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If this is entirely uninteresting or unwanted, let me know. This is a true story (not in the Fargo way). This is firsthand. It's disjointed. Apologies. --- I remember the bodies. There is a quote that rattles around in my head so often that I can recite it at a moment’s notice. “Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever, he said. You might want to think about that. You forget some things, dont you? Yes. You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget.” I look at the psychologist and ask her if she’s ever read “The Road.” She said she hadn’t and I tell her it’s probably for the best. I tell her it’s a fantastic book if you’re into that sort of thing and don’t feel too strongly about punctuation. I bring it up because it resonates so deeply with what I’m going through. You want to forget things and you can’t. You want to remember what it’s like to feel good, to feel happy but it seems impossible and the walls grow taller and your mind grows darker. I would not consider what I do or did an extremely high risk job. The bullet resistant vest seemed to indicate otherwise, but this is my city. It has serious issues, dangerous issues, but it’s my loving city and when I’m in my vehicle, the city is my office. Sometimes you pet a dog or catch a rogue pig and someone takes a picture and you find it on Reddit later and it makes you feel great. Sometimes you’re bleeding from an animal attack or have your head in your hands because you are incapable of help or were too late. Mostly it’s paperwork. I knew I was depressed from an early age. It runs, untreated, on my mother’s side. My Father told me only recently to within the last few years that he didn’t understand depression, because why would you just not make yourself not sad? Depression does not run on his side of the family. I think it finally hit him that it’s not an on/off switch not long after he learned that one a day off of work, I was in my home alone, just watching cartoons when I got up and decided I was going to drink an entire bottle of vodka. After that, I just cried. I don’t know why. I stood up, took some wobbly steps toward the bathroom and then blacked out on the bathroom floor. When I came to, after my wife had found me, I knew that the only reason I was headed that direction was because of the safety razor blades I shave with. I passed out within a few feet of the box of them. PTSD is never something I would have considered I could get. I’m not a cop, I’m not an EMT. I have never been in a war zone. I don’t get exposed to the sort of thing that these people see with such frequency. I guess I had never thought that infrequent exposure was something that could compound if you have the right kind of depressive predisposition. The term sounded so foreign when I was part of the same sentence. “Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever, he said” It makes much more sense in hindsight than it did at first. It added up in a way that I was too close to see. My wife would ask me what I was thinking about because my eyes were focused to some spot simultaneously in the middle of the room and in some intangible theoretical point in space and time. Blink. Regain focus and a sense of present time. Blink. “Nothing really.” Blink. Oh, right. I was eating dinner. I blink and the image in my head fades away and becomes a static distorted image somewhere in the back of my subconscious, lurking and waiting again. “Just mentally wandering.” The theoretical point in space/time was actually a hot August day in 2015. It was the first time I saw a dead body of someone I didn’t know. It was hot. Really hot. New Mexico summer sun beating down on asphalt and desert dirt, penetrating my uniform and sweat trapped by whoever the gently caress thought polyester was a good idea. I make contact with a couple of guys from the police department, younger guys standing around in the yard. They lead me around to the back of the house and tell me that there’s a dead man inside, but they can’t get to him because of the dogs. Good luck, they say. Try not to jostle him. And try not to step in the decomp. They open the door and a smell I can only describe as brutal assaults me immediately. I take a tentative step into the small house- all the lights are off and in spite of the sun, there were thick blankets and towel draped over every window. The door slammed shut behind me. In my experience cops really hates dealing with animals so this wasn’t unexpected. I was now by myself in a dark room, the summer smell of a dead man enveloping me, and there were two dogs somewhere, their presence only known by low growls in the dim light. If you have never smelled a dead body before, consider yourself lucky. The very thought of it conjures the smell and the taste of it, the sense memory of it is so strong. The oppressive heat is making me sweat and I can feel the smell sticking to the sweat. I press forward to step out of a small utility room and into an oddly apportioned home. I step into a single large room that seems to function as a bedroom, a large bed taking up most of the space in the center, and to my left a shallow corridor between the bed and a row of dressers, piled high with whatever it is we build our lives with. I remember several CRT televisions on, one with a muted program on, another with a tenuous hold on a broadcast and a third a deep static snow. This one of course had the volume up. KSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Barking. Deep guttural barks and my breath, shallow, trying not to breathe in particles of this man punctuate the static. My eyes adjust to the low light, filtered a deep wine hue of red by a blanket. KSSSSHHHH There, on the bed lay the