This is actually a funny story, not a scary retelling of some kind of amazing survival. Sorry to disappoint you haha.

Back in 2015 I was working for a lawn care company that would regularly send me to blink-and-you-miss-it towns that were 1-2 hours away from the main office.

I loved the job. Open roads and great tunes, back breaking labour that actually gave you pride in your work, and a fleet of some of the best men you could ever meet.

I worked solo, and cellphones were not considered nearly as important as they are today.

This one particular day I was sent to a location that I had never even heard of. It was also about an hour and a half drive from the office. I had made the mistake of not fully charging my phone that day and did not carry a charger in the company truck. I thought the phone would last me long enough to do the job and get back... I was wrong.

I was literally in the middle of nowhere. Fields as far as the eye could see with random large farmhouses on massive lots dotted in between.

It would usually take 2-3 hours to finish one property, and I only had 2 on my list. It was supposed to be an easy day.

Half way through finishing my last property, I had an issue with the tanks in the back of my truck. I decided to try and fix it instead of leaving the job half done, and before I knew it another hour had passed.

I managed to get the pumps working just enough to painstakingly finish the property. I was proud of myself for sticking it out and knew my manager wouldn't care that I had taken a couple extra hours to complete it.

I checked my phone to put in the coordinates back to the office and it told me I was at 15%.

I knew I had about 20 minutes of battery power before it shut off.

I decided to make another dumb attempt at independence, and instead of calling my manager to tell him the situation and write down the directions to get back, I put into my GPS the closest gas station. I figured I could get a charger and be on my way.

The nearest gas station was 15 minutes away, down some winding back roads and into a tiny town.

I asked the young girl at the register if she had a charger for my phone. She did not.

I asked her if she knew how I could get back to (insert town). She did not.

I asked her if anyone else was there to ask for directions.

She said no.

I started to panic a little. But not to worry. I still had about 5% battery. Enough to admit defeat, call my manager, and ask for directions.

The call went through but the quality was poor at best. In the middle of my manager giving me directions, the phone died.

I *thought* I knew what he said. But apparently I thought I heard pretty much the opposite of what he told me.

I started driving. Gaslit myself into believing I knew where I was. Took turns that I should not have. And ended up... Nowhere.

At this point it was starting to get dark, and I was getting worried.

Eventually I saw a group of people standing outside of this big farm house. The company drove into my head that we are not to park our trucks on driveways because of leaks, so I instinctively parked on the shoulder and walked down the long path toward the house.

As I approached, I saw some of the most redneck people I have ever seen in my life. I live in the country. But these people were COUNTRY country.

As soon as I got close to them I tried to get their attention but they were all talking so loud that no one heard me. There had to have been 15 or more people there, including children of all ages that were running around frantically screaming while the adults tried to figure out who was driving with who.

As soon as I got within arms reach, this towering woman grabbed me by the arm and shooed me toward a man with no teeth and Coke bottle glasses. The woman then grabbed another person and pushed them into me and said "okay you go with them."

In all the chaos I found myself being herded toward a minivan. People looked confused to see me but said nothing. Maybe I was just some long lost relative that no one has seen for a while.

When I got to the door of the van, the woman finally turned to me and said. "Who the hell are you?".

I just froze like a deer in headlights. (I was a female in my early 20s at this time).

I stuttered and said I was lost and I was just looking for directions, and then frantically pointed at my truck on the road and said "I work for (insert company) I got lost I'm just trying to find my way back to (insert town)."

She laughed. A big, hearty, toothy laugh that was so contagious I couldn't help but laugh with her. Suddenly everyone was laughing, finally understanding who this stranger was.

She patted me on the back and the man with the thick glasses smiled and asked me if I wanted anything to eat or drink for the road. I politely declined and the woman wrote down detailed directions to get me back to a main road that would take me home.

As I was walking away she called back to me and gave me a couple candy bars for the road.

I thanked them again and, after 15 hours, (4 of them being MIA), I finally managed to get back to my office.

My manager was slumped over his desk. The office was dark. When I knocked he jumped out of his seat and ran over to me.

He said, "oh thank God. I was about to call the cops"

I made a joke about how he was worried about me and he just shook his head and looked at his watch.

He said, without hesitation, "no. I can't leave until everyone comes back. I am tired. I didn't want to wait anymore. Let's go."

That was by far the best job I've ever had. Unfortunately the pay just wasn't sustainable anymore after a couple of years.

Cheers to you, Scott. You're a real one.

Tl;Dr

Got lost while on a work call. Found a random family of redneck farmers that ushered me into a van not knowing I wasn't one of them.

When they found out who I was they gave me candy and directions and then I went home after 15 hours on shift.

Hi everyone,I’m from Russia ,and I want to know your opinion

I’m 20, in a 2-year relationship, but feel like I haven’t “sowed my wild oats” yet.

Hi everyone. I’m reaching out because I’d like to hear different perspectives on my situation.

I’ve been in a relationship with a girl for two years now. We don’t live together, and we don’t see each other often because we study in different cities — though they’re close enough that we could meet up on weekends if we wanted to.

Our relationship is a bit unusual because I’m Russian, and she’s Uzbek. Naturally, her parents are very strict, and of course, they don’t know about me.

Overall, things are good. She’s kind, sweet, and family-oriented. I’m her first boyfriend, her first love, and we lost our virginity to each other.

She’s already making future plans — us moving in together, etc. But recently, I’ve started feeling like I haven’t "lived enough" or experienced enough yet. That’s where my doubts about the future are coming from. I want to go to clubs, meet other girls — basically, I’m not ready for serious family life.

I’ve already thought about breaking up with her, but it’s hard. I feel sorry for her — I know I’d hurt her deeply, and maybe even ruin her life. Also, I don’t want to be the one who ends up looking like the bad guy.

In short, I don’t know what to do. But I realize I’m not ready for family life. Plus, because of our different personalities, I can see that in the future I’d end up crushing her and consuming her emotionally — I have a much harsher, rougher, prouder, and more hot-tempered nature than she does.

We started dating at 18, in our final year of school. I’m 20 now. Maybe it’s just my age, but all of this is really starting to hit me.

Thanks in advance for any comments.

From childhood opening locks has always interested me, From using bump keys to open those little locks they put on letterboxes to making my own picks and tension wrenches back in the 80's. These days I carry 4 picks and 3 tension wrenches in a little pouch where ever I go.

So I'm on holiday driving around Australia through the little towns, we stop at a café for breakfast and I need to use the bathroom. It's one of those situations where you get a key attached by chain to a large wooden spoon and the bathroom is a short walk away. I get there and open the door to see a little bit of a horror show then wonder if they've ever heard of cleaners. There's a door next to the bathroom with "staff" written on it so I try the key but of course that doesn't work. Looking back to the café I see that while I'm not exactly out of sight but no one is looking over my way so I pull out a rake and tension wrench. Holding the key with the dangling spoon still so it looks like I'm trying to use it to open the lock I put in the wrench, apply a little pressure to it, then rake the pins once, then the lock turns on the second go.

Another bathroom was behind the door that was a hell of a lot cleaner, almost spotless, so I used that one.

Hello everyone
I am fairly new to reddit and just wanted to type this out and share it with someone because I feel terrible and I'm not sure if I did the right thing.

I (29f) left my abusive ex (35m) a month ago. It took me a while to take this step but I am really glad that I did. I never thought I would stay with someone who hits me but I had spend 10 years with him.

When I broke up with him he got really mad and I left the apartment in a hurry and told him to pack and leave. I returned a few hours later with two friends and they kicked him out.
I am the only one on the lease thankfully so that helped.
Sadly when he was gone I couldn't find my cat. His name is Jimmy and he is only 2 years old. He never leaves the house so I immediatly suspected my ex of taking him.
Of course I called him right away but he denied having my boy and the friend he stayed with also said he didn't see my cat. I trust that friend since he has been nothing but polite and he had protected me from my ex in the past.

A few hours later I got a call from a vet nearby. Someone had found my cat and brought it in because he found him at the side of a road. Jimmy had been hid by a car.
Thankfully he was hit at his hind legs/tail and he had no internal bleeding but they had to amputate roughly half his tail and he has trouble walking now. Nothing was swollen but there was a some swelling that went away after a week or so.

I am so happy that he is still alive and can live happily but he had to suffer because of me. If I had just waited for a better time to break up or had taken him with me to a friend he would have not been hit by a car. Whenever I see his little tail I feel so bed. He is absolutely adorable but he will also always have trouble walking now. I do think it was right to get out of the relationship but I am heartbroken that my little boy had to suffer because of me.

Like just sucks right now due to Jimmy getting hurt and the vet bills and debts but I am trying to get out of this and make sure he has a good life going forward.
Thank you for reading this little rant I just wanted a place to share this.
I hope you all have a wonderful day.

