Posts by ruggedtinker8

Kenneth Ramirez5 said:I don't actually believe that trust and sincerity among people are on the decline—not really. It feels the same as it always has, if you think about it. We just change on an individual level, and because we've had some "bad" experiences lately, we tend to perceive things through that lens. But honestly, those are just our own failed projections and expectations playing tricks on us. If we choose friends who aren't quite on the same wavelength—people we’re essentially out of sync with—then yeah, trust starts to erode. But if we pick people who align with what we expect, then trust remains perfectly fine. So, who's actually at fault here? Is it the passage of time? Society? An economic crisis? Or is it just us?

It’s always a lack of experience, really. Plus, expecting too much from people who just don't have the character to deliver.

Paul Thompson3 said:If I’d known then what I know now—I wouldn't have lowered my guard for a second.
The secret to staying happy among the masses? Just view them as entertainment—a simple give-and-take arrangement while it lasts. Thinking you can actually offer someone your genuine self or some deep honesty is a total waste of time.
Honestly, whoever manages to find a real friend is lucky; all I've ever met were business associates.
Friendship is a sacrifice, just like love. But let's be real—human nature dictates people will always choose to sacrifice someone else rather than themselves.
Brothers-in-arms—those are your true friends. Everything else is just business.

I couldn't agree more. That’s exactly how I see things now. If only I’d figured this out ten years ago,
but hey, life is a teacher, and unfortunately, the tuition is expensive.

I don't really have any close friends, and honestly, I'm not even sorry about it.

Even those rare few people I actually let in—people I thought I’d built a real bond with—ended up screwing me over in ways a mortal enemy wouldn't even dream of. And this was after years of being nothing but positive and supportive.

At this point, being "close" to someone just feels like waiting for the inevitable knife in the back. It usually happens right when you're being your most honest, open, and vulnerable self.

These days, I prefer keeping things with cheerful people in that sweet spot between an acquaintance and a friend. We have plenty of good vibes, but there's enough intelligent distance involved that I don't pour too much of my time or energy into them. Of course, the unspoken rule is that I can't expect much emotional heavy lifting from them either.
It’s a much better setup. Every now and then, I might actually be pleasantly surprised by them, which beats getting burned by someone I practically shared my life with.

Your dad probably has issues that go way deeper than just being an alcoholic. Swings in mood several times a day—you mentioned five—and forcing everyone else in the house to walk on eggshells or follow his specific rules... that sounds less like simple drinking and more like psychological manipulation or some kind of mental health struggle paired with the booze.

Kate Foster4 said:I'm 24, and my Dad has been an alcoholic for as long as I can remember. He’s drinking several times a week—it's just how it is. Luckily, I haven't lived with my parents for a few years now; I’ve got my own job and some peace and quiet. Still, I can't shake the feeling that I'm carrying around baggage caused by them—I'll try to explain it as best I can.

So, my Dad’s been an alcoholic for basically three decades now. Growing up with him was a nightmare—he was drinking every other day, and whenever he hit that stage, he’d come home and just tear the whole family apart emotionally. He wouldn't stop until he finally passed out surrounded by empty beer cans. He’d blast music so loud you couldn't even focus on homework, let alone study. If anyone dared to say anything about it, his only response was to tell us to either get used to it or shut up. On the days he actually managed to stay sober, he’d mostly just sit there in silence—usually because he’d spent the entire previous day fighting with Mom. Sometimes, even without any real reason, he’d pull this silent treatment routine for days just to keep everyone on edge—you never knew when you could actually relax. If we asked what was wrong, he’d just give us a hollow "Nothing" and leave it at that. And if you pushed him too far by asking why he was in such a bad mood? He’d pick a fight on purpose just so he had an excuse to head down to the local pub. Then he’d just stumble back home later that night, drunk as ever, to start the whole cycle all over again.

His mood swings were constant—and I mean constant. He’d flip from happy to miserable five times in a single day. One minute he’d be watching Ludwig on TV, acting like a perfectly normal guy—laughing, joking around with the whole family. But then, the second everyone else finally relaxed, his mood would just snap. He’d scowl out of nowhere, just because the rest of us were being too casual. It wasn't allowed. That was my life, basically.