figure of a large man. No, partially on the bed. He was listing to one side, his legs threatening to take the weight of him to the floor. The man had suffered some sort of medical emergency and died on his bed, two confused dogs and the glowing emanations of old televisions to oversee his last breaths. As is mostly the case, these deaths are found out after the smell snakes tendrils out to people that smell something and they don’t know what, but it shakes something deeply in their brain. The house is stifling between the static, the barking, the smell and the heat. My god, the heat. It’s 90 something outside and there is no air conditioner- there’s not even a stale swamp cooler. There is nothing moving the air in this house. KSSSSHHHH The dogs are frightened. They’re not aggressive. Police always assumes aggression, but these dogs are scared and they keep their distance. They’re standing on either side of the bed, on a step separating the room. The house is laid out like an O, the bed here and the dogs able to run literal circles around me if they wanted. The dogs are frightened but I can see, in this light, how frightening they are as well. The low light catches their eyes and their raised hackles, menacing silhouettes with eyes that appear to glow white. KSSSSHHHH The man is leaking. There is a deep red/brown puddle underneath him on the bed. There is a deeper, larger stain on the floor where his body is overhanging. If there was ever question, I know what decomp is immediately. His shirt is bunched, revealing his large midsection and my mind focuses on the odd way veins appear so vivid along his skin, in the dark they may have well been electric blue and brick red spider webbing over flesh that was a rainbow of decay, a pallid grey blending into colors familiar but unearthly, as though colors could become ill. Flesh becoming a mockery of purples and mauve, becoming something not quite blue but not quite green but not quite black. KSSSSHHHH It hits me as suddenly as I press my back and the bulk of my stifling armor against a dresser and try to step over a protruding leg how much I feel the loneliness of this man in his final moments, like maybe that loneliness is being broadcast on one of the televisions and my mind produces a phrase I had read somewhere before, “Lonely Death,” and how I had never internalized or truly understood it until this moment. I never actually saw his face. It’s been several years and my wife is asking me what I’m thinking about, but I’m standing in that room, the smell washing over me, the lonely death decomposing in the New Mexican summer heat, the static blaring and dogs growling and barking, four glowing white eyes and flashes of teeth and drool stringing in the darkness. KSSSSHHHH “Nothing really.” --- HelloIAmYourHeart posted:What happened to the dogs? I can tell you what the process is, but other than that I don't know. A relative showed up on scene after I had fought to get these dogs out. He couldn't be bothered with the whole situation and clearly was annoyed he had to come out to this house. Said he had no interest in the dogs. I carted them away. They're out on protective custody holds in situations like this to keep them safe and calm them down. If not claimed by family or whatnot, they are put up for adoption. After that, I don't know what happened to them. Droogie has a new favorite as of 03:29 on May 1, 2021 |
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May 1, 2021 03:23
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Hi Droogie. I’ve lurked this thread (and previous incarnations) for a few years, but just wanted to say that your writing is always a welcome sight. Thank you for sharing your experiences. You have seen some intense stuff 😕
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May 1, 2021 04:18
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I'm lurker too, stopping by to say, Jesus. That's some astoundingly effective storytelling. I would hope you are confident in your writing skills, and if you are not, you should be. I DID grow up in what was a bit of a warzone (Mexico; only family in our street that didn't have to pay someone's ransom at some point, grenade in our neighbor's front yard, yadda yadda), and I can earnestly say you uh, have worse PTSD than I do, probably. Hope you are taking care of yourself, inasmuch as that is possible.
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May 1, 2021 04:31
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Sphyrnidae posted:your writing is always a welcome sight. Thank you for sharing your experiences. You have seen some intense stuff 😕 catgirlgenius posted:I would hope you are confident in your writing skills, and if you are not, you should be. To be honest, this thread has given me that confidence. I never was before and I'm still on shaky ground confidence-wise. This isn't really a pity me sort of thing, I think it was just... unnerving and stuck in my head even after a lot of therapy. This stuff isn't "a million little pieces" form of "true" either. This part was not embellished other than linear flow. It feels good to write it, mostly. It's been written in my head for years. Edit: If you are depressed or have these sort of ghosts in your head, TELL SOMEONE. I promise it's better for you in the long run. Droogie has a new favorite as of 05:01 on May 1, 2021 |
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May 1, 2021 04:57
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Smell of decomp never leaves you, no matter how long since you first smelled it, like catshit mixed with a bowl of mixed fruit gone south. When flies get to it, it gets worse somehow I can't really describe, I don't know if it's the flies, or just the stage of decomposition.
