Rt side pain nausea causes

I’ve just ordered a Forerunner 265 as I’m sick to death of the battery life on my Apple Watch. I sleep in the watch so I find it very tricky to keep it charged to a level where it doesn’t run out during the day.
I tend to sleep on my left side so usually swap my Apple Watch to my right wrist when I sleep (normally on left wrist during the day) and this doesn’t seem to cause any issues with sleep tracking.
Am I ok doing this with the Forerunner 265? Sure I will be but just checking.
Looking forward to the Garmin Coach and getting back into running. This will give me the kick up the arse I need. Arriving tomorrow 😊

names are fake for privacy purposes. bio-mom: tania (49f) father: steven (58m) sister: tori (26f) brother: vern (23m) me: 20f (no name needed lol)
anytime “fast forward” is mentioned, it’s because there wasn’t much going on in between or i wanted to spare some pretty bad details.
about 8 months ago i made a post asking if i would be an asshole for helping my father find my bio-mom in order to take her to court because for about 10 years (give or take) my bio-mom went off the grid and didn’t pay child support
some background for context for those who didn’t see the original post: steven and tania have been divorced now for about 15 years. they got divorced due to my tania’s infidelity and honestly, her just not being a mom. every weekend she acted (and more likely than not, still acts) like a crazed college girl looking to party every night. tania would come home drunk and hog the toilet all night. i vividly remember one time (i had to have been between ages 4-6 because i was at the apartment my family lived in at the time) tania was blacked/passed out on the bathroom floor hugging the toilet. i had to call steven into the bathroom to move her so i could use the bathroom. those kinds of things at least once a week.
moving along, when i was about 8/9 tania moved to colorado. at that point she had a warrant out for her arrest because 1) she hadn’t payed at least 6 months of child support for me and my 2 older siblings and 2) she fled my state without letting the court know. essentially we knew she moved to avoid child support. we went YEARS with my dad being a single father. everyday i’m thankful for that man for doing everything a mother should’ve for me.
SUPER fast forward to my freshman year of high school. i went behind steven’s back and texted tania on facebook. i never got a reply… i was 13 and still almost 8 years later haven’t gotten a reply (not that i want one atp). about two days after i texted her i did tell my father. honestly, even being 13, i wanted her to pay. i wanted my dad to not be struggling. i wanted to go to a better school and be able to do more things a kid/teen should be doing rather than having to go to school and come home. i was never really able to go out with friends until i was 17 because i had gotten my own job. yes, my father could’ve given me money, rides places, etc. but mind you, growing up watching my dad be a single parent and struggle even when he didn’t say anything, i knew better than to ask. those $10 he could’ve given me would’ve made better use at the grocery store. him giving me a ride, would’ve cut into him driving for uber after working his 6am-3pm day job.
fast forward again to 2018/2019. vern is a senior in high school. to give you the skinny, we had a great relationship as siblings until i found out he was trying to cheat on his gf with one of my friends. this was january 2019 the NIGHT BEFORE we went back to school from winter break. we got into an argument which caused him to throw his phone at me leaving me with 2 black eyes and the bridge of my nose cut open. that day, vern was very lucky he was my sibling or there’s no telling what would’ve transpired. vern was enlisting in the army and was scheduled to leave for boot camp in july of 2019. a week down the road i find out my grandma had taken him in after specifically telling me he wasn’t with her. to avoid too many details it was a whole argument between everyone. not that it mattered because by july 1st vern had called me and asked to come back. i spoke with dad, we went to get him and kept him with us until he left for the army.
fast forward to october of that year. vern was graduating from boot camp so steven and i drove the almost 13 hours from us to georgia to see him graduate. trust and believe it was NOT worth missing my homecoming for because guess tf what? i found out a day into this 3 day trip, tania was there through my sister tori. livid isn’t even the word used to describe how i felt, so i could only imagine how steven felt that we just did all this to find out from a third party that we were in a shit situation. and reddit, let me tell you, i could not have left georgia faster after those 3 days.
coming up to November of the same year, my elderly grandmother got on a plane to georgia to watch vern graduate completely before being stationed. tania i guess also showed up this time too. to say my grandma was disappointed is an understatement. especially since vern told her, verbatim, “don’t worry. i’ll come to see you before i ship out” he told her on the last day of this trip that he was getting shipped right away and so he might not be able to see her. he then got into tania’s car and drove off… my grandmother spent the next 3 years withering away. she had 3 strokes over those years and passed away in 2022. she told us for those 3 years she didn’t want my siblings at her funeral or her wake. it breaks my heart every single day how much my siblings let her down…
anyways, we found out vern was staying with tania in colorado and then was shipped to alaska. or so we think. he ended up getting mixed up in drugs and was dishonorably discharged from the military. it went downhill for vern from there. but i’ve spent so much time off track it’s about time i get to the point.
8 months ago my father asked me to do some social media searching and see if i could find any info about tania because rumor had it she was back in town permanently from colorado. i did some searching and saw she was going to club/bar events not even 20 minutes away from my house. nothing really ever came of that until recently.
i was scrolling on my facebook messenger just reminding myself of who i had spoken to in the past year or so lol and saw a text chain between me and vern. so i start going through his profile and find he’s friends with tania on facebook. so i go through her page and i hit the jackpot.
just for some context, because she does have warrants due to the backpay on child support, all we needed was to find a job, where she lives, something like that. i saw a post that said “thank you tania for the amazing service at ___ for donna’s retirement party…” (not going to say what bar it is but it is in fact a bar). now i know where she works. i gave my dad a call and let him know what i found to see if we could go anywhere from there. a few family friends live in the area of this establishment and drove past to see if there was any cars with colorado plates since tania had most recently lived in colorado. when they didn’t see one they called the place and asked if tania worked there. YALLLLLLLLL it was tania who picked up the phone.
my dad is getting back into contact with his lawyer to see what steps we take next. i have an officer who comes into my job often who i’m also going to ask just to see what steps they would recommend we take going forward. as of right now, it’s pretty quiet and idk what’s to come but hopefully it’s the over $20k tania owes.
just a side note: one of these arrest warrants, the bail is already $3k when they arrest her. IF she makes bail, that money goes right to my dad (not sure on much of the legality of it all but that’s what steven told me). updates will be given hopefully soon.
ik how my family would react if the found out that i’ve been helping steven, so reddit, aita for helping my dad find my bio-mom? advice and whatnot is more than welcome.

age 20 male. Not taking any medication.
So was having symptoms like facial pressure so I went to neurologist and he asked for MRI scan of brainSo MRI result came and only abnormal thing in my brain is type ii aica loop on left side . But in conclusion they have written normal brainSo do you think type ii aica loop can cause these symptoms. My facial pain are almost gone but I feel like blocked ear and feels like increasing heartbeat with slight headache and numbness around ear or sometime anywhere .But when i am in crowd or with friends i feel like completely normal. Is it anxiety or it can be due to compression of nerve due to aica loop . Since they write normal MRI scan I am assuming no compression was seen?
Also My vitamin b12 was 185 where minimum normal limit was 240. So can it be caused by it?

