard time, the reasoning for not being able to tell anyone is my parents would hate me for it as they have told me I am never allowed to abort my future children as they struggled with conceiving and his parents just simply would not be able to keep it to themselves and they have other relatives that have very strong opinions on this matter. Now if we do keep the baby I feel that my partner would be very financially stressed even though I have been told that for the first few years you don’t really spend that much money on a baby as they don’t require much and we have a great support system and people would be happy to buy majority of our big items. We also currently live with his parents and he feels that we would need to move out the second we tell people but I don’t think that would be the case, He says he is happy with what ever decision I make but I definitely feel a unintentional push from multiple factors and I’m just really struggling with what to do. If anyone just has some opinions or is happy to right out tell me what to do it would really be appreciated.

Hello, this is my (21f) first time posting on Reddit. I don’t know how long these are supposed to be, so I’m really sorry if I wrote too much. Also please forgive any spelling or grammar errors. I'm hoping someone has also gone through what I am experiencing and could give some advice or direct me towards resources that could be helpful. First, I need to say that therapy is unfortunately not an option for me. I cannot afford it and my insurance does not cover it; also, my parents are extremely against therapy, and I am financially dependent on them. Despite this, I am aware I am struggling mentally in different ways, so I have sought out different free resources such as mutual aid groups. I still wanted to share my feelings because maybe someone has felt the same way and can share what they have done to help. This is an extremely brief background, but I grew up in a household where I experienced and witnessed physical, sexual, and emotional abuse. The first two relationships I ever had were very toxic, where the only interest they showed in me was sexual, and both these relationships ended due to me being cheated on. After these, I have struggled with low self-esteem and confidence in myself. I have been dating my current boyfriend, John (23m), for about 7 months. Although this isn’t a long time, we have been friends for a few years, and I can confidently say he is the greatest person I have ever met. He also has been cheated on multiple times, so it’s something we understand about each other. I know he would never cheat on me. Since we started dating, he has shown me love in a way I have never experienced. Every day, he tells me he loves me, brings me my favorite snacks when I am sad, fills up my car with gas because I don’t like to do it, buys me flowers, takes me on dates, speaks to me in the kindest way possible and so much more. He has said he is not always the best at expressing himself, but he wants to show me love in the ways he can. He is an extremely soft and kind person, and I admire him so much. John is very introverted and has clinical depression and anxiety, which can be difficult, but I am always there to support him. Despite him treating me so well, I often find myself unhappy and anxious. John is not a sexual person, he’s explained, probably due to the antidepressants he’s been on for two years. We have sex about two times a month, which is probably very normal and healthy, but it’s so different from my past relationships where sex was expected almost every day. In the beginning of the relationship, there was very brief sexting, nude sending, and sexy talk, but he’s pretty much shut that down and said he isn’t comfortable with it. Ofc I respect his boundaries, so anything he has said he is not comfortable with I have not brought up. I do not push him to do anything he does not want to do. He compliments my personality all the time but not my looks very often. About a month ago, I told him I was struggling with self-esteem, and I asked him to compliment me more because I don’t feel beautiful to him. He did start saying that I’m “cute” or “pretty” more, which I appreciate; however, I still feel unattractive to him. When we do have sex, he often doesn’t finish and I have tried my best to hide that sometimes that makes me feel bad about myself. I think he’s picked up on this, however, because now he apologizes to me when he can’t finish. I feel awful that he feels the need to apologize for something like that. I rationally know this is probably mostly due to his antidepressants but I still end up feeling horrible. In the beginning, I would make the first move, but I could tell that stressed him out so now I just wait until he wants to have sex with me. When we do it’s very routine and it almost makes me feel like he’s doing it out of obligation. I know in his past relationships he sent nudes and was more experimental with sexual things but that was before he was on medication. I don’t feel good about myself until we have sex. I feel pathetic because sometimes it feels like I’m just waiting for him to make a move. Sometimes I wonder if I would feel better about myself if he was objectifying me. Despite all the love he shows me I only feel loved when we are having sex. There have been 2 or 3 times we had sex where it genuinely felt passionate, and I believe we were drunk for them. I tried to tell him that I only feel attractive when we have sex but since then, I feel like we’ve had sex even less frequently. The last time we were together I tried to kiss him a few times and he didn’t kiss back; I got really upset and had to tell him I was feeling sick, so he didn’t see me cry. I usually feel really depressed when we haven’t had sex in a few weeks. I feel disgusting about myself during this time. Has anyone ever experienced something similar? Personally, I wish we had sex more often, but I only want him to be comfortable, so I want to try to deal with these feelings. Is this sex addiction? What do I say to him? I am scared to have this conversation again because I don’t want to drain him. I feel I might be experiencing anxious attachment along with this. What have people done to get over this? When I become sad over this I tend to draw back from him. I’m afraid he’s noticing that I become sad over this and it will start to hurt our relationship. He is so good to me I want to treat him the way he deserves.
TLDR:
My (21f) boyfriend (23m) treats me great but isn’t a sexual person. He has depression and has been on antidepressants for 2 years. I struggle to feel beautiful and desired despite the love he shows me. I only feel loved when we have sex. I am afraid this will hurt our relationship because Im finding it harder to hide my pain and anxiety. What do I do to get over this? How do I talk to him about it?

