On Saturday I got into the car, plugged my phone into a power bank, fastened my seat belt and closed the door. I didn’t notice that the cable and the edge of the phone were trapped in the door.

At the next light, a friend in the car beside us rolled down his window and told me my phone was hanging outside. We pulled over, I opened the door, and the phone dropped onto the road.

The screen survived, but the back is badly scraped and cracked. I had been using it for bcggame earlier and thought I had put it safely in the door pocket. Apparently not.

No one was hurt and the car is fine, but replacing the back is going to be expensive. Well, that sucks.

My brother had friends over last night and promised they would clean up. I moved most of my stuff out of the living room, but I forgot an egg tart in the fridge.

This morning I found it on the table with cigarette butts pushed into it. The weird part is that there was an empty ashtray less than a meter away. My brother said he would replace it and offered me some bcggame tokens as a joke, which honestly just annoyed me more.

It was only a pastry, but seeing my favorite snack used like that was a rough start to the day.

About an hour ago I typed a very private message meant for my girlfriend and sent it to the work group chat by mistake. My boss and several coworkers are in it.

I tried to unsend it, but the notification had already gone out. My boss replied with “…” and nobody has said anything since. I had been distracted during my break, checking bcggame and ordering a gift for my girlfriend, and I tapped the wrong conversation when I went back to Messages.

Nothing in the text named anyone or showed a photo, but it was still obvious what kind of message it was. I apologized once in the chat and then stopped talking because every extra sentence made it worse.

I still have to sit through a team meeting tomorrow morning. Well, that sucks.

I have been applying to jobs for months, my first interview comes and I was so excited I had it in my calendar and I got up early to make sure I was ready. I went in early and told people I was there for an interview. Instead of anyone saying that it was supposed to be online they waited for the big manager to come out and get all mad at me that it was supposed to be online. I apologized and we went ahead with the interview but she seems disinterested and annoyed with me. I don’t even want to show up near that place ever again.

Trying to get a new laborer in. I guess I changed the theme to Olivia Rodrigo and sent a couple hearts while my phone was in my pocket.

So I’m kinda autistic and just say things at face value without thinking of the implications.My coworker is black. It was a long day at work and at the end of the day she clocked out and I said “you’re free!” She kind of chuckled and walked off. I followed her out to the parking lot after I also clocked out. I have issues with inconsistency. So I usually park my car at the back end of the parking lot, but today I parked near the entrance because that was surprisingly the only parking space available. I come out to the parking lot and see a black car, I get close to it and realize it’s not mine. My car is also black. I say out loud “wow I’m stupid” and she replies “ oh i can see how you would mistake that one for yours. And my stupid Ahh says “yea because they are both black” (I wasn’t wearing my glasses at this point to see well) she goes dead silent and just gets into her car. I died inside a little.

Last week I worked 65 hours and was very stressed during it. This week ive worked 28 hours as of Tuesday.

My boyfriend has been in the same situation.

Last night he came home and there was a bat in our room. He was panicking while I was still at work. He lost it, he couldn't find it again and he had to go to sleep. When I finally got home we continued turning our room upside down before he had to leave for his shift.

Which brings me to now. I woke up with a bat erratically flying in the room. Panicking brain on 3 hours of sleep after a long shift wasn't fun. I changed into clothes that covered my skin more completely and actually caught it.

Now for the red flags. When my boyfriend saw it, it refused to fly and wasn't scared of him. Only when he was doing the same thing i did by getting some form of PPE did it fly and vanish. When i saw it, its flying wasn't stable. It would be constantly making big adjustments to steady itself in the air. It ran into the walls, this is actually how I was able to catch it. It appears that its more active at day. I sleep during the day and it was certainly more active for me than him. When I did catch it, it was easy to approach, stayed grounded and screaming. It then started lunging at me under the bowl I got it under.

So, aggressive, poor flying, active during the day, preferring to stay grounded... thats essentially the whole rabies checklist. The only thing I didn't observe was hydrophobia. In my half awake, yet adrenaline fueled state I simply threw it outside.

I KNOW RIGHT?! Im a dumbass, I should have kept it in that Tupperware bowl and got IT tested to know for sure. But I was in catch-release mode I usually do for the occasional feild mouse we get. Now im getting ready to go to the hospital with my partner to get us both vaccinated because I swear to god we are NOT dying over this shit.

So much for my big overtime checks, its all going to medical bills that cover what our insurances wont pay. Worked all that time to simply not have any silver lining of spending money.

I thought this week was bad, with Sam Neill passing, and my one "friend" saying im no longer worth talking to because they moved further away and long ass work shifts. Now I need a stupid $2-8,000 course of shots just to ensure safety and I dont randomly DIE.

FML specifically fuck this last two weeks in particular.

Headlight burned out on the car. Did the You Tube university thing and decided I could do it on my own.

Got the access port open, which was in the wheel well. Removed the dust cover cap, took off old bulb, put new one in. Tested the light... success. I'm feeling happy.

Go to put the dust cover back on, it won't go back into place. Fiddled around making sure the tabs were lined up, tried again. Still wouldn't rotate back into place. Being the dumbass that I am, I tried putting it in without the rubber gasket just to see if that would work. Seemed to go into place. But then tried to take it back off to replace the gasket, and it's jammed it just rattles and won't come off.

So yeah, I've fucked myself over because I can't get leverage to pry at the cover with a screwdriver and I'm basically working blind because the portal is so small. And of course my stupid ass bought Sylvania bulbs with only a 200 hour life because I wanted brighter bulbs.

So in about eight months I'm probably going to pay a mechanic $1,000 or something ridiculous to get that dust cover off when the headlight burns out. I suppose I could try to remove the wheel and the well liner for better access, but at this point I'll probably fuck myself even worse if I do that.