This is a weekly thread for discussing leaving the field of social work, leaving a toxic workplace, and general venting. This post came about from community suggestions and input. Please use this space to:

• Celebrate leaving the field
• Debating whether leaving is the right fit for you
• Ask what else you can do with a BSW or MSW
• Strategize an exit plan
• Vent about what is causing you to want to leave the field
• Share what it is like on the other side
• Burn out
• General negativity

Posts of any of these topics on the main thread will be redirected here.

names are fake for privacy purposes. bio-mom: tania (49f) father: steven (58m) sister: tori (26f) brother: vern (23m) me: 20f (no name needed lol)
anytime “fast forward” is mentioned, it’s because there wasn’t much going on in between or i wanted to spare some pretty bad details.
about 8 months ago i made a post asking if i would be an asshole for helping my father find my bio-mom in order to take her to court because for about 10 years (give or take) my bio-mom went off the grid and didn’t pay child support
some background for context for those who didn’t see the original post: steven and tania have been divorced now for about 15 years. they got divorced due to my tania’s infidelity and honestly, her just not being a mom. every weekend she acted (and more likely than not, still acts) like a crazed college girl looking to party every night. tania would come home drunk and hog the toilet all night. i vividly remember one time (i had to have been between ages 4-6 because i was at the apartment my family lived in at the time) tania was blacked/passed out on the bathroom floor hugging the toilet. i had to call steven into the bathroom to move her so i could use the bathroom. those kinds of things at least once a week.
moving along, when i was about 8/9 tania moved to colorado. at that point she had a warrant out for her arrest because 1) she hadn’t payed at least 6 months of child support for me and my 2 older siblings and 2) she fled my state without letting the court know. essentially we knew she moved to avoid child support. we went YEARS with my dad being a single father. everyday i’m thankful for that man for doing everything a mother should’ve for me.
SUPER fast forward to my freshman year of high school. i went behind steven’s back and texted tania on facebook. i never got a reply… i was 13 and still almost 8 years later haven’t gotten a reply (not that i want one atp). about two days after i texted her i did tell my father. honestly, even being 13, i wanted her to pay. i wanted my dad to not be struggling. i wanted to go to a better school and be able to do more things a kid/teen should be doing rather than having to go to school and come home. i was never really able to go out with friends until i was 17 because i had gotten my own job. yes, my father could’ve given me money, rides places, etc. but mind you, growing up watching my dad be a single parent and struggle even when he didn’t say anything, i knew better than to ask. those $10 he could’ve given me would’ve made better use at the grocery store. him giving me a ride, would’ve cut into him driving for uber after working his 6am-3pm day job.
fast forward again to 2018/2019. vern is a senior in high school. to give you the skinny, we had a great relationship as siblings until i found out he was trying to cheat on his gf with one of my friends. this was january 2019 the NIGHT BEFORE we went back to school from winter break. we got into an argument which caused him to throw his phone at me leaving me with 2 black eyes and the bridge of my nose cut open. that day, vern was very lucky he was my sibling or there’s no telling what would’ve transpired. vern was enlisting in the army and was scheduled to leave for boot camp in july of 2019. a week down the road i find out my grandma had taken him in after specifically telling me he wasn’t with her. to avoid too many details it was a whole argument between everyone. not that it mattered because by july 1st vern had called me and asked to come back. i spoke with dad, we went to get him and kept him with us until he left for the army.
fast forward to october of that year. vern was graduating from boot camp so steven and i drove the almost 13 hours from us to georgia to see him graduate. trust and believe it was NOT worth missing my homecoming for because guess tf what? i found out a day into this 3 day trip, tania was there through my sister tori. livid isn’t even the word used to describe how i felt, so i could only imagine how steven felt that we just did all this to find out from a third party that we were in a shit situation. and reddit, let me tell you, i could not have left georgia faster after those 3 days.
coming up to November of the same year, my elderly grandmother got on a plane to georgia to watch vern graduate completely before being stationed. tania i guess also showed up this time too. to say my grandma was disappointed is an understatement. especially since vern told her, verbatim, “don’t worry. i’ll come to see you before i ship out” he told her on the last day of this trip that he was getting shipped right away and so he might not be able to see her. he then got into tania’s car and drove off… my grandmother spent the next 3 years withering away. she had 3 strokes over those years and passed away in 2022. she told us for those 3 years she didn’t want my siblings at her funeral or her wake. it breaks my heart every single day how much my siblings let her down…
anyways, we found out vern was staying with tania in colorado and then was shipped to alaska. or so we think. he ended up getting mixed up in drugs and was dishonorably discharged from the military. it went downhill for vern from there. but i’ve spent so much time off track it’s about time i get to the point.
8 months ago my father asked me to do some social media searching and see if i could find any info about tania because rumor had it she was back in town permanently from colorado. i did some searching and saw she was going to club/bar events not even 20 minutes away from my house. nothing really ever came of that until recently.
i was scrolling on my facebook messenger just reminding myself of who i had spoken to in the past year or so lol and saw a text chain between me and vern. so i start going through his profile and find he’s friends with tania on facebook. so i go through her page and i hit the jackpot.
just for some context, because she does have warrants due to the backpay on child support, all we needed was to find a job, where she lives, something like that. i saw a post that said “thank you tania for the amazing service at ___ for donna’s retirement party…” (not going to say what bar it is but it is in fact a bar). now i know where she works. i gave my dad a call and let him know what i found to see if we could go anywhere from there. a few family friends live in the area of this establishment and drove past to see if there was any cars with colorado plates since tania had most recently lived in colorado. when they didn’t see one they called the place and asked if tania worked there. YALLLLLLLLL it was tania who picked up the phone.
my dad is getting back into contact with his lawyer to see what steps we take next. i have an officer who comes into my job often who i’m also going to ask just to see what steps they would recommend we take going forward. as of right now, it’s pretty quiet and idk what’s to come but hopefully it’s the over $20k tania owes.
just a side note: one of these arrest warrants, the bail is already $3k when they arrest her. IF she makes bail, that money goes right to my dad (not sure on much of the legality of it all but that’s what steven told me). updates will be given hopefully soon.
ik how my family would react if the found out that i’ve been helping steven, so reddit, aita for helping my dad find my bio-mom? advice and whatnot is more than welcome.

I did not see many posts about this, only people asking if they were candidates and others immediately saying no, because it is a trend to hate on buccal fat removal these days.
First of all, I want to dispel a few myths:
1) buccal fat does not get smaller with age, so the same buccal fat pads you have at 20 will be there at 70, do with that what you will.
2) this is not very new, it's been around 30+ years, only now we are starting to know about it. a lot of the people say we don't know how it will look 10-20 years down the line, but actually there are patients who have had this done years ago.
3) this can only address extra volume in the lower mid face, it cannot address jowls or perioral mounds, or your neck etc. Before getting anything done, consider what you want to target.
In deciding whether I should go ahead or not, Dr Jonathan Zelken's YouTube channel has been a huge help, so I've linked a few videos of his here. From what I can see, the results are usually very subtle, and yes there are some botched examples from celebs but they were probably not good candidates to begin with and had too much removed.
Now, on to the part about my journey. I am a 25 year old female, I've always had very chubby cheeks, I've had people squeezing my cheeks as far back as I can remember, and have always been quite slim. I also naturally have a lot of collagen in my skin, the skin itself is very thick and bouncy, but I also had quite full cheeks.
I got my surgery today, it was under local anesthesia, performed by a maxillofacial surgeon at the dentist's office, and it took probably 5-10 mins on each side. I was shaking like crazy before the operation, I was incredibly nervous, and I continued to shake even after it was all over, so I'm glad I had a big breakfast. Before the operation, I had some pictures taken, and my face measured from various different angles, to track post-op progress.
The surgeon did the incisions with a laser, found the fat pads immediately, and took out 2/3 of the buccal body (as per my request). I told her I did not want all of it to be removed, I wanted to lean on the conservative side. She took out 4 cc on each side, but said she could have easily taken out 5.5-6 cc's. She stitched the incision sites up and put a gauze in. I then had my head wrapped in a compression garment, which I will be wearing 24/7 for the next 2 days.
Upon leaving the office, I went to a nearby hospital to get 2 injections that were prescribed to me, these were methylprednisolone (a glucocorticoid for post-op swelling) and tenoxicam for pain. I am currently icing my face, and have taken my antibiotics. The anesthesia in my face has not completely worn off, but I do feel a dull deep pain in my face. I've been given painkillers (dexketoprofen - NSAID), antibiotics, and a mouthwash. I'll be going in for a control tomorrow, the day after, and in a week.
Feel free to ask me any questions!