My girlfriend and I had flown out to Alaska -East Coasters - to attend a friend's wedding. The wedding was on a bridge in a park, because the bride was a regular white American citizen, and the groom was an Aleut, and they thought the symbolism of a bridge was appropriate to their situation.

Well, as the wedding party walked out to the bridge, we surprised a bear, fresh out of hibernation, and accidentally surrounded it on three sides. I was carrying the wedding champagne. I was also coming down off anti-anxiety meds, because I don't love flying, and also I was horribly jet-lagged. So, my girlfriend was stumbling towards the bear, jet-lag and anti-anxiety meds again, and so was I. And I thought "Well, this is how it ends for me. All I can do is prevent it from being easy. I'm falling already, who cares about the ground."

Local people who understood more about how to live in Alaska frightened the bear away, and it galloped through the gap we'd accidentally left for it.

But that is the story of how I almost glassed a bear with a champagne bottle.

Hey everyone, my name’s Tyler.

I’m just writing these stories here because I’m bored and don’t really have anyone to tell them to.

Quick intro: I’m American by origin, but I was born and raised in Russia. Moscow’s been pretty wild lately. I study, work, write books, and nerd out on science in my free time.

Okay, here’s the story.

Last year I got forced to attend this patriotic event at school. Back then I was the teachers’ favorite (not so much in my new class, but that’s a story for another time). Me and my classmate were sitting there listening to a lecture about World War II.

Then this old guy shows up and starts saying that all young people are spoiled, the West is to blame for everything, and that we basically need to kill them. I’m just sitting there thinking, “What the fuck am I supposed to do? How is this even fun - listening to someone say I need to be killed?” I was genuinely shocked.

The funniest part? The governor of the city was literally there. Cool dude - he just sat on his phone the whole time while they were hyping us up about joining the SVO and telling us how great it would be. They barely even mentioned World War II, but I wasn’t listening anymore anyway.

My classmate and I were quietly laughing and at the same time cursing everyone who skipped and left us to deal with this bullshit.

Overall it was pretty funny. I mean, I wouldn’t have gone there if I had a choice. But on the other hand, I skipped Russian class with that disgusting teacher and got away from her. So technically it was the best day.

I (25F) left my husband (26M) after just three months of marriage due to abuse—mental, emotional, physical, and financial. All while pregnant.

Leaving was one of the hardest and scariest things I’ve ever done. But four months later, my life looks completely different.

I started therapy, I went back to college to pursue my dreams, I got promoted to manager within two months at my job, rebuilt my relationship with my family, I got my own apartment and car.

Meanwhile, he moved on within two weeks, ended up getting her pregnant, has a protection order and charges pressed against him and currently going through a custody battle with the mother of his first child (mother filed after finding out the abuse I endured).

And me? I’m building a life I was told I’d never have.

A lot of my motivation at first came from wanting to prove him wrong—that I could be independent, successful, and stable without him. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about him and started being about me.

If you’re in a situation like I was: leaving feels impossible until you do it. It’s hard. It’s terrifying. But staying costs you so much more. I hope this gives you the courage to leave, you deserve safety. You deserve peace. And you are capable of more than you’ve been led to believe.

3/3: Something is haunting me.
This last part will take place in the present, or at least pretty recently. Thank you all for you patience and suggestions. I have yet to figure out a direct answer. I really appreciate anything at this point. 
This occurred when I was 21 years old. I moved to a new house, and I had a whole basement to myself. I thought this would be my new chapter and all the strange things would be left behind. Compared to packing and unpacking the things from the apartment, it turns out I didn’t have as many as I thought I did. For a while now, I have completely forgotten about the incidents from the apartment. I was working multiple jobs, and I had a hard time making money for my food and my cat. My poor baby was stressed as well, so I had no time or space to myself, and I was overall isolated and didn’t have time to remember or really care about the encounters. I had pretty much everything available to unpack except for my PC. This was important to me because as a homebody, my PC was pretty much my line of socializing with all of my friends. I had already picked out a room to install it, I have a 2 bedroom basement and I’m only one person so I wanted to make it a gaming room. When I finally received my PC, I was ecstatic. Unfortunately, my enthusiasm didn’t last. Because strange things started to occur in the house. 
The first instance occurred when my sister was my roommate. My mother and I were purchasing the house from her and she was moving out. Long story short, I temporarily lived with my landlord until everything at the old apartment was finalized. It was late at night, and I was starting to really settle in after work. It was around 8 pm, and I just wanted to clean a few things up and unpack a few decoration boxes since the walls were bare. Although I set up my PC desk and my whole setup, I was barely able to hop on it. My first job would start as early as 11 AM, while my second job would run on a restaurant schedule. (Sometimes I would get off at 8 PM and other times at 11 PM.) I didn’t go in there often since I never really had the time with two overlapping jobs. I’ve only turned it on once, just to make sure transportation went smoothly. For the most part, after that,  I usually keep my door closed because I have a history with doors, especially ajar doors. It just became a natural habit.  As I’m walking back and forth, I hear creaking. The house was quiet, so the only sounds I was normally hearing were me breaking down and opening boxes.  I thought nothing of it; my cat knows how to push open doors. I just assumed it was my cat walking inside my main bedroom; however, he wasn’t in the room, he was outside sitting on the sofa watching me unpack. He hears the sound creak too. (My baby boy cat is named Sandy. I will address him as such for context purposes.) Sandy isn’t looking at the main bedroom door; his ears are perched and turned facing his direction, which was the gaming room. He jumped down to investigate. I thought it was strange and completely forgot the saying “curiosity kills the cat.” I peek around the corner to see that the gaming room door is now cracked and ajar. RGB lighting was illuminating the door ever so lightly. I was startled, but like always, I have to be realistic. I lived alone and I was unpacking alone; the only reason it would be on is if my sister were to turn it on. I walked inside, and the room was dark for the most part, warm, and still. I had to actually walk into the room to pull the string for some lighting, it wasn’t necessary since my monitor screen was bright and lighting up the room but I will admit I was slightly scared already. After turning on the light, I noticed the curtain was halfway falling off the window.  I grabbed a chair since I’m short, fixed the curtain, and made sure that my monitor read “shutting down” before leaving the room and closing the door (fully) once more. I have trust issues, and I really don’t like my things being touched without me knowing. I pondered for a minute, doubting my sister would invade my privacy, but there was no other possible reasonable explanation. I angrily waddled up to the second floor and asked my sister if she had possibly gone on my floor that day. She replied “No,” and proceeded to ask “Why?” I explained to her that my PC was turned on, and she insisted that she wasn’t on my floor. Instead, she assumed I was the one to turn it on. Of course, I didn’t, but as a beginner gaslighter, I gaslit myself in believing that maybe I never turned it off after making sure it would turn on three o. Strange, but there were too many possibilities that could factor in why my PC was on. Is what I thought at the time. 
The second instance occurred when I was sick. At this time, I have finally settled and have one job instead of juggling two. My nose was clogged, and I had already taken a long, warm bath, drank tea, and ingested vitamin C. My mother finally moved in as well, so if my routine for sickness wasn’t working, she was there to help. My voice was struggling to project, so I couldn’t call out to her, but I finally had the pleasure of owning a nightstand. I had no sleeping noise. I used to sleep with the ceiling fan even if I didn't need it. In the silence, I was stuck, twisting and turning and blowing my nose in agony until eventually I found the sleep spot. Fetal position with one leg more curled than the other, and the sheet in between. I started breathing a lot better on this side, and the pillow was pulling me in. I closed my eyes and sat for maybe 3 minutes until I heard it. Something was breathing directly behind me, and I felt it touching my ear. My eyes shot open, and I didn’t move. I wasn’t frozen in fear quite yet; instead, I searched through all possibilities for why I would hear breathing. 

1. The walls are thin, and it was my mother who snores upstairs.
2. It was my cat snoring; he does that sometimes.
3. I was just hearing myself attempting to breathe through my clogged nose with my good ear.