Me f20 and my partner m21 have recently found out that I am 6 weeks pregnant and I can’t decide whether to abort our baby or not. I am struggling with this decision so much as he has left it up to me because his mother has made him believe he doesn’t have a say in the matter. The whole reason abortion is on the table as an option is simply of financial reasons, my partner and I both work full time jobs and he plans on going into a better paying role in the close future but as of right now we could not afford a baby. The only downsides of aborting the baby is that I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else which means I would have no support around me for a very emotionally and physically hard time, the reasoning for not being able to tell anyone is my parents would hate me for it as they have told me I am never allowed to abort my future children as they struggled with conceiving and his parents just simply would not be able to keep it to themselves and they have other relatives that have very strong opinions on this matter. Now if we do keep the baby I feel that my partner would be very financially stressed even though I have been told that for the first few years you don’t really spend that much money on a baby as they don’t require much and we have a great support system and people would be happy to buy majority of our big items. We also currently live with his parents and he feels that we would need to move out the second we tell people but I don’t think that would be the case, He says he is happy with what ever decision I make but I definitely feel a unintentional push from multiple factors and I’m just really struggling with what to do. If anyone just has some opinions or is happy to right out tell me what to do it would really be appreciated.

Hi! I am new to this subreddit, so I apologize if this isn’t the right place for this. I’ve been considering dressing modestly and veiling and I’m not sure if my reasons are valid. In the past, I’ve been resistant to wanting to cover up in public. I’m aware that wearing clothing that’s fitting or revealing could gain negative or unwanted attention, but I always felt like there was nothing inherently dirty or shameful about my body, so covering myself up felt like rewarding ideas that I felt were illogical and wrong. But recently, my feelings have shifted. Due to some events that happened in my life, I don’t enjoy the idea of people seeing any part of my body. Not all, but enough people don’t have enough respect for the female body, and it’s gotten to a point where I feel no one deserves visual access to my body anymore. My body is something I want to preserve for myself or another person if I ever choose to let them in. I’m just tired of feeling objectified and perceived and I don’t want to feel that way anymore. It’s been hard to leave my apartment. I guess I’m not sure if my reason for wanting to dress modestly is valid. I’m not religious at the moment, but I was raised initially Catholic and later non-denominational Christian, but even then it was never typical for anyone in the churches I went to to dress modestly or veil in a specific way. I also don’t come from a culture that places any specific importance on modesty or has a practice of veiling. I feel like my reason for wanting to dress modestly and veil is mainly motivated from fear and self-consciousness, and so I’m not sure if it’s a valid reason. I anyone else has felt this way, did veiling help?
I’m also hesitant about how to dress modestly and veil. My whole reason for wanting to do so is my discomfort with the way I’m perceived, but I feel like covering up might also attract unwanted attention. Ideally, I’d like to cover up fully and leave nothing but my eyes visible, but I’m admittedly afraid of the attention I’d get. I live in Manhattan, so it’s not the most intolerant place, but I see the way people sometimes treat women who they think visibly look Muslim or non-Christian and many veiling styles are heavily associated with Islam. I guess I’m ashamed to say I’m scared of being treated poorly. I’m already black, so I feel like adding another visual marker of difference might make things difficult for me. At this point, I feel like I’m just ranting, but I’m wondering what it was like for some of you when you first started dressing modestly and veiling? Did you start slow and increase how much you covered? What differences did you notice when you began veiling regarding how people treated you?