I love my father.
He sits in his yellowing, threadbare sofa with its many patches and spill stains that bloom like misshapen ochre flowers and watches the television, chuckling along whenever the blonde man with his blinding teeth teased into a smile cracks a joke that tickles him, shaking his head in amusement. He brings a biscuit to his mouth, absent-mindedly brushing away the crumbs that fall off the side. His hand shudders.
I walk towards him, and he turns to face me. His eyes crinkle into a smile as he grins up at me, empty patches of darkness where he has lost his teeth. I smile back at him softly, nudging forward the medication I have neatly placed on a plate, and his smile falters, his eyebrows creasing into a frown. It pains me as much as it pains him, to wait in agony, unable to do anything as his dementia eats away at his once brilliant brain, rotting away his memories inevitably. As the days flick by, it is more of a rarity now that he looks at me with warm familiarity in his eyes, rather than the cold terror, gazing at not his daughter, but a nameless stranger.
I wonder sometimes about the things he remembers, and the memories that left without a goodbye. Does he still recall those times when he rocked me to sleep as the stars watched us from behind the curtains of clouds, held my hands gingerly as I walked stubbornly with my podgy legs, ran after me while I cycled shakily for the first time, beamed at me proudly as I attained my first job? Does he remember the daughter he raised single-handedly, the daughter who blossomed into the vibrant flower she is today?
I am selfish, I know. He is all I have left, and I his. On the days he looks at me guardedly, shaking in fear, I try to soothe him, jog his memories, bring him down the long-winded memory lane. The time that elapses as his memories click in and he recognizes me once more has been slowly, but ever so persistently, increasing. I sometimes want to scream at him, for how can he forget his own daughter? His own pride and joy? But it is not fair to him, not fair that the most basic of tasks make him flustered and dazed, not fair that his daily activities limit to only watching brainless television and dogmatically following my orders, not fair that the memories of his daughter is reduced to one of the many feathers tickling his brain, just out of his reach.
My father frowns tiredly, picking up the chalky red pill right in front of him, and with a moment’s hesitation, pops it into his mouth, swallowing it down with the water I brought to him. I hold back a fatigued sigh of relief, quietly rejoicing that I did not have to force him to take his medicine. Dementia is resilient. It rushes in, like a tidal wave, biding its time, before abruptly gathering speed and crashing devastatingly onto shore. The red pill tries its best to hold it off, but it will not matter one day. Eventually dementia will win, taking my father’s mind along with it like a morbid war prize, pushing him into the beckoning arms of Death knocking on his door.
My father looks at me with watery eyes. “I still remember, you know,” he takes my hand in his own gnarled one. “I remember that tomorrow is your birthday.”
I love my father. How can I not, as I look at him, and he looks back with all the love he holds in his eyes? His love that has enveloped me over every day, from the moment I was born till now. My father, who struggles to piece together his own name, but cherishes me in his heart, refusing to let me go, refusing to relinquish me into forgetfulness. I smile back at my father, softly holding him up and bringing him to his bed. I tuck him into his worn blankets and wait till his eyes droop and his breath steadies into deep, rhythmic pulls before I convince myself he will live through the night before finally tiptoeing back to my own bed, falling into a restless, interrupted doze of my own.
My dreams shift in flashes of color and nothing more. I wake sleepily, eyes still gritty from sleep and instantly, like always, my heart seizes with anxiety. The silence is always deafening in the morning, and I have to pray that my father is still asleep soundly in his bed instead of wandering in a disoriented blur outside our house. I make my way shakily to his room, my bare feet growing numb on the cold tiles of the floor. Creaking the door open, I nudge my head into his room, my eyes slowly getting used to the faint light from the cracks of dawn peeping through the windows.
The bed is empty. Blankets and covers are rumpled into an untidy heap in one corner, and the gaping absence of my father in his bed mocks me, punishing me for my carelessness and disregard for his fragile safety. I am sure I left the door locked, but panic seizes me like a taut rubber band, and I rush downstairs, flying two steps at a time, my dress hampering around my legs as I burst into the kitchen, only to find my father sitting on the dining chair, nursing a hot cup of coffee. He smiles at me in warm greeting, only for it to dim ever so slightly as his eyes travel over my haphazard state and the wild frenzy blazing in my eyes.
No matter how many times I remind my father that life is unkind and unjust, that it is not, and will never be, his fault if he does something like this, it pains him to think of himself as a burden for me to constantly worry and fret over. I have to tell him over and over that there is nothing he can do that will make me resent him. Ever. Yet he always looks at me forlornly, his disbelief set like a cold and heavy stone. Time passes in a hazy cloud, and he falls deeper and deeper into the gallows of his diseased brain, and I wonder who it is I am trying to convince more, my father or myself.
Guilt and shame harden his eyes, but I interrupt him before he can open his mouth to offer his heartbreaking apologies for causing me such trouble, choosing to instead focus on making him breakfast, fussing over him as he eats slowly, savoring each mouthful of his pitiful meal of whole grain bread. It is only then I consider his tired eyes, still droopy from sleep, his wrinkled clothes, smudged with dirt and what looks suspiciously like mud.
“What’s all that on your clothes?” I try to keep my voice light, hoping he takes the tremble in my voice for mere prying curiosity rather than shaky fear. I swallow the lump on my throat, trying to stop all the qualms roaming around my head, screaming at me all the deadly things he could have done, or that could have happened to him. I quickly scan for any injuries on his body, but other than dirt accumulating under his fingernails and the small yellowing bruise from a couple of days ago when he bumped his head on the sofa, my search comes up clear.
My father smiles at me, his lips turning up into his achingly familiar kindly smile, eyes crinkling into its fine lines. He seems…happy. Really happy. This makes me soften my demeanor, relaxing a little. It has been so long since I have seen my father truly, genuinely happy. Not forced laughs at my pitiful attempts at making jokes, not soulless guffaws at the numerous TV shows flashing in neon all night, and certainly not the little chuckles from observing the antics of our neighbors next door with the raucous kids giggling barefoot around in their overgrown backyard. I grin back at him, wishing this moment could stretch on to infinity, so that time will not creep on us and steal this rare burst of joy away.
“What is it?” I ask him, a teasing note in my question as I begin sweeping away the little brown crumbs that have dribbled out of my father’s mouth as he finishes his tasteless bread. “I got you a birthday present,” his smile widens. I straighten up, my heart swarming with all kinds of emotions. I consider, fleetingly, if the fluttering in my stomach is excitement, but it is cold trepidation instead.
“I invited your sister to come today for your birthday,” he grins, quiet triumph making his eyes glitter. My heart clenches and I freeze, trying to comprehend his words, unraveling them slowly like delicate silk. “W-what?” I splutter, trying to search my father’s oblivious face for any grasp of information. It cannot be. It simply cannot. My father nudges his head in the direction of our living room. His smile grows wider still. “See for yourself.”
I cannot get my body to move at first, so resolute it is in warning me that danger is lurking in the living room, in the shape of my sister’s complicated, twisted soul. But I manage to shuffle slowly in the right direction. The hallway seems to stretch to eternity, looming and ominous, shadows lengthening and taunting me with its mimicry of fabled devils. The television is turned on, as though my father just fell asleep in front of it like always. Static blares out, interrupted by snatches of words from forgettable broadcasters. I stand at the entrance, forcing myself to look at the silhouette framed by the light from the television on the battered sofa.
My sister looks back at me, her teeth widened to a lopsided smile.
“I thought she might like to watch something nice while I talked to you about your surprise,” my father appears noiselessly behind me, making me start. His breath tickles my cheek, making the hair stand up on its end, erect with alarm. I watch him as he meanders his way through the labyrinth of carefully folded stacked clothes that have fallen gently to its side and towers of newspaper my father has hoarded where you can see his manic scribbling in aged crossword puzzles and stands over my sister’s overly relaxed form, gingerly patting her head fondly. “I told her you would be excited that she came by,” he adds nervously, his eyes flicking from the top of my sister’s head and at my frozen state. I tear my disbelieving eyes from my sister and gaze back at my father. I watch his nerves wreaking havoc in him, looking at me with plea, like a child begging their mother for a forbidden toy. I try to relax my face, hoping my half-hearted smile abates his anxiousness. I cannot watch him despair at my expense. “Of course it’s ok,” I say, the strain in my voice not as hidden as I thought it would be. I screw my eyes shut and stumble back to the kitchen, resting my head against the cool granite counter, wishing for my heart to stop racing and my mind to quieten. My father’s happiness and peace of mind...that is all I wish for now.
I love my father. And in the beginning, so did my sister. We loved him when he raised us by himself, working tirelessly to make ends meet, put a roof over our heads and kept our stomachs full. We grew together, just the three of us, a tiny, wounded family, my sister and I taking shelter from the many insurmountable hurdles that life threw at us behind our reliable father. My sister was the life of the party– sparkling, bursting with color like a crackling firecracker. She was always the star of the show, commanding the stage with nothing but brazenness and sheer optimism. She was electric with life.
That was until the day my father was diagnosed with early onset dementia. The day the doctors sombrely told us that there was nothing we could do but watch our beloved father spiral into fugue dreams. The day we knew the father we knew-the brilliant, hardworking, intelligent, selfless man- will never be the same again. The signs were always there, tiptoeing towards the diagnosis. He had begun to forget the days of the week, misplacing everyday items, taking too long to answer our questions, gaping at us blearily as we repeated ourselves painfully. But my sister and I danced around the issue, never quite bringing it up, treating it like a curse, neither of us wanting to break the tranquility, until the day my father woke up and did not remember where he was.
My sister fell apart, like a puppet with its strings ruthlessly cut. She was old enough to remember when our mother had died tragically, and she could not bear to see the loss of another parent, one whom she loved so deeply. I woke up one morning to see her bed empty, her blanket still crumpled, hanging off a corner, her wardrobe doors held ajar, stripped bare. I was not surprised. She did not even leave a note explaining her flight. She simply disappeared.
While my father spiraled, I heard whispers. People in our neighborhood offered sympathetic smiles or avoided their gaze and did nothing more. Their hushed whispers turned more sinister, darker as time ticked by like a sullen clock. Innocent speculations as to where my sister had run off to turned into filthy, dirty rumors that she was living on the streets, begging strangers for money, shooting herself up and living in a cloud of hazy drugs. I listened quietly, knowing the stories were all true. I knew they were, because my sister, in the five months she had run away, had only called once, high as a kite, asking for money to cover her expensive drug habits. I hung up on her while she was still talking, her unnaturally shrill voice ringing in my head. With my sister gone, I knew I had lost my family, and only my father remained to me.
I look at her now, still grinning up painfully at me, and a stabbing pain shoots through me. She smiles like she was there all those times our father wandered through the streets barefoot, and I had to tear through the town frantically calling out for him; those times he asked about her, wondering where she was, and I lied through my teeth that she was just away and would be back soon. My father holds her by the hand and brings her to the kitchen, beaming with utter joy. He looks so happy. I sigh and drag myself into the kitchen, where my father has already pulled out my birthday cake that we made together the previous day from the fridge and placed it in front of my silent sister. I stare at the icing on the small, slanted cake. My father had insisted on decorating, and his almost illegible, childlike writing of ‘Happy Birthday, Daughter Dear,’ had made me feel a rush of affection for my father, but now fills me with quiet, cold dread. Like someone had walked over my grave.
My father pushes the knife into my hands. I hold it as he bursts into the birthday song, his voice warbling with emotion, tears running down his face as he wraps his arm around me and gave me a kiss on my temple. I try to feign a smile at him, but my stomach rolls over at the sight of my sister sitting behind my father, her empty eyes gazing directly through me, and I read the unspoken accusations in them, the utter hatred and disgust. I swallow and pull myself out of my father’s loving embrace and shuffle away. “Aren’t you going to cut the cake?” My father turns to look at me, puzzled. I pause for a moment before slicing the cake slowly with my trembling hands. I pull a slice of the gooey mess onto a plate and slide it over to him, and after he discretely nudges his head towards my sister’s eerily still self, I give her a plate too. For a few minutes, there is nothing but the sound of spoons scraping against the flimsy paper plates as we tuck into the slightly bitter chocolate cake, until my father notices my sister’s untouched meal.
Concern makes him grab her wrist, his fingers easily encircling her small frame. “Haven’t you been eating? Look at how small you’ve gotten!” He exclaims, feeling her spindly, twig-like arms and fragile fingers. I say nothing, my eyes trained on my food, my stomach churning like a pack of worms, but my father has other plans. “Don’t you think your sister is too skinny?” He asks me, and I shrug non-committedly. I feel him glaring at me, his eyes burning holes through me. As I get up to throw my plate away, he grabs me and brings me into the empty hallway.
“Don’t you think it’s about time you stop this silly fight with her?” My father says wearily. I look into his tired, anxious eyes, and I want to scream at him. Does he not remember what she did? All the awful, awful things that had happened? I restrain myself and force my lips to turn up into a smile. Don’t snap, that is the first rule when dealing with dementia patients. “I’ll talk to her,” I promise him, the lies easily falling from my mouth like all the others I had fed him over the past few months. He relaxes, and snakes his hand along my shoulder, enveloping me in a tight side-hug, whispering a muttered ‘thank you’, before heading back to the kitchen and uproariously inviting my sister to watch television with him.
I do not go with them. I hide in the kitchen as long as I can, cleaning all the dishes slowly and methodically, as my thoughts race faster than I can comprehend them, tumbling over one another, wrestling to take control. I toss my sister’s uneaten cake into the trash. Even through the walls separating us, I hear snatches of many commercial breaks, punctuated by my father’s hearty chuckles. Whatever he thinks my sister is telling him must be very funny indeed. I sit on the cold kitchen table and watch the clock, willing time to fly quickly and throw me into the embrace of the future.
The yellow rays of the amber sun fade to make way for the gloom of the night to settle in. Already I hear the crickets singing to their hearts’ content from our garden. Wiping my hands on my clothes, I make my way through to the living room, my mind made up, calm and collected. My sister sits upright on the couch, facing the television impassively. My father is sprawled on the sofa next to her, his head lolling on the armrest, soft snores drowned by the television still turned on. A tense silence settles between my sister and I, somehow louder than the crickets and the television combined. She avoids my gaze and resolutely watches the screen flashing. My hands curl to fists, but I tiptoe to my father.
“I think it’s time for her to go, don’t you think? It’s getting late.” I whisper in his ear. My father shifts, bloodshot eyes blearily blinking up at me. “Tell her goodbye for me, won’t you?” He mutters, his eyes screwing shut again. I do not have to wait long until his breaths become full and steady once more, and without a word, I hold my sister by her hand and bring her out of the house. She offers no resistance, like as though she knows where she is going. Her defenses are down, like someone who has given up.
The garden is a handiwork of my father, and my father alone. The doctor recommended me to let him create a hobby for him to exercise his mind and keep it alive as long as possible, a tiny shred still linking him to reality for when his mind wanders too far away from our reach. He spends whole days pottering around, watering freshly sown seeds and admiring the pretty kaleidoscope of flowers. A slice of heaven on earth, he calls it. In the winter, it has shriveled up, protecting itself from harsh winds and pelts of snow, but my father is certain that the garden will nurse itself back. The resilience of life. We stand there, side by side. The moon looms over us, and I spot two small stars winking down below. I like to think that one is for either of us. I stand there with my once lovely sister until the coldness wraps me like a freezing blanket and numbs my fingers, and then I bring her to the back of the garden to the tulip patch.
Tulips have always been my sister’s favorite flowers. My father, as much as he has forgotten, still holds on to this like sacred knowledge. The tulips have withered, hiding their faces in shame with what is left of their dull petals. There is a big hole right beside it, hastily dug. My father must have referred to this when he mentioned he was gardening earlier today. The shovel leans on the mound of soil next to the gaping hole. I push my sister down and bury her for the second time.
I love my father. I know what you are thinking, but I assure you, everything I have done, and everything I ever will do, is for him only. I want him to be happy, I always have, something any dutiful daughter would say. I did not know I would have to sacrifice my sister for that.
Last month, after I received a call from my drugged out sister trying to persuade me for money and I had hung up on her unceremoniously, I went back home from work like I always did. The door hung ajar, the lock twisted off, and I knew something was wrong. My father must have wandered out again, somehow managing to pry open the lock and fled to the streets wrapped in his delusions. But then I realized the floor was slippery, and the soles of my shoes stained a deep red. Fear clamped onto me like a starving beast, I do not remember what happened next fully, only in snatches of pictures then run in my head like an endless loop of film. Blood that splattered the hallway, leading to the living room. My father sobbing, his hands clamping his mouth, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, riddled with guilt. The bloody knife that shook in his tight fist. My sister lying stiffly on the floor, her own blood pooling around her, oozing from her wounds. Her eyes unseeing, her body tinged with blue. The smell of copper so thick it hung like a heavy curtain, and I could almost taste it in the back of my throat. My father asking me, “Who is she?”
My brain had instantaneously locked into survival mode. I thought of my father when I tore the shower curtain and wrapped my sister’s corpse in it, tying it with knots of fraying string and duct tape. I splashed bleach all over the house until it tingled my eyes and nose and rubbed furiously at the splashes of blood that had begun flaking like dust. I tossed my father’s splattered clothes into the washing machine where they spun in a muddy mess, but the stains remained, so I threw them into the fire I set in the backyard. I washed my hands raw, scrubbing my skin until my fingers bled.
I found bloodstained money in my sister’s backpack. I knew at a glance it was mine and she had come to the house for this very reason after I had rejected her plea. The bag contained nothing else other than a packet of tissue, with pinpricks of blood, a small syringe, cotton wool and the laminated driver’s license of my once beautiful sister. When I looked at her old photo of her, I saw the secrets in her smoke and mirror eyes. They all went into the fire, bleeding into each other until they curled up into charred remains. I waited for night to enshroud us with shadows before I dragged my sister’s corpse outside to the garden, and I began to dig, flinging mud until my arms ached and my body shuddered with something more than coldness. I dug until I could go no more, my body racking with quiet sobs, the soil turning dark with the tears that rolled off my face. I cried for my sister, the one who was with me in my darkest moments, the one I prayed every day would return to us, to complete our family of three. I cried as I rolled her body into the grave and I cried more when I shoveled the earth onto her face, her agony of the last throes of death still etched on her gaunt face, her empty eyes staring up at me.
When I finished, I looked up to see a shadow by my father’s window, watching impassively down at the garden. I could not face my father, the man who killed my sister, so I sat near my sister’s grave and wished her goodbye.
I never went to the police. My father was all I had. I could not let him go to prison, waking up everyday to unfamiliar prison guards roughing him up, to bars of steel to protect others from him. I quit my job and stayed home to take care of my father, flinching at every knock on the door, every ring of the doorbell, expecting the police to swarm the place and ask for my sister reported missing. But they never came, and slowly my unease left, though the guilt never did. She had disappeared off the face of the earth; my father had erased her off, like she had never existed. The day after I buried my older sister in my garden, I watched my father plant tulips near her grave.
I hide the shovel this time round. My father had never once mentioned my sister after the incident. I had hoped against hope this was due to his failing memory, but I know now that in some deep recess of his mind, he must have known the answer would have haunted him, as much as it haunts me. I used to envy that his mind was failing him, for I so wished to forget. Instead, I woke up almost every night gasping, shaking, from nightmares, of images of bloody hands dragging me into the fiery pits of hell, of my sister’s maimed body crawling after me. I make my way back into the house. My father has not moved since the last time I saw him. His snores reverberate around the cramped room, his hand still clutching onto the remote. I watch him, wanting to enter his tricky mind, wanting to know what he is thinking. This man who stayed up at night when I fell ill. This man who posed my sister’s corpse around the house, so that she could leer at me with flesh rotting off of her face. Did he think digging my sister’s body up will give her life again? That she would walk and talk and laugh like she used to? I spot the kitchen knife inches away from his hands, on the cluttered table, along with remains of the cake. When he wakes up, will he greet me with a smile like always, or will he lunge for the knife? It is always a guessing game with him, every chance a risk, every choice leaving me breathless with fear. I dangle from a tightrope on the precipice of a cavern that is his brain riddled with his dementia, his forgotten memories and the illusions he create for himself.
I move the knife away from his fingers and grasp onto it tightly and look down at it. A month ago, my fingers were stained with my sister’s blood. Now, they are gritty with filth and soil from her makeshift grave. I wish to give her a proper burial someday, in a decent grave, with a nice headstone, finally at peace.
My fingers tighten on the blade. My repressed memories flood in, drowning my thoughts with all my pain and hurt. I see my sister’s death immortalized on her face. Her remaining eye sewn shut, swarming with maggots. My father whimpering as his daughter lay bleeding at his feet, his shame rolling off of him in desperate waves. My father beaming at me, pruning his lovely tulips, each leaf falling gently on the grave below his feet.
I love my father, but I wish he were dead.