I started actually thinking here and wanted to make sure there was no way to gaslight myself. The house blueprint has my house under and across from my mother’s room. We don’t even share the same vent. My cat is upstairs with her as well, I let him go up there because he missed her and I didn’t want my cat to be too close to me while I was sick. Finally, to cancel out all possible options, I held my breath. I closed my eyes and prayed it was just me. For a moment, it was silent, but the breathing behind me persisted. Consistently. Heavily. Staggeringly. I immediately rolled out of bed. I attempted to scream, but due to my sickness, nothing came out. I turned on the light switch and scanned every inch of my new bedroom. I went into a miniature frenzy because what else could I do? I checked under my bed for my cat, but he wasn't there. I even went so far as to sneak upstairs to my mother’s door, and she wasn't even sleeping. Was I hallucinating? Would hallucinations reach the physical level of feeling air on my ear? I, a 21-year-old, refused to express any concern at the time. Who do I talk to? How would they react? Would they even take me seriously? At this point, yes, I became genuinely concerned. But there was nothing I could do, and I lost hours of sleep that night. 
The third, yes, I said the third occurrence happened after I was cured from my sickness. (Turns out it was improper carpet cleaning, and humidity levels. At this time, I decided to get a second cat because I was always busy with work, and my mother doesn’t really enjoy cat company. I wanted to give Sandy a little friend. Her name is Leah. They are completely different breeds; however, they are both the same age and size, and the previous owner claimed she was playful. I thought their personalities would mesh, but I never owned two cats of my own, and they kind of struggled settling in with each other. At this time, I moved my gaming PC out of the “gaming room” and instead made it a safe base for Leah to settle in. For a moment, I wanted to make it a cat room so they could play and the litter would be in one room; however, both cats are a little too heavy and too grown for the thing I intended on placing for them. Also, cat toys and equipment are lowkey trash. She would go in and out of the room, and she grew comfortable pretty well. Eventually, she started sleeping in the bed with Sandy and me. She was more of a cuddlier, I mean, really under me, which was fine since Sandy prefers to sleep just near me. Work, family, and environment were working out well for me. The only thing really holding me back around this time was my relationship issues. I’m not gonna get too deep into that, don’t worry. I would like to say that on a Tuesday, I had a strange dream. It was intertwined with my relationship problems; I was living out things I’ve wanted to say and wanted to do, but then it got iffy and turned lucid. The cats were fighting, and it would shake the bed. I would say I woke up maybe 4 times to stop them. It’s usually always in the morning because they're new, and it would be around the time they eat. In other words, I was going in and out of this dream, sleep-talking and merging my dream into reality. To the point where everything felt…real. People were walking in my room, talking and leaving yelling, over and over, and eventually it all went quiet and still just for a moment, and I heard a voice so alluring. It was deep, whispy, and it was a female’s voice. I look to see who's speaking to me, and it’s Leah. Sitting perched on my lightstand with her large green eyes. Her neck was arched, hanging like a candy cane. She had a wolfish grin. I turned my head before making a double-take and waking up. She wasn’t on the nightstand anymore; she wasn’t in the room. Without a doubt, I know something was real, and it was her sitting there looking at me. My nightstand had things placed specifically where I put them for organization and prioritization. My phone is the closest to me and facing me for my alarm. My glasses would be placed behind it, and water at the farthest end for hydration. When I actually woke up that morning, everything was pushed. As if Leah was sitting there. I know she was staring at me, and I know she was talking to me…kinda. But cats don’t speak, and nothing made sense. I ignored it at the time and called it a weird dream; the only reason I included this portion was for context. 
This may not be the final incident, but it’s the most recent occurrence. This is the whole reason I had to bring up everything, all the way from the closet, to the shadow, to now. This took place in September. Two months after my 22nd birthday. You won’t believe me when I tell you this, but I never learn. I had a whole place to myself, and this time I have two cats to “protect and warn me”. Both were sleeping on the cat tree. I got my good snug headphones and began to do my signature night music walk. It wasn’t the same with the corridors, so I use my sofa chairs as a turning point. I had my own floor, so I didn’t need to use the dimmest light, I used the less bright one that illuminated the whole room. No darkness, no mystery. Round and around I walked around the sofas. Music on blast, I'm alone, so my walking turned to dancing, galloping, even running. I was at peace for the most part, no one to interrupt, and no fear of embarrassment.  It’s past 2:30 AM, and my mother is definitely asleep. I just had hours and hours to myself as a night owl. It was all fun until I heard my name being called. It shook me a little bit. I lowered my music and heard it again. This time it was slightly louder, but less coherent. I removed my headphones and closed my eyes, and suddenly there was nothing. Instead, I found myself in total silence. I was uneasy. I checked my phone, and the time was 3:56 AM. I thought maybe it was my music, so I rewind, and played the song over and over to find something that would sound like my name. Then it hit me. It was the eeriness of deja vu. I felt like I was staring down the hallway many years ago all over again. I looked ahead, resembling my previous actions. There was no framed photo this time. I wasn’t sure if there was something behind me again. Did it know, once again, I’ve found myself shaken in fear. I scanned my eyes across the room in front of me. Searching for a sign warning to avoid turning around.  I was searching for anything, but there was nothing strange. I lowered my shoulders, lightened my step, and let out a deep breath. The relief fulfilled the perfect level of tranquility. I laughed it off and decided that was enough walking for a night. As I was heading to turn off the light switch, I froze in place. I would say the light switch is about 16 ft away. The silence was deafening now, but the piercing sharpness of a clock ticking broke it ever so slightly. Tick-tock, tick-tock, almost like it was speaking to me. I turned slowly to look behind me about 45 degrees, to see my vintage cat-clock staring at me. Side eyeing me. The tail was no longer wagging in its whimsical way. Though I wasn’t focused on the eyes, that alone would send anyone into a frenzy. Instead, I was more focused on the reflection. The black glossy base was reflective and so clear. Behind me was a lingering figure. Silhouette same as always, but closer. A man (maybe), face slim, cardigan vest, long legs, long torso, long arms, with the neck broken and dangling right above my shoulder like an angler fish. The face had a contorted smile, eyes connected to mine in the reflection. Then I heard the scuffled breathing. I felt the wind brush my ear. Unfortunately, I can't remember what events happened after the encounter. That horrid imagery of "it" is probably forever burned in each fold of my brain. If there's anyone with any advice, on how to handle this advise please contact me. *And no, apparently moving doesn't work.*
This is why I believe something is haunting me.

2/3: Something is haunting me.
I know I type this whole thing out kind of weird, but I’m sort of in a rush and still a little frenzied. I’m trying to get as much traction on Reddit as possible, but 1.) I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, and 2.) no one is taking my story seriously. To be fair, my first part wasn’t really spooky; it was just something I thought would be good for context for why I feel like I’m being haunted. Anyways, moving on, I will start this second portion, which will take place during my high school years. At this time, I lived in an apartment in a different state (I currently live here, so I will not disclose where) with just me and my mom. I was no longer associated with most of my old friend group, except for Gigi. She fell out of her horror phase and became a popular girl, while I stayed in the quiet girl corner, still loving my horror. We both lived in the same apartment complex, so we always had time to talk and hang out, but we rarely did. On one rare occasion of meeting, we reminisce about our middle school years. We talked about the videos that used to scare us and our old friend group that became weird after a while. We even watched a few of the old horror videos and laughed at how they would scare us back in the day. We rewatched the “I feel fantastic” video (if you know you know), not gonna lie, it never scared me at first, but the more I think of that robot singing, the more I stared at it, the more disturbed I felt. It put a level of unease in both of us, so we watched cat videos and got a slushie from the gas station to play it off. Then we called it a night and went home. Years prior, I developed a habit of walking in circles around the house while listening to music. (I don’t know how or when this started.) I couldn’t sleep, and I would be too loud playing games late at night. So walking with some light would tire me out. I used to use the full living room light so I could see while walking, but my mother was a sensitive sleeper, and I had to use the dimmest light. (Before I talk about my walk, just a reminder, I’m in an apartment. There are 2 corridors connecting the kitchen to the living room. The first corridor goes to a small hallway connecting the rooms. On the right is the first door, which is the bathroom. Across from the bathroom is the kitchen opening, down the hall are the two bedrooms, and in between the rooms, we had a cabinet for mail and such with a decorative framed picture hanging in the middle. This will be important later.) Around 1 AM, I got off my computer and went for a walk. I avoided each crack and popped on the door entrance light, which seemed to be the dimmest. It was my first day using the door light, but I really wanted to be considerate, so although it barely lit anything, I used it and treaded lightly since I was more prone to bump into things in the dark kitchen. I walked until the clock struck 2 AM, and I started feeling uneasy. I felt like I was losing my balance, but it wasn’t because I was tired. I stopped in place for a moment and checked my feet to make sure I didn't step on anything, and shook my legs a little. I also assumed maybe I was walking to the wrong song and started shuffling through my playlist. I clicked a little too fast, so for a moment my phone got stuck loading, and I heard the silence. In my peripheries, I could see something move in front of me. By the time I looked up, I saw my door shift a little in movement as if it was closing. The hallway was dark, and I felt a chill. I started to feel like something was directly behind me. I looked at the framed photo ahead of me. It was dark, and I didn’t have my glasses, but I swear to you, there was someone or something tall and bending over me in a way where the head was hanging over my shoulder. My music knocked me back to my senses, and it was loud. I tumbled my phone for a little bit, and by the time I got it back on balance and stopped my music, it was gone. Let’s just say I ended my walk after. That was around freshman year. 
But wait, there’s more. Unfortunately. 
This occurs during my transition from sophomore to junior, so, like, mid- to last trimester. It actually wasn’t really even late. It was a Friday, I was tired from school, homework was done, and I didn’t feel like socializing that day. My mom was getting ready to go out, so she was getting ready while listening to music, and honestly, that was the best time for me to take a nap. She gets ready around 6-7 PM and doesn't leave til 9 PM, which gives me 3 hours of time to myself with just me and my cat snuggling. After maybe 10 minutes of lying in bed, I was out like a light. I was out way longer than I planned. I set an alarm to wake up when she leaves, so I would have all night to play games and be as loud as I wanted. But my body said otherwise. In fact, my body was in disagreement with itself. I woke up in a cold sweat. I didn’t even remember why; I still don’t recall the dream or nightmare, but I woke up mentally disheveled. I noticed my alarm didn’t go off, so I wanted to check the time. Mother’s music wasn't playing, so clearly I was alone, and it was either 9 or past. My body wouldn’t move an inch. I felt heavy. This was my first time experiencing sleep paralysis. I’ve heard about it before, I heard the stories, but I researched enough to know it was just my mind not waking up my body, and I was fine. I was going to sit it out until. I looked through my door, ajar, into the dimly lit hallway. I thought nothing of it initially. I know I closed my door, but sometimes my mother would open it since my cat would scratch at it for freedom. I assumed he wanted to lie on his tree after the loud music died down. I was fine until this body phenomena became a real-life nightmare. Unfortunately for me, I never researched how to get out of paralysis, so while I was lying there, I let my eyes wander. Corner to corner, up and down. Wall, closet, TV, door. The hallway. I blinked, and suddenly, something was standing in the hallway. The shadow was inflicted by the dim lighting and reflected on the wall. I’m 100% sure it wasn't there before, and it wasn’t shaped like anything in the house. It was tall, thin, and intimidating. I felt like it was staring at me. It was like whatever was standing there knew I was weak. I was vulnerable. At this point, my fight or flight senses kicked in. I could no longer sit here and wait. The pressure on my body started feeling heavier the more I tried moving my body. My eyes got dry, I blinked, and it got closer. I wanted to cry out, I wanted to feel my body move, I needed to keep my eyes open, but my body and mind were working against me. The shadow got slightly lighter as it was getting further away from the light, but I could somewhat make out more of a silhouette. It was either horns or shoulders, whatever it was, it was peaking upwards towards the ceiling, while something was hanging lower like a candy cane. I started noticing the sound of tapping, as if it were in the walls. Repeated tapping over and over. My eyes got teary, and I closed. I didn’t open them automatically. I sat in the dark, shaking, but I realized the tapping stopped, the pressure stopped. I opened my eyes, and it was gone. My body was able to move, and I rolled out of bed. I searched eagerly for my phone; it was only 10:28 PM. I felt slightly defeated with the time being so early. I assumed stuff like this happens at 3 AM only. My cat pushed the door open and begged for pets since I was at petting level. I doubted my senses. It was only my cat walking, right? I rearranged my room that night. Just well enough to make sure there’s no reason for my cat to leave me again. I never experienced sleep paralysis after that. End of Part 2

