Stomach ache back ache legs aching

So I've always hated high/tight waistbands and also turtle necks or high/tight necklines. As an adult, I've assumed it was a sensory thing (my son has diagnosed sensory processing issues,) but now I'm kind of wondering if it is an issue with having extra air a lot of the time. Or maybe it's both. As a kid, I didn't wear jeans until the waistlines dropped and they started making stretchy ones, and then they were my go to.
Anyway, this high waisted women's pants trend is killing me. I have a really short waist already, so even if I were thin (which I'm not) and not bloated (which I am) it would not be an attractive look unless I'm going for grandpa-chic. But more importantly, it is incredibly uncomfortable, so I'm stuck spending forever looking for clothes that fit my very variable waistline properly. It's extra bad right now, because I had a kid two years back and my stomach isn't back to normal yet.
Anyway, a suggestion for anyone who doesn't want a tight/high waistband is to consider maternity clothes. Look for "below the bump" ones intended for early pregnancy. I personally don't wear the pants (I work with a lot of women who would totally think I'm pregnant) but wear the leggings under dresses all the time. Not super stylish, but I'm old enough that it doesn't matter, and everything is completely off my stomach.

Iam 39M, 5'11 and 185lbs. I'm in relatively good health but I suffer from GERD and IBS. About 2 years ago I started feeling this dull ache that comes and goes but the location has me puzzled. It's on the right side of my body between my stomach and back and it's on the same height where my right rib cage ends. Episodes are almost daily about 1-2 times a day and are very mild and they last between 15 to 30 minutes.

Hello to all. I’ve been having issues with my groin this past year, I had a sudden swelling with fluid that went away after a day (no pain) in February 2024. I also noticed I had a lumpon the top of my right testicle that was kinda hard, but not rock hard I always had a dull ache after that time that persisted for weeks. It mostly went away (or I just became numb too it idk), but it would come back anytime I smoked weed, and it eventually would hurt real bad so I completely stopped smoking.
Fast forward to my yearly checkup, I got a referal for a scrotal scan, they lady who did it saw nothing, and had trouble seeing my lump even after i showed her where it was. She said all was good and nothing alarming was seen. However my right testicle is bigger than my left and its pretty noticeable now, and its always on top of my left, even the line that seperates them is always uneven now bc my right is bigger and my lump hasn’t gone away. Should I be worried or just ignore it.

Bonjour, je vous écris pour une amie dont la période d'essai a été interrompue, on lui a dit (à l'oral, malheureusement aucune preuve écrite et aucun témoin) que c'était à cause de ses absences pour maladie.
Elle a commencé un contrat d'alternance en CDD d'un an, le 4 mars, mais au bout d'une ou deux semaines (elle doit vérifier ses dates) elle a eu une maladie et a été arrêtée un peu plus d'un mois. Elle transmettait bien ses arrêts maladie. Suite à son arrêt, elle est revenue en formation le 24 avril, elle était en formation du mercredi 24 au vendredi 26. Durant sa journée de formation le 26, l'entreprise l'appelle et lui dit qu'ils font une rupture de période d'essai. Ils lui font signer le papier le jour même, et lui disent de ne plus revenir ni en formation ni en entreprise.
J'ai 2 questions liées à cette situation :
1/ Il n'y a pas eu de délai de prévenance, combien de jours d'indemnités doivent-ils lui payer pour ça ? L'arrêt maladie compte ou pas dans la période qui détermine cette durée ?
2/ Sa période d'essai était de 30 jours, pas de renouvellement, ni indiqué sur le contrat ni évoqué ni à l'oral ni à l'écrit. Mais la clause du contrat stipule que "toute suspension qui se produirait pendant cette période (maladie, congés...) prolongerait d'autant la durée de cette période, qui doit correspondre à un travail effectif". Or ça semble contradictoire avec ce que l'on comprend ici. Cette page semble dire que pour les maladies non professionnelles, la période d'essai n'est pas prolongée. Que doit-on croire ? Est-ce que la clause prévue sur le contrat de travail est valable malgré tout ?
Si ça peut être utile, c'est la convention collective de l'alimentation industries agroalimentaires (accords nationaux), mon amie était embauchée en tant qu'ouvrier niveau 1, au SMIC (au regard de son âge).
Nous essayons de savoir si l'entreprise a été réglo, si la période d'essai était encore légitime (donc sa rupture aussi) ou si c'était abusif, et vérifier que les jours de prévenance sont bien payés comme il faut.
L'école n'a pas l'air de sourciller et ne semble pas la soutenir.
Qu'est-ce qui vous semble réglo ou pas dans tout ça, quelles infos et recours pourriez-vous indiquer à mon amie svp ?
Merci

It was clearly other persons fault, as stated in police report as well. They have full insurance to cover for this. I walked out fine with some muscle aches and swelling so far. How can I use the situation for a much better and long term gain? Any insight you may have would be useful.

Hi thank you in advance for using my link! If you open an account via the referral link and set up direct deposit of $200+ within the first 45 days, you will earn $100 from Chime!
Join me on Chime and we’ll each get $100. Terms apply. https://chime.com/taweihsiao
Chime has no minimum or any monthly fee! Hope you enjoy.
From some data point, you might not have to use employer direct deposit. ACH from other bank seems to work ($200 from Webull / Robinhood / Apple Cash using ACH seems to count)!
Here's a list of ACH that reported work from other forum:

• American Express
• Serve
• Apple Cash
• Axos Bank
• Bank of America
• Cash app
• Charles Schwab
• Chase
• Circle Pay
• Discover
• Fidelity
• One Finance
• PayPal
• Santander
• SoFi Money
• TD Bank
• T-Mobile Money
• Wells Fargo
• USAA
• U.S. Bank

Yeeeep.. I’m on Nexplanon. Been on it since December last year. I didn’t have these SEs when I started it but recently I’ve been feeling like crap. Bloating, nausea, uncontrollable burping, stomach is not hurting but is uncomfortable and turny, and the burping itself causes me to gag and vomit. its the worst.
But! I have found some things to help! (Well, Helps me😭)

1. WORKOUTTTTT! Yoga, weights, cardio anything! Even just ten minutes or a few stretches will make a huge difference. I push through feeling like crap and get through a 10 min workout, I feel so rewarded laying down knowing I have a few hours before my stomach starts up again. Then repeat. All I do for these workouts are core/leg/booty workouts. And of course, downward dog is a great startup exercise, but before you decide to bend your back in a position it could get stuck from not moving enough lately; do scorpions. (Look it up, its a super great stretch for your hips and lower back.)
   