New job, after a long period of unemployment due to disability - so especially important I keep this job.
On the first day we had an induction, that was it - myself and the other newbie on reception have been left to our own devices. We've been given online training that has little to no relation to our role, and had some shadowing. I feel we weren't taught how to do the job and are missing some vital things from our knowledge - but it's not the best environment to ask when stuck, we're expected to know what to do and get patronising or sarcastic responses at times too. It's not a bad place, but not newbie friendly.
Furthermore my shifts are a mess. I've expressed to my manager that this is causing anxiety because I'm often unsure when I'm supposed to be in the office - he also knows I'm Autistic, I could argue that my employers letting me know my shifts is a 'reasonable adjustment' but actually it's just a plain reasonable!
Next month my rota should be set but the lack of communication so far bothers me.
Last week I had to email my manager to confirm shift pattern this week because I hadn't been told, he answered but then later asked me to swap out Monday morning for Wednsday afternoon - fine, although nothing on paper, via email, or on the shifts app to reflect this which made me anxious.
Today there was a team meeting, but no one told me to come into the office- I'd hope I'm not expected to come into work for one hour for a meeting, and I hope I hadn't been expected to come in today but just not told. My manager wasn't in the office yesterday to ask him to confirm, I've not had a message from him yet - the other new receptionist messaged asking if I was in today, the senior receptionist said yesterday all receptionists are normally at the meeting, so I've been anxious since yesterday and likely will be until work tomorrow.
I'm not sure I'm working enough hours either; it's supposed to be 21 hours but during the past few weeks it's been closer to 29 hours, I did two hours overtime but I'm not sure if that was even counted as overtime, and this week it's only 16 hours.
I've also yet to get the training for the admin side of the job, and yet to be given shifts for when they want me to work - thus why it's only 16 hours this week, I guess, as admin makes up some of my hours due to funding. I've been here a month and training for half my job hasn't started, which is a worry.
I don't know if I'm just being anxious or if that anxiety is justified with this lack of communication and training. I don't know how to navigate this. I've not been told off for anything yet or missed a shift, I'm just terrified in case I do and walk into the office one day thinking all is good just to be ambushed.
Can anyone offer any advice?
Edit: just had an email the meeting was rescheduled until tomorrow as there were only four members if staff present - I think there are seven of us in total. So I don't know if that's okay, or if I'm still going to be scolded tomorrow for not being in today.