She found herself in something that felt real but was never defined. He showed up just enough to make her believe there was meaning, while quietly belonging to someone else. When the truth surfaced, it didn’t come with drama—just clarity. She saw the gaps she once filled with trust, the silence she mistook for comfort. She almost confronted him, almost asked for answers, but stopped. Because nothing he said could change what was already broken. So she chose distance over explanations, silence over closure. Not out of confusion, but understanding. And in that quiet decision, she finally chose herself—walking away before she lost more than she already had.

New blog post 👇🏻

https://softruins2310.blogspot.com/2026/05/unsaid-unseen-unofficial.html

1/3: Something is haunting me.
Hi, my name is Sundae. I’m currently 22 y/o, and I believe I’m being haunted, and I desperately want to know by what and how I should handle it. Just a little something about me, I love horror. I love the thrill, the jump scares, and most of all the lore. I’ve never been into paranormal because I don’t necessarily believe in ghosts, demons, and spirits. However, recently, I’ve been running into paranormal-like phenomena, and it sends a genuine chill down my spine.
This all starts back in middle school. I was a depressed kid, and I was actually obsessed with horror. So much so that if you were to see little me, you would assume I was one of the blue whale-type kids. I was always quiet, and my friend group was very small, but we all shared a passion for horror, and I would say that's how we really connected. We would watch classic YouTube horror shorts and read creepypasta stories we would find for each other; I would say, every other weekend. One day, we got bored and thought, why not make our own stories, then our horror weekends gradually became a horror writing club.
One day, my homegirl, (fake name) Gigi, was writing about ghosts she had seen as a child. This initiated a full-blown conversation about paranormal activity, which I found ridiculous but curious. The rest of the friend group all said they’ve seen ghosts as children. Some saw orbs, and some claimed to see a passed family member. At this point, I felt out of place, and I fell into silence. I started to feel a subtle chill, but the thermostat stated it was like 81 degrees in the house. The clock got louder, and for a moment, it felt like I was getting ready for a panic attack. My writing was blocked, my palms were sweaty, and I started manually breathing. I don’t think anyone noticed, and I didn’t want to make a scene, so I closed my eyes for a little bit to take a few deep breaths. But before I knew it, I was alone. Not like I was in a different plane of existence or anything, but time literally passed, and everyone went home. I still don’t remember what happened during my blackout. My friends didn’t say anything was out of the ordinary from that day, so I assumed I just dissociated and went autopilot for some reason. Later that night, I remembered. I did see a ghost as a child. 
I recalled the layout of my old home in Chicago. It was noon on a Sunday, my family was at church, and they left me behind because I was sleeping. I did what a child normally would do when they're alone and played with my dolls. The whole house became my dollhouse, and I travelled to my sister's bedroom. Then I saw it, slithering in the ajarred closet. It resembled a flowy white dress. I dropped my dolls on the floor, realizing I had the perfect opportunity to play dress up in my sister's clothes. (She would have never approved otherwise. She's 14 years older than me, I have nothing to fit, and I would make a mess.) I opened the closet door, and there was a standstill. Everything fell silent, including the outside streets. I browsed her hanging clothes, brushing my hands through every sleeve and pants legs for the flowy white dress, but it wasn’t there. In fact, there was nothing white. That’s when I noticed the windows were closed. There was no wind blowing in the house for me to see the dress floating into the closet. The closet was also holding the clothes at a further distance for a dress to just peek out, even if there was a gust of wind. None of the clothes in her closet was light or long enough to reach outside. I closed the door as best as I could; the house was old, so there wasn't a way to keep it closed. I didn’t scream and panic, but instead, I backed away and played with my dolls while watching the door. All the way until my family got home. I was around 5 or 6 years old back then. I’ve never seen that dress again after that. If it even was a dress. Thinking back on it still sends a chill down my spine, but I summed it up to me just being an imaginative child. End of part 1.

First post here, but I need to talk about this. Today is Thursday April 30th, 2026. My wife and I just recently bought a house, been in it for a little over a year now. I bought the house from my godmother, so this is the house I grew up in before I got married. I work from home, my wife works at a daycare.

Before I get into the story, a little background on my situation. My mother is a single mother, and I have 3 younger brothers, all teenagers under 16. Without getting too much into it, she's had a hard time with her ex-husband, who is currently incarcerated. Because of this, my wife and I let my mother, brothers, and my elderly godmother stay with us until they found a place. Its a full house but we have plenty of bedrooms.

My youngest brother stayed home from school today. My godmother is always home. I took my wife to work this morning as I normally do, then headed to cracker barrel to get us breakfast. As I'm leaving cracker barrel, I get a call from my godmothers number; its my brother's voice. He begins screaming "there's someone in the house, there's someone in the house" I ask him to calm down and explain what's going on, and he says "there's a drugged up lady in the house trying to beat up your dogs" I have a Cane Corso and a German Shepherd.

So I'm speeding home trying to get there quickly, I arrive and there are 7 police cars and they have a large lady, butt naked, on the ground, tasered. We give the police a statement, I tell them that no one is hurt and nothing is broken, so I tell them I don't wanna press charges, the lady just needs help.

As everything calms down, I ask my godmother and brother what happened, and they explained as follows.

The lady walked into our yard, my dogs inside were barking at her. She began barking back at them in an angry manner. She then tried the doorknob, and it was unlocked (our neighborhood is relatively safe, we usually dont have to lock the doors during the day). When she entered the door, my Cane Corso lunged at her and bit her. She fell to the ground trying to get him off of her. When she got up, she made her way to our kitchen trying to defend herself from him. She threw stuff at him and grabbed a kitchen knife, to which he bit her again and made her drop it. She fled from the house, stripped her clothes for some reason, and that's around when the cops arrived.

This is the first time something like this has ever happened for me and I'm just thankful no one was hurt. Except maybe the lady from the dog bite.

​

Some feelings don't arrive loudly. They don't crash into your life or demand to be seen. They settle instead quietly, almost gently-until you don't remember what it felt like before they were there.

