Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Ripples



At any given point we are only able to perceive three faces of a cube. Go ahead and try. Pick up a box and turn it in your hands any which way you can. No matter how you tilt your head or spin the box, only three faces will be visible. It is a natural limitation of seeing reality in three dimensions. What if something could see all six faces of that cube at once?

In a lot of ways we perceive reality by standing in the center of sphere and looking out, but what if something could see the entirety of the sphere from the outside? Furthermore, what if that same thing could see everywhere that sphere was going to be or could be? What kind of thing could perceive reality like that? Anything capable of perceiving space and time the way we perceive a drawing or a cartoon would certainly be able to interact with our world on a level that would defy our preconceived notions of reality. My head hurts just thinking about it, but it makes a lot more sense than believing that these things just happened for no reason.

Several days from now I will be invited to a kegger. I’ll show up and drink a beer out of a plastic cup as I stand awkwardly at the edge of the crowd and try to work up the nerve to talk to Cassie Voight. She’ll bump into me and spill her drink on my shirt. We’ll end up talking and head for her place. During the cab ride to her place a semi-truck will run a red light and t-bone the vehicle and kill me. Cassie will survive and tell a terribly sad story about her crush dying beside her in a taxi. My friend Mick will message her in an attempt to console her. Two days later he’ll fuck her brains out. I’m getting ahead of myself. This isn’t the story of how I die or how an emotionally vulnerable coed hooks up with a lecherous douchebag I only associate with because he has good weed. No, this is the story about how I met something that shouldn’t exist and how it has effected me.

We all perceive time differently. It should be completely imperceptible, but a human who is a foot taller than the average person would experience time at infinitesimally faster rate than his shorter counterpart. This dilation of time is caused by gravity pulling at the very fabric of space. This isn’t science-fiction. If two clocks are perfectly synced and one of them is elevated to a significant altitude it will appear to be moving faster than the one that remained on the ground. This effect can also occur via moving at incredibly high rates of speed with a certain degree. This is because in general relativity inertial mass and gravitational mass are effectively the same thing. Gravity is relative to mass, be it an object of incredibly size/density or an object approaching an incredible speed. If one is perceiving reality from a different perspective or position than everyone else, it could be possible that they are perceiving time at a different rate.

I apologize for the high school physics lesson but I don’t know how else to explain how I noticed these things. I am very tall. I stand just over two meters. I also have some brain damage that gives me about a hundred milliseconds of reaction time over the average person. Don’t ask me to explain that one, but if you ever want a demonstration we can play a round of Call of Duty. You’ll accuse me of having an aimbot. It is because I am so abnormal that I was able to notice something abnormal. It might sound strange, but this all started when I watched a child get pushed into traffic.

I had been walking down the street. It was a sunny day. I was in a relatively good mood. I stopped at a food truck for some shawarma and a little girl caught my attention. She was standing next to what I can only assume was her mother. The mother stared blankly into the distance as her child threw a temper tantrum. No one else was standing at that corner. It happened in the blink of an eye, but for a brief moment I could have sworn that I saw a black tendril tear itself out of the fabric of existence and push the kid in front of a passing metro bus. The tendril and the ripple in space-time was gone in an instant. It couldn’t have been there for more than a hundred milliseconds but I saw it. I was so perplexed by it that I didn’t immediately notice the screaming mother or the shawarma vendor running for the little girl. I couldn’t unsee it. In fact, over the course of the next several days I began to notice tiny imperceptible ripples everywhere. I didn’t always see the tendrils, but I caught the ripple. I shouldn’t be able to perceive them, but for whatever reason I can. Well, I know why, but no reason to spoil the fun just yet.

I spent several long nights online trying to find any reference to this phenomenon, but as any of you who have gone looking for the supernatural may be aware, there isn’t much to be found. I found several blogs maintained by individuals who would have been declared insane several decades ago trying to pass off conspiracy theory and creepypasta as if it were real phenomenon. After three days of turning up whack-jobs and idiots I took a different approach.

My friend Keith is a lot smarter than me. I don’t just mean that he is more intelligent or more educated, but he has a wisdom about him that leaves me a little jealous. He’s a physics teacher at the local high school. We had several discussions about my lack of a buffer between stimulation and perception in the past. He was well aware of the phenomenon. Sometimes individuals with damage to the association areas of the cerebral cortex experience abnormalities in the specious present. I liked talking to Keith. He had a way of taking a problem that confounded me for the better part of a month and breaking it down in a matter of minutes. The man should have been a world-renowned scientist, but instead he taught high school and spent his downtime at the local pub.