34, M.
I have 1 bowel movement a day, within 30-60mins of waking up maybe skip a day maybe twice a day but seldomly does that happen. I’ve not done breath testing due to the fear of lactulose side effects (diarrhea) and that a 70% sensitivity test seems like a waste - treatment would be Rifaximin and I’ve had 2 GI’s offer me the prescription anyway since it’s well tolerated and isn’t absorbed.
I’ve done extensive testing and almost all of these have been done at least twice over the last 2 years: CBC, vitamin b12, vitamin D, Folate, pancreatic elastase, fecal fat content, Calprotectin, lipid panel, metabolic, liver function, pancreatic enzymes, ultrasound, and an EGD.
My EGD showed gastritis (negative Hpylori biopsy, breath, and stool test). I have BAD anxiety around my GI tract.
I’m eating like 1 maybe 2 meals a week lately, so I have weight loss but I know my absorption is FINE and it’s due to caloric deficit.
Symptoms: slightly looser stool, Bristol 5. Slight burning sensation when I go in the morning. Stomach noises specifically right side lower. Intermittent sleep schedule, mind racing.
No pain. No constipation. No excess belching. No excess gas. No brain fog. No bloating.
My THORNE gut biome test showed no elevations for Klebsiella. A hallmark SIBO bacteria. I do have elevated staph, E. coli, and some strep.
Could this be more gastritis related? Anxiety and diet? If I had SIBO, which I’ve heard is hell, wouldn’t I experience more issues? Those with experience chime in. Debating the breath test now before blindly doing the Rifaximin..

