Community Munchausen's by Internet (Malingerers, Munchies, Spoonies, etc) - Feigning Illnesses for Attention

Oh my, that brings me a lot of nostalgia from the beginning of my munchie watching.
I haven't cared about her in years because she got so damn boring and frankly I just feel good riddance.

If anyone knows, did she kill herself or what?
Edit: it seems legit, she worked for the ambulance charity according to her insta https://www.theasc.org.uk/tributes/in-memory-of-nicole-gray/
Thanks for the proof. I found her too boring even in the LCF era. She was good for an occasional "what the attention seeking fuck?" but she was no Jaquie, Dani, or Kelly.

ETA: LMAO MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE TRIED SPELLING HER NAME RIGHT WHEN I DID MY 5 SECONDS OF GOOGLE DETECTIVE WORK.
 
Last edited:
You can't convince me at this point that Tilly is anything other than a Daddy funded junkie. The only difference being no one can ever point out how she's hurting herself. Narcissism and opiate addiction along with a codependent munch (bp?) mom. Maybe the doctor just cuts them a little and only does a bit of tinkering (while claiming to be remodeling) to avoid causing damage like Taylah.

I'm sure she's not there yet, but I would love some dodgy South American ayahuasca hippy arc as she tries to get off the drugs.
 
The German Doctor really does have the munchie grift all worked out:
  • Rope in the medically qualified family to work in your clinic. Cheap labour. Also circle of silence when things inevitably go wrong.
  • Lay it on thick with the munchies. Tell them you know that it's not all in their head, even though you know it's all in their fucking heads. They'll think you're heaven sent.
  • Use a mix of jargon and layman's terms so there's just enough for the munchies to be dazzled by your brilliance, but also feel they know what you're talking about.
  • Diagnose everyone with the same thing, and call it supermegarare. Bonus diagnose patients with the combo platter if not already.
  • At the postop check, be sure to assess patient. Do you think you can get more $$$ out of them?No? Good news, scan is fine. Yes? Oh noes, there's an oopsy that needs fixed! More surgery!
  • ????
  • PROFIT
I'm pretty sure I can fill in your "???" for you: it's "feverishly masturbate over the whole thing."

Let's revisit Tilly's description of her ultrasound:
Scan: I lie down on the bed and the professor puts some cold jelly on my tummy and pelvis. I am about to have a unique type of Doppler scan measuring blood flow in my body, different from anything I have ever had before.
In front of me hangs a big TV screen, so I can see the inside of my body in real-time. My arteries and veins are marked out in red and green and I can hear the whooshing of the blood and the pounding of my pulse and heartbeat
Mum sits on a stool beside me.
"Yes, just as I thought. This adds up with my theory," the prof begins.
He proceeds to show me how my pelvis is full of blood. It shouldn't be and this indicates a problem higher up, likely a problem with the left renal vein, as he's predicted.
Next, he finds that my left iliac vein is also compressed. Again this adds to his theory...He's doing all sorts of mathematical equations as he goes along.
The professor then asks me to stand. In the UK, I have never had any scan in different positions. It's something I've asked about a lot, as I know my symptoms vary on lying and standing.
I stand up. The professor slides the machine down my back.
00329610-978B-4994-95FE-15C3391B737E-225x300.jpegimage01.jpegNoah-Higon2--e1562874910148.jpg1364287.jpgpro-xrT9I6EO.jpeg412010127_878822937044792_6866144175204732143_n-300x225.jpgimagesscholbach.jpgeser5.jpgpatient-from-Hawaii-243x300.jpgIMG_2367-225x300.jpgProf-Sandmann-me-and-the-lucky-patient.jpgCan-Pat-09-23-scaled.jpg
These ultrasounds are the bread and butter of Herr Doktor's clinical offerings. He doesn't have a tech. He does them himself. At the very, very, very least, he gets off on making these young girls strip down, slathering 'em up with lube, and gently fucking them in the belly with an ultrasound transducer. Like so:
image5-scaled.jpeg
OH JA, HERR PROFESSOR DOKTOR LIEBT ES SOOO SEHR!
474594701_574284918913035_8413807081670209555_n.jpg

Edit: Love the body language in this one, lol. Keine fat chicks!
pro-xrT9I6EO.jpeg