Fuck. My. Life.

I'm in my last year of college, and it will be our internship for the whole year. College is really hard, and I'm scared I won't be able to finish it.

In the first place, I already gave up my dream course because we couldn't afford it. My dream course is only available at a private institution, and the tuition is quite expensive. So, what I did was do my very best to pass the entrance exam at this public university. I applied for the degree I'm in right now, which is not what I really like, but for the sake of having a degree, I did the interview and passed it.

I remember when I got the notification that said, "Congratulations." I was so delighted, and it was the first time I hugged my mom out of happiness. I'm so glad because this is the only public university in our city that I wanted to be a part of, and yeah, I did.

My course is too expensive for someone like us. I don't have a supportive father to help pay for my school expenses. My mother is the only one who works to support me. I tried to find scholarships, but I was so unfortunate. I also did some jobs to help my mom pay some of my fees and buy the things I needed.

When I got into third year, it got more difficult. I don't usually eat at school just to pay for the things that need to be paid. I don't buy stuff for myself anymore just to save money. Last June, I tried looking for a summer job, but unfortunately, I wasn't able to find one. I didn't stop looking for scholarships since then, but they just don't accept my application, and I don't know what their problem is. I was actually crying for help, but yeah, the government sucks.

Our enrollment will be this coming Monday, and I need to pay the tuition and other fees, or else I can't do my internship. I don't really know what to do except break down. All I do is crying because I don't know what else to do I did everything what I could. We already have a huge amount of debt that hasn't been paid yet. I'm struggling and stressing over looking for ways. I don't want to graduate with a huge amount of debt. I really don't want to stop going to college. I really want to graduate and finish this degree because I feel like we're struggling because of me. I feel like I'm in a situation where I just want everything to end already. I don't know what to do anymore. I will just share this here because I know a lot of students are struggling.

In this situation, I don't know, but phrases like "It will be fine," "Don't stress out," "Chill and relax," and "Good luck" aren't helping anymore. But I appreciate those people who truly care.

I'M JUST SO SCARED, AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO ANYMORE. ALL I KNOW IS I DID WHAT I COULD, BUT MAYBE I'M JUST VERY UNLUCKY IN EVERYTHING.

I had to keep showering because I kept getting hot and cold.

I got kicked out of my parents house like a month ago, but fortunately had saved up enough money from working multiple jobs to afford a small studio apartment and a secondhand car, which I needed to get to my jobs. Wednesday evening, an hour after I got home from work, a dead tree spontaneously collapsed on my car and simultaneously knocked out power for the entire building, so thats... a lot of fun. Or something. Anyway, how are y'all doing?

Had a long day at work, I'm a nurse

Then drove to uni for i am also a bioethics teacher. Exam reviews. Some sad students. None got approved despite tears. A good afternoon.

On my way to uni got low fuel alert. Well, will refill afterwards, i thought.

Car said "LOL NO".

Now im waiting the tow car.

My car is amused. I'm not. FML

That in itself is a problem. Killing myself wouldn't change the fact that I already existed. I'm not going into details, it'd be too much to explain. All I'll say is, my entire life, of has lacked any sort of personal autonomy whatsoever. Fully setup by someone else before my balls even dropped, all prospects for a future ruined by the time I was 12, so they could use me as a means for extra pocket change. It goes on, and it gets worse, but even dying seems pretty good at this point. Fuck life. Mine to be exact. Why did I put this shit here? Who the fuck knows, to scream into the meaningless void? Probably. That is all...

I didn’t fricking know it would be linked to my passport. I just wanted to apply and get it over with, took a minute to get accepted. Was handling all the paper work I needed for tomorrow to get my new passport (no it’s not an expired passport but I still need a new one) only to read the email to see “if your passport information changes, you will need to reapply” so I wasted 30 fricking dollars for nothing. I’m spending so much money as it is and I got laid off a few days ago so this is just added to my stress.

I started university in 2017 and graduated in 2025. I switched degrees a couple times and finally finished an Engineering degree. I have a good job now.

I feel like I have poured everything I have into school and work for the past 9 years with nothing to show for it. I have the same amount of money as when I started Engineering in 2020.

I now live away from my friends and family, in an apartment I hate. I have picked up a vape and alcohol addiction. I am so unhappy with myself.

I work remote and am sitting here on the kitchen table with my laptop. No matter how hard I worked this year, I feel like I'm in the same place. Drowning in problems that are directed straight at me.

I vape and drink every day but am a health nut at my core. It is eating me up inside. My brain is screaming at me. I wish I could shut off my brain, turn off the lights, forget everything for a while...

*discord pings in the background. A coworker found a bug with my application and I need to address it for them.*

I guess I will get back to work.

​

We have known each other since the second grade. Over two decades of shared history. When I look at her, I don’t just see the woman she is today at thirty-one; I see every version of her that has ever existed. She is the only constant in a life defined by decay and wreckage. Her name is [REDACTED], and she is the anchor I do not deserve.

When the despair of my diagnosis finally broke me, I didn’t just stumble—I took a match to my own life. The addiction was a wild, starving fire that consumed everything. Friends, family, respect, opportunities—all reduced to ash. I burnt every single bridge I had until I was standing completely alone on an island of my own making. Everyone walked away, and I couldn't blame them. You can only watch a man destroy himself for so long before you have to look away.

But she didn't look away. She stayed.

Even when I was at my absolute lowest, she didn't turn her back. She would hand me money when I asked, her eyes heavy with the knowledge of exactly what I was going to buy with it. She did it not to enable me, but because the alternative—letting me fall completely into the abyss—was unbearable to her. She was a voice on the phone when the walls were closing in, a tether keeping me from drifting off the edge of the earth. She is the only person who walked through the fire with me and came out the other side.