As I explained these things to Keith rocked back in his chair. He was thinking. As I finished my story he brought his hand to his face and stroked his beard. As I sat anticipation of his response, I saw the beginnings of a ripple in space-time. I didn’t see the tendril, but I did see Keith’s chair fall back. The back of his head slammed into the bookshelf behind him. He was dead before he hit the floor. I stood up and attempted to run over to him, but in a span of time that I couldn’t even process, I was gone.

I don’t have any other way to explain it. One moment I am standing in Keith’s home office and then next I am standing in the middle of an aisle at K-mart next to one of those racks that has all the balls held in place by bungee cords. Little ripples started opening up all around me. These weren’t little blips like before. They remained static and thin tendrils started pouring out of them. I was alone in the aisle. I probably should have ran, but I don’t think it would have let me.

One by one the tendrils began grabbing the balls and holding them in air around me. The balls orbited around me. The ones closest to me moved slowly while the ones further way were moving considerably faster. I stared at this and tried to make sense of it when a ripple appeared a few inches in front of my face. A tendril shot out of it and stabbed into my forehead. It was about that time that reality just broke. I wasn’t seeing with my eyes. I was seeing my eyes. I was seeing everything that was me. I saw the balls from all sides as they moved around me, but what was even more fascinating was that I was seeing them as they were and would be. It wasn’t so much that I was seeing this, but that I was being allowed to perceive it. From that perspective the tendrils had a considerably different appearance.

The ripples were fixed points that didn’t move. Everything around me was moving about in what could best be described as organized chaos. I could focus on the tiniest subatomic particle and know exactly where it was and how fast it was moving, but what’s more is that I could know everywhere it was going to be in my localized area of space-time spanning an interval of several minutes before and after where I was supposedly located.

In this state the tendrils were like arcs of plasma emanating from a being of pure light. The being wasn’t reaching inside of our world. Our world was literally inside of this being. It was everywhere, or more to the point they were everywhere. They were everywhere in space and time. For whatever reason this particular one had decided it was going to play with me. As the balls moved along their orbit and the arcs of pure energy swirled around me as a voice that wasn’t carried by sound boomed inside my mind.

I watched as my body twisted and contorted into several positions at once in reaction to the pain. The voice spoke and said,
“You are an anomaly. Your kind should not be able to perceive us.”

My thoughts became my voice as I responded,

“Us? What the fuck? What do you mean your kind? Fuck you!”

All of those responses occurred at once.

The voice replied,

“You are not the first anomaly. Others interact with us. We are amused by your perception of time.”
My thoughts exploded in response,

“Others? Fuck you. What are you? FUCK. YOU. Why are you showing me this? FUCK YOU!”

The voice laughed and replied,

“We exist beyond you and before you. You are to us as a photograph is to you. We shape you. We manipulate you. We control you.”

I was getting incredibly angry. I didn’t understand why at first, but my thoughts became more coherent as the conversation continued.

The voice continued,

“The anomalies are dealt with when they become a problem. Your kind has an annoying quality. Some of you can act outside our designs.”

I laughed and replied, “No shit. Humans excel at fucking shit up.”
The voice replied,

“Indeed.”

My thoughts exploded again,

“What does this mean? Are you gods? What happens when I die? Am I going to be dealt with?”

The voice laughed. Then more voices started laughing. They said in unison,

“Always the same questions. Always the same answers. You cease to be and that which comprises you is dead for a near infinite amount of time in comparison to the short interval of life, but you put so much importance on the third-dimensional form in its passage through the fourth. Your awareness will cease and your form will scatter. Those bound to time cannot perceive eternity.”

My perception shifted back to what I could take in with my ears and eyes. I was laying on the cold tile floor of a Kmart as a paramedic shined a penlight in my eyes. I could smell copper. My nose was bleeding. My body jerked and convulsed as the paramedic shouted,

“He’s seizing!”

Everything went black. For a brief period of time I was allowed to rest, even if it was because I was having a stroke.

“Against medical advice.”

That is what the doctor called it when I told him I was going home. Things haven’t been right since then. I’ve been very careful about who I share that experience with. Those who are even capable of understanding what I am saying look at me like I am some sort of lunatic. The most common reaction is disbelief. I can’t say that I blame anyone. Who wants to believe that we are the equivalent of action figures that god like beings play with for their own amusement? It is the kind of thing that could drive a man to madness. Well, it may well have.