On the other hand, my mom spent her entire life trying to shield us from the fallout—doing everything she could to make sure we didn't feel the full weight of Dad's drinking. But I don't know how else to put it, I just get this feeling that she was constantly painting herself as a martyr, which ended up making us feel guilty about his addiction. She’s a devout Catholic, too. Every time he’d get wasted, she’d spend at least an hour there on her knees, praying. Just begging God to take the suffering away—though, obviously, nothing ever changed. After realizing her prayers weren't being answered, she’d eventually just sigh and say, "Well, I guess this is just my lot in life; everyone carries their own cross, and I have to carry mine." Basically, she views it as her penance—like she's practically guaranteed a VIP pass to heaven because of it.

During my last couple of years of high school, I was the only kid left at home with my parents. That meant all those venting sessions and endless complaints my mom used to save for my sisters were suddenly dumped right on me. Dad was still drinking, Mom was still kneeling there praying to God—it was just the same old cycle, and I had a front-row seat. Looking back, I didn't see it then, but she basically groomed me to be her emotional anchor. I became the one listening to her rants about Dad, absorbing all that domestic drama. Eventually, I started stepping up to fill the gaps—doing the dishes, cleaning the house, helping with everything she needed. If she needed a ride anywhere, I was the driver. We’d spend entire afternoons running errands together, just wandering through Target or the grocery store. If I ever dared to push back or complain, she’d break down in tears, telling me she had absolutely no one left in this world to lean on. It stayed that way for a few years after graduation, too, until I finally landed a job in another city. I still remember the look on her face when I was packing up to leave—she looked like her heart was actually shattering. I left, of course, even if it felt a little heavy to walk away.

So, here I am. I’m 24, and honestly, I haven't been in a relationship since high school—which, looking back, was right before I moved back in with my parents. Lately, I’ve realized I have this massive anxiety whenever I try to approach a woman. It’s weird, because I didn't used to be like this. Now, I can't help but feel like women are somehow superior—like they deserve this level of constant reverence and being put on a pedestal. It actually gets uncomfortable for me when guys start talking about women, sex, or anything like that in a group setting. If someone makes a joke at their expense, I genuinely feel insulted. I only recently started connecting the dots on why I'm like this—it looks like my mother is the root cause of all of it. How do I actually fix this?

Based on what you wrote, it’s unlikely you could get through to someone like that.
But that response isn't meant for you; it's for that idealist who posted earlier.

Honestly, this whole situation is more about your mom's concerns than yours now. She seems determined to play the martyr to secure her own version of paradise, so it wouldn't be wise to get in the way of her mission. You should focus on your own stuff and meeting girls instead.
Giving her advice is fine, and listening occasionally is okay, but you need to realize it’s time for her to step up for you, or at least stop dumping everything on you. You shouldn't be the one constantly carrying her worries, problems, court dates, and errands like some overworked housekeeper in her later years.

In her mind, him and the life they have is her ticket to heaven, and there isn't much you can do to change that,
except protect yourself from the fallout of her choices.

You definitely can't talk to her about this, right?

Angela Wright said:Women usually have nerves of steel, while guys tend to be total sensitive souls who let everything get to them... you're clearly some kind of hybrid. 😁

I’m honestly pretty nervous about those initial shots. It’s even worse now that the vet looked over the bloodwork and thinks it’s likely feline panleukopenia. 😁

I’d much rather deal with an injection that takes something out than one that puts something in. 😉

Kate Foster4 said:I can talk to women—that’s not the issue. The issue is they shut me out pretty fast because they end up seeing me as nothing more than a brother or a "good friend."

Maybe I misstated my perspective on women in my first post. I'm not looking to become the opposite of who I am—I just want to break through this mental block that keeps me from seeing women as regular human beings instead of these "divine" creatures I currently view them as.