I am helplessly, hopelessly in love with her. I look at her and I see my soulmate. And I know, in some quiet, unspoken spaces between us, that she may have felt the exact same way at some point.

But there is a ghost in the room with us. A biological specter.

She knows about the HIV. She isn’t ignorant or judgmental; her own older brother lives with the virus, so she understands the grim reality of it better than almost anyone. But understanding the science and overcoming the primal, visceral fear of transmission are two entirely different things. She looks at me, and I know the invisible wall is there. She is terrified of catching it, of letting this curse cross over into her own veins.

And the most agonizing part? I don't blame her. I completely get it. Who in their right mind would willingly invite this nightmare into their bloodstream? If our roles were reversed, if I were clean and she carried this heirloom, I would be terrified too. More than that, I would never, ever want her to get sick. I would never want the woman who means the world to me to wake up to these pill bottles, this endless fatigue, and this profound, cellular dread. Her fear is entirely justified.

But God, it still sucks.

It is a unique, suffocating kind of torture to sit beside the person you were meant to be with, separated by an invisible pane of glass made of your own tainted blood. I am thirty-one years old, and we are still best friends. I swear on my life that I will always be there for her, just like she was for me. But every time I look at her, my heart breaks all over again.

I try to move on. I tell myself to just be grateful she’s still here, to force my eyes to see other women and imagine a life where I find someone else to hold. But it’s completely futile. I don't have an eye for anyone else. I can't even hold a conversation with another girl without my mind drifting right back to [REDACTED]. I don’t know what kind of gravity she has over me, but there is no escaping its pull.

I wish I could just get over her. I wish I could carve out this romantic love and just be content with the beautiful friendship we have. But I can't. She is the only person who floods my brain, waking and sleeping.

It hurts. It hurts so damn bad. The ache in my chest isn't a metaphor; it’s a heavy, physical pressure that exhausts me. To find the one person who truly sees you, who stood by you through the absolute worst of your self-destruction, only to realize you are biologically forbidden from ever truly having her...

It must be one of God’s cruelest jokes.

It starts as a whisper, a promise of peace,

A momentary shelter where sorrows might cease.

A spark in the darkness, a warmth in the cold,

A dangerous lie that is easily sold.

​But the shelter soon shrinks to a room with no door,

And the warmth is a hunger that cries out for more.

The whisper grows loud, a demanding refrain,

A master that binds with an invisible chain.

​The colors bleed out from the days that remain,

While joy is eclipsed by the phantom of pain.

The mirror reflects back a stranger’s hollow stare,

As bridges are burned in the smoke of despair.

​It is not a simple choice, though the battle is grim,

When the water is deep and it’s heavy to swim.

The sickness takes hold of the mind and the bone,

Leaving a spirit feeling completely alone.

​Yet the story isn't over, though the road is severe,

There is strength in the asking, in fighting the fear.

Step by slow step, through the grit and the fray,

The darkest of nights can still break into day.

I was fired from my job and as I was driving home my muffler came off. I honestly can’t catch a break I still have to pay rent utilities car maintenance car insurance I can’t afford to stop. Idk I’m just stressed out.

The calendar insists that it is 2026. The smiling clinic pamphlets, the hollow public health campaigns, and the overly empathetic voices on television all peddle the exact same sanitized lie. *The stigma is gone,* they claim. *It’s a new era.* They dress it up in sterile medical language and demand that everyone smile and accept their place in this modern, understanding society. But those people don’t carry the virus. They have no idea what it feels like to be haunted from the inside out, day after day, year after year.

​

My name is [REDACTED], and for thirty-one years I have been a living, breathing ghost. I did not contract this curse during some impulsive night of passion or through a contaminated needle in a haze of addiction. I was born with it—Human Immunodeficiency Virus. HIV. Three clinical letters that pronounced my sentence before I ever spoke my first word.

​

The woman who gave birth to me knew precisely what she carried. She felt her own immune system crumbling, understood the microscopic decay inside her, and still chose to bring me into the world already infected. As if passing on tainted blood was not enough punishment, she abandoned me. She handed that defective infant over to the adoption system and walked away. I should never have been born. I should have been aborted. Instead, I was forced into existence as a carrier of her mistakes, marked as a biohazard from my very first breath.

​

Every single morning begins the same exhausting ritual. I wake up and face the pill bottles lined up like silent judges. The antiretrovirals—handfuls of capsules I swallow with water that tastes metallic and wrong. They keep the virus suppressed, chaining it down for another day, but they do not erase it. The retrovirus remains inside me, lurking in my marrow, patiently rewriting segments of my DNA. Some mornings I stand in front of the mirror and swear I can feel it moving—a faint, persistent itch beneath the skin, a quiet hum in my blood reminding me that it owns this body.

​

The despair runs deeper than the physical symptoms. There is the crushing fatigue that settles into my bones and refuses to leave, the constant background anxiety about opportunistic infections, the endless blood draws and viral load tests that reduce my life to numbers on a chart. But those are only the surface wounds. The real torment is psychological, relentless and isolating. It eats away at any sense of worth or connection I try to build.

​

There is a girl I have known almost my entire life. I know the cadence of her voice, the way her eyes crinkle when something genuinely amuses her, the quiet strength she carries. In the most hidden parts of myself, I feel the depth of what could have been between us. But the moment she learned about my status, everything changed. I watched an invisible barrier descend behind her eyes. Her posture shifted. Her touch, once casual and warm, became hesitant and withdrawn. “We can still be friends,” she said, and those words landed like a final verdict. Friendship is the ceiling. Anything more is forbidden by the virus that lives in my veins. The fear of transmission, no matter how small the calculated risk, keeps her at a safe distance. I lie awake replaying every near-moment we shared, every almost-touch, every lingering look that died the instant the truth entered the room. The despair here is suffocating. To love someone so completely and know that your own blood makes you untouchable is a unique kind of hell.