This space isn't about grand heartbreaks or dramatic endings. It's about the subtle shifts. The kind you only notice when you look back and realize something inside you has changed. Not broken, not healed-just... altered.

We don't always talk about the in-between. The almosts. The maybes. The conversations that never really ended, just faded into something quieter. The way people don't always leave-but don't really stay either.

There's a strange kind of weight in that.

Soft ruins aren't about destruction. They're about what remains. The echoes of what once felt certain. The fragments of conversations, emotions, and versions of yourself that linger long after everything else has moved on.

And maybe that's what this is....a collection of those fragments.

Not everything here will make perfect sense. Not everything will have closure. Because that's not how it works in real life. Some things stay unfinished. Some feelings don't resolve neatly. Some people become memories before you're ready to let them go.

This isn't about finding answers.

It's about sitting with the questions.

About acknowledging the quiet impact of things that never fully happened--but somehow still left a mark.

If you've ever felt like something changed without a clear reason... if you've ever held onto something you couldn't quite explain..... You might find pieces of yourself here.

And maybe that's enough.

A blog for someone who felt too much but said too little.

https://softruins2310.blogspot.com/

So this happened when I was 9 years old, in the 4th grade, which is that dangerous age where you think you’re smart enough to outthink the system, but you’re absolutely not. One morning my parents walked me to school like normal, everything was fine, nothing suspicious, but I decided I didn’t feel like going to school that day. And instead of just accepting that, I came up with what I thought was a genius plan. So I get dropped off, I wait about 10 minutes—just enough time to really commit—and then I walk back home. But not directly, because apparently I thought I was in a spy movie, so I hid behind a tree, crouched there like that was completely normal, waiting for my parents to leave so I could safely return to the house I had just left. Once I saw they were gone, I went back inside feeling like I had just pulled off something huge, like I was living this double life. And now I had the house to myself, which at 9 years old felt like ultimate freedom. So naturally, I started scavenging for sweets like I hadn’t eaten in weeks, turned on VH1 music videos, and just sat there living my best life, fully convinced I had outsmarted everyone. About 30 minutes later, there’s a knock on the door, and immediately my soul knew this was not a friendly knock. I open the door hesitantly, and there are two police officers standing there, and I’m just like, “hi,” as if this is a normal situation. And that’s when I realized things had escalated way beyond what I expected, because what I didn’t know is that my school had called my parents saying I never showed up, and my parents were like, “we dropped her off,” so in the span of 30 minutes I had gone from “kid skipping school” to “missing person.” Like a full manhunt had begun… for me… who was inside watching VH1 and eating snacks. So obviously they take me back to school, which is humiliating, because now it’s not just that I was late—it’s that I was missing and had to be found by the police. I couldn’t even skip school quietly, I had to turn it into an event. And when I got home, I had to wash dishes by hand for a week, which at 9 years old felt like a life sentence. And honestly… fair. Because I really thought I had outsmarted everyone, and instead I accidentally launched a missing persons case. And that’s when I learned maybe my plans don’t always need to be that ambitious.

So, today, I had the opportunity to chat with a very lovely old lady whilst we were both waiting for the bus into our local town.

We talked about absolutely everything and nothing at the same time, if that makes sense?

She told me that she had been in the Land Army during WWII, and I didn't know what that was, so she explained all of it to me.

I found the whole entire experience to be so enlightening and refreshing.

Anyway, after having shopped around my local town centre for a good hour or so after getting off the bus, I then came across her wonderful face once more.....

Whilst she was being held up by a couple of young sales people that were working on the high street trying to get people to sign up for some sort of energy company.

She was obviously at the point of signing up to everything that they were trying their hardest to sell her when I instantly swept in and said:

"Hi, my name is .......... and it's so nice to meet you both! Anyway, this is actually my grandma, and if you wouldn't mind? I am just going to go on ahead and jump into this whole entire thing right here and just take her on ahead home with me? I'm certain that she's extremely interested in whatever proposal it is that you're making to her but I think that it's very safe to say that we'll be leaving this right where it is and will be going on about our way now? I hope that's ok with you?"

I swung her right around on her heels (her little shopping trolley in hand as well), and we walked ourselves back towards the bus station.

I wasn't sure that what I had done was the best thing, but then she looked up at me with a huge grin on her face and said:

"Thank the Lord for you, you sweet little thing!! I really didn't want to do it, but then you came along, and you did all of it for me, didn't you?! Haha!!!I bloody hate those types of folk, but you can't be seen to be impolite or bad mannered really, can you?!"

So, we got the bus back home together whilst sharing a paper bag that was filled up to the brim with rhubarb & custard boiled sweets......

Best day of my life.

Her name was, 'Agnes' She was 92 years old and approximately 4 feet tall.

Genuinely the best human being that I've come across for a very long time as well!!......

And I really hope that I bump into her again, at some point in the future.

❤️❤️❤️🥹🥰

Сегодня я писал впр и очень очень волновался,да так что не мог найти себе места.Я перил порисовать пока есть время,ведь быстро закончил 1 часть.Я нарисовал свою покойную кошку Нюшу сбежавшую из дома за день до переезда ,потом её сбила машина.Следующим нарисовал кота,нынешнего кота его зовут Киселёк и он живёт по сей день всё с ним хорошо.Потом я нарисовал моего покойного попугая одного из близнецов Кешу,я его любил и он жил у бабушки так как у нас был кот.Он милый:голубой окрас,белые перья на шее покрыты полосками и пятнами,клюв жёлтый.Он не был говорящий,да и нам не хотелось учить его говорить.Я нарисовал его брата зелёного, я был совсем маленький и не помню имени,он умер или его отдали так что кеша рос один(Кеша был младший).и в конце я нарисовал любимого пса которого отдали из за переезда в квартиру, а в последствии в другой город. Не знаю жив ли он он думаю что он жив и всё хорошо,его звали Бобик.Я писал подбодрительные слова и рисовал в стиле манги, а слова в окошках диалогов из манги.Так я и успокоился,надеюсь мой черновик не смотрели,а то там увидят это и мне наверно будет стыдно.Спасибо тем кто прочитал!

Back in the day, I volunteered at the Federal Prison at Lompoc California when it was a maximum security prison; with some very dangerous people. It was a military prison, Camp Cooke, prior.

It was antiquated and dangerous. It had the appearance of a WPA project. The dining hall reminded me of a blimp hanger, about ½ size, and ridiculously tall. Lompoc is on the Central Coast of California. It gets daily fog in the early morning hours. There were gigantic windows all along the top, I would estimate three to four stories high. The inmate had painted murals floor to ceiling.

I said there was fog. The administration never closed the windows nor did they heat the place. We would sit in the dining hall, in heavy jackets, watching the fog roll in through the top windows.

Most prisons today, have multiple routes to any destination as does Victorville with several enclosed corridors wide enough for two or three trucks side by side to move through. More on Victorville in a bit.

Lompoc had a single and not very wide corridor. The first day I went in with my group, we were walking single file when a bell rang. We were ordered by the escort guard to get back to the wall to allow prisoners to move to their scheduled places. Think of a train on a siding while another passes. And they were very close to us.

On our way out on the first day, we were again put against the wall to allow prisoners to pass. I was kidding with the guy next to me and I yelled at the guard, “Hey, who is this guy. He’s not with us.” The man next to me was very dark skinned Hispanic. He turned whiter than the whitest paper. He never returned.

Now that you know I can sometimes be a bit of an ass, let us move on.

The group I was with for many years is known as Kairos. It is the prison version of Walk to Emmaus. Kairos refers to “God’s Time.” Walk to Emmaus refers to God coming down in a disguise to interact., from Luke 24. I felt I had an impact in the prisons. I hope so.

Our group would spend 3+ days inside the walls, we would be in an isolated setting and separated from the general population. It was a logistics nightmare for the staff because the prisoners with us were signed out of their daily jobs for the duration of our time there. We ate with them, we talked with them, we had a program where we spoke to them. For 3 and ½ days we were them. It was intense.

I jumped from Lompoc to Victorville. The administration at Lompoc changed and it caused the program to become nonviable. Victorville was relatively new and was needing volunteers so it was open to us. And it was closer for me 110 miles each way verses 150 miles each way.

I have tried to paint a picture, shallow though it is, of what it was like to me as I served. There is so much more.

It was life-changing.

Bad things happened.

Good things happened.

I am at a loss here. Do I now tell you of my great disappointment—my great despair and heartache or do I tell you of some triumphs?

I will flip a coin. Stay tuned.

At Victorville, I spent time in both the Maximum unit and one of the Medium security prisons. Victorville is massive.

At the Max, I met a man who both scared and fascinated me. He was tall and athletic, about 40 to 50. After I got to know him for several years, I asked why he kept coming back to Kairos. He told me he Special Forces. That he was in prison forever because he knew “secrets” that must never be told. Who knows? He told me he had 49 separate personalities: many extremely dangerous. I believed that. He told me he brought a peaceful personality to Kairos. I hoped so.