2. Sit up straight or walk around the house and clean. Physical activity is the best thing I have started doing.
   
3. SUGAR-FREE Mint gum helps a LOT with nausea. It only worked for me a few times but! It helped nonetheless.
   

or 4. I went to my doctor and asked them if they could possibly provide me with nausea medication. I got prescribed a dissolving pill the size of an ant and it was shit-berry flavored but it helped a lot 🤣
I hope this helps anyone else struggling with this too.

Hello all, since yesterday, my legs, thighs and butt have been aching like crazy. It only went away after wearing compression socks and standing upright for 2-3 hours. I’m still having to wear these socks and I don’t know if this is normal. I’ve never had such an intense ache before. Is this shit early stage DVT or something? There’s no discoloration to my legs.
Please don’t tell me to see a doctor for referrals. I’ll just get dismissed and ignored as usual (bonus points if you can guess why. Hint: female, ethnically ambiguous, autistic as fuck and 21 years old).
Who do I pay (cardiologist etc…) to see my problem? Seems to be the only way to get anything fucking done so I either don’t die due to medical negligence or off myself. And what would you diagnose me with hypothetically?
Insurance is irrelevant (as it should be). Thanks in advance!

The baby died four days ago.
For context, we live in a small town. It’s remote, and we like it that way. Gives us privacy. My wife didn’t grow up here—she moved from up north, and never talks about her life from before all that much. I’ve gathered enough to know she has a sister, but is estranged from her family and that she never really felt like she belonged anywhere until she met me. Our little family is everything to her. She said she just wanted to hold him a little longer. For an hour. Then for the rest of the evening. Then through the night.
Now it’s been four days, and she’s barely set his tiny body down. When she isn’t rocking him, she’s praying, soft words muttered to the Lord under her breath.
When my wife first moved here she brought snacks and stayed after the church service for coffee and chit-chat—that’s how she and I got to know one another. She said it was different than the church she grew up with, less strict. Ours is a unitarian church that’s welcoming to everybody. There’s even a Buddhist who shows up just to socialize and sometimes leads a yoga group outside when the weather is nice. But tomorrow is the first service since our baby’s passing and I don’t want to field all those looks of sympathy and kind words and hugs…
… I do need advice though. Because you see, my wife has decided that if she prays enough, a miracle will restore our baby to life. She reminded me how last winter a frozen cat was thawed out and revived. One of our neighbors had a litter of puppies with one stillborn, and that thing was dead for fifteen minutes before it started to breathe.
But our little baby has been dead four days.
It's not that I don’t believe in scripture. But even Jesus revived after three days, not four.
My wife’s eyes used to always shine when the reverend talked about how much greater God is than any illness, how faith can bring us on a path of healing.
But I also know our reverend cut red meat out of his diet because his doctor told him to. He takes vitamins and goes on walks with his dog, and he is a down-to-earth man who believes God works miracles through us, not for us. In other words, we must take action if we are to heal, to be better, to do better. And he has counseled many of our congregants through times of grief. I’m hoping he can help my wife realize that our baby isn’t coming back…
***
After the reverend paid us a visit and offered his condolences, my wife flew into a rage at him and ordered him out of our house. Afterwards, she declared to me, “That man is a disgrace to the church! I should’ve known he was a fraud from the start.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Your church is a joke. They do yoga, Frank. They let Buddhists in.”
“I thought you liked Amita!”
“I do like yoga,” she relented. “But she shouldn’t be doing it at church.”
“It’s supposedly a very spiritual practice—”
“There’s no spirituality there, with Reverend Atheist in charge! If he really believed, why wouldn’t he pray with me for a miracle to restore our baby? Why did he tell me our baby’s not coming back?” She burst into tears.
What could I do? She would not brook even the possibility that our baby was gone forever. And after she collected herself, she told me she was going to pray. She moved our baby’s body up to the attic. She has a room up there, a room that’s hers and that I don’t go in. Every woman needs a room of her own, and when she first moved in with me, almost all her worldly possessions could fit inside one small travel trunk. She brought it in there and claimed that as her space. She used to say it was just her and God up there.
Now, it’s her, God, and the baby.
***
It's been six days. I’m glad she brought him up there because he was starting to smell, but it’s disconcerting to think of his little body decomposing and not yet put to rest.
I didn’t dare try to take him from her, though. She’d already chased away our reverend, was refusing all company, and left unopened the growing pile of sympathy cards and gifts. If she shut out me, too, she’d have no one. Only herself in that little room, with our dead baby and her prayers.
So, I offered to pray with her, too.
She didn’t want me to see the baby yet. Said he didn’t look very nice, and insisted on blindfolding me when bringing me upstairs to her little attic room, with her prayer shrine and the crib. And though I couldn’t see him, I could definitely smell him. I sank to my knees beside her and we both prayed for what felt like hours, until my back ached and sweat pooled under my arms and under my blindfold. I sucked in a breath, just about ready to tell her we should take a break when I heard a sound that sent my heart crashing into my ribs.
A baby’s cry.
Had I imagined it? My wife just kept praying. Maybe I was hallucinating. I touched my wife’s elbow and told her I needed some water.
As I was heading down the attic steps, I swear I heard it again! Just softly. And my wife let out a shriek. I dashed back into the room, where I found her—cradling a small swaddled bundle, her face beaming with joy. “Here he is!” she cooed. “Our son!”
She passed me the bundle. He was so long dead that his skin was discolored and putrid in his swaddling. But then his dead little baby mouth opened, and he softly warbled. I nearly dropped him. But my wife caught him, barely noticing my clumsiness as she lifted her shirt to let him latch. As soon as he did, she gave a cry of pain. But she wouldn’t let me take him, insisting he had to eat. Only afterward did she give him to me, his face bloody.
“Hold him while I go prepare bottles,” she said.
I looked down at our baby, his small blue lips wet with blood and milk.
Our miracle.
While my wife was preparing more food for him (blood? Or milk?), I laid him down in his crib. This strange and horrifying miracle. He seemed alert. His dead eyes, watching mine, never blinked. I knelt by the altar, intending to beg God to… undo whatever this was and take him back—but as I looked at the altar closely for the first time, what I saw chilled me to my very bones. It was decorated with words and symbols in a language that was definitely not Latin and that I could not read, and all the crosses hung upside down.
My wife is the most devout person I know… But I never asked which denomination she followed.
Only now do I realize that it’s some other God she’s been praying to… and apparently He granted her miracle…