​

This rejection is not limited to her. It is universal. For over thirty years I have guarded my status like a shameful secret because the moment it slips out, the atmosphere in any room turns poisonous. People start with polite, progressive smiles. They recite the talking points they’ve heard in campaigns. But I can feel the primal recoil beneath their skin. Their instincts take over. I stop being a person and become a potential vector, a biological threat. The subtle avoidance when someone reaches for the same glass, the split-second hesitation before a handshake, the way conversations about relationships or future plans suddenly evaporate. I have watched friendships dissolve. I have lost opportunities because of vague “health concerns.” Dates end before they truly begin once the ghost of my condition appears. The isolation compounds until it feels like a physical weight pressing on my chest.

​

I once harbored a fragile dream of building a family. Children of my own. A chance to break the corrupted chain my mother started and bring something clean and hopeful into the world. I imagined small hands reaching up without fear, bedtime stories told without the shadow of illness looming overhead, a legacy that was not poisoned from the start. That dream is dead now. The very idea of passing this on fills me with visceral nausea. I refuse to become the monster who inflicted this on me. My bloodline ends here, trapped inside this compromised body. The finality of it brings waves of grief that leave me shaking.

​

Addiction became my only reliable escape. The high offered temporary oblivion, a brief window where the constant awareness of the virus faded into background noise. I chased it through whatever means were available—smoke, needles, pills—anything to drown out the horror of what was happening inside my cells. In those moments I felt almost weightless, unburdened by the microscopic invaders multiplying in my T-cells. But the crash was inevitable and brutal. When the effects wore off, the reality returned harsher than before. I would lie on the floor, drenched in sweat, heart racing, picturing the virus patiently waiting for any lapse in my medication or defenses. The cycle of chasing numbness only deepened the despair, leaving me more isolated, more ashamed, more convinced that I deserved this endless punishment.

​

The virus itself feels like a living entity rather than a mere diagnosis. It resides deep in my marrow, dormant but never gone, held back only by the daily chemical leash of pills. At night, when the world outside grows quiet, I lie in the dark and feel it—a low, vibrating presence beneath my skin. It whispers that no matter how many treatments advance, no matter how loudly society claims acceptance, it will always be here. It is the one constant companion that will never abandon me, even as every human connection withers.

​

The self-hatred is overwhelming. It burns at the back of my throat like acid. I look at my reflection and feel nothing but revulsion for the infected shell staring back. Some nights the rage and despair drive me to claw at my own arms, wishing I could tear the virus out by force. I stare at the pill bottles and fantasize about ending it all in one final swallow. I wish I were dead. The thought brings a twisted comfort—the promise of silence, of release from the constant vigilance, the tests, the fear, the rejection. No more waking up already exhausted by the prospect of another day carrying this burden.

​

Yet the cruelest aspect is not the possibility of death. It is the enforced continuation of life. Modern medicine keeps me alive whether I want it or not, chaining me to this half-existence. I watch the world move forward—people forming relationships, building families, touching without hesitation—while I remain on the outside, a ghost observing through smeared glass. No one truly touches me. No one dares. The heirloom no one asked for, passed down in blood I never chose.

​

The despair settles in layers. There are moments of numb acceptance, followed by sharp, stabbing grief when I see families in parks or couples walking hand in hand. There are nights when the paranoia spikes and I replay every interaction, wondering if someone suspected, if they distanced themselves because of me. There is the quiet terror of the future: what happens when the virus mutates, when treatments lose effectiveness, when my body finally begins to fail despite the pills. Thirty-one years of this has carved grooves of hopelessness so deep they feel permanent.

​

I remain here, carrying the weight of an unwanted inheritance. A living reminder that some curses cannot be outrun, no matter how loudly the pamphlets claim otherwise. The virus does not just weaken the body. It hollows out the spirit, leaving a shell that moves through the world unseen and untouched, forever haunted by what might have been if my blood had been clean.

Lighter for scale.

​

I have gum disease, the dentist suggested a splint to secure my teeth to prevent them moving and hopefully heal while undergoing further treatment.

​

Bit into a pan-fried prawn tonight. Felt the crunch/movement. Aaand that's a chunk of resin that was used to secure the splint.

​

Guess I'm calling the dentist tomorrow. FML.

(This story is a little all over the place, but so is my mind, and my life. There is also some sexually explicit stuff in here.)

I got arrested in April of 2025, the first thing i said to the police was "I need to go to the hospital... my cats are in room 22 please make sure they are ok, they are brother and sister and they cannot be separated, if anything happens to them ill kill myself, my husband is in that cat."

I thought I was getting arrested for prostitution, I was badly beaten, my eye was swollen shut and I was pissing blood from being savagely raped. When the police brought me to the station it took a while for them to question me so i slipped a handcuff off (i was only 100lbs) and decided to sleep on the floor. They finally woke me up and brought me into a questioning room where they began to ask me questions about something that had happened a few days before... immediately I said "I had nothing to do with that" and asked for a lawyer. Then after a while they took me to the hospital, where to my surprise the man who raped me was in the bed handcuffed next to me, so no asking for a rape kit, i just kept my mouth shut. I was too scared to talk to anyone about what had happened. They treated my injuries gave my antibiotics and sent me back to the jail. I got booked, (when the gave me a pregnancy test/drug test I gave them a cup of blood) and when i got to my bed I saw a paper on my bed with my charges listed... Armed Robbery. WTF. I had previously gotten a charge in a different state and had a warrant from three years ago so I was held with no bond. I begged the COs for bandaids for my face because I had gotten a serious infection on my face above my eye called cellulitis. The officer laughed at me said no and decided to nickname me "Puss". I tried to explain to her that this infection is seriously contagious, to which she replied, "well ill make sure to stay away from you." She gave me toilet paper to wipe the puss from my face. After a few days i was transferred into GP.