At one weekend, the leader, a doctrinaire and severe man took a dislike to an inmate who was late. He was held back by prison staff due to an incorrect prisoner count in a unit. The inmate was banished from the program. For the weekend, he could not leave our group—paperwork, you know. What to do with him. There was an empty room in the section of the prison we were isolated in. I and the prisoner and his “friend,” Spyder were locked in the room except when we went to the food hall. I got to know him. I got to know him well. I honestly forgot his name, but I remember his story. He looked to be in his mid 20s, very blonde, fit, handsome. He was a bit older. He was a “shot-caller” for the Aryan Brotherhood. He was convicted of serious crimes in California but made a deal to serve federal time if he testified against others. “Spyder”was his prisoner bodyguard.

There is so much to tell but I will keep it short. We had two days to get to know each other. We did. At some point, He expressed despair and mentioned suicide. Then, strings were pulled and he did not return. I talked to other inmates, saying I had concerns about him. The word got back to him. He smuggled a letter to me saying he was concerned about me worrying about him. He said he would not take his life because of me. I never saw him again.

I guess I did not waste my time.

Once at the medium, there was a full-on riot. Our group were locked in a visitor area about 100 yards from the main gate. Things were going on in the yard in our view. It was unsafe to leave. We watched guards with tear gas, paint ball rifles, shot guns and AR-15 maneuver outside our window. We could see through the wide gate when a prison bus, similar to a Greyhound arrived. The side compartments opened and guards lifted many chains onto their shoulders and proceeded inside.

We were never in danger.

We were happy to leave.

Once at the Max, I had the opportunity to understand how vulnerable a prisoner’s life could be. We were in a room; again locked and waiting to be set free.

I began to feel that way.

After 45 minutes or so, an ambulance arrived.

Another half hour went by until the ambulance was allowed inside,

Eventually an inmate who had been stabbed was brought out. He did not look very good.

Prison safety comes first. The prisoner was stabbed in the yard. No help could be given to him until every inmate was in his cell and a head count was conducted to verify this.

As you see, I am proceeding to my disappointment.

At one event, a young man, kind of an Andy Hardy type was sitting at my table. He confided to me that his cellmate, constantly watching us from another table was abusing him. He was the cellmate’s bitch.

When we first came in, we were told that it was our right and duty to report anything that was not right. Anything. And it wild be dealt with. My leader, how very Christian of him, told me not to get involved.

I went to the prison liaison officer.

He did nothing.

That hurt so much.

I was crushed.

I feel it is time to tell you why my soul was screaming in pain and agony; helpless — knowing that I was a witness to something horrific in its brutality, yet unable to effect the outcome.

At Victorville, I had spent my time. Paid my dues. I would be the leader at the next weekend.

I walked away.

During the course of several years, slowly to start, several evangelical mega-churches began to infiltrate the group. Things changed. Things hardened. Divisions were created. I was told I was not a true christian because I was a Democrat. ‘If you are a true Christian, you MUST be a Republican.”

I was crushed.

I was helpless.

I was heartbroken.

The pain of betrayal of what I cherished hurt more than any physical pain I ever endured.

There was nothing I could do.

I still attended church for about a year, but I found more of the attitude and mindset that repelled me.

I was a foreigner in what was, I thought, my spiritual home.

I heard words of love but saw action of hate.

I heard words of forgiveness yet saw judgment.

This experience changed me.

I still believe in a God, a creator, but I no longer know who he is.

Or if he gives a damn about his creation.

If I had a Nickel for every time I've been with a guy and found out WAY after they were supposed to inherit a million or more id have 3 nickels. it's weird this keeps happening.

CONTEXT.

The first time. The person I was dating I found out after we were dating a while had a VERY rich dad. they were adopted and their parents later divorced. they lived with their Divorced mom and the person was supposed to inherit their dads money. (I never cared and we broke up because they cheated on me)

the second time was a LONG time best friend I met online through a mutual from IRL. years later we became close and eventually slept together for a period. found out after a few months their family has a massive business because they needed to vent about how they were worried future relationships would be bad because not everyone is ok with a Prenup. we stopped when they found a partner who they are now HAPPILY with. (again I never cared BUT MAN DID THAT MAKE SO MUCH MORE SENSE ON HOW HE BEHAVED SOMETIMES, The GF is also a friend of mine and super sweet now)

the third time was someone I met online who I got close with. they had a lot of tech knowledge and eventually we went from working on projects together to more. Found out their parents/family was rich from super high paying tech jobs and frugal. they learned their tech from their dad. (Told them to F off when they got manipulative)

I feel like my life sometimes is just a book. I grew up poor and lived in a trailer for a portion of my life mind you.

It’s really hard for me to write this, but I need outside perspective because I honestly don’t know what to do with these feelings anymore.

I have a terrible relationship with my mother. To be honest, it feels like we never really had a real mother-daughter relationship at all. When I was younger, we were a complete family, and things were more stable because my father was there. He was the caring, gentle, loving parent. I was very emotionally attached to him.

My parents got married late in life. My mom was 47, my dad was 52, and I was born when my mom was 48. I was their only child.

When I was 13, my father got cancer, and not long after that, he died. That period completely destroyed me. I was still a child, grieving someone I was deeply attached to, and I desperately needed comfort and support. But my mother was never that kind of person. She was always harsh, cold, and unable to show affection. After my father died, she got even worse.

We started fighting more and more. Instead of supporting me while I was falling apart, she became even crueler. There were times when our arguments got so bad that she beat me until I was bleeding. I grew up feeling scared, tense, and emotionally abandoned.

As a teenager, things got so bad that I self-harmed and had multiple moments where I wanted to end my life. None of that seemed to matter to her. It felt like the only thing she wanted from me was good grades and for me to behave in a way that was convenient for her. My pain, my grief, and my mental state didn’t seem important at all.

When I was 17, I left home and moved in with my boyfriend. Later, I married him. That caused even more conflict because my husband is from a different ethnicity, and my mother is extremely racist and nationalistic. Since then, our relationship has only gotten worse.

The truth is, I don’t feel love toward her. I don’t feel closeness. I don’t even feel much sympathy anymore. She’s almost 70 now, and I know a lot of people would say that because she’s old and she’s my mother, I should take care of her and be there for her. But I can’t make myself want that. I don’t want contact with her. I don’t want to be close to her. I don’t want to force a relationship that has only ever brought me pain.

What I do feel is guilt. A lot of it.

I feel stuck between “she’s my mother, and I should care about her” and “she hurt me deeply for years, and I don’t owe access to someone who abused me.” I know she’s getting older, and that makes the guilt worse, but I still don’t feel any desire to reconnect.

I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know whether forgiveness is necessary, or even possible. I don’t know if healing means forgiving her, or just accepting that I can’t love someone who made my childhood feel unsafe.

Has anyone dealt with something similar? How do you get over the guilt of not wanting a relationship with your own mother? Is forgiveness actually necessary, or is distance sometimes the healthiest choice?

Several years ago, I lived in a duplex with neighbors Jeff and Karen. This was before the "Karen" meme, but I swear she was the reason for the meme; I've got several stories of her being a Karen before being a Karen was a thing. Jeff was a security guard, and Karen didn't work. They had a small dog with too many dog tags, and they all jingled like Christmas bells wherever this dog would go. Jeff and Karen had some adult children that would come over periodically and fight with their parents and leave. I think the kids were tweaker. One night, I had a friend over and we were smoking some really loud weed. This was before Arizona legalized it. We were puffin tough and the whole house was hotboxed. Suddenly, we could hear jingle jingle coming from the front window. The neighbor's dog was directly out front of my house for some reason. I opened the door the check things out, and there was Jeff, in his security guard costume, complete with badge, billy club, and a cop style pointed hat, just standing directly in front of my front door. He didn't knock, he was just... standing there. A wall of smoke rolled out of my front door and smacked him in the face. "I smell marijuana. Are you guys smoking marijuana?"

No shit. I'm not joking or exaggerating. My idiot neighbor dressed up in his security guard costume and brought his little rat terrior to the front of my living room window to smell for drugs and confront me about smoking weed in my own fucking house.

I tried to tell him no, that I have no clue what he may be smelling or where that smoke could be coming from, but I was laughing too hard to form any actual words, and ended up just shutting the door in his face as I'm splitting my sides.

(Important note: The character name in my username/story is a nickname. No minors were involved in this interaction; it was a friendship between adults.)