For a very brief moment I considered the possibility that all of it, that every memory and the entire conversation was some fevered dream my brain concocted during a stroke. It made sense. 

Actually, it made a lot of sense. I’ve always been a fan of Lovecraft and this would certainly be right up his alley. Yeah, I really could sit back and believe that all of this is just the reaction of a damaged brain trying to make sense of reality and filling in gaps with memory and imagination. I cannot tell you how happy I would be if that were the case.

I still see the ripples and I still see the tendrils. Moreover I now get brief glimpses of my localized area of space-time from my previous ascended perspective. I watch things happen from all angles and sometimes minutes or days before they happen. Sometimes I let them happen. Sometimes I try to change things. It seems that the more I try to change things, the more the tendrils move to counteract any effect that I might make.

Sometimes I win. Most of the time I lose. I think that’s the point.

It wasn’t enough to kill me. They wanted me to know I was going to die. They wanted me to be aware of how incredibly pointless it was to fight them. I think they take pleasure in that. They see my death as clearly as I do. Even now a scene plays on a loop in the back of my head. A ripple appears in a semi-truck and the tendril pushes a gas pedal a little further down than the driver realizes. Another tendril pushes some papers on the dash and draws the attention of the driver away from the road. At that exact moment a taxi cab is pulling slowly through an intersection and another tendril is poking the driver in the leg causing his leg to seize and slam on the brakes. The passenger on the right side of the car is reduced to chunks of meat that splatter across the pretty girl sitting next to him. She is remarkably unharmed.

You might perceive me to be alive right now, but I am already dead. We all are. There is no heaven. There is no hell. There are no gods to save us and no devils to tempt us. Everything is a sadistic horror show for things that exist beyond and before. My fate is to die in a taxi cab. I could shut myself in my house or have myself committed but they let me see those outcomes as well. Each decision that I make in an attempt to get out of it makes the potential outcome worse. It is only a matter of time now. In several days I will be invited to a kegger and end up leaving with a girl I’ve had a crush on since high school.

She wears a cute dress that day. I can’t wait to see it.
  
---
by xylonex via: reddit.com/r/NoSleep

The Comedian


I met Rick through a mutual friend that went to college with him. I was 17. He was my first kiss. When it happened, I begged him and his friends to stop. He just smiled at me and said, "Don't worry, it'll be over before you know it."

I met Jack on an online dating site. I was 19. He sent me a message and asked to meet at the local coffee shop and we hit it off. He was sweet. He used to run his thumb over my lips before he kissed me and tell me I was beautiful. Then he told me he loved me. A few months later, he told me that his wife was pregnant and we couldn't go on. I cried, pleaded for for answers.

He told me, "I never said you were the only one."

I met James at a bar. I was 21. I had a bad night at work and he bought me a few drinks. He even offered to drive me home after I had one too many. I gave him directions and I told him when he missed the turn. I told him he was making a mistake. He told me,

"You're not going home tonight, sweetie."

I found James at the bar. I had another bad night at work. I bought him a few drinks and offered him a ride home. He gave me directions and he told me when I missed the turn. He told me I was making a mistake.

I told him, "You're not going home tonight, sweetie."

I found Jack on an online dating site. No pictures of his wife or daughter. I made a new account and he asked me to meet him at the local coffee shop. He waited in that shop for about an hour before he made it back to the parking lot. We caught up at my place. I asked him how things were with his wife, I showed him the wedding ring I found in his back pocket. I ran my thumb over his lips. He cried, pleaded for answers. I'll never forget his face when his eyes got used to the lighting and he saw James chained in the corner, dick chopped off and thrown across the floor.


I told him, "I never said you were the only one."

I found Rick at his home. Nice apartment, definite bachelor pad. Nice view of the city. Big bed, probably expensive, helps put you into a nice deep sleep. We caught up back at my place.

Reminisced about those good college days. He almost untied himself, but I prepared well enough for that. He looked at the James. He looked at Jack. He looked at the cleaver in my hand. He begged me to stop.

I just smiled at him and said, "Don't worry, it'll be over before you know it."
  

===
by reddit user mostbeautifulplague via: reddit.com/ShortScaryStories

Hey Mister, Can We Have Our Ball Back?


They’ve done it again. Those damn kids have trampled my azaleas, just like they trampled my lavender yesterday and my peonies the day before that.