Hi. I want to get closer with my older sister. Unfortunately me and my siblings(me and two sisters) were raised in a very toxic household. I was physically abused by my dad and she was by my mom. They were very mean to us. I learned to forgive my dad. But my older sister didn’t forgive my mom. And that’s okay. One night recently after getting very drunk, I was sleeping over at my older sister’s house. It was Mother’s Day and I was very drunk. She was sober. We talked about our parents and she got to complaining about them. And i confronted her about that. Long story short she complains about them, but she honestly had a grudge against them for mistreating us. My parents went through something traumatic as well that made them change entirely both in body and soul. I forgave them. But my sister does not feel that will ever be enough. No matter how good they are. My sister confided in me and proceeded to tell me a whole bunch of stuff that happened to us as kids and I’m going to be honest, I repressed a lot of it. But one thing showed off, she was having to be a grown up for a lot of it. And I knew she wasn’t lying and i remembered it. She was there for me. She talked about how she was given many chances to be taken out of our bad situation. But she never wanted to leave me and my little sister. I felt so bad. We always treated her like a black sheep in the family.
And I broke down. we both did. Because deep down I knew it. My older sister always took care of me. She protected me from bullies, she stood up for me. She cooked for me, she took care off me and most importantly, She stayed for me. And how did I repay her? I was manipulated into treating her differently. A black sheep. Sure I was just a kid. But as an adult? I just didn’t care.
I feel so bad. It was Mother’s Day. And it took me years to realize. That my older sister was my mom all along. I felt and still feel like shit.
Me and my older sister have been “ cool “ for years but I always feel awkward talking to her. She doesn’t like talking about her feelings, she’s very caring with family, but also distant if that makes sense. And now. Now that I feel the need to reconcile I don’t really know how to talk to her. She’s forgiven me. In fact she told me she never was mad. We both left it as: we were just kids. And that’s true. But I can’t help but feel guilty. I am very close with my younger sister. I just want to know how to make my older sister feel appreciated.

Hello, whoever you are on your side of this screen.
Predictability and ordinarity bore me. The idea of casual sex makes me more asleep than a Snorlax. I also don't want to be asked "How are you?" for the millionth time. And photos - well, one is always more than enough.
I'm sure I'm not everyone's cup of tea, but I don't seek anything ordinary, either. I'm just an author and researcher currently living in Portugal, and looking for someone new and truly unique to inspire me. We can talk about pretty much anything, plus you can learn a ton of super unusual but cool stuff if you're also into culture, literature, legends, stories, etc. What else can I tell you about me? Well, I'm often told I'm the most interesting person people have ever met, but let's go here for ten groups of facts about me and my life:
1- I've travelled to over 100 countries in search of knowledge, my favourite place being the streams of water and forests in the north of the Pyrenées, where I once placed my feet in the water and meditated for days.
2- I do not have a favourite book, but I do feel many marked my life. For example, Ovid's "Ars Amatoria" (as a teen), Cicero's "De Senectute" (as an adult), the "Ramayana" (as someone eager to explore other cultures), the "Nag Hammadi Library" (as a person interested in almost-lost religious texts), etc.
3- I once met a really amazing woman, we were together for 10+ years, we never married but we both knew neither of us was going anywhere else, I lost her in 2014 (and I don't want to talk about it), and I'm perfectly comfortable being single.
4- I've published over 80 books, between my real name and various pseudonyms, with the most sold having been top 100 on Amazon, and the least sold still stuck at under 10 copies (and it's intentionally supposed to sell very little).
5- In college I studied Computer Science, Psychology, French "LLCs" and Classical + Medieval Studies, but among my many passions you can also count Theology, Philosophy, Art, Mythology, Classical Music, Western Mysticism, Languages, etc.
6- I dislike social media and photos of people. I hardly ever take photos of myself or others, but I do have an enormous collection of photos I've taken around the globe, where I mostly tried to eternalize places and moments.
7- Apart from writing, I spend most of my free time as a volunteer for projects related to Culture, Children, and Mental Welfare. I also tend to donate to charity on a monthly basis, because I feel we should try to spread to others the good things we have in our lives.
8- Although I'm 39, I'm perfectly okay talking to much younger, or much older, people, because I feel they can also teach me a lot of things that I'm not necessarily familiarized with. And, in fact, one of my biggest pleasures in "real" life is talking to random people and learning new stuff from them.
9- I survived cancer and meningitis. I'm 99% okay, with the exception of a small physical problem most people never even notice.
10- I was recently "rejected" from a buddhist monastery for health reasons, since it seems my constant need for medication for an auto-immune disease would contrast with the simple life their monks need to have. So, yeah, that's mostly why I'm back online and posting this message.
So... if you are indeed tired of the usual messages and conversations, write me. Maybe you are indeed what I seek.