Und no homo!!!!
SB-Indian-Patient-169x300.jpg
 
Last edited:
Welcome back to withdrawal, enjoy your shakes. Or not, since she's still on IV opiates. I don't fuck with opiates because I know my little caged squirrel brain will find a new favorite substance so I have no idea if this is what happens when you suddenly go down to a much lower dose.
So opiate withdrawals have a few tells. It starts with feeling super uncontrollably tired to the extent you wll fall asleep mid conversation. Don't worry, this ends soon, you'll be fully awake by the time it gets bad. then you start to do all the shitting you weren't doing for ages and if you're lucky vomiting at the same time; unquenchable thirst; streaming eyes and nose; sweating grossly and if you somehow sleep, waking up soaked in this godawful death smelling sweat; absolutely foul taste in your mouth; complete inability to feel comfortable leading to squirming around constantly, with restless leg syndrome on top, no delicate lady shakes; inability to sleep; its not possible to overstate the discomfort; promising yourself you will never do this again then going out to score the second you're physically able..

After the main symptoms over are there's about a week of exhaustion, feeling like you have to physically drag your body, still looking like death, and that's just for heroin, as fentanyl is so much stronger I imagine its way worse. Though it does seem not to last so long so maybe the ordeal is over quicker? No idea, never messed with that shit and not a pharmacologist.

You will go into withdrawals if you suddenly drop your dose but it doesn't look as delicate and ladylike as hers does. I also strongly doubt a hospital setting would let you go into serious withdrawals, they should taper you.

She should be absolutely streaming with sweat, you should be able to at least see sweat marks on her gown and her hair should be slick with grease rather than just unwashed.

I think she is trying to fake withdrawals to have her dose put back up, not actually in full blown withdrawals.

After the type of heavy use she has been doing, if she does actually get opiate-free, she needs to not use opiates again, not even OTC co-codamol, for years. Otherwise they will put her back there. Its a bit like kindling with alcohol and benzos. As she has no intention of stopping munching its really quite pointless to go through the pain of withdrawals, but if she isn't willing to score on the street I guess she has no option. There is no way the NHS would be putting her back on a similar regimen to her fancy German doctors.

ETA non medfag question- is compression of the jugular not what we who are not wise in the ways of Herr Doktor call strangulation, and therefore incompatible with continued brain function, even in Tilly's limited capacity? ETA2 was being retarded and mixing up my plumbing- having done two Google searches I can now see that a) jugular compression is associated with a bunch of munchie favourites and b) it can be caused by strangulation so at least I didn't go full retard.
 
Last edited:
no one in the "chronic illness community" will miss you when you die. They're not your friends and they'll all move on. You haven't found a wonderful group full of support. You've found other junkies who will steal your stash and roll your still-warm corpse into the gutter, never to think of you again.
This is why I'm so belligerent when it comes to munchies. They know how to find vulnerable people, usually people experiencing the worst days of their lives (often right after some terrible illness diagnosis). These munchies actively draw in truly ill people so they can skinwalk the suffering. Then the person who actually needs community or support (and is already running on fumes due to illness) ends up mired in this shitshow far beyond their understanding. Possibly wasting days that are numbered and could be spent with true community. It's insidious, and creepy, and atrocious.

Edit: Love the body language in this one, lol. Keine fat chicks!
I love when we have a linguistics expert, absolutely elevated your post.
 
Another one has gone to that great respiratory therapist in the sky.

Nicole Gray aka JustBreatheNicole/OneMoreStep, an old LCF munchie who had a feeding tube for functional vomiting who also faked brittle asthma, anaphylaxis, and seizures apparently died in January and no one gave a fuck. I don't even give a fuck enough to find proof beyond these screenies that were posted in a group chat.
View attachment 6970047View attachment 6970048View attachment 6970049

she peaked in like 2014 when she was winning beauty pageants despite being homely, chubby, and unpolished because she would wear the NG feeding tube she was free to remove and replace at will to win the sympathy of the judges.

Reminder to all munchies reading this horrified by my callousness, no one in the "chronic illness community" will miss you when you die. They're not your friends and they'll all move on. You haven't found a wonderful group full of support. You've found other junkies who will steal your stash and roll your still-warm corpse into the gutter, never to think of you again.
I just got such a kick when she would talk all about being tube feed and proud, yet would post videos with her salivating over a stash of "new limited run" chocolate bars... that y'know she was just waiting to be done to cram them in her face hole..
Or watching her pagent posts when she still had a nose hose. She's post all the "i love my tube!" and yet, she'd pull it out for probably half her competitions... it seemed like she'd leave it if it would get her pity points, or she was going a platform on GI Issues and Tube Fweding!