Once in GP I was doing ok and the first lawyer I spoke to seemed to understand that I did in fact not commit this crime I was a victim. She read my my A-form... Defendant was called to victims house (she had been there multiple times before) and they entered victims room engaged in sexual activity and there was a knock on the door. Then the door was broken down and codefendant entered the apartment saying "Your over time you owe me more money, you've been texting me the whole time,." defendant exclaimed "He already paid me" then the codefendant slapped the victim across the face and pulled out a gun and demanded more money. victim paid the codefendant he left. Defendant got dressed and left after codefendant. (yes i was standing in the corner naked the whole time)

(So this is the rundown, my cats were safe at someone else's apartment, I finally had my phone back, and this guy was offering me a place to live. This was my out, I thought I was going to be ok. So i guess this guy was texting my phone must have said something about me living there, the guy was that holding me decided to cut this connection.)

Unfortunatly the first public defender who I spoke with told me there was a conflic of interest because she was representing my codefendant. I got assigned another PD, so in my mind I thought the lawyer was supposed to help you and I told her the WHOLE STORY to which she replied... You need to go to a drug program. I did NOT get arrested with any drugs or paraphernalia.

This is what lead up to this.... in January I was in the process of moving from one state to another. The house I was living in was my husband and I's house. (My husband was shot and killed in the basement of my house because one of the police officers shot another police officer through the hand and they let loose a firing squad on him. I was crushed, my husband and I had a very successful business on the dark web, our house was full of chemistry equipment, 3-d printers and drill press... lots of home depot buckets full of fun stuff, a hydroponic mushroom set up...the list goes on. I died inside the day my husband was shot, i digress.) I was leaving because I let a manipulative pregnant homeless crack head move in with me (because naturally I like to help people if I can, or even when I cant). She isolated me from my friends, convinced me the whole world was against me, and she was the only person there for me. She ended up going to jail, and one of my old friends showed up at my house telling me that this girl told her I didn't live there anymore. My old friend had just bought a house in a different state and asked me to move in with her, I decided I needed a change in my life so I said yes and packed up my stuff.

The evil one got out of jail and came back, i told her she can stay in the apartment as long as she pays rent, ill leave her my furniture good luck. She managed to completely sabotage me moving, got someone to break my front window (it took a while because we had bullet proof windows!) Stole my cash.... anyway im getting off topic, my apologies. So in the middle of the move down south we stopped off at a hotel and our ride left us. I was sitting in the hallway and this guy comes up to me and asks me what I'm doing, we start talking I told him what happened, and he offers to drive us the rest of the way. I tell my friend and she is reluctant but soon accepts. So we pack our stuff in the car and leave. (My cats were already in the house, this was our second trip down).

We get to her house, mind you after my husband died I started using fentanyl and xylazine, but I decided since I'm moving out of Kensington and starting over to give it up and start fresh. I was going thru the worst withdrawals in the car. When we got to the house I thought I was going to die, I WANTED to die. My friend and the driver decided to go out and find me something. Unexpectedly I get a strange text from my friend that she doesn't want me there anymore, and the driver comes into the house and starts putting my huge flat screen TV in his car and my cats and says come on lets go. (What I didn't know was he stole her phones and sent me that message) Being in a not good state of mind I got in the car after my cats. Confused and in pain, he explained my friend flipped on me and she doesn't want me there. He takes me to a hotel room and this is where the hell began. He took my phone from me and said now you gotta make some money. Fast forward, a few days later, he flies this other girl out to where were at. I had taken a bunch of stuff when I left and in that stuff was some molly, he took it from me and insisted I take some, I told him I couldn't because I previously had serotonin syndrome/poisoning. He made me take it anyway. I ended up having a seizure, and he decided to have anal sex with me while I was unconscious. I was informed of this via text messages from him laughing about it. I woke up on the floor with my underwear at my ankles.

Then a few days later he is driving, and I warned him not to speed because of the area we were in and we get pulled over. He told the police I had a license, I knew I was fucked, I didnt have the physical license so I gave him my name, and got arrested for my 3 year old warrant. I went to one of the worst jails ever, I was in a cell with three females. I couldn't use the phone, I couldn't shower, then after about twelve or thirteen days they open the cell and two police officers are there to extradite me back up north. I flew on a plane with normal people, wearing platform boots and shackles and I smelt like onions. Those police officers were nice they bought me food, coffee and candy. I get to the next jail and I am released in 2 days. My court date was in a couple days, and I was not going to miss that, so I stayed in a trap house, OD'd a couple times, but certainly made it to my court date. I get in touch with the driver because he had my cats and I had to get them back. I also got in touch with my friend where she informs me that he stole her cell phones, she never sent me that message and she would come pick me up from wherever.