For context: My GF (F17) and I (M17) both really like each other. Like a lot. It was my first time having a girlfriend, and I was her third boyfriend. She has mentioned that she would want to marry me, and I have seriously considered it too, even though I know logically I wouldn't. But anyways, we really like each other.
But, after only 1.5 months of talking to her and being together, her parents decided that she has to focus on school, because she has high ambitions for college, and they don't want her spending all her time with me and not focusing on her studies. They were also worried that, if I broke up, she would be depressed. She tells me how she cried for five months after her ex broke up with her, and I assume because of the same reason, because her parents wanted her to focus on studies, and he saw that and respected her parents decision. She agrees with her parents too, and , even though she doesn't think I would distract her from school, she has to do what her parents say.
We are now not together anymore. And it honestly really hurts every time I type that, or when I wrote it down in my journal, or when she said it to me on call. It really hurts. Like more than anything I can remember. When I asked if there's anything I could do she said no, her parents won't change their minds (at least for now), and she already tried to make some sort of bargain/agreement with her last boyfriend, like only talking to him one hour a day or less, only seeing him once a week, etc. She believes, and I am starting to believe, that it will never happen, and that we are done forever.
She and I still want to be close friends, but we won't be able to spend time alone together anymore, and it honestly really doesn't feel the same. It was my first girlfriend, and I only really went out with her like two times, I didn't get to do anything with her, and I'm really aching now. I feel empty inside. I don't know what to do, and I just want everything to stop feeling the way it does, and I want to go back to before I even met her and didn't know anything about relationships.
How do I get passed this? Is there a solution?

Hey guys! This thread has been amazing to read, reassuring me of whats 'normal' that might seem scary. I'm 6 days post op aclr only, no meniscus, with patellar graft, and my shin turned black, blue, and yellow today 😂 I believe its probably because last night while elevating and icing overnight, the deep uncomfortable ache inside my knee kept waking me up. I popped a double aspirin and felt better when I put my leg down flat instead of elevating (first time sleeping flat). Eventually I finally fell asleep. My nerve block was the extended version, that lasted over 3 days, and I felt like my skin was on fire when it finally wore off, but the deep ache has been bad at night.
However, my question is, when I'm laying down, specifically when elevating my leg, I feel not only a deep pain in my knee itself, but a sharp pain going up to my hip. I still cant sleep comfortably with this pain going up, what I imagine, is my sciatica nerve. I'm trying different positions, and have found it hurts most when I elevate my leg. Also, last night, the deep ache felt in my knee and behind my knee had me waking up a few times. I know I feel better after moving, so I walked to the kitchen and ate something to pop another aspirin and felt better. PT said it could be my new acl doing this? I feel it could also be a 'bone ache' from the holes in the bones for the graft.
How long does this deep ache last? Im always doing heel pumps and ankle rolls when laying down elevated to ease the ache and keep blood flowing.
(Also, its normal for leg to turn black and blue around day 6, right? PT started on day 5.)