I know how they get into my garden. The fence is high, but there’s a notch on one of the panels that they use as a foothold. I’ve seen them from my kitchen, watched them as they swing their skinny legs over the top of the fence and drop down into the far corner, right behind my marigolds. They stomp their way through my flowers to their missing ball, destroying the delicate little things without a second thought. They even scuff up the sides of my shed as they scramble their way out again.

I hate who they’ve made me become; some crotchety old man, standing on his porch waving his cane. Hey you kids, get off my lawn! The thing is, if they asked me, I would get their ball for them. I don’t have a problem with them playing their games. Hell, when I was a kid I went through more than my fair share of lost balls and frisbees and even the odd bat or two. I know what it’s like to be their age, and I know that they can’t help it when they lose their ball. But I also know that trespassing is wrong. My garden is my space, my property, and they have no right to be there.

If they would just listen to me, this wouldn’t be an issue. But no. Every time they kick their ball a little too hard and it goes sailing over my fence, they’re chasing straight after it before I can stop them. None of them pay me any attention when I tell them no, goddammit, don’t go into my garden!

Since the kids wouldn’t listen to me, I went to talk to their mothers. I was calm, collected, explained that I didn’t want the kids to go romping through my yard any time they felt like it. I was reasonable, but every single mother told me the same thing: boys will be boys.

Well, if their parents aren’t prepared to do anything about it, then I will. The next time one of those kids comes climbing over my fence, there’ll be something waiting for them. I set up the bear trap this morning, its sharp steel jaws nestled right behind my marigolds. Those kids are going to learn a lesson about respecting other people’s property.

I can hear them playing on the street outside now. From their shouts, it sounds like baseball. Good. Not too long to wait.
  

Darkness' Mind


You open your eyes to pure darkness. You see not any bits or pieces of yourself; you see not your surroundings. It is too dark to know anything, even what you are wearing beyond the general facts your senses other than sight may tell you. The floor is as cold as you could ever imagine, perhaps so much that it burns, just as the air holds an unsettling chill. It seems as if you are alone, through the information you can gather of your surroundings. You hear no other person’s breathing, you hear no footsteps, only yourself. The air is seasoned with the faint scent of old coins, a mix of salt and rust, mayhaps like iron.

Left without sight to rely on, and the musty scent too similar to the liquid that runs through your body for your comfort, you attempt to rely primarily on your ears. You listen closely to your surroundings, as closely as you can. You pick up on a very low, almost unrecognizable and inaudible sound. It’s so far away that you can just barely hear it, let alone recognize what it is. It sounds as if it’s coming from something such as a television, or some sort of music—depends, really.

You attempt to stand, to go to the sound, but something inside of you, something similar to, but not quite, a combination of fear and dread, tells you to stop. To stay seated on the floor like a shivering, helpless little kitten out in the rain. You try your hardest to act on your urge to go to wherever the sound was coming from, but your body denies you this. It feels as if you are being held to the ground by thin, bony hands with fingers that are equipped with long, sharp fingernails. You attempt to touch them, but you feel only cold air and your own being.

The feeling of being watched creeps up on you, crawling up your back and spreading throughout your body, tingling within your spine and onto your other bones. It is almost too overbearing to ignore, too certain. You look behind you, but as always, there is nothing but pitch-black darkness. There are no footsteps, there is no breathing. How could someone be there, watching you, staring at you so intently that you cannot even hear them move the tiniest bit or take the smallest breath? It was near impossible.

But the feeling.

The feeling was so certain. So very, very certain. So certain that you close your eyes so tightly that you can only open them wide and stare. So certain that you begin to hear the faintest of many voices whispering in your ears, indecipherable languages and inaudible sentences, chilly breath upon your clammy skin. The hairs on your neck stand up and you feel a shiver uncontrollably run up your spine. After that, comes the laughter.

The quiet laughter that haunts you within every voice whispering, the taunting, knowing sound of laughter upon your ear, breathing on it so lightly, breaths so subtle that you cannot ignore it. The darkness surrounds you, pressing against your body, and you attempt to move, but a deep guilt burrowed in your stomach for a reason that you cannot recognize and the unshakable feeling of being held down keep you from doing so. Your throat feels dry, but you attempt to scream. You hear nothing escape your mouth, not even a breath. All you can hear are the whispers, the laughter, and your own heartbeat.

Suddenly, all senses seemingly shut off. You see nothing but the darkness. You hear nothing but your shallow heartbeat. You smell nothing. You feel nothing but the ghostly hands withdrawing themselves away from your body, the feeling of being watched tingling through your bones and the inability to move. Somehow, you are thankful for this. You cannot hear or feel the sources of your fear as much as you could anymore, after all.