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May 1, 2021 06:07
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Ugh, there was a bloated dead raccoon at one of my buddy's farms when we were kids and I think one of us poked it with a stick and it burst. It already smelled bad, but when it plopped open it was indescribable. There's only been two times I felt my mind truly recoil in terror, once was when I was fishing a lake in chest deep water and thought an alligator had snuck around me because a half sunk log drifted into my peripheral from the reeds. The other was just that smell. That's it. That smell flipped every panic switch in my brain.
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May 1, 2021 06:19
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the smell of decomp's never really bugged me that much. it just smells bad. on the other hand, i vomit profusely and violently if it bite into gristle or squid/octopus, and the sound of tearing fabric causes lances of searing pain to shoot up my spine, so i'm just wired weird.
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May 1, 2021 06:24
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Fantastic as always.
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May 1, 2021 06:26
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spookykid posted:Smell of decomp never leaves you, no matter how long since you first smelled it Flash forward to October 2019 and OMI has just wheeled out a friend in a body bag and I'm cleaning his decomp from his bathroom floor so our group of friends and now mourners don't have to deal with it or have some overlooked that stays out too long. There comes a tipping point into clinical automation.
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May 1, 2021 06:41
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Sarcopenia posted:It is real and the man responsible was caught. Australian 60 Minutes did an interview with him. I don't even want to write the title of the video, but the puke stain's name is Peter Gerard Scully. Goddamn it. Yeah, the title is somehow the most upsetting part. Alright then. DRINK ME posted:Not bullshit, you’re talking about Peter Scully. He’s Australian so has been in the Australian news a decent amount over the years. Shouldn't have clicked but did. The account I read was not accurate, but I'm not going to correct my post because the truth is worse. Gonna shut up about this now. BrianRx has a new favorite as of 09:40 on May 1, 2021 |
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May 1, 2021 09:26
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spookykid posted:Smell of decomp never leaves you, no matter how long since you first smelled it, like catshit mixed with a bowl of mixed fruit gone south. My dad was part of a tank battalion in Korea during the war. He must have seen some poo poo because he always shut down any attempted conversation about his experiences there. The one thing he did says, though, was that once you smell the odor of decomp of a human body, it gets in the back of your nose and just hangs there---and you never, ever forget it. That was 40+ years after he came home so yeah, an unforgettable stench.
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May 1, 2021 14:03
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Droogie posted:Flash forward to October 2019 and OMI has just wheeled out a friend in a body bag and I'm cleaning his decomp from his bathroom floor so our group of friends and now mourners don't have to deal with it or have some overlooked that stays out too long. There comes a tipping point into clinical automation. That’s why I stopped working for a local VSO, after my third instance of “[veteran] offed themselves and we can’t afford a biohazard cleaning service, plus you’re the only one I trust enough to ask this to help my buddy before their family sees the scene” and then learning how far bits can travel. Upon upthread reflection, I might need to do a bit more work on that make-a-joke-about-a-bad-thing reflex.
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May 1, 2021 15:14
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There's some stuff going on at Fort Bragg.quote:Three weeks before Christmas, in the piney woods outside of Fort Bragg, North Carolina, a deer hunter came across the fallout from a firefight that, to date, no one has been able to explain. A tricked-out Chevy Colorado with matte-black wheels and racing tires was stuck in a rut on a dirt road near Lake MacArthur. In the bed of the truck and on the ground beside it were two dead men. Both had been killed by gunshots, and according to news reports, shell casings were scattered on the ground. Yet there were no firearms to be found at the scene, and no trace of the third man, the surviving shooter. There had to have been at least one. It's a long read, but very well written.
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May 1, 2021 20:08
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Busket Posket posted:Upon upthread reflection, I might need to do a bit more work on that make-a-joke-about-a-bad-thing reflex. I've tried that, but if I don't joke about terrible poo poo I just get super depressed about it.
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May 1, 2021 21:45
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BrianRx posted:Goddamn it. Yeah, the title is somehow the most upsetting part. Alright then.
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May 1, 2021 22:13
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Solice Kirsk posted:I've tried that, but if I don't joke about terrible poo poo I just get super depressed about it.