First Previous
**Memory transcription subject: Xithan, … hungry Arxur**
*Date [standardized human time]: October 13, 2136*
Holding my gift, I let my eyes slide shut, the idle chatter between Cotton and Upsilta threatening to lull me back to sleep. I had pulled myself up onto my bunk, letting my back rest against the wall, with my tail wrapped around me. This was… pleasant. Calm. I could exist, without the sensation of suspicious eyes constantly on me.
I’m free.
A loud Cotton noise caught my attention– it had to be them, of course, as venlil did not make that same kind of boisterous… laughter, was it? My eyes lazily opened, and I looked to see the two of them sitting next to each other on Cotton’s bunk. The human was laying back on their bed, their legs nearly bouncing with the occasional wheeze between laughs. Upsilta’s face had bloomed orange, most noticeable around their eyes and ears. I wasn’t sure what I had missed, but… it was still odd, to see predator and prey so friendly with one another. Even with all I had seen recently, the Dominion’s teachings still came to mind, trying to tell me what I was seeing was a lie.
Of course, it wasn’t. My eyes couldn’t lie to me, and the Dominion had no power over me. Not here, anyway.
Heavy footsteps were heard at the doorway to the bunks, and Cotton’s laughter was stifled as the human shuffled to sit up. A stressed, exhausted face peered out, glancing across the room. The angry gojid tried not to flinch when she met my eyes, but she didn’t hide it well. Realizing I would have to take more care with my behavior again, I turned my head away, trying to avoid setting off her prey instincts.
Why… am I irritated by this? I’m used to adjusting my behavior around other for all my years–
You didn’t have to do it, a few moments ago.
“Krosa!! Ya changed your mind on the bath–?”
“NO.”
Cotton seemed to deflate at this, sighing before flopping back onto their bunk, letting out an annoyed noise. The venlil gave her a few ear flicks, and a content wag of his tail; probably trying to soothe her. Krosa let out an irritated exhale, before moving towards the human and venlil pair. Surprisingly, she had turned her back to me.
There they were, chatting again. The gojid’s voice was low, Cotton’s energetic as usual, and Upsilta’s, well, soft. Not as soft as his blessed fur, but still.
They paid me no mind as they chatted, and I enjoyed the feeling of sinking into the background. Not having attention on me was… pleasant. I rubbed my snout against my soft, red gift, content at how I was–
Growl.
I blinked, the silence of the room feeling entirely too loud following the rumbling of my stomach.
Hunger.
Looking up, I saw the gojid facing me, her spines up. The venlil seemed anxious as well, moving closer to their human. I couldn’t blame them. But it still–
“See?! How the hell are we supposed to– he eats FLESH, and there’s nothing for him on this shuttle–”
“Krosa.”
“I warned you this was what would happen if we took in a blasted arxur–”
“Krosa.”
“What, Cotton–?”
The tense back and forth made the air in the room feel thick, with the human seeming to get more… frustrated as the gojid’s ranting continued. Cotton looked at me for a moment, before looking back at the angry, prickly creature in front of them.
They’re going to tell.
“I have meat for him.” The fluffy-haired human firmly answered, a gritted stare watching as the gojid processed–
“You. You WHAT?!”
The incredulous rage nearly exploded out of the gojid, as she let out a frustrated snarl; to which Cotton stayed still, refusing to flinch.
“After– AFTER EVERYTHING! You, you brought meat?! And you think you can get upset when– when our kind calls you a predator, for this kind of shit–”
The tenseness of the human felt… odd, with how they normally were. Upsilta already knew of their secret, and didn’t seem angry; but still had an air of uncertain disappointment.
“There’s no changin’ what he can eat, Krosa. An’ I got something we can use to keep him fed without killin’ anything. Just need a sample–”
“NO. God– no, what the FUCK– I should have stayed in my room, you, you’re just–”
Cutting off Cotton, Krosa stepped away from the human and venlil pair, turning to give me a glare, before retreating from the bunk room. Upsilta hopped up from Cotton’s bunk, scurrying to the door and calling out to her. Cotton sat where they were, looking… tired.
“... You have, more meat?” I quietly asked, and the golden-haired human looked up at me, before nodding.
“Yeah. I brought, ah, two bags. I’ll give ya the other one… was hoping the first one would last ya longer, but…” They sighed, pulling their backpack towards them, and starting to dig. They pulled out another bag of dried meat, setting it next to themselves. I could feel my mouth water, and my heart skip a beat at the sight.
Food.
“Cotton?” A soft voice called, as the venlil returned– but stayed in the doorway, not committed to re-entering.
“Yea?” The human replied, still digging through their items; they’d laid out a few that didn’t seem to be what they were looking for.
“What… what did you mean, you have something that can keep… Xithan fed?”
Wait. What exactly did the human mean with this? Although I was fixated on the bag of meat rations, I pulled my eyes away to watch the human, catching the sight of them pulling out a cylindrical, metal object.
“Welllll… ah never told ya why I got, uh, kicked outta the program, did I?”
The venlil’s head tilted, their ears giving a confused twitch. Program - that must have been that human-venlil exchange program. Cotton could see my hunger, and made a motion to mimic… throwing the bag at me? I sat up straighter, and watched as the human effortlessly tossed the bag my way, right into my greedy claws. Unceremoniously, I tore into the plastic, digging out pieces of the dried meat and stuffing them into my gullet.
“So, ah… s’cause of this thing.” Cotton continued, gently tapping the metal cylinder. I glanced up, seeing Upsilta watching me, his fur puffed up, before forcing his gaze to his human.
“Speh, what… well, what is it? It.. it’s not a weapon, right?” The venlil chirped back, their tail swishing back and forth anxiously. The human let out a small laugh, their golden curls bouncing as they shook their head. “Nahhh, well. It ain’t a weapon to me, but… maybe to some of y’all, uh. ‘Prey’, species?”
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. It… it was a little peculiar, having meat that was dried, but it still tasted good. It still satisfied my hunger. And I didn’t have to tear into a freshly killed gojid, either or eat those processed rations.
“Ah, well, the airport security sure as hell thought it was a weapon. Fuckin’ tool– wonder how long it took for his face to get fixed back up…” Those last words were nearly hissed, an odd glint in the human’s eye. A moment where they eerily reminded me of the humans on the Cradle– how on Wriss could they go from seemingly harmless, to something I’d hate to be on the bad side of–
You bit off two of their fingers. Was that not enough to be on their bad side?
I swallowed a large piece of dried meat. Apparently, that wasn’t the sort of thing that made Cotton upset. Whatever this ‘airport security’ did, evidently had made the human angry.
“–anyway, yea, this ain’t a weapon. S’a way for us to grow food.” The fluffy haired human beamed, looking towards their venlil for approval.
“S-so, no more rations?” Upsilta treaded, and the human let out an anxious laugh.
“U-uh, that’s the thing. It’s food… for me an’ Xithan.”
“... Wait, you mean–?”
“Meat.”
I had paused from my ravenous snacking, answer the venlil’s question for the human. Cotton looked at me, a gentle expression on their face. “Yea, s’right Xithan. Can make meat with this thing. Or, at least, duplicate a sample–”
“Sample?!” Upsilta squeaked out, and Cotton nodded. “Yeah, but hell, I’m fine with doin’ it–”
“NO.” I growled, my tail giving an irritated whip. The human looked at me, seemingly… hurt?
“.. Aww, c’mon, I’m fine with cutting out a piece, it wouldn’t even hurt–”
“Human, did you not hear me before? I would rather starve than ever taste human flesh again.”
The human sighed, rubbing their hair with their good hand. “Listen, I know it wouldn’t taste… the best, but, hell, I’d be willin’ to do it. The thing needs a fresh sample, it doesn’t really like dried or older ones for some reason–”
“I do not care. I refuse to eat your flesh– it was foul, rancid, and made me contemplate just giving up meat and dying.” The growl of my voice grew louder, and Cotton seemed unwilling to back down despite it.
“Fine, maybe… ah, fuck, I can hunt somethin’ down there–”
“Do you really think the gojid will entertain that?” I hissed, my heavy tail smacking against my bunk. “What about the venlil–?”
“Xithan, his NAME is Upsilta. And– shit, I don’t know, I’d just figure it out. There’s enough space on this damn ship to hide a carcass somewhere–” They were frustrated, but it didn’t matter– I would rather starve than taste that disgusting flesh ever again. What, by the prophet were humans made of, that tasted so wretched?
Letting out an exasperated sigh, Cotton set down their ‘meat generator’ on their bunk, before standing. The height difference wasn’t that much, but it seemed to make the human feel better. “Ya only need a lil sample– it can only make a little bit at a time, and it always needs fresh samples, but dammit, it works–”
We were at a standstill; my stubborn refusal, and their inability to back down. I opened my maw once more to remind the human–
“... I’ll do it.” Came the soft, reserved voice of the human’s venlil. Cotton’s face went a shade paler, and they whipped around to look at their exchange partner. “... Upsilta?”
The divinely fluffy venlil gave a gentle sway of their tail, meeting the human’s gaze for a moment, before looking away. Cotton was crouched in front of them, their hands grasping the prey’s shoulders. “... You don’t, you don’t have to do this, s’okay, I’ll figure it out–”
The venlil raised a paw to touch the human’s injured hand. “... You gave enough, already. Plus… he already said he wouldn’t eat your… flesh.” A gentle whistle of a laugh followed that, and then the human was gently holding the venlil’s face, their voice… strained.
“Are… are you sure? I don’t… I don’t wanna ask this of ya.” I couldn’t see their expression, as their back was turned to me, but I could safely assume it wasn’t a happy one.
“It’s… not like you will be able to catch anything in space. And.. Xithan is right; Krosa would probably have your head if she saw you with something you… hunted.” Another paw came up, giving the human’s hand a reassuring pat, before laying their paw overtop it.
I could easily eat venlil meat. Although, it would… clearly be a bit of a sacrifice, having to give up small amounts of their own flesh.
What prey does that?
One that isn’t afraid, clearly.
And one that doesn’t think you’re a monster.
“... I can, ah. Take the sample. I’ll do everythin’ I can to make it as… quick as possible.” Cotton breathed, their shoulders seeming to slump. They evidently really hadn’t wanted their venlil to have to do this. They… cared about him.
A cream-colored fluffy tail gave the human’s side a reassuring tap, before the venlil lifted his head to meet the eyes of the worried predator in front of him.
“I trust you.”
~note: crazy right? and some of you though we wouldn't come back (we still don't have backlog please be patient)
Side story following agent "John"
credits to SpacePaladin15 for the universe: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/u19xpa/the_nature_of_predators/