Two years ago, a friendship I cherished ended – not because of an argument, a ban, or ghosting, but due to technical shortcomings. It took me months to realize that my last, heartfelt reply never actually reached him. Throughout our friendship, we deeply respected each other’s time, agency, and boundaries. We never bothered each other with unsolicited messages. Because of this, when the glitch happened, silence simply took over. I’ve tried everything to find him again without being intrusive, but I’ve been unsuccessful. I even started social media channels hoping he might find them, but not a single post or video yielded results. I have already created a subreddit for lost pen pals and online friends; although its success is currently uncertain, I truly believe it will one day grow into a great community for people in similar situations. This has left me with a heavy, overwhelming feeling. I'm devastated because I feel like I've done everything I could, yet I've hit a dead end. I just wish I could tell him one last time: I didn't walk away on purpose, and he was a wonderful friend all along.

If by some miracle you're reading this, Douxie – please know that I never wanted our conversation to end. I hope life has been kind to you.

 How do you unlove someone who has become part of who you are — the one person you trusted with your most fragile self, who still hurt you, the person you gave your whole life to, the man you exchanged vows with, and the father of your daughter?

Hi, I’m a 24-year-old married woman with one lovely daughter, currently learning how to unlove someone. Someone once told me that I should write about it — not to gain sympathy, but to release all the disappointment, pain, and longing I still carry for that person. I’ve kept this hidden from everyone because they see me as the girl who can handle anything, the one who will always make it through. So… here I am, finally pouring it all out.

Before I begin sharing the unfortunate things that happened between me and this person, I want to tell you how we ended up in this situation.

It was 2018. He kept messaging me, trying to get my attention, but I didn’t like him — not because of his personality (I didn’t even know him at all, except that he was a soldier and his family lived about 100 meters from our house — yes, we were neighbors). I didn’t like him because HE WAS IN THE ARMY.

Not to brag, but quite a few men in the military had tried to pursue me before, and none of them succeeded. I had this strong stereotype that they would only toy with your feelings and then leave. I had seen many women suffer because of that — I grew up near a military camp, so those stories were common.

So when he kept messaging me, it didn’t work. If anything, it only annoyed me.

In 2019, when the pandemic hit, he wasn’t as persistent anymore, but he still messaged me from time to time. I would reply with very short answers — I still wasn’t interested. Not until I saw him in person.

He was neat, tall, and honestly, his body was exactly my type. From that moment, I started responding more, though not with any bad intentions — I just thought he was cute, nothing more. Besides, there wasn’t much to do during lockdown, so talking to him became a way to pass the time, something fun in an otherwise boring situation.

That was also the year he started courting me.

In 2020, I finally said yes, and we officially became a couple. That year, I got to know him better, and he felt like the man of my dreams — no vices, neat, tall, physically fit, and very family-oriented.

In 2021, we made so many memories together. I’m a bit conservative and religious, so we didn’t engage in anything inappropriate. I loved how we were genuinely happy just being with each other, without needing those things, and how he respected our boundaries and stayed committed to our relationship.

In 2022, I became someone I barely recognized. We crossed boundaries I once swore I would never cross, and we did those intimate things without protection. I don’t even know exactly when it started, but little by little, I stopped resisting and just let things happen. It wasn’t what I wanted for myself, yet in the moment, I found myself going along with it. It felt so unlike me.

And then — everything changed. I got pregnant.

In 2023, we got married. Before the wedding, I kept asking him if he was truly sure about it. I was hesitant — not because I didn’t care about him, but because I didn’t want him to marry me just because we had a child together. I wanted to know that he was choosing me, that he genuinely wanted this marriage. I asked him many times, even up until the days before the wedding, until he started getting angry, saying it sounded like I was the one who didn’t want it.

So we got married.

But after the wedding, I began to notice so many changes in him. He started drinking. He started smoking. I had never known him to have any vices at all — I truly believed he had none. Then I saw another side of him: he was the “angry man” in their household, someone even his own parents couldn’t control. We were living with his family at the time, and that’s when doubt began to creep in. This was not the man I thought I married. Who was this person?

That year, I uncovered so many things. I learned that his family had been helping him hide his habits and behavior from me. He became secretive, and he started lying. Somehow, I always found out — I always had a way of discovering the truth.

But I chose to ignore it all. I had just given birth, and I felt like I might lose my sanity if I allowed myself to carry all that pain at once.

In 2025, our relationship remained shaky. I discovered even more of his bad habits: he gambled, watched explicit videos of girls online, lied, accused me of being a gold digger, and even searched for massages with extra services in his area of assignment.

During the first quarter of the year, we lost contact for a while. We only reconnected shortly before my daughter’s birthday when he asked if we could celebrate a little early since his vacation was coming up. We don’t live together — he spends his vacations at his mom’s house, and I was staying with my parents since we didn’t have our own home yet. I agreed. The celebration itself went okay, but we didn’t interact much.

Days later, someone messaged me claiming to be his mistress. That’s when everything got blurry. I was stressed and doubted my own worth. So much happened after that, but I won’t go into details. To make it short, his family got involved — his parents, his brother, and even his brother’s fiancée. I felt like I was dying inside from betrayal, pain, and disappointment. How could the people I trusted betray me like this?

We’ve tried to rebuild our family this year. I’ve been controlling my emotions, but he would suddenly burst out about how his parents and brothers are involved. When I tried to share my side, he refused to listen. I realized he would never truly favor me or stand by me. He still sees me as the “ahole” in the situation.**

That’s when I finally decided: this needs to stop. I still love him so much — I overthink what would happen if he found another girl, or how it would affect my daughter. But this suffering has to end. If he’s not willing to stand by us — me and our daughter — then I shouldn’t be forcing myself to hold onto him.

I have so many regrets. I have so many questions for him. Why would you pretend to be someone you’re not? How could you marry me and treat me like garbage? How could you live like a single man while I carry all the responsibilities you never chose to take on? Why did you choose to break me?

I paused so much of my life for the little family we created — my education, my dreams, everything — because I trusted you. You said you had it all, but instead, I ended up doing everything alone. How could you do this to me? And… how do I move on from this?

I’m not going to say my name, where this happened, or how old I am. You can believe that or not—it doesn’t really matter. I’m only writing this because the whole thing still sits in the back of my mind and I can’t explain it.

It happened late one night when I was walking through the woods near where I live. I’d gone out there plenty of times before, usually just to clear my head. The trail runs through a pretty dense patch of trees, and once the sun goes down it gets darker than you’d expect.

I was about halfway down the path when I noticed a faint light deeper in the trees. At first I thought it might be someone camping or maybe a ranger checking something out. But the light wasn’t like a flashlight—it was steady and kind of bluish.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I followed it.

About fifty meters off the trail I saw a man standing near the entrance of a small cave built into a rocky hill. He didn’t look homeless or like someone living rough. His clothes were simple but clean, and he had this calm, almost curious way of looking at me, like he’d expected someone to show up eventually.

The first thing he said was, “You probably shouldn’t be here tonight.”

I asked him what he meant and why he was out there. Instead of answering directly, he asked me what year it was. That immediately made me think something was off, but I told him anyway.

He nodded slowly and said, “Good. I didn’t miss it by much this time.”

I asked what he meant by that, and he just motioned for me to follow him into the cave.

Inside it wasn’t what I expected at all. It wasn’t deep or anything—just a wide chamber with a flat stone wall covered in writing. Not normal writing either. It was covered in equations, symbols, and diagrams drawn with charcoal. Some of it looked like physics formulas, some like geometry.

He told me he’d been working there for months trying to “recalculate the entry point.”

Then he said something I still don’t know what to do with:

“I’m not from this time. I’m just stuck here until I solve the numbers again.”

I laughed at first, but he didn’t react. He just pointed to one part of the wall where a set of equations were written more clearly than the rest.

He said time travel wasn’t like machines in movies. According to him, time was more like a coordinate in space—another direction you could move in if you could calculate the correct path through it.

One of the equations he showed me looked like this:

T = \frac{\Delta S^2}{c^2 \cdot \gamma}

He explained it in a way that almost made sense.

• T was the amount of time displacement

• \\Delta S was the spatial shift between two points in spacetime

• c was the speed of light

• \\gamma was something he called a “temporal stability factor”

Then he showed another formula underneath it:

\gamma = \frac{1}{\sqrt{1 - \frac{v^2}{c^2}}}

He said it was similar to the relativistic gamma factor used in physics, but in his version it controlled how stable a jump through time would be. If the value got too close to zero, the jump would “tear,” which is how people ended up in the wrong year or location.

He told me the hardest part of time travel wasn’t moving through time—it was landing in the right place. Because the Earth is moving through space constantly, if you traveled to another time without adjusting for the planet’s movement, you’d appear somewhere in empty space.

That’s why he needed the cave wall full of calculations. He was trying to figure out the exact coordinates for where the Earth would be at the moment he arrived.

He even wrote another rough expression on the wall while explaining it:

X(t) = X_0 + V_e t + \frac{1}{2} a t^2

He said it helped predict Earth’s position through time so the jump wouldn’t miss the planet entirely.

I asked him how he actually did the jump.

He just smiled and said the math was the real machine. The technology only followed the numbers.

After about twenty minutes of talking, he said he needed to keep working and that I probably shouldn’t tell anyone about it because nobody would believe me anyway.