Part of the problem might be that I grew up without a real Dad around—you know, a stable father figure. Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming, imagining I had a normal Dad—someone who didn't drink constantly and wasn't mentally unstable. A Dad I could actually rely on for advice, someone who would've been a true friend. I'll let myself drift into that headspace, and once I do, my view of women feels completely normal again. Like, if I imagine I'm already with a girl I recently met, my confidence shoots up automatically—suddenly, there's no problem at all.

Maybe you view women as divine beings, which is why your mother developed such an intense level of guilt-tripping—something perhaps only God could pull off religiously?
I bet you felt like some kind of monster just for wanting a little downtime or thinking you deserved a life outside of her constant needs. 😉

Kate Foster4 said:I can talk to women—that’s not the issue. The issue is they shut me out pretty fast because they end up seeing me as nothing more than a brother or a "good friend."

Maybe I misstated my perspective on women in my first post. I'm not looking to become the opposite of who I am—I just want to break through this mental block that keeps me from seeing women as regular human beings instead of these "divine" creatures I currently view them as.

Part of the problem might be that I grew up without a real Dad around—you know, a stable father figure. Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming, imagining I had a normal Dad—someone who didn't drink constantly and wasn't mentally unstable. A Dad I could actually rely on for advice, someone who would've been a true friend. I'll let myself drift into that headspace, and once I do, my view of women feels completely normal again. Like, if I imagine I'm already with a girl I recently met, my confidence shoots up automatically—suddenly, there's no problem at all.

Women definitely aren't divine beings, and neither are men.
Most people are actually quite the opposite, with maybe a tiny percentage whose character traits lean toward something remotely "divine."

Kate Foster4 said:I can talk to women—that’s not the issue. The issue is they shut me out pretty fast because they end up seeing me as nothing more than a brother or a "good friend."

Maybe I misstated my perspective on women in my first post. I'm not looking to become the opposite of who I am—I just want to break through this mental block that keeps me from seeing women as regular human beings instead of these "divine" creatures I currently view them as.

Part of the problem might be that I grew up without a real Dad around—you know, a stable father figure. Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming, imagining I had a normal Dad—someone who didn't drink constantly and wasn't mentally unstable. A Dad I could actually rely on for advice, someone who would've been a true friend. I'll let myself drift into that headspace, and once I do, my view of women feels completely normal again. Like, if I imagine I'm already with a girl I recently met, my confidence shoots up automatically—suddenly, there's no problem at all.

Kate Foster4 said:I'm 24, and my Dad has been an alcoholic for as long as I can remember. He’s drinking several times a week—it's just how it is. Luckily, I haven't lived with my parents for a few years now; I’ve got my own job and some peace and quiet. Still, I can't shake the feeling that I'm carrying around baggage caused by them—I'll try to explain it as best I can.

So, my Dad’s been an alcoholic for basically three decades now. Growing up with him was a nightmare—he was drinking every other day, and whenever he hit that stage, he’d come home and just tear the whole family apart emotionally. He wouldn't stop until he finally passed out surrounded by empty beer cans. He’d blast music so loud you couldn't even focus on homework, let alone study. If anyone dared to say anything about it, his only response was to tell us to either get used to it or shut up. On the days he actually managed to stay sober, he’d mostly just sit there in silence—usually because he’d spent the entire previous day fighting with Mom. Sometimes, even without any real reason, he’d pull this silent treatment routine for days just to keep everyone on edge—you never knew when you could actually relax. If we asked what was wrong, he’d just give us a hollow "Nothing" and leave it at that. And if you pushed him too far by asking why he was in such a bad mood? He’d pick a fight on purpose just so he had an excuse to head down to the local pub. Then he’d just stumble back home later that night, drunk as ever, to start the whole cycle all over again.

His mood swings were constant—and I mean constant. He’d flip from happy to miserable five times in a single day. One minute he’d be watching Ludwig on TV, acting like a perfectly normal guy—laughing, joking around with the whole family. But then, the second everyone else finally relaxed, his mood would just snap. He’d scowl out of nowhere, just because the rest of us were being too casual. It wasn't allowed. That was my life, basically.