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May 1, 2021 22:25
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Graedyn posted:My dad was part of a tank battalion in Korea during the war. He must have seen some poo poo because he always shut down any attempted conversation about his experiences there. The one thing he did says, though, was that once you smell the odor of decomp of a human body, it gets in the back of your nose and just hangs there---and you never, ever forget it. That was 40+ years after he came home so yeah, an unforgettable stench. My dad went to Indonesia & Malaysia as part of the World Food Project to teach local farmers a method he developed for escargot snail development. He apparently encountered a few bodies in the jungle there and one time when I was like eight I bought some kind of tropical fruit gum (it was the mid 90s so lord only knows what the flavor was) but I was chewing it in the car while he was driving and he was just like YOU HAVE TO SPIT THAT OUT RIGHT NOW I CANNOT STAND THE SMELL. Apparently, it smelled just like jungle rot.
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May 1, 2021 22:33
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Sarcopenia posted:I'm super drunk right now so I'm going to say something that you should probably just disregard. I get this and I've noticed that you've been through some poo poo. But, personally, I think that you are very callous about a lot of things and you honestly make me not want to read or post here a lot. I know that it's weird to say in the murder thread, but making a joke out of every single thing posted here kind of sucks. It might bring you some levity, but usually it just makes me feel like poo poo for feeling affected by or caring about anything. I wish I could PM you to apologize for making you feel like that, but I can't so I'm sorry that I've made you feel that way. I never thought I would be a poster that made other posters not want to be on here.
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May 1, 2021 22:40
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Ive never understood that because if someone needs to find levity to make themselves feel better, it has absolutely no bearing on other people's responses or make them 'invalid'  People are different, thats it.
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May 2, 2021 00:41
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I realize that this isn’t really the thread for this, but I have some stories I’d like to share too. I was in the mortuary field for many years, I think it hosed me up more than I’m willing to admit, and would like to share. It’s selfish I know, but I’m struggling with depression and what is likely ptsd. I’m fine taking this to discord or something if it’s not welcome here.
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May 2, 2021 01:20
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Watermelon Daiquiri posted:Ive never understood that because if someone needs to find levity to make themselves feel better, it has absolutely no bearing on other people's responses or make them 'invalid' I think it’s valid to feel like you don’t want to post in a place where you feel it’s being treated like a joke. I don’t think that means either of them are in the wrong. It’s just incompatible is all.
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May 2, 2021 01:40
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MAKE NO BABBYS posted:My dad went to Indonesia & Malaysia as part of the World Food Project to teach local farmers a method he developed for escargot snail development. He apparently encountered a few bodies in the jungle there and one time when I was like eight I bought some kind of tropical fruit gum (it was the mid 90s so lord only knows what the flavor was) but I was chewing it in the car while he was driving and he was just like YOU HAVE TO SPIT THAT OUT RIGHT NOW I CANNOT STAND THE SMELL. Apparently, it smelled just like jungle rot. Eww, I've heard of that stuff but never had the (dis)pleasure to experience it myself. I believe it's called durian. Some locales where it's available won't even let you bring those on the bus. You have to wonder who the first person was that found this fruit, smelled it, and in spite of smelling like rotten flesh gave it a taste-test and thought, hmm, yeah, I could eat this.
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May 2, 2021 02:13
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THIS IS A COMEDY WEBSITE If someone makes a joke A pun A funny observation Tells a funny story It's not racist or mysogynistic or anything And you get offended gently caress off
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May 2, 2021 02:23
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I've lurked this thread forever It's not some e/n zone
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May 2, 2021 02:30
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Bulgaroctonus posted:I realize that this isn’t really the thread for this, but I have some stories I’d like to share too. I was in the mortuary field for many years, I think it hosed me up more than I’m willing to admit, and would like to share. It’s selfish I know, but I’m struggling with depression and what is likely ptsd. I’m fine taking this to discord or something if it’s not welcome here. I'd love to hear these stories. Believe me, I struggled with whether or not to even start writing what I had above for MONTHS because I felt like it belonged but it also felt... I don't know, self-important? Self indulgent? This is in addition to managing depression and an actual diagnosis of PTSD from my work experience. I found it made me feel a lot better after I wrote it out. I think for the most part you'd get the support part of it. Spinz posted:THIS IS A COMEDY WEBSITE Welp, thread had a great run. Shut it down, boyos. This here's a comedy website.