I believed in fairies as a kid. More than believed in them. I think something terrible happened to me, and I've just buried it until now.
Call me a typical emotion-bottling man, but I have never considered therapy. No matter what I went through, no matter how many times I thought to myself, verbatim, that I should talk to someone about this, I just never thought of it as an option. It simply wasn't on my roster. It was just one of those things that existed on a separate plane of existence than I was living in, never to cross paths or interact lest the universe collapse in on itself.
I have no problem with therapy, don't get me wrong. It isn't like I don't understand the overall appeal. I have plenty of friends who swear by it, swear it has helped them tremendously, including my wife. It just wasn't ever something I thought was in my cards.
"I just never really thought about it," I told Alice one evening, when she had brought the topic up once again after dinner.
There was a serene sense of peace wafting through the entire house that day, and I was feeling content. It was a Sunday, and swimming season, so we had dropped Emmie off that morning at the public pool for practice and gone straight to our favorite breakfast place. The rest of the day was filled with all the conversation that had built up over the week, all the topics we couldn't fully dig into with each other while babysitting our eight year old, and lounging, all crammed in between sporadic bursts of housework and paperwork we had to catch up on. It was the perfect day, in my humble opinion. It was a lovely moment of peace in the midst of a chaotic life, as is life with kids. And now the sounds of Mario Kart drifted in from the living room, Emmie's squeals cutting through the cheery music every now and then, causing Alice and I to share small smiles of acknowledgement.
Oh, to be a child again. Still a little drenched from a post-swimming shower, full of chili, eyes glowing with the reflection of a television screen.
"Well, maybe you should." My wife was scooping leftover chili into a Tupperware with a ladle. Her hair had been tied up like it was every day after dinner, as if she planned to run a marathon rather than do the cleaning up. She wasn't looking at me, dialed into the task at hand.
It's crazy how some parts of my memory could be so good, and others nonexistent.
I reached over from where I stood before the dishwasher, sliding my arm around her waist. She gave me a look, like, what?
"I just don't think it's for me, babe," I muttered, resting my mouth on her shoulder as if I was trying to skip her ears and speak right through her skin. "You know those things make me uncomfortable sometimes."
She let out a half groan, half sigh, setting down the container and the ladle and turning to face me, draping her arms over my shoulders.
"Everything makes you uncomfortable, John."
I smiled, letting my hands fall to her hips. I knew her frustrated act was just that, an act, at least for the most part.
"It's good for you," she continued pointedly, reaching up to tap her pointer finger against my forehead as I swayed her back and forth to a nonexistent tune. "Like medicine. And I know for a fact there are some things you need to work through."
I feigned offense. "You think I'm some kind of nut job?"
"Everyone needs therapy," she snarled, pulling out of my arms, but she didn't resist when I reached out and drew her back in. "Not just nut jobs."
And that was how most of those conversations went. Some got a little more heated, ending with a lightly slammed door (so as not to wake our daughter) and a whisper-shout of "this is why you need therapy!"
I feel I'm making it sound bad, but it wasn't. Even our more serious fights never quite felt like fights. They felt like playing. We were like two cats, biting and tackling and swishing our tails, but never baring our teeth to hiss. I never felt genuine, full-bodied anger towards her, and I knew she felt the same. It sounds sappy, but we were just very in love. I sometimes felt that we had never actually left the honeymoon phase.
I'm also making it sound like that conversation was incredibly common, and it wasn't. It came up maybe once every few months. I knew she was just looking out for me. She knew me better than anyone.
We had met through mutual friends, and we had initially bonded over our terrible childhoods. We both had moms who were out of the picture, and over emotional, over compensating dads, although this manifested in vastly different ways. Alice's mother left her father for a D-list rockstar type, following him on his state wide tour. She would sometimes send Alice letters or postcards from the road, although her dad wouldn't always let her keep them if they seemed to be stained with blood or seemed to have made contact with any strange white powders.
Her dad coped with anger. He never laid a hand on her, but his shouting and the sounds of glass bottles smashing against the walls kept her up almost every night. During the days he'd take her out, buy her things, go mini golfing and bowling and to the movies. Anything to seem more fun than her mother.
My mother passed away on my seventh birthday. She was driving home from work, which was at a law firm half an hour away from our house, when it began to rain. She was texting my dad her ETA when she ran a red light and a semi truck T-boned her, completely obliterating her car.
After that, everything changed. My seventh birthday could've been my twenty-first. At night it was the worst. I remember sitting with my dad as he cried, curled up in a sobbing ball on the filthy living room carpet, whimpering like a kicked puppy. He would scream and wail so loud the walls shook. He would say, over and over as if I wasn't hearing him, sometimes mumbling and sometimes shrieking, "She was cut in half. I'm sorry sir, she's gone. No, there's no chance she survived, she was completely cut in half."
The days were almost worse. During the day, when he could decrease the helpless wails into weeping at the very least, his attention turned to me. He tried to get something out of me, almost silently begging me to break down with him. Every other second it was, "How are you feeling, son? Do you understand what's happening? You poor thing, you must be devastated, your mommy is gone... Don't you want to cry?"
But I couldn't indulge, and I didn't want to. I had to wash the sheets, because he'd pissed them again, and I didn't want him to sleep in it and smell like pee when he took me to school the next day. I had to vacuum the carpet, so the next time he curled up on it and begged God to take him too, when he finally stood up, his cheek wouldn't be caked in crumbs and dust.
I don't know if I ever truly mourned. My mother's death was more like an absence, as if someone had taken a pair of scissors and carved a chunk out of my side, or snipped off a limb. I could still feel her, I could still talk to her, but all I got back was a deep ache and a crushing silence.
I hated how people reacted when I told them my mom was dead, and had been since I was a little boy. I hated the looks on their faces when they asked how she died, and when I told them. How their mouths fell open dumbly and their eyebrows twisted and contorted in sympathetic horror. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know," they said, as if there was vomit rising in their throats, and I wanted to say, "Well, you fucking asked, didn't you?"
Alice never reacted like that. In fact, she never really even asked me what happened. We were on our second date, nursing beers while leaning against the pool table a a dingy speakeasy, when she told me about her own mom. It was the first time in a long time I actually felt like the conversation was open, like I could respond and she would listen and care, but not too much. Not an uncomfortable amount. When I told her about my parents she didn't say anything, and her pretty face didn't contort. She leaned over the corner of the pool table and kissed me on the cheek, took my hand.
The day she found out she was pregnant, we promised each other to be better, to not let our child ever have to grieve alone or feel the very specific hopeless terror that only a parent can cause.
So maybe I should have listened to her. Maybe I should have gone to therapy the first time she brought it up, the first time she told me how it had helped her get through her own terrible memories. But if I'm being honest, I didn't think I had anything to get through. I had left it in the past, I had coped so far in my own somewhat crooked way, I didn't want to dig any of that back up. I didn't want to be put back in that place where I was expected to talk, to cry, to open up. It made my skin crawl just thinking about it.
"I was always the therapist," I would say to her with a crooked grin. "And I like it that way."
Then, the dreams started.
I could tell you I don't know what triggered them, I don't know why it was now. But that wouldn't be the truth. I know exactly why I started to remember.
At first, they were brief. Nightmares that I couldn't quite recall or explain, waking up disoriented and a little sick. The rest of my day would feel strange, like I was surrounded by a thick fog. Eventually, they started to wake me up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and screaming, scaring the shit out of my wife. Once I ran to the bathroom and threw up, barely making it to the toilet. That was when the word "therapy" came up again.
It feels like I've been in a coma for twenty years, and I'm just waking up now.
It's so strange how different the world looks to a child.
I believed in fairies as a kid. Laugh it up if you want. When I turned four, my aunt brought me this book - we've all had one, I think. It was one of those huge hardcover books filled with information about something mythical, with little patches of fabric to simulate a mermaid's scales or a dragon's claw.
Mine was about fairies, and it was so real to me. My mom would sit up with me later than she probably should have, reading to me, placing my hand on the textures to feel. I wanted to know everything about them, I became obsessed, and naturally, my parents played along. They bought me toys, books... every year I had a fae themed birthday cake, and any kid who dared to giggle behind their hands weren't invited to next year's celebration.
When I was old enough to use the internet, supervised of course, I began further research. My mom helped me navigate Wikipedia first, and they had plenty of information to sustain me for a while. My interest turned from wings and magical powers to different types of fae from every corner of the earth, mushroom rings and their alleged distaste for iron. While I still wasn't very good at reading, I would just look at the pictures until she got home from work.
When my mom died, the fairy memorabilia began to amp up. My aunt bought me new books, gave them to me wrapped and tied with ribbons with tear filled eyes, and my dad brought them up whenever he thought I needed comforting and felt strong enough to leave the house. "Wanna go look in the forest for fairies, son?"
I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I began to worship the fairies. I was convinced they lived in the forest behind my house, just behind each tree I looked at, hiding from me. I would spend my weekends escaping into the woods with a bucket and a cheap pair of binoculars, positive that this time, this day, I would see one.
At night, when my dad finally passed out in his own puddle of tears and other bodily fluids, I would pray to them. I never believed in God, we weren't a particularly religious family, and besides, I had seen what good He had done for my dad thus far. But I believed in the fairies.