On the other hand, my mom spent her entire life trying to shield us from the fallout—doing everything she could to make sure we didn't feel the full weight of Dad's drinking. But I don't know how else to put it, I just get this feeling that she was constantly painting herself as a martyr, which ended up making us feel guilty about his addiction. She’s a devout Catholic, too. Every time he’d get wasted, she’d spend at least an hour there on her knees, praying. Just begging God to take the suffering away—though, obviously, nothing ever changed. After realizing her prayers weren't being answered, she’d eventually just sigh and say, "Well, I guess this is just my lot in life; everyone carries their own cross, and I have to carry mine." Basically, she views it as her penance—like she's practically guaranteed a VIP pass to heaven because of it.

During my last couple of years of high school, I was the only kid left at home with my parents. That meant all those venting sessions and endless complaints my mom used to save for my sisters were suddenly dumped right on me. Dad was still drinking, Mom was still kneeling there praying to God—it was just the same old cycle, and I had a front-row seat. Looking back, I didn't see it then, but she basically groomed me to be her emotional anchor. I became the one listening to her rants about Dad, absorbing all that domestic drama. Eventually, I started stepping up to fill the gaps—doing the dishes, cleaning the house, helping with everything she needed. If she needed a ride anywhere, I was the driver. We’d spend entire afternoons running errands together, just wandering through Target or the grocery store. If I ever dared to push back or complain, she’d break down in tears, telling me she had absolutely no one left in this world to lean on. It stayed that way for a few years after graduation, too, until I finally landed a job in another city. I still remember the look on her face when I was packing up to leave—she looked like her heart was actually shattering. I left, of course, even if it felt a little heavy to walk away.

So, here I am. I’m 24, and honestly, I haven't been in a relationship since high school—which, looking back, was right before I moved back in with my parents. Lately, I’ve realized I have this massive anxiety whenever I try to approach a woman. It’s weird, because I didn't used to be like this. Now, I can't help but feel like women are somehow superior—like they deserve this level of constant reverence and being put on a pedestal. It actually gets uncomfortable for me when guys start talking about women, sex, or anything like that in a group setting. If someone makes a joke at their expense, I genuinely feel insulted. I only recently started connecting the dots on why I'm like this—it looks like my mother is the root cause of all of it. How do I actually fix this?

Do you ever get the feeling girls your own age view you more like a platonic buddy or just one of the girls? It’s almost like your mom turned you into her permanent, ever-available little bestie.

If you grow up without any brothers—just sisters—you’re already halfway there. It sets you up to lean more toward a feminine emotional landscape rather than that typical testosterone-driven way of thinking. Especially if your Dad wasn't exactly a pillar of strength, but more of an emotional wreck who handled his frustrations by clinging to a bottle like a baby with a pacifier.

Maybe that’s just who you are.
It’s not out of the question that a similar scenario could play out in some hypothetical situation. Say you have a girl who grew up with nothing but brothers. She’s always gambling on the games with her old man, lives in denim and jerseys, and spends her weekends hitting up football games with her brothers, cheering them on over a few beers.
Most guys would probably just see her as a sister or one of the bros, rather than someone they’d actually find interesting or attractive.
It’s probably unwise to underestimate how much we naturally pick up on the habits of the people around us. We tend to mirror our environment—and the people we spend the most time with—without even realizing we're doing it.

Maybe try cutting back on the drinks and hanging out with guys more often?
It’s a weird thing you see with certain moms' sons—the ones who don't really hang out with guys much. Sometimes they get so close to their mothers that they start mirroring her constantly. They pick up her mannerisms, her facial expressions, even her little gestures. It’s like they’re becoming a carbon copy. And honestly? It’s a total turn-off for women. It makes them look pretty unattractive to the very people they should be trying to impress.

Angela Wright said:Look, side effects happen, sure. But if you're trying to figure out exactly what's "normal" regarding how you're feeling right now, you should probably just check in with the clinic where you got the shot.

I did, I did. 😁
Women can have heavy lifting muscles too. 😉

Angela Wright said:Sure, just like any other vaccine.