I spent a night in the street of my old neighborhood and got money for plane tickets, went to the airport... had a seizure smoking crack and heroin in the bathroom, and missed my flight. So I went back to Kensington. Got got another plane ticket... just made my flight. Sit down eat my salad and burger on the plane... do some dope and OD on the f*cking plane. I wake up hours later in the ER in the city I flew to. I get in touch with the driver and get an uber to get my cats. Upon arrival they are full of joy and meowing and loving on me, and for a second everything feels ok. Then he takes my phone leaves me in the room and says take a shower its time to work. I couldn't contact my friend to come get me, the panic sets in, and to make matters worse they took all my drugs from me in the hospital (luckily i didn't catch a charge.... but I had a bunch of shit in all my pockets... gone)... Fast forward a week or two weeks... I have my phone, he is out with the other girl... I take an out call and leave without telling them. This guy offers to save me and let me stay there but I still had to get my cats. He offers to help but ended up just dropping me off and leaving me there. I get punished for this. But I made it up by making $4500 on a date. With some of this money he rents a car and decided he wanted to go somewhere else, the place he wanted to go I DID NOT want to go. We stop off to get a room on the way, he gets out of the car and leaves a bag of drugs in the center console of the car. Its time to check out... I tell him about the bag of shit, he said I was trying to steal it and punches me so hard in the head, for some reason my whole face was swollen. My cats are still in the room, in a daze I wander out of the room and outside... Immediately people are staring at me asking if I need help... I don't really remember what happened, but I convinced him to take me to an urgent care. As soon as I walk in there they say they are calling an ambulance.

I was in the hospital for a week, and he took my phone with him so I had no way to contact anyone (because I never memorize numbers anymore I was stuck.) My orbital was damaged and I had cellulitis around my eye, very painful to say the least. They prescribed me antibiotics and leave... Needless to say I never got those antibiotics. (I was on IV antibiotics in the hospital). So we get back in the car to get to our next city. We arrive, I already know this is going to be terrible. It starts slow, the money is bad, and this city is expensive. I just want to make sure my cats are ok, as long as I have them I'm ok. Oh yeah, at this point in time I'm quitting dope cold turkey, but this time... I'm determined, I have to, and I did. Fast forward, we're sitting in a gas station. About six or seven cop cars roll in, surrounding the car. A police officer informs us that someone called the police saying that a small child was kidnapped and in the back of the car (me). He asks me to get out of the car, as I step out my crack pipe falls on the ground, I just ignore it and hope he doesn't notice, if he did, he let it slide. He asked me if I was ok... I really don't like the police, so I assured him I was fine and got back into the car to be with my cats. They let us go... I left the pipe. We go to another hotel, he comes in my room and said my lawyer was on the phone and I had a court date (I got zoom) throws the phone at me... its on 2%. The phone dies, I missed my court date.... I'm a fugitive again.

Fast forward... the conditions are getting worse, but I still have my cats, I trained them to poop and pee in the shower or bathtub and cleaned it up as soon as they went. I always made sure they had food and water, they are my life, the only thing left I care about. Fast forward... He gets angry with the other girl and smashes her iphone on the ground. I made the money for her to get a new iphone, and he again gets angry with her and kicks her out. I wanted to leave with her but there was no way I could carry my cats through the streets. Plus the car we had, he never paid to rent it longer so it got towed, along with all our stuff in it... I had no f*cking clothes now. Then I meet this other guy who says come live with me, and I said only if I can bring my cats, he agrees I bring them there... and he ruined everything. We have to leave that place quickly... and I couldnt grab my cats... We get another hotel... at this point there are three girls wih us and one of the was seventeen (she wasn't working though, she was a runaway with her cousin). I can't really remember what happened... I was getting upset because I was the only one making money and I was now supporting four people. I made the mistake of voicing my opinion. In the parking garage of one of the rooms, in the back seat of black SUV, he told me "I'm going to punish you with my dick." Punched me so hard in the face I was seeing stars, rips my clothes off and violently rapes me. He put his hand over my mouth when I started screaming saying "You don't want to police to hear you, do you?". He finally finished and got out of the car. Black and blue and swollen, I walk back upstairs and sit in the shower in a ball crying.

The other girls did nothing, it was almost as if they looked at me with disgust. I couldn't take it anymore... I laid down with my cats and held them for dear life. A couple days later six or seven cop cars roll up on me, and I put my hands in the air, said i need to go to the hospital and make sure my cats were ok, I didn't say anything else. He tried to jump off the second story and broke his two front teeth, he was crying and screaming "I love you!" over and over, and I just kept asking for my cats to be ok.

(Ok, that was only a brief description of the atrocities, I left out the really graphic stuff, maybe I'll write a book.)

Back to jail... So the police told me I had 11 days to pick up my cats. When I went to my bond hearing, they laughed at me when I asked how long I was in jail for, they said you've got some pretty serious charges, armed robbery (PBL) and my warrant was for manufacturing methamphetamine. F*CK. I kept telling people someone has to read the A-form and see that I did not rob anyone, and I certainly didn't have a weapon because I was standing in the corner NAKED! I had to sit for the 30 days to find out if they were gonna pick up my charges, and they did. I was ok in jail, however I had no one to call. Then by some miracle I get a message from my public defender that my mother in law was looking for me, gave me her number, and this amazing woman also put money on my books. I could finally buy coffee, and she put credit on the phone for me. So I call her explain that I didn't commit this crime, and I am worried about my cats, she hires a private investigator to find them for me.