Question: I have pretty bad nausea the first two days after my injection. And I’m also incredibly tired. This is usually the days I eat the least because of stomach icky feeling. Do you think I’m tired from not eating much or is it a side effect of the meds? Honestly just curious and wondered if anyone else feels it.

My compression garment from my surgeon I was put in on the table has a zipper on one side, it’s indenting and can’t stay completely flat and when I took it off to change my bandage that side of my hip was the same weird shape as the garment.
Is this normal? I got lipo go my hips and I assume he wouldn’t give out these garments if they actually caused permanent shape changes? The other side that has no zipper looks great and smooth!
I bought lipo foam to put in today when I shower to help, is that enough?

If this is as good as it gets for right now, I will accept that. And I realize that makes me sound ungrateful for the many amazing letters you’ve written me, but I promise I’m not. There are no words to express how much they mean to me. 🥹
I just wish you wouldn’t continue to hide from me, but having some avenue to reach you is better than nothing at all. I tried nothing for a few hours yesterday and it sucked. Haha
Life is definitely different for me these days, too. Meeting you has reignited a side of me I haven’t seen in over a decade and half, and it’s exhilarating.
I, too, took the easy road. The safe road. Did everything exactly as expected. I’ve always been a rule follower. I prefer to go with the flow and blend in. Life’s easier that way, right?
Did that cause me to miss out on many opportunities throughout my life? Absolutely. Do I regret not taking those risks? Yeah, I do. And I don’t want to regret not taking this messy, colors in full risk with you.
❤️🧡💛💚💙💜
I truly hope there’s a future for us in some capacity. As I’ve learned more about you recently, I realize that the real you is FAR more incredible than I’d even imagined. What did I do to deserve the admiration of such a brilliant, handsome, compassionate, intriguing, fun, and…sexy 🫣 man?!?!?
🤭😘

We took a trip to Switzerland and Italy earlier this month and were having a great time up until the last part.
One of the days, we were going to go paragliding and she was in bed in the morning sobbing. I wasn't sure what about at the time, I didn't ask. I just hugged her a bunch and kissed the hell out of her to try to coax her out of bed so we could go. I told her "lets go have some fun" and we did but man, she was zero help getting there. I took the liberty of figuring it all out how to get there, she just had to come. We go outside and I go to an ATM to get cash for the bus and she said in such a mean tone "What. Are. You. Doing?" I told her what I was doing calmly and she was notified of this atm from the lady we asked the previous night and she said she didn't remember that. But the tone as if I'm a dumbass just bothered me. Given that I had no idea if the bus can make change (where I'm from you need exact) I was trying to think how I could break this large bill but it was early in the morning with nothing open. I told her I was thinking of how to make change and all her response was "well there ain't shit open right now so there's nothing to do about it" It just shut me down. I told her thanks for the helpful advice and just pressed on. Luckily the bus driver could make change but I was fucking angry. The day goes by and she just doesn't bring it up. Like usual, I brought it up and asked if we could talk and it wasn't until I was sobbing saying all I wanted was her to tell me she's sorry for it and give me a hug. She came around eventually.
We had another morning just a few nights after. My mood was off and hers seemed to be too. She pressed me what was wrong and I knew it was a mistake to tell her but I caved on the second ask and told her she seemed upset and I'm just a bit sad right now too. I just started crying and she gets defensive saying she's fine and I told her "okay, you're fine. But you've lied about that before" She just blows up after that and I try desperately to reel the emotions back in and it doesn't work. I told her I just want her comfort a bit but her mood was screwed up for the rest of the day after. Mine as well. More shit went down with her just saying mean things to me but this post is already getting long. But again. I have to talk to her the next morning and not until I cry a bunch asking for her love does she come around.
Few days ago I was pretty sick and she was stressed about not getting to do anything for the day cause it was our first day in Italy and we got there in the evening around 3ish. She was upset because she sort of booked us 3 different hotels and it resulted in us having to leave these places at 11 with our luggage and figure out what to do with all that stuff till the next place's check-in around 3. It killed her mood. On the bus ride I was rubbing her shoulder a ton telling her it's all good we'll figure it out, we're in this together. Doing my best to console her. Kissed her hand n stuff like that. We get to the B&B and she's just lost in her phone. I sat next to her and asked what we should do. (at this point it's about 6pm) and I offered a few things like playing games, watching stuff, cuddling, drinking a champagne bottle we had. She shot it all down. So I didn't know what else to do. I figured I'd let her work out her emotions but I was tired from travel and being sick. Then the rest of the night she just turned to the side and I got her back. So I drank by myself. Arguably more than I should have cause I woke up at 2am moving a lot according to her. She barely gave me any consolation. She just asked me "do we need to go to a doctor" and I said no. She asked if I was okay I said I'm just trying not to vomit but she didn't ask nicely at all. Didn't touch me or nothing. My feelings were really hurt cause I would have stayed up all night with her if she was feeling like shit. Then in the morning she complained how I kept her up all night and she was pissed. I told her I was sorry for it. My fault. But she never apologized for being so goddamn cold to me. I waited for days hoping she would cause she tends to come around but I just get "you pissed me off" okay, I guess.
She got shitfaced accidently days later and I took care of her, held her head while she vomited, and layed with her while she sobbed uncontrollably. I'd do it again too. I'm happy to do it cause I love her. That day was wasted but I didn't care cause I was with her. days later we were walking up a large hill just a few days ago to see a castle in Italy and her mood shifted when she was getting tired of it. "I fucking hate this" is what she said. I tried calming her down and rubbing her back. I told her I'm sorry, is there anything I could do?" and she gave me this look of disgust. Like I'm a dumbass. Said no. But again, that look hurt my feelings and I could not get a decent apology out of her. In fact, after this, she concluded we're not compatible. Even though all I wanted was a hug and an sincere apology. She broke up with me and has been acting nasty to me ever since. I told her I'm still down to try n all but she says we argue too much about dumb stuff. I telll her time and time again all I want is an apology and a hug and I'll get over it but nah. She'd rather say she hates me, She'd rather say I don't need you're fucking help when I offered to get her bag from the airplane. I haven't done anything to warrant it but my god it fucking hurts. She's such a sweet woman when she's in the right headspace.
I took on so much stress driving a campervan and shit so she wouldn't get stressed. I practically navigated us every place we needed to go and planned out most of the activities we did. Still, she views me as the bad one right now. She did help a bit and clean up the van, care for me for one of the nights cause I felt shitty, and rubbed my shoulders while I was stressed driving but that's pretty much the bulk of her help the whole trip Last night, I felt her very lightly rubbing my back and getting close to me. I thought her mood was coming around and I was hopfull for the morning going home. But she has reverted back to being hostile to me and the whiplash is intense.
She's broken up with me tons. I get back together with her each time cause I know it isn't who she is but I don't know if she's going to come back to me this time. I never know. We were having so much fun on our trip together.
I'm sitting here typing this at the airport cause she just ditched me. The layover is 6+ hours and my heart is aching. I have nothing to do right now but think of how horrible I feel.