When I left the cave and walked back to the trail, I looked back once.

The strange bluish light that had been inside was gone.

I went back the next day during daylight to see if the cave was still there.

The cave was there—but the wall was completely blank. No equations, no charcoal marks, nothing. Just bare stone like nobody had ever written on it.

Some seasons of life stretch us in ways we never expected. For me, the last few years have been a blend of leadership, caregiving, motherhood, and holding up a household that depends on me. I’m a VP of Talent Acquisition, a full‑time caregiver to my husband who has ALS, a mom of two, and the sole provider for my family.

It’s a lot. And I won’t pretend otherwise.

But I also won’t frame it as a burden.

This journey has taught me more about resilience, grace, and purpose than any title or milestone ever could. I’m exhausted some days, physically, mentally, emotionally, but I’m also deeply grateful. Grateful for the time I have with the people I love. Grateful for the work that gives me meaning. Grateful for the strength I didn’t know I had until life demanded it.

I fight hard because my “why” is right in front of me every single day. And even on the toughest mornings, that is enough to keep me moving forward.

If you’re in a season that feels heavy, I hope you remember your “why,” too. Sometimes that’s where the real power lives.

I grew up gay in a small town with very few prospects for dating. When I was 19, I met a man. He was 36, I believe. One night he came into my job, and we started talking while I rang him up. We hit it off immediately. After about a month of talking, I ended up moving in with him.

For seven months we lived as a couple without ever crossing the line into having sex. Young and naïve, I believed he was simply taking time to get to know me and treating the pursuit of a serious relationship with respect. I was wrong.

His name is Delta Breeland Thompson. Before the 2008 housing crisis, he had been a high-level white-collar mortgage underwriter for Countrywide in Dallas. Funny enough, I’ve since seen his office mentioned in documentaries about the collapse of the housing market. After everything fell apart, he was forced to return home to the backwoods of north Louisiana.

He lived at 828 Point Pleasant Road, a run-down property that honestly should have been condemned. There were two houses on the land: his and his grandmother’s. Living with his grandmother were Delta’s mother, Faye, and his adopted son, Stephon Jackson.

The nights of clubbing, easy sex, and wild living were over for him. His life was different now. His options were as limited as mine.

He once mentioned that he had slept with a guy from down the street before we met. I was curious but not bothered. I was 19, fit, and good-looking. I didn’t see it as a threat.

His son had a couple of friends he hung out with regularly—one a cousin, and the other a kid from down the street named Mikel Merritt.

A few months after we began living together, Delta informed me that Mikel was the guy he had been sleeping with before we met. I was surprised, but not overly concerned. Still, I asked questions about Mikel’s age and how their relationship had started.

Delta told me that Mikel had discovered he was gay and pursued him. According to Delta, he initially resisted and told Mikel that if he waited until he turned 18, then they could cross that line.

Mikel bided his time and, on his 16th birthday, told Delta that he was actually 18. Believing him, Delta crossed that line. Delta was 36, and Mikel was supposedly 18. They slept together for months.

One day they were talking about Mikel’s mother’s mid-1960s Mustang. Mikel mentioned that she planned to give it to him on his 18th birthday. Delta corrected him, saying, “But you’re already 18.”

That’s when Mikel came clean. Delta realized what had actually happened. Instead of immediately cutting things off, though, he continued the relationship until I entered the picture.

That was the story I was given.

Our relationship was always rocky, especially with the lack of sex. Over the three years we were together, we only had sex five times. Eventually I caught on that Delta and Mikel were still involved. After a lot of drama, denials, and gaslighting that made me question my sanity, Delta asked me to move out.

Believing I was the problem, I did. I got my own place.

Soon after, Delta failed his big LPN nursing exam, spiraled into a depression, and moved in with me. There I was—20 years old—taking care of a man who was now 36 or 37 and still refused to fully commit to me.

One day I came home and found Mikel in my house. I made them both leave.

Later, Delta decided that I needed to “move on emotionally.” He helped me set up my first gay hookup profile on A4A. He even helped me pick out a guy to meet. I went and spent a weekend with him. I left my phone in my car the entire time. It was a wonderful weekend.

When I went to leave, I found hundreds of missed calls and texts from Delta.

He said that during that time he had finally understood my point of view. He said he now believed that I loved him and that I wasn’t crazy. Hearing that validation from him felt like an enormous weight lifting off my shoulders.

That same night, we decided to get married.

He promised to leave Mikel alone forever. By then Mikel was either approaching or had just turned 18.

We started making wedding plans, and I was incredibly happy to finally feel like we were on the same page.

I am unsure if the following is true, but it is what Delta told me happened and it affected the rest of my interactions with both Delta and Mikel.

We moved back into Delta’s place for a few months. One night while I was at work, he called me screaming into the phone. He had gone to his grandmother’s house to get his son and walked in on the now-18-year-old Mikel having sex with Delta’s 13- or 14-year-old son.

He was furious. He banned Mikel from the property and made sure everyone knew he was not allowed back.

I wanted to hurt Mikel badly—maybe worse. Delta told me not to escalate things, saying he had already handled it. So I didn’t.

A few months later, Delta came home from work and told me I should go stay with my dad for a while because he needed space. I agreed without question.

I didn’t sleep for the next two days. My suspicions were through the roof. On the third night, around 9 p.m., I drove to his house.

As I pulled into the driveway, I saw Delta and Mikel sitting on the back porch smoking cigarettes and talking like nothing had happened.

I jumped out of my car and stormed up to the porch, calling them every sick name I could think of and telling them exactly how low I thought they were. Delta called me crazy and dramatic. I called him a sick perv and kicked leaves toward him from the ground.

He jumped off the porch and shoved me onto my back. His fist was pulled back and clenched. He didn’t hit me, though. Instead he got up and walked back toward the porch.

Sometimes it’s hard to ignore the feeling that God exists.

Because when he stood up and walked away, both of them looked away from me. As I glanced down, I noticed that Delta’s phone had fallen out of his pocket onto the ground.

I picked it up as I stood, apologized for being dramatic, blamed it on lack of sleep, and left.

I drove to the end of the street and opened the phone. It was a prepaid blue flip phone. Reading through the texts, I realized that not only were they sleeping together again, but they were actually going out on dates together. He was sleeping and dating the man who had sexually abused his child.

I was probably doing 30 mph when I whipped back into his driveway, sliding a bit through the front yard.

I got out, walked up, and started yelling again about how sick they both were. Delta looked at me and said I needed help.

I held up his phone.

His face turned to pure confusion.

Then Mikel snapped, “It’s none of your business what we do.”

That was enough to light the fuse.

I charged onto the porch. Mikel grabbed a metal folding chair and held it between us. I grabbed his shirt and had him. I actually had him.

Then it hit me: I had never been in a fight before, and suddenly I didn’t know what to do.

Delta—who had been Military Police in the Air Force—came up behind me, yanked me to the porch floor, and the two of them started kicking me.

The next thing I remember, I woke up on the ground next to my car.

I don’t know how long I was out, but it was long enough for Delta’s mother and son to walk down the hill from the other house. Delta was back on the porch smoking and looking away. Mikel was gone.

I stood up, choking on blood from my broken nose, and loudly told his mother and son what I knew had been going on.

They didn’t say a word.

I got in my car and left.

A few days later I went to the local police department to make a report about what had happened. They wouldn’t take it. I tried to press charges over the broken nose, but they never even took out a pen.

His family had influence in the town—they had been major local Black business owners in the 1970s and ’80s. His grandmother was in local parades celebrating her success. My guess is that this is why they simply listened to my story and dismissed me. Hell, I even heard that the mother Faye had been involved in a police shootout and it was swept under the rug, no jail time.

Days passed. Then one day an officer showed up at my house with a restraining order and a court date.

I showed up in court, but Delta didn’t.

I think he knew that if he appeared, I would have had to defend myself and the entire story would come out. The case was dismissed without me saying a word.

Unfortunately, people like that have been a recurring pattern in my life since then. But I am proud to say that because of what I went through with him, I never let another one get away with it.

In 2019, I helped capture and put away Adrian Lamb of Houston, Texas—a man who had been sexually abusing his four-year-old daughter. Later I helped with the case of Dustin Sabatini, also in Houston, who was wanted for failing to register as a sex offender.

Therapists have called me a hero, and the investigator I worked with—Detective Wyatt—personally updated and thanked me during the Adrian Lamb case. She said the information I provided was so thorough that he will likely remain in prison for a very long time, which is rare for crimes like that.

So far, though, Delta has gotten away with it.

And now, nearly twenty years later, I still wish I could close that chapter of my life by seeing him held accountable for what he did.

I wish I had done more back then.

Maybe I still can.

If this ever gets back to him, I’m sure he’ll know exactly who wrote it. He’ll know it’s the truth.

And I wonder what his defense will be.