Or the weirdly creepy relationship with that friend who was a married man....iirc he took her in and became her care giver... it was a safe alright ...
 
Thank you for this rundown. Amazing job, as always. I see this medical manipulation for fake speshul sickies only increasing with how these hospital systems are taking over. Easier to shop around and MDs with less time to give to individual patients and it's just easier to sign off on whatever these crybabies demand.

🫣 Holy fuck. What did they use to place her port? One of those reciprocating turkey knives a là 1989??
 
Disney adults and munchies… the perfect pairing.
Hello everyone I am back with another update to this. Things have developed into a lawsuit, something that the DAS Defenders have been claiming to work on for years ever since the DAS changes were made (see my original post that I’m replying to).
Facebook post
IMG_3328.jpegIMG_3329.jpeg
https://www.instagram.com/mccunelawgroup
They’re exactly the kind of law firm that one would expect to be interested in a case like this
IMG_3330.jpeg
pdf of the google link attached, maybe if there are any law kiwis lurking here they can give us some insight into how this might play out.
 

Attachments

If you're a squeaky clean, very sheltered, 'we can only watch disney channel at home" barely-adult, that's probably the closest you've felt to fun drugs.

Then once the bad side effects start they justify continuing to take them by saying they have to, which reinforces that they're really sick. Why would you take a drug that made you fat, bald, diabetic, and cranky unless you really needed to?

And eventually you do because your adrenals get suppressed and going off them can kill you.
As a Kiwi who also once had to take a round of steroids (did you know the red pigment in many non-vegan lipsticks, carmine, contains the exact same protein that triggers shellfish allergic reactions? Well I didn't). - my heart aches knowing these munchies could have potentially lived a normal life, if only they weren't total squares & snorted crushed up Adderall at a high school house party, or tried their roommates weed gummies during college.
 
I think she is trying to fake withdrawals to have her dose put back up, not actually in full blown withdrawals.
Yeah that's about where I landed but wasn't sure because yanno, alcoholics in WD tend to shake like chihuahuas. Don't worry, gals, when my liver shits the bed or I drop from a WD seizure, they'll roll me into the gutter and forget me too. I'll buy you all a round in hell.

The thought of this girl trying to buy street drugs has tickled me so. I bet she'd bring mummy and auntie along.
 
I bet she'd bring mummy and auntie along.
Chapter 2137:
They say bravery comes in many forms. Mine? Taking my mum to buy drugs on the streets of Berlin.

It wasn’t glamorous. No shadowy alleys or whispered code words. Just me, pale and hunched in my wheelchair, and Mum, clutching her handbag like it contained state secrets. The pain had outlasted prescriptions, and whispers suggested street solutions. So, off we went—two very British fish out of water.

We found him leaning against a wall, looking exactly like someone who might sell something illegal. My heart pounded as I wheeled up.

“Uh… do you have…?” I trailed off, realizing I had no idea how to buy drugs.

The guy blinked at me, then at Mum, who stood behind me like an outraged chaperone.

“For your mum?” he asked, smirking.

Mum gasped, clutching her pearls in spirit if not in fact. “For her!” she hissed, pointing at me like I was a rebellious teenager, not a chronically ill adult.
In the end, we didn’t get anything. The guy laughed and wandered off, leaving us standing there like extras in a film we hadn’t auditioned for.

But you know what? As we wheeled back to the hotel, empty-handed but weirdly triumphant, I realized something. This little misadventure wasn’t just about the drugs (or the lack thereof). It was about choosing to fight in whatever way we could—even if that meant dragging my poor, bewildered mum through the streets of Berlin on a quest that would make even the most hardened drug dealers raise an eyebrow.

Love wins, after all. Even if it doesn’t come with a prescription.
 
Chapter 2137:
They say bravery comes in many forms. Mine? Taking my mum to buy drugs on the streets of Berlin.

It wasn’t glamorous. No shadowy alleys or whispered code words. Just me, pale and hunched in my wheelchair, and Mum, clutching her handbag like it contained state secrets. The pain had outlasted prescriptions, and whispers suggested street solutions. So, off we went—two very British fish out of water.