Is it actually normal to have this pain at the base of my spine, right above the tailbone, and in my right knee whenever I'm standing? It’s this weird, subjective feeling... almost like it’s made of glass and could just shatter internally. 😢 ?

(Luckily, I’ve got killer calf and thigh muscles, so I don't really feel it once I get moving and pick up the pace while walking... 😁 )

Also, does having random temperature swings in my head—like waves hitting me—flushing in my face for no reason, and this tingling sensation in my hands and feet that feels like eating too much candy, plus unbearable itching, all count as "normal"?

Kate Foster4 said:I'm 24, and my Dad has been an alcoholic for as long as I can remember. He’s drinking several times a week—it's just how it is. Luckily, I haven't lived with my parents for a few years now; I’ve got my own job and some peace and quiet. Still, I can't shake the feeling that I'm carrying around baggage caused by them—I'll try to explain it as best I can.

So, my Dad’s been an alcoholic for basically three decades now. Growing up with him was a nightmare—he was drinking every other day, and whenever he hit that stage, he’d come home and just tear the whole family apart emotionally. He wouldn't stop until he finally passed out surrounded by empty beer cans. He’d blast music so loud you couldn't even focus on homework, let alone study. If anyone dared to say anything about it, his only response was to tell us to either get used to it or shut up. On the days he actually managed to stay sober, he’d mostly just sit there in silence—usually because he’d spent the entire previous day fighting with Mom. Sometimes, even without any real reason, he’d pull this silent treatment routine for days just to keep everyone on edge—you never knew when you could actually relax. If we asked what was wrong, he’d just give us a hollow "Nothing" and leave it at that. And if you pushed him too far by asking why he was in such a bad mood? He’d pick a fight on purpose just so he had an excuse to head down to the local pub. Then he’d just stumble back home later that night, drunk as ever, to start the whole cycle all over again.

His mood swings were constant—and I mean constant. He’d flip from happy to miserable five times in a single day. One minute he’d be watching Ludwig on TV, acting like a perfectly normal guy—laughing, joking around with the whole family. But then, the second everyone else finally relaxed, his mood would just snap. He’d scowl out of nowhere, just because the rest of us were being too casual. It wasn't allowed. That was my life, basically.

On the other hand, my mom spent her entire life trying to shield us from the fallout—doing everything she could to make sure we didn't feel the full weight of Dad's drinking. But I don't know how else to put it, I just get this feeling that she was constantly painting herself as a martyr, which ended up making us feel guilty about his addiction. She’s a devout Catholic, too. Every time he’d get wasted, she’d spend at least an hour there on her knees, praying. Just begging God to take the suffering away—though, obviously, nothing ever changed. After realizing her prayers weren't being answered, she’d eventually just sigh and say, "Well, I guess this is just my lot in life; everyone carries their own cross, and I have to carry mine." Basically, she views it as her penance—like she's practically guaranteed a VIP pass to heaven because of it.

During my last couple of years of high school, I was the only kid left at home with my parents. That meant all those venting sessions and endless complaints my mom used to save for my sisters were suddenly dumped right on me. Dad was still drinking, Mom was still kneeling there praying to God—it was just the same old cycle, and I had a front-row seat. Looking back, I didn't see it then, but she basically groomed me to be her emotional anchor. I became the one listening to her rants about Dad, absorbing all that domestic drama. Eventually, I started stepping up to fill the gaps—doing the dishes, cleaning the house, helping with everything she needed. If she needed a ride anywhere, I was the driver. We’d spend entire afternoons running errands together, just wandering through Target or the grocery store. If I ever dared to push back or complain, she’d break down in tears, telling me she had absolutely no one left in this world to lean on. It stayed that way for a few years after graduation, too, until I finally landed a job in another city. I still remember the look on her face when I was packing up to leave—she looked like her heart was actually shattering. I left, of course, even if it felt a little heavy to walk away.