I asked them for help with my father. I asked them for peace. I asked them to bring her back to me.
They never answered.
Until they did.
It was a Friday. I remember now, I'm not sure how I could have forgotten. After school I had sprinted into the shade of the trees before my dad could stop me, gripping the hem of my shirt in my fist, the thin fabric bearing the weight of two handfuls of the shiniest silverware and most colorful buttons I could find in our dusty cabinets.
I had a plan that day. I was going to lure them to me.
My path began in a clearing where I thought a ring of mushrooms may have begun to grow... but even without that, it was just the perfect spot for fairies. I could picture them flitting between the trees, chirping to each other happily, picking wildflowers to weave into flower crowns.
I walked backwards all the way back to my bedroom window, dropping another item every few steps. When I got inside and looked out my window, I could see my trail of shiny things curve through the overgrown grass in our backyard and disappear into the trees.
I was so excited, I could hardly contain myself. Tonight, surely, they would come to me. They would show themselves, and they would help me. But after another few late hours of coddling my father, finally convincing him to drink some water and get in bed, I was exhausted. I completely forgot about my plan. When I got to my room I collapsed on my mattress, not even bothering to undress before I closed my eyes.
Then I heard it. The scratching.
I opened my eyes. The moonlight shining through my bedroom window casted strange shadows across my ceiling, shadows of the swaying grass and the creaking trees.
It was strangely silent, other than the sound. Usually there was lots of noise, or at the very least a few crickets, but not tonight. Tonight, I realized, I couldn't even hear the wind.
I sat up slowly, as if in a dream, and looked toward my window. I couldn't see anything out there, nothing glaringly obvious at least, that could be making that noise.
The scratching turned to a tap. Tap tap tap, like a fingernail against a glass. It had a playful air to it, like someone was saying, look over here!
I stood, rubbing my eyes, and stumbled over. The tapping stopped abruptly when I got to the window and peered outside, out to the dark yard, pitch black if not for the moon's glow. The grass didn't sway, the trees didn't creak. I frowned and unlatched the window, sliding it up above my head.
I was right, there was no wind. Not even a gust. Everything was still outside, like it was frozen. I actually started to believe it was frozen, that time had stopped completely somehow, before I saw it.
My trail of silverware and buttons. Sparkling softly in the moonlight.
Disappearing.
It began where the path met the trees, curving off where I couldn't follow it anymore. A fork disappeared right before my eyes, right on the edge. Just vanished, as if someone who was invisible had picked it up and stuffed it in a pocket very quickly.
Then another went, a spoon. Then a particularly large gold button. Whatever was taking them was doing what I had wanted, it was taking my bait, it was coming to me. And it was as if whatever had tapped at my window had wanted me to see this, wanted to show me.
But something felt very, very wrong.
This wasn't how I had pictured it. There was no twinkling, tiny winged thing at my window, winking at me before dashing back into the safety of the trees. There were no secrets being whispered in my ear, no fairy dust or promises of better things.
Something about this wasn't right. It felt like a mimicry, almost a mockery, of what I had imagined. Like something was trying to give me what I wanted, but was rusty at it.
I didn't want this anymore.
My stomach twisted and my hands shook as I pulled the window back down slowly, watching more glittery things disappear from the grass, growing closer and closer. As soon as it was closed I quickly locked it and pulled the blinds shut, turning my back to the window as if something would happen that I didn't want to see.
Nothing happened. The deafening silence continued for a few seconds as my ears strained to hear anything else happening outside. Then the wind picked up, and the sounds of crickets, muffled by my closed window, filled the night air.
I don't remember when I fell asleep that night, I just know I felt unnerved and jumpy for a while. I woke up the next morning feeling guilty. Had the fairies really come last night? Maybe they had come to talk to me, to bring me gifts, favors, and what had I done? I had closed my window on them. I felt ungrateful. Why had I even been scared? Because it was dark outside? What was I, a baby?
When I opened my window and peered outside, I gasped. The trail of silverware and buttons was completely gone, all the way up to the last one, which I had placed on my windowsill. In its place was a shoe. I didn't know what kind of shoe it was, but it looked sort of nice, fancy. I remember smiling out the window as I opened it, as if they were looking, and taking my gift.
How could I forget that night? How could I have forgotten what happened after? I feel crazy, either like I made it all up or like I've made up everything since then, like my life isn't truly my own.
I remember telling my dad. I remember saying, "Dad, the fairies came last night!" and the absent smile he gave me.
Until I showed him their gift. The shoe. Instantly his face went pale and he snatched it from my hands, staring at me as if I was something unholy.
"Where did you get this, Johnny?"
"The fairies, dad, I told you!"
He didn't respond. Just gave me another long, solemn look, before turning away from me, still holding the present I received close to his chest. I was upset, but I knew better than throwing a tantrum. That would be too much emotion anyways, too uncomfortable. Even back then, I didn't know how to handle those things.
I didn't show him their gifts after that. I didn't want to risk having them taken away. I tried not to be scared of the fairies, even though they always came at night, but I didn't go to my window when they came anymore. I read everywhere that fairies didn't particularly like to be seen, even though this one seemed to want to be. It always began with tapping, but otherwise complete silence that almost felt like it was swallowing me... and eventually the tapping would stop, the silence would pass, and I would fall asleep. In the morning there was always another gift for me, sitting on my window sill. A sparkly gold ring, the other matching shoe, a hat... I smiled when I took every one, wanting them to know I was grateful. And I would leave things for them too, little sweets or shiny things like coins or paperclips that I found on the ground at school.
Things seemed to get better with my dad for a while. He kept to himself more, he was quieter. At night he would cry softly in his room, rather than his uproarious wails that I used to have to quell so the neighbors wouldn't come knocking. During the day, he would talk to me, but more casually. He didn't ask me how I was feeling anymore, or tell me to let it out.
I hoped this was the fairies. I felt invincible, like I had a secret superpower that no one knew about. I was friends with fairies.
Then one night, everything changed.
It started with the tapping, as always. That night I was fast asleep, catching up on well earned rest since the nightly therapy sessions had ceased.
The tapping woke me. It was that loud. It was louder than usual... but it seemed like it stopped abruptly as soon as I raised my head to look.
That was different...
That night, I had left my blinds up and my window open by accident. Since that first night, even though I wasn't scared anymore, I had always closed them... but this time, I must have forgotten.
It was silent outside. It seemed darker than usual. I could almost make out something, a shape, way on the other side of the yard, but it was too dark and I was too far away to tell.
That feeling from that first night retuned. A twisting like a hand reaching into my stomach and mixing things around, a heavy feeling in my chest like someone had stolen all of the air from my room, even though the window was open. The silence seemed to crush me, bearing down on me from every angle, making my ribs hurt.
The feeling that something was very wrong.
I don't remember deciding to stand: looking back, I have no idea why I would do that in my state of fight or flight. I don't know if I consciously chose to. I don't remember walking over, but I remember getting there, my hands on the windowsill and my head poking out into the completely still night air.
There was something there. On the edge of the trees. Right where I had seen that first fork disappear into thin air. I squinted, leaning further into the darkness to try and make out what it was.
When I finally did, the outline taking shape as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I began to shake uncontrollably. I remember that I tried to scream, but no sound would come. I couldn't move, couldn't do anything but stare.
Two legs stood in front of the trees, facing me. Two legs, a blood-soaked pair of slacks, no shoes on the purple, swollen feet. And a jagged, violent rip in the torso where the rest of my mother's body had been severed from its lower half.
It took me a while to realize that the legs weren't standing on their own. They began to move, jerking clumsily toward the window, like something I couldn't see was struggling to hold them up. I finally forced myself out of my trance and fell to my carpet, vomiting.
I don't remember much else about that night yet. My dad came running when I started crying, I'm sure, but he didn't see what I saw. My mom's legs were gone, or hidden. Because they weren't for him.
They were for me.
We moved after that. Before now if you had asked me why we moved so far away so suddenly, I probably would have mumbled something about the grief, and it being too hard to stay where my mother had died. But I remember why now.
It was because the next morning, when I checked my windowsill, there was a hand. My mother's hand. Purple and stiff, and missing her gold wedding ring. Reaching, fingers rested against the glass, like it was trying to get in.
Like it had been tapping.
I don't want to think about what else it might have brought, had we stayed.
That thing, whatever it was, wasn't my mother, and it wasn't a fairy. I had invited something else with all my praying, with all my naive and innocent beliefs, and with all my bottled up emotions. I had invited it, and I had let it in.
And then I had forgotten everything. Maybe I bottled that up, too.
Now I remember. Now I'm having nightmares, and waking up with that sick feeling in my gut, my eyes jumping to our closed bedroom window.
Because a week ago, my daughter woke me up very early in the morning my jumping on our bed. A week ago, she shook me awake, her eager smile stretching all the way across her face. A week ago, she told me, "Dad, the fairies came last night!"
She showed me a doll, a ballerina, with a pink tutu and beautiful long blonde hair.
And now, with all these terrible memories hitting me like cold water to the face, only one keeps me awake at night.
I asked them for help with my father. I asked them for peace. I asked them to bring her back to me.
It has granted two of my wishes, in its own twisted way. My father grew distant from me and my mother was brought back in pieces.
I'm happy now. But I don't have peace. I don't think I'll ever fully have peace, at least not with a child and a wife to try and provide for, and not with all of these memories.
So what has it come back for?