But the feeling of being watched remains. You know you are being watched. It’s an obvious fact, unshakable and undeniable, lurking in your very being. You cannot ignore it, you cannot forget it. Your heart is racing as if you had begun watching a suspenseful horror movie, your body is trembling as if you had just completed an anxiety attack and, out of shear fear and panic, were trembling. But you shan’t look behind you. You can’t. You just remain there wondering when whatever is watching you will show itself or finally end your life, hopefully without much fear or pain. But you’re a human.

And curiosity is human nature.

You look behind you to see the very thing your racing heart and subconscious mind would expect from the room of such deep fear, but not what your conscious mind would, clinging to such pathetic hope.

One night in the future, near or far, you will prepare yourself for a good night’s sleep. You carry on with your pre-sleep schedule like normal, although something feels off. It’s a very minute detail, something you can’t put your finger on, so you go on without fear. As you lay down to rest that night, you attempt to put the unsettling away and turn something on, perhaps a computer, a television, a CD player, anything to provide you with noise, a little bit of light, or both, as you drift off to sleep. But you shan’t wake up from your dream this time.

Love Never Is Forgotten



Do you or have you ever loved someone very much, but never had your beloved's feelings returned? I sure have, many times. Until the day I met this one girl at school, who was so beautiful, intelligent, and sweet, I couldn't just let her slip away. So I found a way to make my love real and I will tell you how.

In the seaside town of Sassnitz in North Eastern Germany, there is a small, dingy looking hospital in the heart of town that looks liker it really shouldn't be open. Go inside. If there is a medium height, handsome young man with wispy blonde hair and icy blue eyes at the front desk, procced. If not, leave and come back some other day. This si not the best time to perform this.

Approach him and ask him, in any language, "When does love's flame die?" he should respond "Never, so long as it is always burning." If he says "It was never meant to burn," leave at once, for you aren't ready. If he responded with the first response motion with your hand for him to lead the way. He will get up and escort you to a wing of the hospital that looks as if it hasn't been used in decades. He will lead you to a green metal door with peeling green paint. He will nod and leave you.

The door is unlocked. Open it and enter. You start in a pitch black hallway, just keep walking straight with your arms extended foward so you don't hit anything. You may hear a soft voice, one that sounds just live your true love's voice calling your name. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you turn, call out, stop, or acknowledge the voices in ANY way. Just keep walking. After two minutes, you will come to a red metal door, this time, it is in much better condition than the first green door. Open it and now you will find yourself in a smaller room. The walls are wood paneled and the only thing in the room is a table with a dagger on it. The dagger is very ornate looking, with a gold leafed hilt, cut and polished emerald on the pommel, two small diamonds on eitheir end of the guard, and carved patterns on the thin blade. Conceal this dagger- in your pocket, up your sleeve, or in a handbag if you are a lady- whereever. Just make sure it is out of sight. Now move on the next door, a pristine blue metal door it front of you. when you enter, you will find yourself in a stark metal hall, similar to a sterile doctor's office. And at the end of the hall is your true love.

He or she will be idealized physically to the fullest extent. He or she will be dressed in shining white garments- white suits for men and a flowing gown for women- and they will smile and hold out their arms for an embrace. Man, when I first saw my true love Kristen at the end of that hall- I was blown away. Her long brown hair flowing down her shoulders, her big brown eyes looking right at me, her beautiful smile greeting me, it was a dream come true. Sorry, I'm rambling now...

Anyway, this is where the dagger comes in. Ignore this embrace and whip out the dagger. Stab your beloved in a vital area. Heart, throat, eyes, where ever. Just make sure it KILLS them. When you stab him or her, he or she will let out an ear-killing scream and suddenly begin rotting away into a corpse before your very eyes. Make no emotions, do not move at all. After this, there will only be a small pile of dust where they once stood. Pick up a handful of the dust, sprinkle the dust on the dagger, and whisper the name of your beloved. It doesn't matter if someone else shares the same name, as long as you know who that person is and truely love them, it won't matter.

Next you will be blinded by a great light. It will over bear you until you fall unconcious from the energy.

When you wake, you will be outside your residence. Continue life as normal. The next time you see your beloved, they will run up to you and embrace you and proclaim their love for you. Congrats, your beloved now loves you as much as you love him or her. Enjoy.


Well, that's all. Got to go now. Kristen has been yelling for me to stop writing come to bed. Goodbye now.