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May 2, 2021 02:32
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Spinz posted:THIS IS A COMEDY WEBSITE
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May 2, 2021 02:37
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Droogie posted:I'd love to hear these stories. Believe me, I struggled with whether or not to even start writing what I had above for MONTHS because I felt like it belonged but it also felt... I don't know, self-important? Self indulgent? Your posts look interesting and well written, there is room for BOTH kinds of posts is what I meant.
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May 2, 2021 02:59
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Spinz posted:Your posts look interesting and well written Well, I'm sure you'll get around to reading them at some point. It's important to set goals for yourself. Spinz posted:there is room for BOTH kinds of posts is what I meant. ABORT THE SHUTDOWN PROCESS WE'RE BACK IN BUSINESS!
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May 2, 2021 03:06
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Graedyn posted:Eww, I've heard of that stuff but never had the (dis)pleasure to experience it myself. I believe it's called durian. Some locales where it's available won't even let you bring those on the bus. You have to wonder who the first person was that found this fruit, smelled it, and in spite of smelling like rotten flesh gave it a taste-test and thought, hmm, yeah, I could eat this. Oh, I like durian, this wasn’t durian flavored but yeah similar reaction in a lot of folks.
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May 2, 2021 03:23
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I tried durian once, I didn't like it but it was a visceral reaction to the texture so much as anything else. I'd be willing to try durian hard candies or something.
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May 2, 2021 03:38
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Agree that it's just a matter of incompatibility of posting preferences, maybe with our fancy new features there will be a mute feature so you can choose whether to read the posts or not (without blocking) Anyway, I think the conversations about PTSD and experiences with traumatic experiences and true crime is totally valid for this thread, so if anyone is comfortable sharing please feel free. It's good to get it out somewhere. PetraCore posted:I tried durian once, I didn't like it but it was a visceral reaction to the texture so much as anything else. I'd be willing to try durian hard candies or something. What's the texture like?
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May 2, 2021 03:53
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Custardy is what I've heard My wife keeps seeing if I'll try some, but ever since I identified the smell as "a disused, dead-end alley where the only thing less frequent than garbage pick-up is someone power-washing the stale piss", I've been p comfortable kicking that can down the road
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May 2, 2021 04:16
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Spinz posted:THIS IS A COMEDY WEBSITE Hey I think the guy who complained was a little baby but also you sound like a huge fucker hth
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May 2, 2021 04:30
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Durian tastes like onion flan. It's not bad when it's fresh. Not a big fan of durian derivatives, though. Durian wafers (similar to quadrattini) smell far too potent. Durian ice cream does not improve on durian or ice cream.
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May 2, 2021 05:02
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Dirty Deeds Thunderchief posted:What's the texture like?
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May 2, 2021 05:46
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Solice Kirsk posted:I wish I could PM you to apologize for making you feel like that, but I can't so I'm sorry that I've made you feel that way. I never thought I would be a poster that made other posters not want to be on here. Spinz posted:THIS IS A COMEDY WEBSITE i must compose posted:Hey I think the guy who complained was a little baby but also you sound like a huge fucker hth
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May 2, 2021 05:55
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Solice Kirsk posted:I wish I could PM you to apologize for making you feel like that, but I can't so I'm sorry that I've made you feel that way. I never thought I would be a poster that made other posters not want to be on here.
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May 2, 2021 06:01
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There’s nothing wrong with expressing your feelings as long as you aren’t being a giant piece of poo poo. Hope you feel better.
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May 2, 2021 06:02
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RCarr posted:There’s nothing wrong with expressing your feelings as long as you aren’t being a giant piece of poo poo. Hope you feel better. But I do feel better, thanks. Just a bit embarrassed. I'm frantically trying to find something to post to stop this awkwardness. Kathleen Folbigg, one of Australia's most notorious "child killers" might not actually have killed her children. New research indicates that the children suffered from a genetic disease. She is still in prison and got beaten by another prisoner during a transfer at the start of this year, despite being in protective custody. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-australia-56355695 https://www.theage.com.au/national/the-unsolved-mystery-of-four-infant-deaths-20071025-ge64sz.html https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kathleen_Folbigg Sarcopenia has a new favorite as of 06:48 on May 2, 2021 |
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May 2, 2021 06:43
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I apologize, my post was unnecessarily harsh.
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May 2, 2021 06:50
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