I am a 27 year old male, that has a height of 5ft 9in and weigh slightly over 400lbs(I understand, that alone is another massive health problem).
For over a year, I developed a debilitating scrotum and left testicular pain. I also notice that the area below my scrotum has a lot of pain, especially when I slightly press on it. Based on my research, I believe that this area is my perineum( I do feel that it is throbbing, when it gets painful). I have also been having frequent urination(day and night), as well as the feeling of my bladder is not emptying. I have also been facing inner thigh pain/discomfort, as well as lower back pain and the occasional abdominal pain. I have noticed that my pain improves when when my scrotum shrivels my pain almost disappears with the mildest discomfort. I also have noticed that when my scrotum loosens up, my left testicle almost always sticks to my left thigh which always makes it worse. As of recently, I have been dealing with overall body aches, feeling cold internally, and occasional coughs that make me feel I am going unconscience for a second.
I have visited both my PC doctor and my Urologist several times, and every ultrasound has come back with different results (The first ultrasound that I had no issues, while the second one stated that I had a mild varicocele on my left side with a 0.4cm cyst). My Urologist stated that this report still indicates that everything is normal. I have also done a testosterone test, since I have been feeling low strength and energy for a while now, and the testosterone total came out to 66, which the report states is low. I have also done multiple urine test, and no bacteria was present in each test.
The medication I have taken so far is Levofloxacin. Initially, in the first 10 days I felt quite a bit of relief in my scrotum area but unfortunately began to suffer side affects where my joints were feeling rusty, and it was getting slightly difficult to get up from a chair. I stopped it, with fears that I might have permanent damage from this antibiotic. Later on, I took Bactrim which didn't have much side affects but I didn't feel any difference in my scrotum. I was then given naproxen, which helped for about a day and then my pain came back the next day. I stopped taking the naproxen, as I felt it made no sense constantly taking pain meds for my problem.
I am definitely at a loss of words, in regards to what is wrong with me. I understand my weight is a massive part of the equation. This problem that I am facing has made my life difficult as it has made my day to day tasks nearly impossible.
Lastly, I do apologize if my post is really long, but I really wanted to share as much detail as possible.
Any help would be greatly appreciated.
Thank you!