We found him leaning against a wall, looking exactly like someone who might sell something illegal. My heart pounded as I wheeled up.

“Uh… do you have…?” I trailed off, realizing I had no idea how to buy drugs.

The guy blinked at me, then at Mum, who stood behind me like an outraged chaperone.

“For your mum?” he asked, smirking.

Mum gasped, clutching her pearls in spirit if not in fact. “For her!” she hissed, pointing at me like I was a rebellious teenager, not a chronically ill adult.
In the end, we didn’t get anything. The guy laughed and wandered off, leaving us standing there like extras in a film we hadn’t auditioned for.

But you know what? As we wheeled back to the hotel, empty-handed but weirdly triumphant, I realized something. This little misadventure wasn’t just about the drugs (or the lack thereof). It was about choosing to fight in whatever way we could—even if that meant dragging my poor, bewildered mum through the streets of Berlin on a quest that would make even the most hardened drug dealers raise an eyebrow.

Love wins, after all. Even if it doesn’t come with a prescription.
You forgot the tummy
 
Chapter 2137:
They say bravery comes in many forms. Mine? Taking my mum to buy drugs on the streets of Berlin.

It wasn’t glamorous. No shadowy alleys or whispered code words. Just me, pale and hunched in my wheelchair, and Mum, clutching her handbag like it contained state secrets. The pain had outlasted prescriptions, and whispers suggested street solutions. So, off we went—two very British fish out of water.

We found him leaning against a wall, looking exactly like someone who might sell something illegal. My heart pounded as I wheeled up.

“Uh… do you have…?” I trailed off, realizing I had no idea how to buy drugs.

The guy blinked at me, then at Mum, who stood behind me like an outraged chaperone.

“For your mum?” he asked, smirking.

Mum gasped, clutching her pearls in spirit if not in fact. “For her!” she hissed, pointing at me like I was a rebellious teenager, not a chronically ill adult.
In the end, we didn’t get anything. The guy laughed and wandered off, leaving us standing there like extras in a film we hadn’t auditioned for.

But you know what? As we wheeled back to the hotel, empty-handed but weirdly triumphant, I realized something. This little misadventure wasn’t just about the drugs (or the lack thereof). It was about choosing to fight in whatever way we could—even if that meant dragging my poor, bewildered mum through the streets of Berlin on a quest that would make even the most hardened drug dealers raise an eyebrow.

Love wins, after all. Even if it doesn’t come with a prescription.
Beautiful! But far too well-written and engaging to be Tilly.
:drink:
 
Chapter 2137:
They say bravery comes in many forms. Mine? Taking my mum to buy drugs on the streets of Berlin.

It wasn’t glamorous. No shadowy alleys or whispered code words. Just me, pale and hunched in my wheelchair, and Mum, clutching her handbag like it contained state secrets. The pain had outlasted prescriptions, and whispers suggested street solutions. So, off we went—two very British fish out of water.

We found him leaning against a wall, looking exactly like someone who might sell something illegal. My heart pounded as I wheeled up.

“Uh… do you have…?” I trailed off, realizing I had no idea how to buy drugs.

The guy blinked at me, then at Mum, who stood behind me like an outraged chaperone.

“For your mum?” he asked, smirking.

Mum gasped, clutching her pearls in spirit if not in fact. “For her!” she hissed, pointing at me like I was a rebellious teenager, not a chronically ill adult.
In the end, we didn’t get anything. The guy laughed and wandered off, leaving us standing there like extras in a film we hadn’t auditioned for.

But you know what? As we wheeled back to the hotel, empty-handed but weirdly triumphant, I realized something. This little misadventure wasn’t just about the drugs (or the lack thereof). It was about choosing to fight in whatever way we could—even if that meant dragging my poor, bewildered mum through the streets of Berlin on a quest that would make even the most hardened drug dealers raise an eyebrow.

Love wins, after all. Even if it doesn’t come with a prescription.

You forgot the tummy

Chapter 666 [emojis] A Bluebell Trembles in the Wind

"They say it takes four to score"-- I whisper these words to my boyfriend, who does not actually have a name. Mum nods encouragingly, and Auntie says JA emphatically, drawing on the German she learned as an au pair (now she's basically my au pair, tee hee-- screw her real kids!).

