u/In-my-fucking-flesh

According to older family members this has been an issue since I was very young. However no one was taken seriously and my family was told they just weren't brushing my teeth properly and other symptoms shrugged off.

I'm a few years shy of thirty and had to go to the dentist recently because I had some serious pains in my teeth. I learned I had three cavities and a mild infection which had me confused because my diet has low sugar intake and the most I have would be a caramel frappe every monday, sometimes with a caramel shortbread.

At the same time my doctor apparently from a family member got told about the issues with my mouth and a discussion happened which leads me to where I am now. I am one of those people who thought the problems I was having was something everyone was experiencing because I've lived with them for so long.

I thought discomfort and pain was normal along with my stomach often making weird noises, the dizziness and gurgling. I honestly thought it happened to everyone. I'm already on 1200kcal to 13500kcal a day because anymore than that would leave me in pain and feeling sick until morning.

First time in my life on new medication I'm fine. I noticed my body is quiet, everything that is usually a hundred is now down to like thirty. I'm twenty-eight and I feel like an alien in my own body all of a sudden.

I'm also worried about the dietary changes because I'm already restricted from some things and also discovered my family may have been unintentionally triggering my problems! I'm Wasian, all I have eaten since I was able to start consuming food has been mostly Chinese meals. I can't even eat things like Bolognese without frying a chili pepper of some kind or dropping chili paste into the sauce.

Even a basic veggie rice bowl has some mild pepper and garlic mixed into it for more flavour.

I know have to make adjustments for my health but I'm so reluctant because it looks like I'll be changing so much just to exist. I'm currently sitting on my bed, playing catch with my new medication, trying to figure it all out. Me and people joke about it but alone I'm kinda upset.

Edit: I just had a crying laughing melt down to my family and I feel kinda ok now

My first character was apparently half taking inspiration from Daryl Dixon. I was still figuring out the game and was not surviving more than a week (eventually I figured out that part of the problem was trying to run it on steam deck without adjusting my settings first). For some reason spawning glitched a few times because I'd click muldraugh and it would spawn me in Riverside or something instead and through sheer determination I would fight my way back to Muldraugh often looking like a wreck and definitely dressed a little odd at times.

Now picture this, you've found another survivor. He's surviving the same as you. He's doing his best on collecting supplies and clearing the area so you both have a safer base to live on. He cooks the meals, he fixes the clothes, he finds entertainment so you don't get bored and can fight off depression a little longer.

However one day while breaking into a convience store you two fail to notice a large hoard coming from the road nearby. You run but his legs fail him and he falls. The hoard of cannibalistic humanoids is upon him. There is no chance.

You return for his corpse once its safe to do so, taking him home. You dig, ignoring his body and think about the last meal he made for you, how delicious the stew was with a kick of chilli sauce that he was beyond joyful to find. You bury him, thinking about how he is gone, how the one who did his best to keep the world bright has fallen. How you are now alone within the world.

You live for a few more days, your only hope being reports from the TV, the radio until they too gradually stop, leaving you to the sound of grumbling, crawling corpses of your friends, family and neighbours. You're depressed, neglecting your mental health and just trying to survive.

One night the door opens and closes. You freeze, eyes wide then slowly grab your axe. You creep downstairs and the light is on but you dont hear any grumbles or snarls nor do you see messy tracks from the door. Then you smell it, hear it too. The scent of a seasoned chicken breast frying in sizzling oil. Its nostalgic despite it only being a few days since you last had it.

You creep round the corner of the kitchen door and there he is. Your friend. The one you heard get torn apart, the one you buried after carrying his torn body home is there, cooking like it's just another night. You are lost, confused, certain your mind is playing tricks on you.

He's wearing torn clothes, no shoes, he's a little covered in grime but otherwise is singing to a cassette tape he put in the stereo. Nothing like the gore you buried in the backyard next to the corn and tomato plants. You decide to just accept this brief moment of happiness, thinking it's nothing but a dream.

Another few days past and it's like he was never gone. You're back to clearing the neighbourhood, learning skills that will aid you as the apocalypae continues. Then like a nightmare keeping you in a loop you hear that pained scream of your friend. Turning around all you see is a infected person you recognise as the local sheriff, biting into your friend's stomach. He kills the sheriff after a quick struggle, slamming his hammer repeatedly into his skull until it's nothing but pulverised brain and bone.

However it's too late. You both know what that means. He stays in the yard, sitting by the BBQ with a fever. It's getting worse but he has accepted his fate. You stand by with your weapon ready to put him out of his misery the second he turns. This time he has died by your own hands.

Again you bury him and your depression worsens. You don't know what's worse when he returns one night, wearing a random bra and socks with nothing else acting as if he never passed away at all. He's putting on a movie he found on his way back, deciding it'll do you both good to forget the world after he's gotten clean and dressed in the clothes he fixed and stored away just a week prior.

Then it happens again. And again. And again. You bury your friend every time he falls to the walkers or to sickness or injury. You can't seem to escape the madness in your mind and you no longer fear the undead but you now fear him. Your companion who won't stay dead and has been resurrected more than any god in history.

You stare in the mirror as your friend shaves his face, listening to him sing Sweet Child o' Mine without a care in the world. Like this isn't the fifteenth time he has come home without memory of dying to the sinners Hell forgot. Your eyes are locked with your reflection's. The lights are on but the homeowner fled a long time ago.