The second month in, this woman comes up to me filling out paperwork, it said victim was kidnapped and raped. I felt sick to my stomach, I started to cry "I never thought this could happen to me". She tells me I could leave today and they have housing for me in the state I flew to to go get my cats, I explain the story how I'm not from there, and most importantly I need to get my cats back, so she says ok, give me a week and I can get you a hotel in this city for one week. I agree. Yes! I'm getting out, or at least that is what they told me... She said she will be at my court date with me and everything is going to be ok. The court date rolls around but there is a problem, one of the inmates got chicken pox and our whole unit was put on quarantine. My court date gets pushed back, for two months. This is when it started. I was already starting to pace around my room worried sick about my cats. Then I heard people talking, it seemed to be coming from the front of the unit, and they were talking about me. So at this point I had established my one friend in jail, and we would joke and laugh about stuff, because I wasn't going to sit there and wallow. Then this crazy lady kept staring at me... calling me a demon crack head... screaming weird shit about burning in hell, burning the building down, she's a pharaoh, Marilyn Monroe was her mother and so forth. Staring at me and muttering in Spanish and English. (Maybe it was because I have pentagrams tattooed on my fingers, Baphomet tattooed on my chest, a she devil on my leg... maybe.) So I started listening to the crazy stuff she was saying... then I couldn't take it anymore, just because I love Satanic stuff does not mean I'm evil! The satanic temple encourages treating others as you want to be treated, empathy, spreading of knowledge, challenging authority, and equality for all. (Hail Satan) I do not believe in God or the Devil, but more so that good and evil exist, energy is in everything, its just how you focus it. Anyways she got 22'd (put in the psych ward).

I don't know if I went crazy the day I started talking to the sink, or the day I started listening to it. But for me this was all real. So there were a few different voices but it started with who I thought was someone constantly watching me because I thought since I said, "I'm going to kill myself if anything happens to my cats" they put me on suicide watch. So there were cameras in my room, and somewhere else in the jail people were sitting watching these cameras, and I could hear them talking, it was low but if I concentrated hard enough I could hear everything they were saying. There was Wesley and Sam at first... I thought they were watching me, Sam had multiple personalities and only one of the was good, the rest of them were mean, very mean. Then the nightmares started, I would wake up from my sleep screaming "He raped me! He raped my cats! I have HIV!". I made them test me, and test me, and test me again. The results kept coming back negative. But for some reason I was convinced I had HIV a one point, then I started to think I was the cure for HIV. I thought people were coming outside my door saying, "Positive to Negative!" and for a moment I was full of joy imagining all the people I could help. I told my friend I was getting us out of jail because I made a deal with the jail I wouldn't sue them for having cameras in my room, but they had to let her go to... it was part of the deal. Then I told her I had the cure for HIV... I saw the look on her face, I sounded absolutely INSANE!

Then the voices from the vent started... whispering "I'm going to rape your cats" over and over and over. Then the Satan's came, at night they would let certain girls out of the cells to have orgy's and smoke meth and crack. They would rape my friend to death every night but she would be at the door for head count and not remember a thing. Then I got the idea if I could somehow get some leverage on the men behind the camera I would most certainly get out... I had sex with him through the camera! I was an empath. Then reality set in, I was in Purgatory. I bled out on the floor in booking, died... and ended up in Purgatory. The person whispering through the vents was in the room above mine, and she also brought the breakfast around at night (2am breakfast). One night when she was walking by I heard her say "I pissed in her oatmeal." So I stopped eating the food, I would only eat apples and drink coffee. The only way out of jail was to pick between Heaven, Hell and Hades. I said "Send me to Hell in a hand basket, because all my friends are there."

But I had a small problem here, because a month before this nightmare started, I was sitting alone in my house getting high... when this crazy looking demon lady appeared on my floor, chained to the wall, with three shadows dancing in the window behind her with bells and finger cymbals. She was black, all black, with scarification markings all over her body, she had horns and a tail, yellow eyes and gold sharp teeth. Her hair was red it was slicked back with what looked like oil and ash. Then in the corner the Grim Reaper appeared. He was slowly extending his finger towards me. I asked them why they were there, she again started laughing. Then he said "You need to change your ways, your destine to become one of us." Still slowly extending his finger. I didn't want to appear scared, so I casually took a hit and offered them one. Then it seemed like they lifted the room into another dimension, my furniture lifted off the floor. I grabbed my cats in fear the demon lady would eat them. But they were curios about her. (I managed to press record on my phone and had a partial video. I sent it to my friend but all he received was static, and the video only played once on my phone.) His finger was almost touching my shoulder and I casually move to the side a bit, he said "See you soon." Disappeared and all the furniture fell back into place.

So now I was confused, because the Reapers are on the river Styx. So am I supposed to go with them? If I go there I get a Pegasus, but I'm destine to be alone for eternity. Surely if I'm here I can find my husband through one of these "doors". At this point someone from my past came looking for me... He said he was a private investigator now, but he was also a Satan. Sam tricked him when he got there and pretended to help him but instead threw bleach in his face. I was almost set free again, and escape slipped through my fingers. Now another familiar voice, my sugar daddy of many years... He informs me that he works for the CIA... Cum In Ass productions, and he apologizes that he indeed sold all the videos we made on the internet, but he also made millions of dollars, and he's going to put that money on my books so I can have it when I get out. He also got me two Dogo Argentino puppies, which I could hear in their crates. I then find out that he is the Devil, and he proposed by putting two wedding bands in my asshole. He said he would buy me a house in the woods and I can leave all this behind and be ok. He then said he tattooed his name around my butthole, because that's his.

Then one night a Satan comes in my room and has sex with me .... mind you I cannot see him or feel him... but his dick came off inside me and I had to keep it hidden in my asshole for three days. (I wasn't really eating at all so, not much of a problem.) The guards notice I'm not eating, All the people I used to talk to notice I have just retreated to my room and I barely come out. Mainly because I believe people can hear my thoughts, and I can hear them when they talk about me. I start getting the ability to make people say things if I think about them, and whats the first thing I think about when I get all this money?? A pound of crystal for my friend and a QP of crack for me.... All the guards radios start going off saying "Crack Delivery!" Then I hear it, someone walks through the front door and goes up to a CO and says "Crack Delivery for *** ****). Damn what am I gonna do with al this crack and no stem, chore, or a lighter. So I make another "Order". Each time I get closer and closer, I almost have it.... but it never comes. That night the COs and the Satan's are running around the jail smoking all the drugs I got for me and my friend, and again they brutally rape her to death in her room... I was banging on the door for someone to help her, but no one came.