I made some posts a couple of days ago regarding strong bitter toxic smell from my BV Jodie and thanks all for your support and advice. I tried everything and everytime I am near the bag I get severe chest pain no jokes severe chest pain and headache, also a feeling of intense nausea. It is literally making me seriously ill. Nothing is worth more than my health. Stay safe guys!

Disclaimer: This is a VERY long read, may be sensitive for some. It’s my first post so here goes.
I 21F am the oldest between my sister and I. We haven’t had the best relationship for the past few months mainly because of how hard she screws up. Before I get to the primary issue I’ll need to go back to the source of it all. In February 2015 my parents divorced and my sister and I lived with my mom. I was turning 12 in April and my sister would be turning 5 in December. So to be precise I am 7 years and 8 months older than her.
The divorce was really messy and caused a ripple effect that would last nearly a decade. As someone who’s always been closer to her dad more than her mom you could imagine how difficult it was for me to adjust. After the divorce my mother and I did not click and would argue at any given point in time. For majority of my teen years I despised her, up until things started looking good for us three years ago. My mother and I didn’t get along because I struggled detaching from my father and she wasn’t making the situation any better. Her way of going about it was just muting me out of her life, and micromanaging everything I did without listening to how I was feeling. Which to be honest wasn’t the best move to make when dealing with a 12 year old child who’s at the brink of spiralling.
During this period, my mother grew closer to my sister. Obviously cause she was tender minded and had no teenage angst. She was more fond of doing better for her since she didn’t have it as good as I did when I was younger. If you’re still following you’d think this was a typical sibling rivalry case, but to be honest I don’t even know what it is.
As the oldest, I’ve always been expected to do well. No room for mistakes. If ever I made one, it would outshine the large amount of good deeds I’ve done. I’ve always been an A student for as long as I can remember and that’s all my family ever knew. So of course the one time I mess up I’d be the talk of the month. As I started high school, the environment at home was starting to get overwhelming and it was evident in my marks. Instead of asking why I wasn’t doing well, my mom just assumed I was lazy and wasn’t putting in the effort. I just figured out how to cope with stress, and that’s when I entered my rebellious phase.
That same year my sister had started grade school and I was really happy for her. Our relationship had always been cute. She was a child and had a playful nature so there wasn’t anything major that she’d do that I wasn’t okay with. Yes she’d mess up there and there but that was it. Until this one day I was picking her up from school and a friend of hers said something that really startled me. The friend basically said “Your sister said she saw you get into your room with a boy and you were taking your clothes off.” Now I’m trying to process what exactly happened and why she’d lie about something that vulgar. I mean, I was still a child too and was no where near anything like that. I told my mom about it but she didn’t really take it seriously. She just continued to brush it off with the saying “she’s just a child.” Yeah cause it’s okay for 7 year old children to be saying dirty stuff like that...at school even?!
We’d visit my dad on weekends and I made sure to tell him what I’d just encountered and he sure was not tolerating such foul talk amongst the two us, so he settled it right there. That’s one thing I appreciated about him. I must admit that my father has his flaws and everything started making sense to me the more I matured but he’ll always have a special place in my heart no more what.
It’s 2021. I’m 18 in a relationship with someone I adored dearly, my sister is 10 doing 5th grade and was honestly the most spoiled, selfish and entitled child I’d ever known. Remember when I said I entered a rebellious phase? This was the year I really made moves for myself and responsibly so. I teenaged like any other teenager and had my fair share of fun. I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary but certainly was not being careless. My mother and I were coming okay. We really talked things out during lockdown and she tried opening up more as a parent, although not perfect it was a start. She allowed me to date under the condition that I don’t have sex. Needless to say one thing lead to the other and I lost my v-card. I remember the day it happened, we’ll just say April 16th. I was so excited and just kept talking about how I’d never forget that day. My sister overheard and asked what happened and I told her not to stress about it, it’s nothing. Later that evening I had a long phone call with bestie telling her everything that happened. The day ended, my story was out to my trusted companions and that was it.
Sometime goes by and my sister would randomly ask me what happened on April 16th cause I was so excited and she was dying to know. I’d just tell her it’s chill and not to worry about it, then she’d throw in remarks like “I’m gonna make sure I remember so I can remind you to tell me.” Or something like that. Obviously I wasn’t going to budge right then because she was way too young. Eventually when she was old enough I’d break the news to her.
Early last year a childhood friend of my mine got right and it was probably one of the most shocking news that hit at the time because reality kicked in that we’re not kids anymore. At this time my sister was 12 going to 13, so I figured that I’d give her a little bit of the sex talk just to enlighten her because they were learning about it in school, she was a tween and at some point was going to hear about these things from her peers. She asked if I’d ever engaged in any sexual activities and I said no. Like hell am I going to tell my sister that, who by the way has a reputation of snitching. So I dropped it.
Fast forward to last November. This was the time our relationship was growing in the best way possible and I enjoyed every bit of it. I’d share more of my personal life with her, make sure to take her out more frequently basically all the nice things etc. That was the time I really enjoyed being her big sister. I say this because from ages 12-17 I just sorta had to figure out what to do with my life. Since my mom favoured my sister more than me, there wasn’t really a tone set for my her on how to respect me as her sibling. Unlike my dad, my mom was only firm when it came to one of us (me). Eventually my sister got used to this behaviour and she’d do whatever she fancied without any repercussions. Most of the times she’d intentionally cross my boundaries because “what’s mom gonna do?”
2021-2022 were the worst years living with her. She’d cause a lot of destruction for no reason and lie her way out of everything. Of course as the oldest I’d get the luxury of getting picked on. She literally became a hell spawn and was starting to get on my bad side because why did I have to go through that? Just to mention a few of the things she had done; she deleted my IT assignment that took a month to complete off our shared laptop and cleared the trash. She 100% knew because I told her and showed her the file just incase to avoid anything like this from happening, or how she gouged my stuffed animals eyes out. The sentimental ones from my childhood that I used for comfort when I was going through depression, or how she STOLE my money and proceeded to lie saying I used it on drugs. Which by the way I wasn’t doing but my mom believed her and I got into so much trouble for that. You know some SERIOUS stuff. The list goes on but It was so bad that she got sent to boarding school for two terms.
After she came back she started with her bs again and I was not having it. My mom had gotten her a cheap phone just for communication. She had a Google account that was run by mom so she could see anything she was doing, unfortunately my mom isn’t tech savvy so I’d be the one doing random check ups on her phone. Her Google activity seemed fine, but as I went over to Play Store and I saw some inappropriate searches. I wasn’t even trying to be discrete, I immediately told my mom right in front of her boyfriend and our nanny because I was tired talking about it in secret. Yeah that was a foul move, but it was payback for the drug story, shit caused mayhem in our house and all for nothing. I finally stirred up a reaction from my mom and that was all I needed.
I was at my wits end when it came to my sister. This one day I sat her down and really pressed her to open up because there was no way she was doing all this without any motivation. Eventually she broke down and confessed that she’s retaliating because she missed spending time with my dad and his family. Which I understood because that’s the same thing I was going through at her age, still am by the way, but I get it... she was frustrated and was reacting in a way that made sense to her. I know why my mom really held us back from seeing our dad, it was save our hearts from feeling rejected but sometimes the damage control wasn’t working and in the end caused more havoc. I made it my mission to get my dad to pull his socks up at least for my sister because his absenteeism was really taking a toll on her. After several weeks going back and forth we finally came to a truce and there was some peace in our household. Eventually my mom eased down on the favouritism. (I’d be lying if I said 100% lol but trust me it’s way better now because she finally recognises me and my emotions so kudos to that!) I told her how I’m still healing from the trauma but I’m trying to be the best version of myself, she said the same thing and we started going to life classes together. Things started looking good for us.
Going back to last November. My sister and I were having our late night talks in the living room and for some reason we just started revealing our secrets. My sister goes to say there’s something she wants to tell me but will bring it up the end of the year. So curiously I tell her to come out with it because what difference would it make if she told me at the end of the year. She then follows with the statement “I know what you did on April 16th.” I asked her what happened because honestly I forgot. I was in 2nd year and broke up with the guy end of 2021. She tells me that she knows I did the deed. At first, my response was to lie and call it a bluff but then she continued explaining how she was eavesdropping on the call I had with my friend that night and proceeded to mention SOME of the details because she was “too uncomfortable” to say them all. Some of which I’d even forgotten about.
I WAS HUMILIATED. I caved and just confessed to everything. She starts gloating on how she could keep a secret for that long and wanted to see if I could trust her. She could see how petrified I was and kept saying stuff like “Its okay.” Like no the fuck it’s not okay. The more this information started marinating in my mind the more I realised how messed up that was. 1; You were eavesdropping, 2; You were “keeping a secret” you weren’t supposed to keep cause you weren’t supposed to know and 3; YOU WERE A FUCKING CHILD. SHE WAS 10. NOT EVEN 10½. 10! I felt bad that she heard all of that and ruined her innocence. She said it traumatized her, but I was even more upset that she willingly stood by my bedroom door for an hour or so listening to my story. One that was mine to tell and mine to keep. So there’s no doubt she wanted to know because she even said “I continued to listen to the whole conversation.” Basically traumatising herself and It’s not like I was talking loud with my door wide open, so I just imagine how hard she was concentrating.
At first I was composed then everything started coming back to me and I snapped. I don’t think I’ve ever yelled at anyone the way I did with her. I was so upset and even told her to go tell our mom cause at that point I really didn’t care who knew and who didn’t. That was the one time I wished my mom had found out about some shit I was doing NOT my 10 year old sister. I told her how she’s been the shittiest person in my life and needs some serious help. I reminded her how she’s seen me cry and fight our parents so SHE doesn’t have to get involved in any of their problems. Trust me the ingredients to hate my sister were there but all I’ve ever done was love her endlessly. I have my fair share of wrongs and I know I’m not perfect but no where at any given chance did I let what I was going through get to my sister, not even once because she doesn’t deserve that. I wanted her to live a normal innocent childhood cause I didn’t have that. Part of the reason I went to life class was because I wanted to heal and be the best version of myself so my sister only gets to experience the good in me. She influenced me to want to be the best sister and not let my trauma get in the way of that cause I’ve seen how bad she can get. But what’s it worth when your sister is the trauma? I get it, she was young when our parents separated, and I get why mom protected her the way she did. My early years of childhood were amazing yeah yeah and my sister didn’t get to experienced all that, It’s just so infuriating when you’re putting so much aside to make someone live easy yet they deliberately find a way to fuck things up for the both of you. I can’t even look at her the same anymore.
She started high school this year and it sucks how I don’t want to involve myself with her cause all it’s ever done was cut me deeper every time. She’s got my mom and her friends who’ll do my part, I’m retiring. My life class sessions haven’t gone to waste though, I have changed but this time for myself. I won’t change for someone who wouldn’t do the same for me even though they’re my blood. I’m not expecting her to and she’s not obligated to. I’m just accepting the person she is and making peace with the fact that we can’t be friends. We don’t talk anymore unfortunately but it’s better that way. Sometimes I ask myself if I didn’t do enough or she just genuinely hates me, I could never figure it out. Sometimes I wish she had just kept quiet and never said anything because I miss the “good times” even though they were all a lie. I look at our pictures from after that moment and think about how she knew all this time, why she kept asking me, why I’d catch her starring at me weirdly. Sometimes I wonder when my mom will finally take me serious and get this child checked out.
You know I get being a curious teen but she was far too young to be wanting to know about such at that age. I tried to forgive but it stings every time I remember what she’s done. I’ve tried to have mercy but I’m not ready to.