Hello! I’m in Canada and of course it’s a long weekend here and I’ve got a case of mastitis. I was prescribed antibiotics by the Provincial virtual care provider. I’ve held off on taking them as I’ve had cases resolve before with Advil, Ice, lymphatic massage and nursing as normal (according to new mastitis protocol).
Fever aches and chills have stopped but I’m still in a fair amount of pain in my one breast. So tender To the touch and I feel swelling and see slight redness. I haven’t taken the prescribed antibiotic yet as last time it resolved but this time the pain and swelling is more stubborn.
Has anyone else had this happen? When do you know it’s time to take the antibiotics? Thank you!!

I was hoping for some calm energy i currently feel like I am dying and in horrible condition. My tonsil (only one) is super red and rock solid, with quite a bit of tonsil stones. I have a fever, body aches, chills, pain throughout my body and my chest, eyes hurt and my head is also pounding. I took by quill and now every time I am about to fall asleep it wakes me back up out of shock that I’m falling asleep. Help me please if you know anything about what’s going on with me
This came on quick and I am in this bad of condition 4 hours later from it starting

So I’ve been on Zoloft for a few months now. I started at 25mg and worked my way up to 75mg. I never really associated the headaches at the start to the medication and just pushed through it and ignored it trying to live my life like normal again. Once I got up to 75mg though it was too much. There was a point where I was so tired and fatigue that even walking around for longer than 10 minutes I was wiped and felt like I needed to sleep. I even tried hiking at one point just to get my body moving but my legs were so weak that I slid and fell while going down a hill and I just didn’t have the reaction time or strength to catch myself like I normally would. That has since resolved for the most park but not I have this constant head ache in the same spot on the top of my head in the right side. Just a constant, stab….stab….stab. Off and on all day from the minute I wake up to the time I go to bed. Again I’ve been trying to push through it and ignore and pop pain pills to manage it but I feel like that’s not something I need to be doing. I shouldn’t be taking medication to fix what another one is causing. My issues is this is a totally different type of headache than I’ve ever had so it causes me to have a lot of anxiety around it and the thought of a brain tumor or something serious. My doctor won’t look into because he believes it’s just my anxiety… but I’m taking medication to help my anxiety that’s just giving more anxiety. Does anyone else have similar headaches?

Hi,
Title. Especially when I take pseudoedepherine it can go down to 90/60 and causes tightness on the chest. Which doesn't make any sense because normally this medicine should increase the blood pressure. But while I was under antidepressant last year I didn't have the low blood pressure even when I took the maximum daily dosage of pseudoedepherine.
Anyways I'm 29M, EU, GAD and IBS/reflux sufferer whole my life but last two years symptoms turned into more physical. At least escitalopram and psychotherapy helped with managing many symptoms but I still have these below last two years which never gave me a break if you can relate:

• Nasal inflammation from inside the nose. No infection or mucus, no polyps, no deviation. Nostrils just becomes enflamed and no air goes through. ENT doctor couldn't find anything, allergy test didn't show anything but I will be seeing an allergist itself on July. My symptoms actually went really bad when I moved into an apartment with underfloor heating two years ago. There is a whole different thread about that if you are curious https://www.reddit.com/Sinusitis/s/ooSgICdkju
• Aching and unstoppable stiffness from under the chin to tip of fingers. Throbbing pulsation and muscle soreness on the neck, rarely on the limbs.
• Increase on IBS and reflux symptoms. I had them since 14 but last 3 years they are crazy most likely since I gained a lot of weight that my BMI was almost 30 but luckily losing weight since last year.
• Not everyday but every couple of days a month burning eyes with teardrops especially laying down in the mornings or evenings.

Thanks.

WARNING : This gets deep into the future.
I've begun to worry to the point where I cannot function entirely. Sure, I can get through the day and appear ' calm '. But I am not. I can't enjoy anything at all. I'm so scared of losing everything I love. I'm scared of that happening to others too. I quest¡on things a lot, so as a result I try and find answers and solutions..but it doesn't always work. Often times I end up questioning even further.
For example, I could be questioning how humans can slow down reverse the aging process. Then how long that could take before it is accessible to people. And then I would start questioning if humans are able to evacuate Earth, assuming time could be limited if something goes wrong. I did a bit of searching and if it's accurate { please correct me if not }, the planet has a billion years or so. PLENTY of time to prepare, right ? Of course it is. Humans have and can achieve so much in merely a fraction of such timeframe. But I'm scared we won't. A lot of people are too busy enabling gen0cide, exploitation, etc. Of course not everyone will be a good person, but it shouldn't be THIS horrific either. We could be focusing on so many better things. It irritates me that some people just choose to be cruel instead.
Another problem is I don't always think with words, rather with pictures. Because of this it can be difficult to express my concerns. I get worried that nothing I say will make sense regardless of how it is phrased. I'm stupid and trying to figure EVERYTHING out. Even though I know I can't. And even if I understand that doesn't automatically result in disaster either. I'm spending all of this time thinking of hypothetical situations in the future, and it making me miss out on living in the present. I'm missing out because I cannot ' go back to normal ' until I have found answers that will soothe my worries. I will admit I am an impatient person, so that could definitely contribute in some way. I do want to work on that too.
Even as I am writing this, it is difficult to express myself because I'm scared of triggering even deeper fears. I know I have to confront these fears but it's so fucking hard. Usually I get through it on my own..but I don't know if I can this time. I am sorry if this is being unrealistic. I just want the best for everyone. I want to be okay. I want others to be okay too. I'm scared for us. My heart aches for us. I love us.
Thank you for your time.