So now I'm beginning to think this has all happened before. I keep dying and ending up here, writing this story that has already been written. And not only am I rewriting a book that has already been written but my sugar daddy also made money off these books, because depending which place I choose the story is different. But at least now I know, if I go to Hell, I get to be queen of Hell, and I'd like to make it a better place. I figured out there are two realities in this place, and one is most of these inmates are actors and they are actually making a movie about my book. (crazy I know, but this was all real to me, because I have never been crazy before, so I really thought this was happening.) He wants his book, and I cannot leave Purgatory until I choose my fate.

At this point in time I am really struggling because I do not believe in Heaven or Hell, God or the Devil... But at the same time The three of us are smoking 5meo-DMT together. Because I wanted to show them what I believe. I rarely spoke with God, I was much more into the banter and lude conversations with Satan, S-Satan and SsssSatan. God was always busy, plus Satan had the voice of the guy from Requiem for a Dream that says "Ass to Ass" at the end of the movie (I forgot that actors name). I will admit though, Satan was always tricking me, and I kept falling for it.

At this point there are two realities, one is in my cell and the other overlaps and I cannot see it, but I can hear it and feel it. Since I have died many times, Sam comes out with this article that he found on the internet about this mythical creature of Moore (also with my same name) and she lost her husband and kept killing herself but kept coming back to life. Apples gave her power, and the only way to make sure she stayed dead was to cut her head off. Sam now believes that I am this mythical creature stuck in Purgatory where I do not belong. He vows to help me get out and starts making a plan. In the mean time a trick that fallen for me was waiting outside the jail calling for me. Trying to set me free....

Thank you if you have read this far... if you guys would like me to continue into my spiral of insanity... please let me know... because it get much darker deeper and more intense.... ill keep writing... if yall keep reading.....

I have chronic dry mouth due to medication. It makes my breath smell atrocious. So I got some Biotene dry mouth lozenges. I usually have constipation issues ... Lately it's been the opposite.

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So I can either have porta potty breath or be on the brink of shitting myself.

About ten years ago when I was fresh out of college, a buddy and I (we were both 24, straight, male) thought it would be fun to hit a local nude beach. We'd never done anything like that before and wanted to get any college bucket-list stuff we missed (like streaking) out of the way before we got too old. We happened to be there on a day where a section of the beach was roped off and some photographers were taking pictures (mostly nature, but also consenting visitors, both nude and non-nude ) for some Rec department fundraiser for the beach. My buddy dared me to take a walk in the area and I said YOLO and (after signing a "quick release form"....GROAN) I took a stroll over and let my birthday suit be part of the art. I never really thought about it after that day.

Skip to 2025, beach is doing some 50th anniversary retro thing for more fundraising, and they're using historical photos from the past in the marketing, so guess who is displayed full frontal and splashing around in the water. I guess it's for a good cause but....I still got naked for free for the internet (my friend says I donated my body to science)....FML!

Friend tried to leave husband after he became increasingly aggressive. He’s dad to youngest. Everything was in his name. She had no access to money or anything. No family. She and the three girls (3,9,15) stayed with me waiting for a spot in a family crisis shelter. As soon as I met this dude I could tell it was bad. Screaming and yelling at her and the girls. Him speaking the baby for why?? Said his child wouldn’t be ruined like the other two.. Because of course violence against a one year old will help her go to sleep.. Wouldn’t let her get a job, she has no family to ask for help, and he’d take the car to work with him during the day, he would not let her drop him off, and usually she had no phone minutes. I had been begging her for over two years to make plans to get outta there. She kept saying once the baby is in preschool she’d get a job and could do something.. during that time it turns out he was already making plans. Remember! She had no access to anything. She had gotten a ticket over a year ago and he told her he paid it off. He lied. So while she was in the shelter she and him went to court over custody. She went to sign in and was informed of her Warrant over not paying and missing court dates she didn’t even know she had. So, I get a call from the shelter since I’m emergency contact. Picked up youngest from the courthouse and the other two from their schools. I had the girls overnight not sure what was up and the next day she’s getting out of jail. I go pick her up and she’s crying saying he was granted full custody until another hearing is made. So I’m losing my shit. Get home. He’s there within the hour and I have children crying and begging me, not mom, me to help them. It’s been months and she hasn’t done anything to get them back according to eldest when she got the phone the other day and called me, I could hear him yelling in the background. Their Mom doesn’t even talk to me now because I lost my patience with her selfishness and blaming everyone around her for the way things are and she doesn’t take criticism from anyone well ever. Between them both it was still me making sure they had holidays and birthdays and school supplies.. food.. I honestly think at this point she doesn’t want them back.. that is so hard to say, but I think she’s gone back to her old ways.. He has fallen off the wagon, and she was on medication to stay sober. If I had the money I would pursue custody of them. My clean record, history with the kids, genuine care for their wellbeing and education, and no drug history.. I’ve been told I would have a good chance. There’s a lot on my side and ways to make it work. I just need fucking money to make it happen. I love them so much. They always wanted to stay with me. Literally asking why not. Then the crying when he came to take them from my home. Poverty is cruel.

Long made short - My friend lost custody to this absolute pos and isn’t trying to get them back. I am angry because I could get custody if I could afford an attorney, so yeah fml, fml hard. I miss my kiddos. My soul is screaming.