Hi Docs,
29M here and my weight is 78 kgs. I've been dealing with lower back pain for the past 5-6 months and could really use some advice or insights. Here are my symptoms and history:

1. Onset and Duration:
   
   • The pain started 5-6 months ago after a sudden, severe incident while bending over to pick something up. I felt a shift in my spine and experienced intense pain. It got better after resting for 4-5 days, but since then, I can't sit on a chair or cross-legged for long without feeling pain and uneasiness.
2. Pain Characteristics:
   
   • The pain is centered in my lower back and can spread to both sides and down to my hips if I sit for long periods.
   • It radiates through my legs (either one or both) and feels dull and constant.
   • The pain worsens with certain movements, like arching my back or sitting in a slouched position.
3. Activities and Triggers:
   
   • I have a desk job that requires long hours of sitting, which triggers and worsens the pain.
   • Stretching exercises with a foam roller and side rotations provide temporary relief.
4. Associated Symptoms:
   
   • I occasionally experience nerve pain in my legs, especially after prolonged sitting or overexertion.
   • No numbness or issues with bowel or bladder control tho.
5. Lifestyle and Medical History:
   
   • I'm not very active physically every day but do some exercises here and there.
   • I had a severe vitamin D deficiency and have been taking 60,000 IU of vitamin D weekly for the past 1-2 months.
   • No other chronic diseases or conditions.

Has anyone experienced something similar or have any advice on what this might be? Should I see a specialist, and if so, what kind? Any tips on managing the pain would also be greatly appreciated. Thanks!

First post to this sub, recently did my first big hike in the UK (mountain, 6 hours total). I'm not unfit but it's more than I've ever done before. I definitely ran out of energy on the route and had to snack my way around, in hindsight I didn't train as much as I maybe should have.
However, I've had fatigue, chest discomfort (not getting worse - no stabbing pain just aches), mild nausea and dizziness for what's coming on to a week since now. Is this normal with people who aren't used to it? I expected aches for a couple of days but this recovery is taking ages!
I've been to the doctor just to check for scary stuff like blood pressure etc but that's all fine. Am I just unfit and need more than a week to recover? Just looking for reassurance that others have experienced this and I've not completely broken myself 😅

One thought that Struck my mind about Trading is the accessability for people without PC by their Side - i Play on Playstation and have a Lot of items i wanna trade in and it's a pain going to d2jsp with my Phone to manage the Trades. D2jsp needs an App, y'all have a similar feeling about this?
Or do you console folks use different Trading plattforms? Genuinly curiuos...
Kudo's and May y'all also drop a vex Rune in Nightmare 😜

Okay this is going to be a bit lengthy but I want to provide some context.
7 years ago I was picking up some weight and felt a pop in my lower back on the right side, right above my right glute. A couple of hours later I could barely walk. Took a few days to get back to normal.
Since then, the same thing has happened twice, a few years apart. Both times, I feel something pop on the right side, and a couple of hours later I’m fucked.
It’s been a year and a half since the last time this happened, but this past year and a half that part of my back is always sore. The only thing that seemed to provide relief was switching from weightlifting to pure body weight workouts.
I’ve been working with a PT for a few months, and he noticed a hard, gritty lump on that side and thinks I tore my illiocostalis when I initially injured it and the two other times I re tore it since it becomes easier to re injure. His theory is that the lump is the scar tissue that hasn’t healed properly. I’m at the point now where I’m willing to damn near do anything to make this constant pain go away. Over the past few days I’ve ordered BPC 157 (a peptide which seems to help a lot of people), The Back Mechanic (highly recommended on this sub), and I also have an MRI scheduled next week to verify the PT is correct.
Has anybody dealt with this before? I did things very stupid in the past and definitely got back to training way too soon and I’m paying the price now. I’m open to any and all advice. I will also update this sub with the results of the MRI if anyone is interested, as well as if the peptides help or not.