TLDR: I collect things because my collections need to be perfect, and I'm afraid of forgetting things. Advice needed!
To start, I was diagnosed with OCPD about half a year ago. However, much longer than this, I have been a collector of objects. A collector of anything that can be collected; coins, magnets, alcohol bottles, keychains, stickers, storage containers, reusable bags, etc. Some of these things are useful (i.e. storage containers and reusable bags), but a lot of them are not. I think one of the main reasons I collect things are because if I start a collection (even with just one object) I feel like I have to make my collection perfect. Anything I come across, I think "If I don't get this for my collection it won't be completely perfect". The second main reason is because I'm very scared of forgetting parts of my life. I take so many photos (I have 30,000+ on my iPhone), and I buy a souvenir whenever I go anywhere meaningful. For example, I recently went on a trip to Alaska and I bought probably 50+ souvenirs. It doesn't make sense because there's no way I would forget that, and even if I did, it probably wouldn't be a big deal, but I feel like I need to remember absolutely every part of my life. I also don't ever throw away my souvenirs because it makes it feel like I'm trying to intentionally forget something, which makes me feel evil! I think for some people collection is just a fun thing, but I think it's an OCPD thing for me because of the reasons listed above. Does anyone experience anything similar? If so, how do you deal with these things?

I am just a bit overweight for my liking and have been wanting to lose weight for a while. Seeing the bison lie about how much she's eating, pile the pounds on and talk about her "small changes" has given me the push to hold myself accountable with my eating habits.
In recent years I finished uni and came home and got a job where I stopped being as active as I used to be and put some weight on from also not changing my eating habits. I'm in no way a bad eater, I eat a lot of healthy (some unhealthy) home cooked meals, I just struggled with snacking and making portions a bit too big.
I'm back to holding myself accountable for how much I eat by tracking my food intake and I feel really good about the future, it's not a diet, I want this to be sustainable so I still have snacks and eat the things I enjoy but I've just reduced the amount.
To any other bisonets out there who have been inspired in the same way as me, we will be dainty queens by summer x

So I had some incidents in my childhood that deeply impacted my thoughts and personality while growing up. BUT I recently confronted that person (a family member, suppose X) and discussed how those experiences have affected me and caused me to have kms/sh tendencies. I thought I would get a sense of relief but I didn’t ?? X really regrets it and has cried multiple times facing the fact that I had to go through such feelings because of them. I love X. I don’t want to see them cry because of me, moreover over something they can’t fix now. I feel like I should be feeling fine now. What else do I want? It’s hurting my family to see me like this and hurting me to see my family getting hurt 🫠 What do I do? It makes me feel like I’m unfixable or something.

Putting this here in case it's helpful to others. I saw a neurologist yesterday and he thinks I have long covid. Took me 8 different doctors and 6 months of actively pushing hard, getting tests done before anyone has affirmed my self diagnosis. I've had long covid for a couple years, but it has been debilitating after i got the vaccine last January and got sick again a year ago in May. Neurologist ordered an MRI and told me that my iron was low for someone who has restless leg syndrome (ferratin at 50, he said it should be closer to 100). Other than that, I'll have a follow up appointment next month. This doctor told me there's not much they can do for meds, but I'm really worried that the constant headaches (including some debilitating vestibular migraines), flu-like feelings, heart palpitations, brain fog and fatigue are going to cause me to lose my job.
Most notably, I bawled when i was trying to describe to him everything I've been through in the past year. A similar emotional outburst happened with a physical therapist too, and both times, the doctors suggested getting on ssris (which I have tried before and actually make my anxiety worse). For anyone else who gets really emotional talking about this, it's totally normal to be grieving and to feel an immense sense of loss. We are having rational reactions to a very scary illness and a lack of control over how to move forward in our lives. I felt so small leaving that doctors office; he did a terrible job of acknowledging that I've lost a lot and been gaslit by people who should be ready to help. So just wanted to offer to anyone else dealing with the emotional overwhelm, you aren't alone and it's ok/totally rational to be exhausted, worn out, scared and craving any sense of direction. This illness takes so much from us, at the very least, we should be allowed to have our justified grief.
I have done a lot of journaling, messaging folks in Long COVID groups, messaging friends who have LC and POTS, and watching tiktoks of people who are going through similar things. I'm getting release where I can and social interaction as I have energy. My emotions are not the problem... The system is the problem.

Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m making too much of a big deal about this illness. So what if I’m bipolar, people have all kinds of crap going on in their lives. I’ve been diagnosed for about a year and a half, and have been dealing with episodes for who knows how long. I feel I should have been okay with it by now. Like I’m spoiled for still being upset about these things. But everytime I seem to be okay with it all, comes another episode, and I’m not at peace with it anymore.
For three months I’ve been stable. For three months I thought I had so much to offer. Now I know I’ll be back in depression within a few days, and nothing matters anymore again. Is this as hard as it feels? Or am I just being dramatic?
Everyone around me keeps filling me up with hopeful thoughts, but I swear if I hear “it will get better at some point” one more time I’ll lose it. Because it’s not better now, is it? I need it to be better right now. I want to quit. Not quit life, just quit trying so hard to be okay. Quit meds, quit healthy thoughts, quit going to work, quit trying not to make my illness a burden to people around me.
I’m just so sick of hope.

I've been married for 11 months, and my spouse works in another nation. After two months, he departed for work, so I stayed with my in-laws as a joined family. Now I'm 9 months pregnant; at first, everything seemed fine; however, they began to ignore me, so I isolated myself in my room, and my MIL began telling things to my husband, including things I playful spoke to his small sister (12 years old), before coming to me and lecturing or fighting with me. At first, I didn't think this was a huge concern, but then I had a meltdown when I saw the true face of my husband's family. They accused me of everything I did during my first trimester, including the way I spoke and smiled, as well as fabricating a story about me having an affair and remaining in contact, among other things. In my first trimester, my schedule consisted of sleeping, eating, and vomiting; otherwise, I stayed at home in my room, and they badmouthed me to my husband if I spoke with my mother for too long. Recently, I had my baby shower. My husband came to our town solely to surprise me (MIL knew about it a month earlier), but his mother (4 days before the baby shower) caused an argument, saying that I am not interacting with her properly and she feels awful for her son because she asked him to marry me. Because of this issue, my husband didn't show up to my baby shower and didn't talk to me for almost a month, and I'm nearing my due date, but he reached out to my friend and told her that I'm hating him for no reason, and he was sick, so he couldn't attend the function, but I knew my MIL was the real deal. Now I'm heartbroken and afraid he'll do anything for his mothers, and I've lost love and trust in him.

Sorry english is not my first language.
Almost 1 yr old boy, refuses any formula and cows milk, or pumped milk, even if it was just produced.
In terms of behavior he is an angel in the day, eating solids since 6 months old. It is at night that he cries like someone is killing him.
I am living with my parents still and each time this happens, interday lately, I get the shame on you look, my mother says "I cant believe a mom cant calm down her own baby, whats wrong with you?"
Baby's dad or my parents cant calm him either or put him to sleep for naps or at night, only me! He cant fall asleep on his own. At night it usually is harder and I can spend up to 1 hour to make him fall asleep.
I really try... each time I try to hug more or give kisses to the baby when he is in a crisis I feel like it is worse, he pushes me away or beats me and scream louder.
He cant be sleep trained because my parents wont allow me to let him cry because they say that is heartless and cruel, the baby gets trauma, etc. Of course I know that is not true, but their house, their rules.
I believe it is important to mention he breastfeeds from only one boob since a long time ago, when he was 4 months old, because he didnt like my other nipple, both were inverted but only one managed to get out. I also really tried to fool him to take the other boob, it worked some nights and one day he just would not take it anymore and it dried.
I try to eat a good dinner and drink a lot of water, I also have snacks at night but some days there is just no letdown or if he is sick and cant suck, it becomes a real drama, I have to put him in the stroller and try to rock him there with fingers crossed so it wont take more than one hour.
I WFH full time and get help in the day from my father to play with the baby, take him out, feed him with solids. But the night I sleep alone with him because babys dad is a medical resident and sleeps in another room and is all day out usually or doing night shifts.
Baby never slept more than 3 hours. I am really tired phisically, emotionally and of course it hurts to see baby suffer and know I cant help him. I am performing low at work also, had fights with my partner because of me being jealous I am the only one not sleeping because of the baby.
Any advice would be greatly appreciated, thanks.