Dolls


I haven't always been scared of dolls. But recently, they have been getting on my nerves. It's like they can read me.

It started out with a prank. My father would set the doll in my room to scare me. I brushed it off as harmless, just bring the doll back to him, and going on with my day. Since then I've moved out, and I live on my own. I refuse to have any putrid dolls in my home, due to my everlasting fear of them.

Everywhere I go, I see them. I do not just see any doll, but the one my father had used to torment me. I didn't notice it at first, catching just a slight glimpse of it in my peripheral vision. When I first started to see it, it was on a park bench, or sitting in a coffee shop. But then it got closer.

I had been working all week, and wanted the weekend to rest. Friday night, I get home, walk in the door, glance around as if it were a ritual, and continue after noticing nothing out-of-the-ordinary. But then, I noticed. Stuff was misplaced. Stuff went missing. It was nothing at first again, but then It got to be heavier stuff, like my whole table. With me on the verge of insanity, I decided to go to my parents for the weekend.

Upon arrival, we talked a bit, and after a while of conversing, I bring up the fact that weird stuff has been happening. I mentioned too, that I had noticed the doll they used to terrorize me. The shock and horror on their faces was unbelievable.

"We've never owned any dolls before," they said. I sunk.

My insides exploded. I went insane. The whole rest of the weekend, they could barely look at me. I left early Sunday morning. Three hour drive, and it was all spent thinking about that doll.

Finally at home, I reach for my keys, unlock the door, and dropped my stuff. Walking in, I saw it. The red eyes, red hair, white face. It just sat there and glared at me.

"Welcome home," it said with a reassuring smile.

Diary of A Fat Girl


Dear Diary,

That's how you're meant to start these things right? I have never kept a journal before, nor do I want to, but the hospital said I have to as part of my 'treatment plan'. Funny.

Let me back track a little.

I have always been overweight, from being a child. I went to a strict Christian school, and luckily because of this I was never bullied because of my size- but you always notice the other kids staring.

It got worse as I got older, I just seemed to expand in all directions except the one way I wanted. So not only am I fat, but also very short. You can imagine this didn't do too much for my self esteem.

Because of my size, I've always hated gym class at school. Firstly there's the undressing in front of the other beautiful, skinny girls who always glance over at me. God, this is embarrassing to write. I could feel my whole body flare red as I felt their eyes on me. Then there was the exercise itself. I'd get awful chest pains, and couldn't run more than around a hundred metres, and wouldn't even attempt real team games- no one would pick me anyway.


I tried diets. Every single diet you can imagine: Atkins, cabbage soup, 5:2... You name it, I've tried it. But they never work, I always end up caving and getting bigger.

Things got really bad 2 years ago. I got really bad chest pains and was rushed to hospital- doctors said my weight was at a dangerous level, and that my heart was suffering, I had to change my ways. My parents begged me to change, bought all the right foods, even watched me at meal times. But did I change? Nope. Still the fat glutton I've always been.

I got bigger. I know what you're thinking, why? Why do this to yourself? Why put not only yourself but also your parents through this? Well, Diary, I'll tell you. IT'S BECAUSE I HAVE ZERO SELF CONTROL, OBVIOUSLY. Fuck. I hate myself. I can feel my rolls. I hate going clothes shopping. Nothing suits me. Sometimes I just sit in bed and cry at how little control I have over my life.


--

3/20/15
Sorry Diary, forgot to date it last time, but it's been about 3 weeks. I got put in hospital again with chest pains. Doctors told me off, I saw psychologists about my weight problem. Other than that, nothing much to report... still a fatty. Always will be probably! I'll update you when I've lost a few pounds... we may be a while.

---

Hello people of Reddit.

I am the father of Ella, the writer of this diary. My family are devastated and going through a very difficult time at the moment, as my daughter passed away last week.

She had suffered with Anorexia Nervosa for many years, and in the end her heart couldn't cope anymore, and gave up. It is clear reading her diary, which I did not know she kept until I had the opportunity to look in her bedroom, that she had severe body dysmorphia, believing she was actually overweight.

She was 60lbs exactly when she died.

It was a hard decision to make, but I decided to post this diary for others out there who are either suffering themselves with this disease or know somebody that is.

Sometimes, you just can't see the forest for the trees.
  

---
by reddit user kateshakes via: reddit.com/r/NoSleep

I Talked to God. I Never Want to Speak to Him Again

     About a year ago, I tried to kill myself six times. I lost my girlfriend, Jules, in a car accident my senior year of high school. I was...