So, here I am. I’m 24, and honestly, I haven't been in a relationship since high school—which, looking back, was right before I moved back in with my parents. Lately, I’ve realized I have this massive anxiety whenever I try to approach a woman. It’s weird, because I didn't used to be like this. Now, I can't help but feel like women are somehow superior—like they deserve this level of constant reverence and being put on a pedestal. It actually gets uncomfortable for me when guys start talking about women, sex, or anything like that in a group setting. If someone makes a joke at their expense, I genuinely feel insulted. I only recently started connecting the dots on why I'm like this—it looks like my mother is the root cause of all of it. How do I actually fix this?

You have to realize that women who stay with spouses like that, and
who basically serve up that kind of nonsense to their kids by staying, are actually being STUPID (not being pious or good)
or they have some sort of calculated reason—some small daily advantage where it’s easier to just let things stay the way they are (even if it hurts the kids) rather than changing anything.

Once you see that your mom isn't actually a saint, and that she didn't use her "kindness" to guilt-trip you into feeling like you always have to be perfect, you'll start seeing the world differently.

It wouldn't be great if you swung too far the other way and started enjoying putting women down, but a little shift in how you view them might do you some good.
Women aren't angels just because they're women. They can be just as messy as guys.

I'm trying to wrap my head around what a blood panel might suggest when iron levels are hitting the upper limit or even slightly above average,
along with high erythrocyte and lymphocyte counts,
while neutrophils are sitting at an absolute floor and white blood cell counts are crashing way below the normal range,
???
And then there’s a really high fever on top of everything else.
This isn't my own lab work, but I'm curious—what kind of big picture does this point toward?
Thanks 🙂

Kevin White11 said:How do you feel about others succeeding on your dime—basically riding your coattails? I’m talking about close friends or family. Imagine you spent years grinding, sacrificing everything, and fighting tooth and nail to reach a goal. Now that you've finally made it, you have the means to lift others up, but these people don't actually *need* the help to survive; they'd just certainly enjoy the shortcut.

Would it eat at you that you had to crawl through the mud to get there, while they get handed everything on a silver platter without lifting a finger? Or would you be fine with it, just knowing you made someone else's life easier, even if you're still feeling the scars from all those years of sacrifice while they're out there living the high life?

It’s pretty ugly. And honestly, I don't just mean when someone close takes credit; I mean whenever any stranger manages to climb the ladder by stepping on those closest to them.
I think there's a word for it: opportunism. And I have zero respect for people like that.

What you're talking about, Kevin, isn't actually someone succeeding at your expense. It sounds more like your own dilemma: whether or not to help people who just happened to have a smoother ride or fewer hurdles than you did. It's about deciding if you should help pave the way for people who haven't even had to think about the struggle.
Real success at your expense would be if someone took your help, used you, and then basically trampled you or threw you under the bus once they didn't need you anymore.
Think of a situation where a mentor or a life coach gets totally burned and discarded by a former student—someone they literally pulled out of the gutter or helped when they were clueless and struggling. That's what I mean by being used.

I had to get a rabies shot the other day after a cat bite.
Can I expect any nasty side effects from that?

I had this one experience—it happened right there in bed by an open window—and when the people I was with heard what was going on, they told me I needed to see a priest. They actually started talking about exorcisms, terrified.
People couldn't even sleep because they were so scared. For me, I just remember it wasn't some typical nightmare triggered by old childhood trauma. It felt more like this waking trance, almost like an epileptic fit, where everything started going wrong in my life all at once. It was this massive breaking point of stress, and that night, I felt like I was simultaneously myself and some hateful man trying to kill me through this half-dream state.
To make it even more surreal, my body was twitching, repeatedly lifting and dropping, all while these horrific, violent words of pure rage and hatred were being spat out.
I’ll probably never know what that actually was, but I'm certain it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

Not long after that, the demonic dreams started kicking in. Meanwhile, the women living two floors up and one floor down from me told me they saw some dark figure pacing around the house like a maniac one night, peering in through the windows. They ended up moving out in a huge hurry right after.

What really went down that night three and a half years ago? I honestly have no clue, but it’s still a mystery to me, and honestly, pretty fascinating.

Who knows, maybe that creep was looking for me...