My TEAM has assembled to take on the next task: scoring some of that skag on the streets of Berlin. In honor of this occasion, my Nameless Boyfriend has gotten me a new necklace: instead of a bluebell, I now wear a poppy. It's a crimson red, like the porphyria-infused blood that runs through my anemic British veins. Mummykins, Auntie, and Docile Sexless Boyfriend all jumped at the chance to go procure some China White. Only my best friend holds back, biting her lip and fighting back tears.

"What gives?" I demand in my charming way. "I've never had a real job, but I'm pretty sure you can't get fired from teaching for breaking international drug laws. It's not my fault that you have to pay your own bills. That's poor people shit(e)."

Nameless Friend who only exists in relation to me summons up her courage and says: "it's just that I'm afraid I'll get my children taken away. I haven't seen them in six months, and they're already calling my husband's new girlfriend mummy. It makes me sick to my tummy, Lucy."

The sweat rolls off of me, and I hiss through my apple juice-stained teeth: "that's nothing compared to the shit(e)s that are currently afflicting my VERY FLAT tummy. And the name is TILLY. You'd better get it right when you write it in icing."

Dr. WonderMarvelMiracle breaks in, as he and his team have all been listening in. "Vit is vallright, Tilly. My nephew, Klaus, is the dealer afffilated vith the clinic. Ve give all our patients a discount on the first hit, a practice we definitely did not vrip off from every dope dealer ever."

A miracle! A sign! Dr. WonderMarvelMiracle does it again! I should have known that these wonderful, gentle, honest people would look out for me! [prayer hands emoji, needle emoji, spoon emoji, horse emoji]

The four of them-- my mum, my auntie, my nameless boyfriend who's a Ken doll down there (and just as smooth upstairs), and my current BFF all link arms like Dorothy and her crew marching down the Yellow Brick Road while I, like the Wizard, cheer them on from my bed of pain. As they slip away into a dark ally, I think to myself . . .

"I have a good feeling in my tummy about this!"

Even if I have to sell my family to a cartel, I know that this story has more chapters.
 
Her whole exome sequencing showed her DNA is just as tepid as her personality
It is a source of great sadness to me that despite having genuine occasion to use this phrase at work I will never be able to. Not out loud at least
That's why she's kind of puffy and headachy in the morning, not her drinking and drug habit, and this, too, is somehow caused by her compressed renal vein.
How dare you think it’s her smack habit and eating disorder!
and she probably won't see any results from this for a year at least because it won't actually open the compressed veins for a while.
Oh that’s a great line is t it? Yeah you might not see any difference because those veins you know they sort of stay like that despite me chopping them up…
happy she got her fentanyl epidural back,
Well you would be. Very amused at that, you do t get that kind if thing in the NHS unless you’re dying if something unspeakable
Not in the UK at least. They're often diagnosed together though.

Basically:
- ME/CFS - you're tired, we don't know why
- Fibromyalgia - you're hurty, we don't know why

Both are real disorders, but both are also used as a "if I diagnose you with this and give you some Lyrica to play with will you get the fuck out of my office and let me treat real patients?" diagnosis too. My aunt, who was a notorious hypochondriac and woo addict, went to her GP complaining of back pain, and they diagnosed her with fibromyalgia and gave her some amitriptyline to make her too sleepy to complain any more, and sent her home to stop bothering them. It was bone cancer and she died in agony 6 weeks later, nice job NHS!
I know someone who has a diagnosis of the fibro. She’s older, had to have a double mastectomy for breast cancer and that’s left her with significant arm and chest pain (she looks like they did it with a strimmer, honestly if that was me I’d be suing) but anyway they refuse to acknowledge they didn’t do a good job, and said it’s fibro. She asked me if it was real and I told her no, and she went back and told them it was likely the op and they basically said she takes the fibro diagnosis and the pain treatment or they stop prescribing and she kind find another clinic, which I’m sure isn’t legal but..,. So there we go. RNHS eh? Sorry about your aunt.
Tilly’s mummy also looks like she has an eating disorder - look at some of the poses she strikes to show off her arms.
I’ve very much enjoyed her evolution from ‘oh but this could be a ….’ To … ‘ No, no she’s just another anorexic junkie!’ Well written ma’am
 
Back